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Temptation
Verboten
Sinful
Lust
And yearning.
Nova craved for something he could never have. But in a way, he got what he wanted; it just wasn’t how he imagined it, though. He was eighteen now, meaning that he had the privilege to go out and do whatever he wanted.
He wasn’t free from his father, but it was better than nothing. Nova had the will to come home when he pleased, although curfew was pushed out until one. It was still better than nine, though, and that’s all that mattered to him.
Rules were kept strictly, and his father always told him that it was for better or worse, and in his mind, it was for the worse. “I don’t want anything to happen to you, that's all,” Nova was always told.
And really, he tried to understand his own father and why he was this way. He barely knew his mother, and sometimes he wonders if he ever had one at all. Or maybe he was dropped down from the sky and into his father’s arms as a safe haven.
To be protected from the dangers of the world, giving the older man one job, only one job until he was grown enough to be out on his own in the world. His father was only trying to keep him from encountering those terrors of what lay beyond the front door.
And maybe Nova was rebellious, or just hated the rules his father put on him. To him, he saw no dangers in the world; it was only nonsense spoken by his father to scare him to death. But now, he wishes his father had made him terrified of what was behind the doors of his own home.
Maybe then, he wouldn’t be cracked and glued back together, piece after piece. Even if he had done everything right, followed the rules, admitted his sins and wrongdoings, and even repented himself for his actions, everything would be ok.
But this was going to be God’s plan for him all along, one way or another, God was going to make him suffer for laying eyes on a man that wasn’t something neutral.
One thing is for sure: Nova wasn’t paying attention to what the church’s pastor had to say. He had completely blocked out the husky voice of an older man, reminding everyone what a sin was and what wasn’t.
Every time Nova stepped foot inside, a piece of him burned alive for every dreadful second he was in this place. He liked to consider it a house of horrors, burned alive for every sin committed. Whether it was figuratively or not, the answer remained unanswered.
There were many sins Nova had confessed to, but there were many more he didn’t dare think of while in the house of Christ. Even if the town’s people and his father were unaware of them, the display of Jesus hung on the cross would say otherwise about him.
Nova was convinced he was always being watched, spiritually at least. I know your secret, his conscience would tell him. I know what you do when your father goes to bed. The thought scared him; he was afraid of what the people would do to him if anybody knew.
He was far from being an angel, and for a long time, he had always been one of the fallen angels that God lost. Sometimes he wonders if he even had a chance to become one of them, or if the moment he opened his eyes in this dreadful world, he was considered part of the damned souls.
Nova knew he was never going to have a chance, but it was worth it in a way.
Or maybe he was only making matters worse, waving himself to be a piece of meat for others to dive right into, like wolves feasting on his skin and bone until there was nothing left of him. Just a lonely name and a mere thought that came to mind ever so often.
There’s a voice that calls out his name, one that he’s unfortunately grown prone to.
Chills run down his spine as he looks up, and at the podium stood the pastor. His eyes were glued on him, waiting for a response to the call of his name. Those eyes stripped him, every layer of clothing and skin he wore, all the way down to his bones and organs.
With his hands folded in front of him, he fidgets. Anxiety bubbles in his stomach, his chest, and his throat becomes dry. Does he know?
Like always, he takes a step forward, silent, and head bowed down while he forces down the nervousness, shocking his nerves. Tomorrow, he’s supposed to be celebrated. Taken in under God’s wing to be amongst the others around him, to be pure, cleansed of his dirty blood and drawn anew.
It was beautiful, a new way to find a better version of yourself, to start fresh. To him, it seemed sacrificial in a way he couldn’t prove his point. Tomorrow, he was to be baptized. After months of following the rules, behaving himself.
The pastor praised him for it, too much and too far. His words always stuck to Nova the wrong way, feeling like he was being force-fed the words that were shoved down his throat until he threw them up, again and again.
It was always “Good boy,” and never “Good job,” or “Good kid”.
He was being set up for failure.
When church was over, his father patted him on the back, saying how proud he was of him finally becoming a man. Nova was nowhere near becoming a man, and only he and God knew that. If there was ever such a thing as God to begin with.
Was it something people believed in because they were scared?
To abuse their power against others and say it was God’s plan?
Stepping inside the house felt foreign, like it was a new place Nova had never been. He knew why his own home felt foreign to him, the tightness in his chest that hadn’t gone away since they left. It always goes away when they leave church, so why was it different now?
Was it because he lied his way up to the top? Telling the pastor what he wanted to hear while Nova held secrets in the back of his mind, telling him that he had behaved. He’s anything but pure, and his blood has been dirty for quite some time.
He doesn’t know if cleansing it will do him any good — if anything, it might make it worse, like a stain that won’t come out and only worsens the more you scrub.
Right when Nova is about to go up to his room, he’s stopped the second one foot steps upon the first step of the stairs, and then he looks to his left when his father comes over. A small, fatherly smile is plastered on his father's face while he clasps a hand over his shoulder.
The contact nearly makes him stumble back, but he holds his ground, hand gripping the railing to keep himself upright.
“I’m proud of you, y’know,” he says, his voice warm. It’s rare when Nova makes his father proud, let alone gets this kind of praise from him.
Nova smiles, lips pressed together tight. He realizes that it’s barely a smile, but it’s enough to convince his father, apparently. “All because of you,” he reponds, forcing the words from his chest until he can’t keep up with the lies.
“I learned from the best.”
This is sickening; it feels like his father is trying to pressure him into speaking the truth. He can tell by the look on his face, and his hand is squeezing his shoulder lightly in a comforting way. If Nova could see himself, he’d be able to point out the nervousness bubbling in his chest.
His hands are clammy, and his heart beats against his chest mercilessly, like somebody or something is beating on his sternum from the inside.
“I’m uh– I’m gonna be in my room,” Nova speaks up, hoping to get away from this situation and bury it in the back of his mind. Finally, his father removes his hand from his shoulder, with that same warm and comforting smile on his face as Nova trudges upstairs, pretending that everything is fine.
And everything is, in fact, not fine. Everything is crumpling down on him, between his father and tomorrow. He just wants to run away from all of his problems and start new, a fresh start with somebody by his side who won’t judge him.
They could run away together and forget about this place, its people, and its beliefs that bring people down from who they are.
The bedroom door clicks softly, and Nova leans back against it, letting out a sigh until there is no more air left in his lungs. For a moment, he let his eyes linger on the rug. And if he were to repent for his lies and sins, would it do him any good?
His body trembles when he takes a step forward, the floorboards creaking below him until he falls to his knees right beside his bed. How could he try to get God to forgive him now?
It feels wrong, but he clasps his hands together, staring down at the floor beneath him while his thoughts are running a hundred miles an hour. And not a single one is coherent to him. So now, he forces himself to do the one thing he’s always hated, even as a child.
“It’s… been a while since I last talked to you,” his words slur quietly, his softly spoken whispers filling his bedroom. “You’ve heard me lie, seen me do horrendous things, but…” his breath gets caught in his throat, which then begins to burn.
As if God himself is choking the confession out of Nova. “I know I haven’t been the best of sons,” Nova continues while his own whispers echo in his head. “The things I’ve done are wrong, I know that, I just–” he cuts himself off, sniffling while tears try to blur his vision.
He swallows, his throat dry, while he leans his head back, “Why did you make me this way?” He questions, “If what I do is a sin, then why does temptation consume me? If I’m to look at another man and think nothing else of him, why do I look at them and want something more?”
“I wanna see you, to believe in you, but how am I supposed to when the one thing I want most is a sin?”
Nova fights back tears, his bottom lip quivering while his chest aches more than it already does. If his meaning of love is a sin, then why does he crave what he knows he shouldn’t have? It feels like a never-ending battle with himself every waking hour.
He’s even tried to ignore what his heart wants and force himself to like women, like how society wants him to. But it isn’t the same. His heart doesn’t beat rapidly, and he doesn’t grin from ear to ear while his face heats up.
A sob slips right past him, muffling them with palms of his hands over his mouth. He wants to be what his father tells him to; he just wishes it were under certain circumstances. But that’ll never happen, not as long as his skin and bones roam the earth, that’ll eventually have no meaning in the end.
“Is this your way of punishing me?”
It's an empty question left up in the air, something meaningless for him to figure out on his own, just like all of his other questions that remain unanswered.
The room goes silent, and every once in a while, Nova hears a faint noise from downstairs. He squeezes his eyes shut, and as soon as they close, he’s opening them again. Then the back of his hand wipes at his now wet eyes.
He looks around the room, his throat sore from holding back some of his cries. Then, when he stands, he feels shaken up, his hands trembling. This is embarrassing; he’s crying over something he knows he’ll never be able to have, and thinks it's normal to others. And to him, that means he’ll be alone in the end.
Which makes him think he should see what Henry’s doing.
And here he thought he could only talk about his guilt to himself, although telling him certain things makes Nova wary. No, he can count on Henry. He feels like they're doing ok, even though Henry doesn’t want to label their relationship. But that’s fine, as long as nothing changes between them.
Nova sighs, his shoulders slumping forward while the tension in them eases just slightly.
When night comes, and his father is asleep, he’ll sneak out and meet up with him. He really needs someone to talk about this to.
༺ꨄ︎༻
The stairs creak under the weight of Nova’s feet, careful where to step and when. And when he reaches the front door, he hesitates. He’s never hesitated before; these are the times when he can be himself without people's differences staring him down, looking right through him.
He has a weird feeling about tonight, as if something will happen. No, nothing’s going to happen; he’s just overthinking tomorrow, that’s all.
Slowly, he turns the handle and slips past it, closing it as quietly as when he opened it.
And when he walks across the street, there’s not a single living soul in sight. The street lamps glow dimly, and the shops are pitch black as Nova moves quietly. There’s no curfew for the town, as far as he’s aware.
He thinks that people are just afraid of those myth stories told in pubs by drunken men, something about… ghouls? Whatever that even means, he’s heard them be called other names, but he just doesn’t care to know.
They’re only fables to begin with, something to scare you at night, and you never want to go out again.
Plus, he’s not a child. He doesn’t need to be told stories.
The block is nearly pitch black by the time Nova reaches Henry’s, and he couldn't care less how late at night it is. Either way, he knows that he’ll be awake. Sometimes he wonders if he even sleeps on some of the nights he’s shown up at randomly.
Nova moves around quietly, making his way to the side of the home. The dark swallows him whole, and right now would have the perfect time for the moon to be out, and he can’t see shit. He blindly searches for something small on the ground, deciding on the pebble that grazes his fingertips.
Then he takes a step back, his head tilted back while he throws at the window to Henry’s bedroom. The pebble ticks against the glass, then somewhere around him, he hears a quiet thud as it lands on the ground again.
It’s only moments before the window opens, and a head is peeking out from over the edge in Nova’s perspective.
“Can I come in?” Nova keeps his voice low, eyes locked on the boy above him. With a nod, Henry disappears, and the window is shut. Nova makes his way back to the front, standing at the top of the stairs as faint footsteps echo from inside.
The sound of a lock clicks, and the door opens with a low creak. Nova looks up and smiles a little, exhaustion visible, while Henry steps aside to let him in. It’s a silent and wordless conversation between them until Nova finds himself sitting on the edge of the bed in his room upstairs.
Nova can’t help but debate whether or not this is a good idea — the endless ways this could go just by telling Henry how he’s feeling. And at this point, Nova might as well have been lying to the entire town with his guilt and lies that spew from his mouth.
Eventually, Henry shuts the door and sits next to him, the mattress sinking beside him while they sit shoulder to shoulder.
He keeps his hands buried in his lap, picking at his nails, skin, whatever he can to keep himself distracted. “Everything ok?” The boy next to him starts, only for it to seem impossible to come up with the words in his mind.
On the way here, Nova practised what he wanted to tell him, and now every word etched into his brain is gone. In response, he shrugs, because he doesn’t trust himself to talk right now.
The silence between them is agonizing, and Nova needs to say something before he crumples in on himself. His lips part, like he has the courage to say something, but nothing comes out. It happens once, twice, and by the third time, he forces the words lodged in his throat.
“M’supposed to be baptized tomorrow,” He says, his voice giving out on him.
At the corner of his eye, Henry smiles, “That’s good–”
“It’s not,” Nova cuts in, his breath trembling, “Not when I’ve lied, and god, Henry, you should know too,” he continues, standing up while the other stays where he is.
While he paces around the room, he stops right in front of him. “Even with all of the confessions, it's not enough, not unless I confess the truth.” Tears are in his eyes as he says that, his chest aching all over again. “I’m terrified,” Nova whispers, “and I don’t know what to do.”
Silence falls between them again, and right now, Nova just wants to hide from everything. He wishes he had never existed.
“And I love you.”
He didn’t mean for those words to slip out, not yet at least. He can tell by the look on Henry’s face that he wasn’t expecting it either, and he can’t tell if he wants to say it back or yell at him.
Before he knows it, Henry’s scooting over, patting the empty seat next to him.
He didn’t say it back.
Nova sighs, finding his place back beside him on the bed again. He made it awkward, of course, he would. He shouldn’t have come here in the first place; he should have stayed home and tried to make his own problems go away overnight.
Of course, he was smart enough to know that wasn’t going to happen.
If only.
And Nova only digs his grave deeper when he turns to look at the boy next to him, because when he does, Henry looks back at him. Before he can even try to stop himself, he’s leaning in, pressing his lips against the others.
Temptation
An endless craving.
Any other time they’ve kissed, it's been softer, more gentle. This one isn’t, at least not to Nova. His stomach turns at the thought, uncertainty settling beneath his skin while he tries to pull away, but he feels suffocated, like his chest and everything beyond that are caving in on itself.
“Henry,” he breathes when he gets the chance to pull away. There’s a small hum while Henry leans back in, barely a gap left between them. A hand rests on his thigh, and Nova wants to puke.
“What are you doing?” A question like that almost seems absurd; he just can’t help but ask because he didn’t come here for this. The moment the words leave his mouth, the other laughs to himself, “You said you love me, right?”
He can’t help but nod, every muscle in his body tensing up, his body already aching. “Yeah,” is all he can come up with, because what else is he expected to say in a situation like this?
“This isn’t why I came, though,” his voice comes out shaky, and of course, Henry is quick to catch on to his nervousness. And the other shrugs, “You have such a pretty face,” is what Nova’s told, as if it’ll make him feel better.
Not like this, not right now.
Please not right now.
Those are the only thoughts going on in his head while his stomach turns until it becomes nauseated.
“And you might feel better,” Henry pushes, a grin forming, “Won’t take long, either.”
Who’s he to think such a thing? Nova’s never even done this. What does he say or even do? He doesn’t like this; he just wants to go home now.
Fingernails dig into the meat of his thigh, giving him no choice but to keep still while he reluctantly nods, his throat burning as guilt only hits him harder. As if it couldn’t hit any harder than it already has today. Now, it just laughs right at him, taunting him while he hides himself in a corner in the back of his mind.
And what little innocence and purity he had left is ripped away from him with each piece of clothing taken off by what used to be gentle and caring hands, and every whisper and feather-like kiss turns into teeth and harsh words, along with his skin screaming with every touch.
Now, Nova realizes that this was God’s way of getting back at him for everything he'd done and lied about, and he was being punished by the one thing he craved.
He was being punished by love.
The walk back home feels farther away than getting where he previously was, and it's so much lonelier, too. The night sky reminds him that nobody is around, tucked into their beds while their pretty heads rest. Everyone except for him, who shuffled along the sidewalk with his arms wrapped around himself, sniffling every so often, until it became a habit, until he reached the entrance of his home.
And for the first time, he was relieved to be here, where it was safe. He now realizes why his father always told him the things he did, or why there were certain things he didn’t allow.
He always thought it was some fairytale bullshit that made him think his father was mad.
Nova could really use a hug from him right about now. And of people, he wishes he could tell him all of his wrongdoings, along with what Henry did. But would his own father believe him? Or only be blinded by the fact that he’s a sinner and going to Hell with all of the other damned souls?
Can he even tell anybody at all?
He can’t, they’re too blinded by religion and sins.
Nova’s alone, more alone than when he walked home, more alone than things were going right between him and Henry. And even if he were to speak up to the non-believers, they’d laugh and say that he’s committed something unnatural.
When he reaches his room, he shuts the door behind him, changes into something different, and sits on his knees beside his bed.
He stares at the blankets flattened out neatly against the mattress, pillows stacked. And not a single thought comes to mind, just words that come out on their own.
“How am I supposed to have faith when all you’ve done is give me no choice but to repay for my mistakes?” his voice comes out hoarse, throat dry. Even when he swallows, it feels like sand being poured down his throat.
His body aches, but his chest feels like it’s going to explode with the tension built up inside.
As he expected, no answer, not even a sign. Just an empty question left for himself.
༺ꨄ︎༻
Waking up in the morning was Hell.
And when Nova finally got himself out of bed, he proceeded to stare at himself in the mirror for what felt like an eternity. He was dressed; he only needed to put on his shoes and button his shirt. But he couldn’t help but stare at his chest, his sides, his neck, his shoulders, everywhere.
In the end, only tears were brought to his eyes while guilt consumed him whole. Throughout his bones, his veins, his stomach. He felt haunted in a way he couldn’t explain.
He didn’t feel right in his own skin; he could still feel those wandering hands that burned, and his mind kept telling him otherwise, reminded of the thoughts he had had nearly hours ago.
How could he tell anybody if he agreed to it? He agreed even when he said otherwise. So it was only a dead end; there was no one he could rely on.
There’s a knock on the door, which startles him out of his thoughts. He buttons his shirt, then turns around when the door opens. “Just wanted to make sure you were awake,” his father says, and he can tell by the tone of his voice that there's something else he wants to say.
Nova only nods, staring back at him while his father looks around his room awkwardly.
“Dad? You ok?” He asks. What if he somehow knows?
His father nods, “Of course, why?”
You look like you’re worried about me, like you know something I don’t.
But Nova only shakes his head, forcing a small, subtle smile, “Just checking,” he hesitates, drawing the words out. It’s left at that. No nod, no smile, or any other word spoken. Just an awkward silence and the sound of his bedroom door closing.
He exhales slowly, coming out in short, unsteady breaths while he turns toward the mirror again, giving his hands something to do while he fixes the collar and cuffs of his shirt. Nova doesn’t want to go; he just wants to hide out in his room until everybody forgets about his existence.
When he’s finally done fidgeting with his clothes anxiously, he puts on what his father considers his nicest shoes and heads downstairs, where, speaking of, his father stands waiting for him.
Thankfully, the walk is quiet, for the most part at least.
To others, it was just a father and son walking silently together, and Nova liked the idea of that. A version of himself where he’s perceived as another town’s person living amongst others, a stranger who might have a better life than the person observing him.
Or, maybe they might think of him as the most miserable person ever. They’re not wrong; that's one word to describe how he’s feeling and everything that falls in line with it.
As they near the church, his neck grows hot, and his palms are already clammy. They haven't even gotten there yet, and he’s a mess. Someone might as well run in between him and his father and push him into the street and into an oncoming vehicle.
His legs feel like cylinder blocks when he walks up the three steps and down a path to the building that has it out for him. And stepping foot inside the building might as well be considered him a walking flame.
Usually, Nova and his father sit in the middle section of the pews, but because of him, they’re sitting in the front fucking row. Nova wants to run, maybe somewhere he’s never even heard of, something new and not this, not some humiliation ritual in front of at least forty-five people, including his dad.
Nova can feel it already; he’s going to puke.
He stands with his hands behind his back, more so to keep himself from fidgeting, but now he barely fights to stay still with the way he keeps shifting his weight from one leg to the other. Then he catches himself slowly but surely chewing on his lip.
This is bad; he needs to get out of here. But how, when he’s about to be the center of attention?
A door opens, and everybody looks up, including him, and so far, everything is going smoothly. The pastor clears his throat, flips to a page, and looks at everyone who's standing, including him. But then the door opens again a few seconds later, so everyone looks, including him.
Nova barely has time to react before his stomach cuts him off, bile and spit spewing from his mouth. And of course, the sudden sound of a gag would bring everybody’s eyes to you immediately.
What the fuck is Henry doing here?
Every nerve and muscle lock up while Nova’s eyes stay glued to the floor, but his arm comes up to his mouth in a panic, wiping whatever vomit was on his mouth. He forces his eyes up, only to be met with the pastor’s.
Then they flicker right next to him. Why wouldn’t they?
“Do you mind if I have a word with your son?” The pastor asks.
His father nods, “Of course, is everything ok?”
This time, the pastor only nods and gives him another look before he turns around. Nova has no choice but to follow, and all he can think is: “Can it get any worse?”
It did, and he should have known better than to think of such an idiotic question.
Nova’s heart is hammering against his chest as he looks around the room, no longer in the same room as his father, let alone the town’s people. This felt worse, and maybe it was. He was alone in the pastor’s office with him, and in the corner was Henry, who stood quietly.
Everything felt like it was closing in on him, crashing down all at once.
“Something was brought to my attention this morning,” he starts.
Nova barely reacts to those words because how else is he going to react? He already embarrassed himself when he caught a glimpse of Henry while already feeling sick to his stomach. All he can do is bury his face in the palms of his hands as he’s lectured.
And there’s no use in denying what he’s done; only he isn’t the only one who’s committed things that weren’t right. “Henry told you, didn’t he?” Nova questions, “Is that why he’s here?”
He doesn’t need to look up to know that the pastor nodded, the silence alone being enough of an answer to him. Then Nova nods once while he gathers the courage to look the older man in the eyes, “Then you should know I’m not the only one under the influence,” he admits.
There’s a flicker of confusion in his eyes, and before Nova can continue, he’s being cut off. “What Henry told me was different, saying that you forced him into these acts,” the pastor says. And Nova’s heart stops. “Is it true that you forced my son into these things?”
Forced?
Son?
Everything inside Nova stops, his heart, and every other organ keeping him alive.
He doesn’t even know what to say. And when he does open his mouth, his breath comes out short and uneven. “I didn’t… I– I didn’t force him to do anything,” it comes out as a whisper, tears filling his eyes in a panic, “He was the one who…”
The thought of telling Henry’s father terrified him. But he was going to let this go, and Nova needed his part of the story told. “He what? Speak up, boy,” the pastor says, irritation laced. Nova can’t breathe, and with every breath he takes, his lungs shrink.
“We did nothing more than kiss, he was the one who pushed beyond that!” he shouted, more in a panic than anything. Now he sits with his chest tighter than ever while his hands tremble in his lap.
The words are forced from his throat, leaving a bitter aftertaste while the room falls silent. And as Nova stares at the pastor, he stares back with horror. “But of course, I’m the monster here, right? All because of my beliefs, my version of love, to be happy,” he goes on, and finally, the pastor stands.
“You’re encouraged to confess your sins, to put this in the past,” the older man says.
“And if I don’t?” Nova asks, out of spite more than anything.
The pastor barely glances at him before he’s walking out of the room. And now he’s left alone with yet another burden, one that is present in the corner of the room. Nova stands, hands still trembling, while he makes a beeline for the door.
And right now, he wishes something would come crashing down on him.
༺ꨄ︎༻
As Nova stands in the cellar, he’s met with the mutilated body. It’s managed to seep out even more, leaving behind a smell that he’s grown used to. His feet echo against the floor, stopping at the edge of where a pool of blood begins, and he stares down at what used to be a face from his past.
A face he once loved that eventually expired in the back of his mind, only for it to come years later. If Jenna hadn’t been there, he would have tortured the man far worse. Taunting him with each broken bone while he laughed in his face, reminding him of the pain he was put through.
He could tell that even after all these years, Henry recognized him. But teeth and nails ripped into him before he could get a word out to Nova, only his pleas for his own useless life.
Henry got what he deserved in the end, and Nova always had a feeling that he’d be the cause and effect of it, coming together bit by bit. Jenna didn’t deserve whatever Henry put her through, and he surely didn’t either.
Slowly, Nova crouched beside the body. What was once a younger, scrawny boy soon turned into an older and more plump being that had no place to be called human. All while Nova stayed the same, his consciousness was the only thing that aged.
His fingernails drag over the body’s chest, and right in the middle of its sternum, he cracks it open and reaches inside. And while his hands were squelching, feeling around until he found what he was looking for.
With his hands tainted black, a crimson red drips from his wrist, his fingertips. And in his palms, what once used to beat lies a heart that was filled with nothing but pure hatred and rot. Then he raised it to his mouth, biting into the tissue as if it were skin without a care.
And maybe then, Nova could understand why the pastor’s son was the way he was.