Hideaway
Page 4
I pulled back the curtain and stepped inside the small, dark cubicle, pulling the curtain closed again. The scent of old wood surrounded me but there was something else I faintly noticed. A hint of being outside. In the wind and water.
Sitting in the hardwood chair, I looked ahead at the darkened, wicker screen in front of me, knowing the other side was empty. The priests had all moved onto their other daily duties. Exactly how I liked it. I always did this alone.
I leaned down, my elbows on my knees, and clasped my hands together. The muscles on my arms burned with an involuntary flex.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” I said in a quiet voice. “It’s been a month since my last confession.”
I swallowed hard, always more aware that when a priest wasn’t listening to me, I was. And believe it or not, that was sometimes harder. No one to offer me forgiveness but myself.
“I know you’re not there,” I told the empty air on the other side. “I know I’ve been doing this too long to keep making excuses, but…” I paused, searching for words. “But sometimes I can only talk when no one is listening.”
I drew in a deep breath, my shell falling away.
“I just need to say things out loud, I guess.” Even if I didn’t get the cheap penance that did nothing to absorb the guilt.
I breathed in the smell of water and wind, not knowing where it was coming from, but it made me feel like I was in a cave. Safe from eyes and ears.
“I don’t need you. I just need this place,” I admitted. “What’s wrong with me, that I like to hide? That I like my secrets?”
Damon, I couldn’t imagine, had any secrets. He didn’t brag about his dirty deeds, but he never hid them, either. Will, the other member of our pack, didn’t do anything without back-up, so someone was always aware what he was up to.
And Michael—our team captain, and the one I was closest to—hid only from those around him what he hid from himself.
But me…I knew who I was. And I made a concerted effort never to let anyone see it.
“I like that I lie to my parents,” I nearly whispered. “I like that they don’t know what I did last night or last week or what I’m going to do tonight. I like that no one knows how I like being alone. How I like fighting, and I like the private rooms in the clubs…” I trailed off, lost in thought, remembering the past month since my last confession and all the nights I’d lost myself.
“I like that my friends are bad for me,” I said, continuing. “And I like to watch.”
I wrapped one fist inside another, forcing the words out.
“I like to watch people. Something new I just discovered about myself.” I ran my hand through my hair, feeling the ends rough with gel. “Wanting to be in it, to feel what they’re feeling, is almost hotter than actually being a part of it.” I looked up at the dark screen, seeing just a sliver of it left open. “And I like hiding it. I don’t want my friends to know me as well as they think they do. I don’t know why.” I shook my head, thinking. “There are just some things that are more exciting when they’re a secret.”
Dropping my eyes, I sigh. “But as much as I get off on not being seen, it’s lonely, too. There’s no connection.”
Which wasn’t entirely true if you saw it from the outside. Michael, Will, Damon… we were all cut from the same cloth in a way. We all loved the wild ride and craved the high that only came from doing anything we weren’t supposed to do.
But me? I liked my privacy. More than they did.
And I liked it sordid. As much as they did.
I pushed the shame away, coming back. “So, anyway, I lie. All the time. Too many times to count.” To everyone. “I also resent my father most of the time. I’ve taken the Lord’s name in vain about five hundred times the past month, and I’ve had pre-marital sex to break up the monotony of every waking minute consumed with impure thoughts.” I shake my head, laughing at myself. “Penance won’t make me stop, and I have no intention of changing, so…”
So that’s why confessing to a priest does me no good. Again, I like doing everything I do wrong.
But it felt good to admit it. At least I confessed, right? At least I knew I was doing things I shouldn’t, and that was something.
Closing my eyes, I leaned back against the wall and breathed in the silence.
Fuck me, I couldn’t wait for tonight. Thinking about the catacombs or the cemetery or wherever we ended up filled me with need. My mask, the fear, the chase… I swallowed the lump in my throat, feeling my body heat rise.
The lull of the fountain at the back of the church dribbled softly, and I heard the echo of a cough in the distance. I didn’t know what I’d be doing first, breaking something, screwing someone, or fighting, but I wanted whatever it was now, and it wasn’t even dark yet. Tonight was the highlight of my year.
“There’s a story…” a voice suddenly said, jolting me.
I popped my eyes open, and my heart dropped into my fucking stomach. What the…?
“What the hell?” I burst out, sitting up. “Who is that?”
The voice—a woman’s—came from somewhere close.
Like the other side of the fucking confessional.
I leapt up from my chair, the legs screeching against the marble floor.
“No, please, don’t,” she begged, probably knowing I was about to rip open the door to the priest’s chamber on the other side. “I didn’t mean to listen, but I was already here, and you started talking. I won’t say anything.”
She sounded young, maybe my age, and nervous. I stared down at the screen, her voice inches away.
“You’ve been in there this whole time?” I growled, my head a flurry of all the shit I’d just said. “What the hell? Who are you?”
I whipped open my curtain, but then I heard the shutter on her side of the screen slide open all the way, and her plea, “Please,” she whispered. “I want to talk to you, and I can’t if you see me. Just give me a minute. Just one minute.”
I stopped, locking my jaw together. What the hell was she doing over there? Did she know who I was?
“You can see me,” she said. “Just give me a minute.”
Something about her voice was fragile. Like she was a vase teetering on the edge of a coffee table. I stood frozen for a minute, debating whether or not to let my curiosity pull her ass out of that room or indulge her.
Okay. Just a minute then.
“There’s a story,” she started again when I didn’t move farther, “about The Pope Hotel in Meridian City. Do you know the place?”
I eyed the screen, barely seeing her outline in the dark.
The Pope? That multi-million-dollar waste on the shitty side of the river?
I closed the curtain, taking my seat again. “Who are you?”
“There’s a rumor about the twelfth floor,” she went on, ignoring my question. “It exists, but no one can get to it. Have you heard that story?”
I leaned back just slightly, my body still rigid and on guard. “No.”
“Rumor has it that the family that owns The Pope built a twelfth floor in every hotel they constructed. For the family’s personal use,” she told me. “The entire floor is their residence when they’re in a particular city with one of their hotels. It’s inaccessible to guests, though. The elevator doesn’t stop on that floor, and when it was investigated, there’s not even a possibility for the elevator to stop there. The floor is walled in.” Her voice evened out, and I noticed a touch of excitement in her words. “And so is the stairwell access.”
“So, how does the family get to their secret floor when they want in?”
“Well, that’s the question, isn’t it?” she asked. “That’s the secret. For the longest time, people assumed it was just some mystery promoted by the owners and staff to increase the allure of the hotel.” She paused, and I could hear her draw in a breath. “But then guests started noticing her.”
“Her?”
“A woman—dancing,” she answered.
“Dancing,” I repeated, suddenly a little more interested.
Sitting in the hardwood chair, I looked ahead at the darkened, wicker screen in front of me, knowing the other side was empty. The priests had all moved onto their other daily duties. Exactly how I liked it. I always did this alone.
I leaned down, my elbows on my knees, and clasped my hands together. The muscles on my arms burned with an involuntary flex.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” I said in a quiet voice. “It’s been a month since my last confession.”
I swallowed hard, always more aware that when a priest wasn’t listening to me, I was. And believe it or not, that was sometimes harder. No one to offer me forgiveness but myself.
“I know you’re not there,” I told the empty air on the other side. “I know I’ve been doing this too long to keep making excuses, but…” I paused, searching for words. “But sometimes I can only talk when no one is listening.”
I drew in a deep breath, my shell falling away.
“I just need to say things out loud, I guess.” Even if I didn’t get the cheap penance that did nothing to absorb the guilt.
I breathed in the smell of water and wind, not knowing where it was coming from, but it made me feel like I was in a cave. Safe from eyes and ears.
“I don’t need you. I just need this place,” I admitted. “What’s wrong with me, that I like to hide? That I like my secrets?”
Damon, I couldn’t imagine, had any secrets. He didn’t brag about his dirty deeds, but he never hid them, either. Will, the other member of our pack, didn’t do anything without back-up, so someone was always aware what he was up to.
And Michael—our team captain, and the one I was closest to—hid only from those around him what he hid from himself.
But me…I knew who I was. And I made a concerted effort never to let anyone see it.
“I like that I lie to my parents,” I nearly whispered. “I like that they don’t know what I did last night or last week or what I’m going to do tonight. I like that no one knows how I like being alone. How I like fighting, and I like the private rooms in the clubs…” I trailed off, lost in thought, remembering the past month since my last confession and all the nights I’d lost myself.
“I like that my friends are bad for me,” I said, continuing. “And I like to watch.”
I wrapped one fist inside another, forcing the words out.
“I like to watch people. Something new I just discovered about myself.” I ran my hand through my hair, feeling the ends rough with gel. “Wanting to be in it, to feel what they’re feeling, is almost hotter than actually being a part of it.” I looked up at the dark screen, seeing just a sliver of it left open. “And I like hiding it. I don’t want my friends to know me as well as they think they do. I don’t know why.” I shook my head, thinking. “There are just some things that are more exciting when they’re a secret.”
Dropping my eyes, I sigh. “But as much as I get off on not being seen, it’s lonely, too. There’s no connection.”
Which wasn’t entirely true if you saw it from the outside. Michael, Will, Damon… we were all cut from the same cloth in a way. We all loved the wild ride and craved the high that only came from doing anything we weren’t supposed to do.
But me? I liked my privacy. More than they did.
And I liked it sordid. As much as they did.
I pushed the shame away, coming back. “So, anyway, I lie. All the time. Too many times to count.” To everyone. “I also resent my father most of the time. I’ve taken the Lord’s name in vain about five hundred times the past month, and I’ve had pre-marital sex to break up the monotony of every waking minute consumed with impure thoughts.” I shake my head, laughing at myself. “Penance won’t make me stop, and I have no intention of changing, so…”
So that’s why confessing to a priest does me no good. Again, I like doing everything I do wrong.
But it felt good to admit it. At least I confessed, right? At least I knew I was doing things I shouldn’t, and that was something.
Closing my eyes, I leaned back against the wall and breathed in the silence.
Fuck me, I couldn’t wait for tonight. Thinking about the catacombs or the cemetery or wherever we ended up filled me with need. My mask, the fear, the chase… I swallowed the lump in my throat, feeling my body heat rise.
The lull of the fountain at the back of the church dribbled softly, and I heard the echo of a cough in the distance. I didn’t know what I’d be doing first, breaking something, screwing someone, or fighting, but I wanted whatever it was now, and it wasn’t even dark yet. Tonight was the highlight of my year.
“There’s a story…” a voice suddenly said, jolting me.
I popped my eyes open, and my heart dropped into my fucking stomach. What the…?
“What the hell?” I burst out, sitting up. “Who is that?”
The voice—a woman’s—came from somewhere close.
Like the other side of the fucking confessional.
I leapt up from my chair, the legs screeching against the marble floor.
“No, please, don’t,” she begged, probably knowing I was about to rip open the door to the priest’s chamber on the other side. “I didn’t mean to listen, but I was already here, and you started talking. I won’t say anything.”
She sounded young, maybe my age, and nervous. I stared down at the screen, her voice inches away.
“You’ve been in there this whole time?” I growled, my head a flurry of all the shit I’d just said. “What the hell? Who are you?”
I whipped open my curtain, but then I heard the shutter on her side of the screen slide open all the way, and her plea, “Please,” she whispered. “I want to talk to you, and I can’t if you see me. Just give me a minute. Just one minute.”
I stopped, locking my jaw together. What the hell was she doing over there? Did she know who I was?
“You can see me,” she said. “Just give me a minute.”
Something about her voice was fragile. Like she was a vase teetering on the edge of a coffee table. I stood frozen for a minute, debating whether or not to let my curiosity pull her ass out of that room or indulge her.
Okay. Just a minute then.
“There’s a story,” she started again when I didn’t move farther, “about The Pope Hotel in Meridian City. Do you know the place?”
I eyed the screen, barely seeing her outline in the dark.
The Pope? That multi-million-dollar waste on the shitty side of the river?
I closed the curtain, taking my seat again. “Who are you?”
“There’s a rumor about the twelfth floor,” she went on, ignoring my question. “It exists, but no one can get to it. Have you heard that story?”
I leaned back just slightly, my body still rigid and on guard. “No.”
“Rumor has it that the family that owns The Pope built a twelfth floor in every hotel they constructed. For the family’s personal use,” she told me. “The entire floor is their residence when they’re in a particular city with one of their hotels. It’s inaccessible to guests, though. The elevator doesn’t stop on that floor, and when it was investigated, there’s not even a possibility for the elevator to stop there. The floor is walled in.” Her voice evened out, and I noticed a touch of excitement in her words. “And so is the stairwell access.”
“So, how does the family get to their secret floor when they want in?”
“Well, that’s the question, isn’t it?” she asked. “That’s the secret. For the longest time, people assumed it was just some mystery promoted by the owners and staff to increase the allure of the hotel.” She paused, and I could hear her draw in a breath. “But then guests started noticing her.”
“Her?”
“A woman—dancing,” she answered.
“Dancing,” I repeated, suddenly a little more interested.
