A/N This contains strong criticisms of Catholicism - regarding homosexuality, inter-faith relations, and pre-marital sex. I am a Catholic myself, and it is not my intention to offend anybody with this oneshot. I have a genuine respect for anybody's religion and I hope nobody takes any offense caused to heart. This has been in my head for a long time and it was just something I needed to get out. Also, I've just always imagined Blaine as coming from a somewhat religious background, I'm not sure why. NOT a Quinn/Blaine pairing.
forgive Quinn, Father, for she has sinned
forgive Blaine, Father, for he has sinned
Put aside the study of the Sins. Too confusing.
Which one am I?
I used to know. I used to know a lot of things.
An angry child for the first half-decade, petulant. Wrathful. And I inherited Daddy's wealth, and I inherited Mummy's composure. And I was so Proud of that. But I wanted Frannie's sunshine curls, glowing like daybreak to match moonshine eyes. I wanted her image, Envied it. So many.
What am I now?
Vultures circling high in the Heavens as one thought twirls a pirouette in my thoughts. That boy.
(forgive me, Father, for i have sinned)
Two role models to choose from and nobody to mentor. Worship the false idols of father and brother, make them interchangeable with Father and Brother.
Ashamed. Slap the wrist.
Decalogue, all important. Just ten to follow. Ten.
Do not worship the false ones; only The One. Failed, but Honoured Father, Mother. Never covet and steal and kill. Never did. Followed strict as the rules of the universe. Mix science and faith. Where do they compromise? Where do they blend? Where do they contradict?
How will I ever know?
(forgive me, Father, for i have sinned)
Try everything.
Everything.
Ignore.
Distract.
Repent.
Pray.
Replace.
Ignore.
Repent.
Replace.
Distract.
Pray.
Everything.
(forgive me, Father, for i have sinned)
Why should I try? It's all be done before.
And I don't mean the Kings and the Presidents and the Priests. Just brother.
Not Brother. Well, Him too.
But really, just brother. Older son. Worthy son. Sporty. A title beginning with Q, and it isn't Queen. Grades high: the rocks at the top of the waterfall. Yours the droplets trickling down-down-down, sometimes the salmon jumping up-up-up - but why bother? The rocks got there first.
I try so hard, but he's always there. Pulled my pigtails once.
Is it wrong I wish he'd do it again?
Brother brings home a girl, and I see where the expectations can be bettered. His first girl was plain. Straw hair and muddy eyes.
I can bring home another. Corn hair and chocolate eyes. Rich.
(forgive me, Father, for i have sinned)
Time is coming closer - look at their faces.
She's too tall (will I ever reach my growth spurt?) and she's too plump (Mother's slender, look for the willowy ones). Embarrassing either way. For both of us.
She's too loud (ornaments must be pretty, quiet, simple) and she's too smart (work harder, just work harder). Embarrassing for me.
She's too poor (second hand jumper, fraying sleeve) and she's too shy (blushing is cute until one day it's not). Embarrassing for her.
And then one day I worry.
(forgive me, Father, for i have sinned)
Caught his eye today. Caught him staring.
I liked it.
The other boys are doing it. All the boys are doing it.
What about me?
Running out of options.
Pressing palms together, fingers interlaced, thumbs crossed. Enclose around the true cross. Crucifix. Adore it, and it will adore you. And grant you mercy.
Why won't it grant me mercy?
Eyes still wandering to him. Lingering like the echo of an evangelic psalm. Rusty voice, like his father. They talk about his father.
Gone for years now, still a gossip topic. The mother doesn't know.
They're talking about him now. The son. Girls, at least. Can't I talk, too?
No, too close to attention. Can't give him attention. Can't invite attention.
Mother's hair is white blonde. Father's office is painted white. Frannie's engagement ring is white gold.
I must wear white on my day, my special day. White angel down lustrous aisle. I must.
(forgive me, Father, for i have sinned)
Head down, modesty. Work hard. Don't catch his eye again.
Don't.
Should I be ashamed? I'm not.
It's Lusting. I know it is. Rest my eyes on their skirts and their blouses. Gaze trace knee to thigh, whether covered or revealed, doesn't matter. What else is imagination for?
But there's nothing.
Penetrate the blouse with a stare: imagine.
Nothing.
(forgive me, Father, for i have sinned)
I can't help looking at him.
Close my eyes in the dark, house silent. Will for a rush of warm blood. Arouse the sinful Lust.
Nothing.
Steal the magazine from my brother's room; stare and will and wish and despair.
Nothing.
(forgive me, Father, for i have sinned)
Am I wrong for trying?
Or am I wrong for not succeeding?
Skin like caramel, eyes like honey, voice like thick cream.
Lustful Gluttony.
Gluttonous Lust.
Which is worse?
I can't stop.
Pretty popular redheaded girl, look into her eyes and forgive yourself for imaging her beneath you, writhing. Nothing.
Notice the boy behind her, cloth pulled tight up, up, skin revealed.
And suddenly not nothing. Something.
(forgive me, Father, for i have sinned)
Pretty popular redheaded girl forgotten. Different image beneath you, writhing. Something more. Someone else. Him.
Walk, and walk far, and walk far away.
The feeling stays.
Haunts you with a something you've never felt before.
Watch him talk to another girl. Any girl. Every girl.
Does he know?
Why won't he talk to me?
Fear bubbling acid in my stomach. And then guilt.
I shouldn't want him to talk to me.
Hold tight to the cross around my neck, and forget him. Forget his eyes and his voice and his tangled triangle star. David's. Forget him.
Girls are hazy shapes, aren't they? I'm not to blame for that.
Am I to blame if girls are hazy shapes? Am I to blame if boys are not?
Tall Quarterback, popular. He'll do.
Not religious, but enough. He's been christened, and he lets me pray. Accepts it.
I can trust him. But can I trust my eyes? Can I trust myself?
Discreet, because the other boys are still talking about girls. Should I?
My brother did.
I join in half-heartedly. Chalk it up to overworking. Ignore pounding heart when they ask directly; answer smoothly. Businessman voice, my father would be proud. But would my Father be?
Accidentally bump into him. Talk back when he approaches.
It's only polite, isn't it?
(forgive me, Father, for i have sinned)
Let him sweet talk. Harmless words.
And know for sure he's no devil in a Sunday hat. Because where is his Sunday hat?
He holds his trident proudly. Makes me feel safer.
I feel as if I could say no if I wanted to.
But I don't.
(forgive me, Father, for i have sinned)
Is that wrong of me?
Compare them, contrast them. A list of pros and cons.
Girls ever losers. So difficult to ignore.
Quit football (not the Quarterback, anyway).
Quit basketball (getting too short by now).
Quit soccer (broke an ankle once, dangerous sport).
What now?
I'm still surrounded by them.
Boys.
He doesn't back off. Quarterback sticks around, and so does he.
I feel his eyes, and I'm looking at my man, my Quarterback, but the Runner is watching me. Hard gaze.
Burns holes in the back of my head, like bullets that itch and scratch until I'm squirming.
Does Quarterback even realise he's competing?
Of course not.
(forgive me, Father, for i have sinned)
(Give in to temptation.)
(It's been months.)
Quarterback doesn't notice.
Common knowledge by now I'm not dating.
(Time to taste the fruit.)
Father's on a business trip; mother's at a party. Businessman; socialite.
Father's at a meeting; mother's hosting a dinner. Businessman; housewife.
(forgive me, Father, for i have sinned)
My bed. Comfortable. I'll never forget it now.
His bed. Exciting. New memory imprinted forever.
(Too late to back out now.)
I don't feel Gluttonous anymore. I don't feel Lustful.
Guilt disappeared, terror ignored.
(This is right.)
He leans down, finger cupping chin. Gentle. He doesn't look it, but he is.
Side by side. Weight balanced, even, entwined.
Is he the snake?
Or is he the fruit?
Either way, forbidden.
I shouldn't.
I can't.
Too late.
Are you not merciful, Father? I fear that father is not.
Can't care. Mustn't care. No need to care. Why?
Because God is Love, and so is This.
(forgive me, Father, for i have sinned)