Page 49 of Teach Me To Sin
When I was a little kid, I was scared of everything, even stupid shit like the ghosts I thought lived under the stairs. I’d sit up here with blankets over my head, crying, because no one would come protect me from the monsters. It was my own fault, a nightmare I inflicted on myself, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.
I guess some things never change.
Alek
“I’m so sorry.I can’t imagine how stressful it must have been to have someone turn on you like that.” Taking an extra-long sip of my champagne, I grab a strip of artisan toast topped with goat’s cheese, roasted grapes, and thyme from a passing tray. With the fixed smile that hasn’t left my face all evening, I gesture for the waiter to offer his canapes to the man who spent the last fifteen minutes complaining about how the marina where he keeps his yacht dared to raise their mooring fee by two percent. When my conversation partner’s attention turns to the food, I take the opportunity to break free and circulate through the room.
Despite being held together–sometimes literally–by scotch tape, rubber bands, and force of will, the decorated loft space looks good enough to house a guest list that, when combined, is worth billions. Delicate classical music fills the room from the string quartet who volunteers their time every year. Lights sparkle along the ceiling, while gauzy white curtains back a small stage area with a podium for me to give my speech. The rest of the walls are decorated with an idea Maya originally invented–artistically displayed photos of kids from the swim center, paired with hand-written letters about their favorite activities and future dreams.
The tables and chairs for dinner fill most of the floor area, with empty spaces for mingling and chatting in front of the huge windows that highlight the Lang Aquatic Center as the setting sun bathes it in a golden glow. I keep glancing toward it, because my sleep-deprived brain insists that I’ll turn around and findPedophilescrawled in ten-foot-high letters across the entire facade. Or that all the phones in the room will go off at once with a breaking headline announcing that Alek Simmons kidnaps children, grills them, and serves them at his fundraisers. When I have no idea who’s doing this or why, nothing feels safe.
The event started over an hour ago, but neither of the two men I asked to come have walked through the door. Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. Maybe I’m the only one who hasn’t moved on. My head is all over the place as I circulate from one donor to another, struggling to remember the names and personal details that I spent days practicing. Tate and Victor, who look incredible in their suits and can switch on the effortless charm in an instant, have attracted a following of thirsty older women. Everything looks normal, but I can’t shake the strange feeling of dread that has dogged me all day. I keep wondering if the graffiti was a warning and if, by ignoring it, we’ve dared them to try something worse.
As the sun drops behind the buildings and the street sinks into darkness, I take out my notecards and scan them one more time. After my annual speech about our achievements from this year and our goals for the next, the caterers will serve a three-course dinner while the guests fill out commitment cards with their donation pledges. I’ve checked the door a thousand times, feeling increasingly pathetic, but there’s no sign of either Benji or Colson. All I can do is keep smiling and laughing, because in the end they’re passing points in my life, while this nonprofit is my everything.
Just as I’m about to step on stage, I see a flash of movement as one more person comes up the stairs and ducks through the lit archway where guests can pose for photos. It takes me a moment to recognize Benji with his hair slicked down and a perfect, all-black suit. His usual careless slouch is gone; he stands stiffly with his shoulders pulled back and his chin up. When his searching gaze picks me out of the crowd, I offer him an uncertain smile. For the first time ever, his face doesn’t brighten at the sight of me; his expression stays blank and distant. Worry and resentment twist together in the back of my mind. For just one night, I need someone to be here for me instead of bringing me problems to fix.
Benji weaves his way through the room, murmuringexcuse meandsorry. Before I can say anything, he catches my arm and tries to pull me toward a quiet corner behind the stage. I follow him partway, then stop before we end up looking suspicious. “Slow down, Benji. Why are you so late?”
He stares at me, his mouth a flat line and his eyes lifeless. Seeing him here drives home the realization that Colson isn’t coming, that it will never be the three of us again. “I need to talk to you,” he murmurs, his voice weak and hoarse. “Please come downstairs for a minute.”
I frown in confusion. “Everyone in this room needs to talk to me. Can it wait?”
Distress flashes across his face as he runs a hand through his hair, messing up the tidy strands. “No, please don’t make me wait. It’s important.”
When I glance over my shoulder, I can see people drifting restlessly toward the dinner tables. “Then you should have shown up on time. I’m giving my speech now.”
“Wait,” he almost whimpers, grabbing my hand. “Alek, please.”
Jerking my arm away makes me feel like shit, but I can’t afford more rumors right now. “Wait fifteen minutes, okay? We can talk after my speech.”
Trying to pull my scattered thoughts together, I step around his tense form. Tate shoots me a quizzical look from the other side of the room to ask if everything’s alright. I’m almost certain that it’s not, but all I can do is nod. If I’m going to get this speech out with any semblance of order or clarity, I’m going to need one more glass of champagne first.
Colson
My favorite part of sunset is the moment after it’s gone. The last sliver of sun disappears and leaves behind a hushed, blue-tinged moment caught between light and dark. A few minutes later it fades away into twilight, unnoticed.
I watch that moment happen as I drive north toward the Canadian border. I’ll stay the night in Vancouver, then catch the ship tomorrow morning. This drive would have been finished hours ago, if I hadn’t delayed trying to decide if I should swing by Alek’s fundraiser. In the end, I changed my mind like I always do. I don’t know what scared me more, the realization that I might not leave for my trip at all if I let myself see them, or the knowledge that if I stayed, I’d someday hurt them the same way I hurt Gray.
Aside from the small suitcase in my passenger seat, the rest of the items I need for six months of travel were boxed and sent ahead by van to be loaded on the ship. Renters are moving into my house this weekend. My car is being dropped off in the morning at a long-term storage facility for luxury vehicles. The dogs have settled into their temporary home with my old colleague, though I already miss them terribly. It’s scary how easy it was to erase my whole existence in Seattle, but I try not to think about it. Once the boat sets sail, all of this will feel right.
I didn’t need to stay up the whole night finishing preparations, but I didn’t want to sleep. Now, after an hour of driving on a mostly empty road with darkness falling, I can’t seem to keep my eyes open. There aren’t many towns between Seattle and the Canadian border, and even fewer with coffee shops open so late, but a sign points me off a deserted-looking exit and into a small town with a twenty-four-hour cafe.
The cashier spots my Porsche through the window and grills me enthusiastically for details while I wait for my espresso with as many shots as he can fit into it. Instead of getting straight back on the road, I go for a walk around the perimeter of the parking lot under the glow of crooked street lights surrounded by clouds of moths. The air smells cleaner up here than in the city, and I enjoy watching the flicker of cars passing on the highway.
Because I’m an asshole, I planned to keep my phone on silent until I passed the border so any messages from Alek can’t tempt me to turn around. But I need to look up the late check-in policy at my hotel, so I reluctantly pull it out of my pocket. Alek hasn’t contacted me, but I see a notification from Benji. We haven’t spoken since the meet. Even though he’s young, he’s more jaded than Alek, more like me. He understands whatdonemeans. I’ve missed them both so much, but I consider deleting it unread and removing both of them from my phone.
In the end, I have to see his last message. It’s not long, and it doesn’t have any preamble– just thirteen words.If I give him up, will you take care of him for me?
I stare blankly at it for god knows how long, a strange, sinking feeling in my stomach.What are you talking about? I’m about to cross into Canada, I reply. Even though I should be going, I wait. I can’t help it. By the time I’ve drained my coffee twenty minutes later, he hasn’t answered. Against all my better judgment, I call him. He doesn’t pick up.
“Fuck you, Benji, or whatever your real name is,” I mutter, throwing my empty cup in the trash can outside the cafe and yanking my car door open. He’s such a little pain in the ass. They both are. I’ve never in my life been so off-kilter and confused as I’ve felt the last three weeks with them.
The message sounds bad, but I know how dramatic he can be. Maybe Alek’s in on this, and they’re trying to make me miss my ship. But when I reach for frustration, all I can find is his crooked grin and lazy, warm eyes that taunt me endlessly. The way he fights for and worships Alek, then leans into me when he’s afraid. At the stop sign near the highway exit, I pull out my phone and read the text one more time.
Alek
Back by thetable where the waiters keep spare trays of champagne, I find one of the guests I haven’t spoken to yet: a software developer in his forties who always seems mildly displeased but turns around and gives us boatloads of money. This evening, he looks more upset than usual as he ignores my offered hand. “If I'd known you were inviting the Atwoods this year, I would have stayed home. You do recall they’re the ones who undercut my government contract?”