Audacity (Seraph)

He laughs softly. ‘Not in the traditional sense of the word, no. Of course not. This isn’t about me trying to make you feel in any way exposed.’

I squint through the grille, drinking up every shadowed fragment of his profile as he speaks.

‘What is it about, then?’

‘These days, the act of confession is known as the Sacrament of Reconciliation. I’ve always far preferred that term. It’s less about exposing sins and more about restoring harmony and communion when there’s been a rupture. And it’s pretty clear there’s been a rupture between us, my darling, even if neither of us are to blame in the slightest.’

I’m quiet. His priest voice is soft and reassuring. It makes me feel safe and warm, even in this alien space, and his choice of words soothes me, even if he’s spot on about the rupture element.

Harmony. Communion. Restoring.

For the first time, I can see how speaking one’s truth in an enclosed space like this can lead one to feel less claustrophobic and more cloistered.

‘I know.’ My voice is small. I’m aware that he blames himself for what happened on Thursday, yet I’m the one who’s walled myself off and frozen him out. Just as Gabe has confessed to rallying his inner alpha male to advocate to his family for me, all my actions have been to protect him. To save him.

‘Are you willing to try something?’ He shifts again in his seat.

‘Why not?’ I know this man. I trust this man with my life. Taking a leap of faith on him in this moment, in this wooden, womb-like space, feels more like a baby step than a giant leap.

‘Okay, let’s try something.’ He clears his throat. ‘Athena, I’m Father Gabriel. I thank the Lord for your courage in coming here today and in seeking to open your heart.’ A weighty pause, during which I’m unsure whether to speak. But he continues in the softest voice: ‘I hear you’ve been having some troubles with your partner, and I wondered if you would feel comfortable telling me what scared you on Friday.’

So this is his game.

He’s not asking me to talk to him.

He’s asking me to talk about him.

I blow out a breath, my innate scepticism warring with a desire to try this for Gabe’s sake.

‘I’ve never done this before… Father.’

‘There’s no wrong way,’ he says gently. ‘Just speak what’s in your heart.’

He’s firmly back in priest mode, and I can already see how fully he embodies all those years of pastoral care. ‘He wanted to be’—I stumble over the words—‘intimate, and vulnerable. He kissed me, and he told me he loved me, and I wasn’t ready.’

‘Good. That’s good. Why do you think you weren’t ready?’

I squeeze my eyes shut, reliving that moment, trying to understand what it was about that conversation with the man of my dreams that felt like falling backwards off a cliff.

‘It was the way he looked at me. Like—like I was this precious, sacred thing, right at the time that I was feeling at my most humiliated and shamed and⁠—’

I stop dead, my eyes flying open.

He waits, but his silence feels less unnerving than accepting, as if he’s holding space for me.

‘Unworthy,’ I admit, hating the word while knowing it’s the truth.

‘What exactly did you feel unworthy of?’

‘Everything. The job he’d offered me. His love. Him.’

He’s perfectly still and composed in profile, as if he’s merely a compassionate ear and not the subject of my revelations.

I push on. It feels as though the truth is unravelling itself in my heart like a great ball of yarn. ‘The thing is, Father, this man knows everything about me. All the things I’ve done, that other people find so shameful. And yet he still looks at me like that.’

‘You know, Athena, that word worthy is very subjective. We’re all worthy of love, just as we’re all worthy of God’s grace. Both are freely given in abundance, but it’s up to us to build our capacity to accept them. That’s the key.’

‘I can think of a man who’d do well to remind himself of that,’ I say, and he laughs softly.

‘Yes, well, sometimes we have far greater clarity over the worthiness of others than ourselves. But I can tell you, you are worthy of this man’s love. He’s chosen you not despite of what you believe you’ve done, but precisely because of who you are. He loves all of you, your entire being, and he sees you fully.’

He hasn’t glanced in my direction once, and I know it’s his way of giving me as much space, as much safety, to purge myself. I’m quiet for a moment as I process. It strikes me that his point about our having to build our capacity to accept love is something that warrants further thought.

‘Okay,’ I say. ‘I hear what you’re saying.’

‘What do you think scares you most about being loved?’

I consider. I’m someone who has a pretty high opinion of myself. I’m used to being desired, respected, feared, even.

‘It’s being loved by him that scares me.’

‘Because…’

‘Because he’s the best man I’ve ever known, and I love him so, so much, and I’ll do anything to protect him.’

He inhales raggedly, and I’m so happy I could give him this, at the very least. It suddenly feels so urgent that he knows how very indelibly he’s written his name on my heart.

When he speaks again, his voice is thick with emotion. ‘Why on earth would you think he needs you to protect him from loving you?’

‘Because he’s so good and pure, and he doesn’t see it. He’s been struggling with his sense of worth, too, and he’s already given up so much—his vocation, and his family’s approval, and he’s been on a journey to get all that back.’ I pause. ‘I don’t want to be the person who jeopardises all that for him.’

‘Why do you think you would jeopardise it?’

‘Because he’s chosen someone who’s the precise opposite of who he was trained to be or to want.’

‘I see. So you think you need to protect him from his own desires, is that it?’ He sounds weary, but the slow way he speaks those words tells me he’s finally beginning to understand what prompted my hissy fit in his office.

‘Yes.’

‘Because that’s your job. That’s what you’ve always done—you’ve had to run the show throughout your career. And he’s been leaning on you, so you have no faith in his ability to look after himself.’

‘I have faith in him,’ I say quickly, because he’s making it sound like I have a low opinion of him. ‘I just—I’ve always been the strong one, and I was happy to be that for him while he was going through so much uncertainty in his life. I don’t want to be a complication for him.’

He hangs his head for a long moment. Then he turns and looks directly at me through the grille. ‘Will you still feel comfortable talking to me if I take you out of there?’

‘Of course,’ I say. It’s true. I will. This scene he so cleverly created has had its desired effect of opening my heart and loosening my tongue, but there are things Gabe and I need to say to each other.

This confessional has served its purpose.

He stands and exits his little box, swinging open my door a moment later. As he holds out his hand to me, I gaze up at him. He’s so beautiful, and I feel honoured to see him like this. His priest outfit is objectively very sexy, but it’s not only a uniform. It’s clear that he’s embodying his former office with all of his being, and it’s wonderful to behold.

We sit together on the bed, side by side, and he clasps my hand on his thigh as I lay my head on his shoulder, inhaling the scent of him like an addict.

‘What you said in there was so brave,’ he tells me. ‘Do you think that’s what really scares you? Not just feeling unworthy of love, but having to put all your trust in someone else to be strong for you, even when it gets hard?’

I mull his words over. I am an island; there’s no doubt about it. I have my support system, but at the end of the day, if you want to build a safety net that can catch you when you fall, you have to build it yourself. That’s the only way you’ll know it’s secure.

‘I would say that’s absolutely terrifying,’ I admit with a little shudder, and he laughs softly, as if that’s no surprise to him.

‘What if I told you,’ he asks softly, ‘that I truly believe I can be that for you? I’ll admit, when you met me I was flailing. I was purposeless and out of my depth and shame-filled. And out of all that came you and me, and you blew me away. Your confidence is so infectious, you know that? You pulled me along with you, and suddenly I found I could swim on my own. Everything I’m fired up about in life is down to you, sweetheart, and I know, I just know, I’m strong enough to be the man you need.’

I turn my head and press my face into his shoulder, not trusting myself to speak. God, how are he and I so good at seeing the best in each other and so bad at seeing it in ourselves?

‘I have to say,’ he continues, wrapping an arm around me, ‘I find it quite ironic that you’re scared of weakening me, when you’re the one who helped me find my true strength.’

I groan my acknowledgement, my tears dampening the fabric of his shirt. ‘The fallen priest and the fallen woman. Are we a punchline?’

‘No. I’d say we’re pretty fucking magical together. May I propose a different narrative?’

‘Ugh. Please do.’

‘What if… we both stand down and stop trying to be such martyrs for each other? I expect it of myself, but from someone who doesn’t have a religious bone in her body I’d expect more self respect.’

I manage a laugh at that. ‘The only religious bone I have in my body tends to be your dick.’

‘And there she is.’ He sighs. ‘Look. What if we stop trying to protect each other and just focus on loving each other? Celebrating each other? What if we accept that we deserve a bit of happiness, hmm? And that we’re both strong, but together we’re unstoppable.’

‘I said that in your kitchen,’ I mumble. I feel completely drained. That confessional was one hell of an emotional wringer.

‘Mairead said it about us yesterday, too. That’s what put it in my mind.’

‘Your sister thinks we’re unstoppable?’

‘She knows we’re unstoppable. And I think my parents do too, deep down.’

I raise my head and look at him through teary eyes. ‘I love you so much I can barely breathe, and I love you so much it’s terrifying.’

His smile breaks my heart. ‘I love you too, and I agree. It is terrifying. But I knew we’d find the stars together, even if the way wasn’t easy.’

Fuck, nothing about ripping your heart open for another human is easy, but I know it will be worth it.

My good, kind man.

My very own saint.

I’m just grateful he prefers playing the sinner in the bedroom.