CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 9

EZRA

I woke up with the taste of guilt in my mouth.

I’d barely slept. My eyes burned, but I dragged myself out of bed anyway. The sun bled weak light through the curtains, and my laptop still sat on my desk like a reminder of last night—what I’d done, what I’d thought about, who I’d thought about.

I pressed my palms into my eyes. “God, forgive me. Please forgive me.”

I didn’t eat. I didn’t want to. I grabbed my Bible instead and flipped it open. Read the same verse ten times without hearing a single word. My mind kept going back to him. To Father Vale. His hands. His voice. His body when I walked in on him shirtless.

I slammed the Bible shut.

No. I couldn’t think about that.

By the time Genevieve called me down for breakfast, I’d already decided: no food. I was fasting today.

“Ezra,” she said when I came down the stairs. “Toast and tea.” She smiled at me with that polished grace that made her seem like she ran the whole world. “Sit, darling.”

I shook my head. “I—I’m fasting.”

Her brows lifted, but she looked pleased. “Again? My, you’ve been very dedicated lately.”

I forced a smile. “Trying to stay focused.”

She nodded approvingly. “Discipline. That’s what separates a strong young man from the rest. Your peers are busy drinking, wasting time on nonsense. And here you are—devoted. Fasting. Praying. Singing for God.”

I sat at the table, hands clasped in my lap, stomach growling.

She sipped her tea. “Tell me, have you been keeping up with your singing lessons?”

“Yes.” My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat. “Every night.”

“Good. Your voice is a gift. Don’t waste it.”

I stared at the untouched toast. I wanted to say I already was wasting it—wasting myself. But she wouldn’t understand.

She smiled again. “And your studies? Keeping up?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Math and computer science. Very ambitious. You’ll have a future no one can take away from you.”

I nodded, but I didn’t feel ambitious. I felt hollow.

She studied me for a moment, her sharp eyes scanning like she could read every thought. My chest tightened. Could she see it? Could she tell what I’d done?

“Ezra,” she said softly, “you’ve grown into such a disciplined man. I’m proud of you.”

The words should have made me happy. They didn’t. They felt like a knife.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

After breakfast, I escaped back upstairs. Shut the door. Sat on the bed with my knees pulled to my chest.

I pulled out my rosary. My hands shook as I whispered prayer after prayer.

“Forgive me. Forgive me. I didn’t mean it. I won’t do it again. I swear.”

The words blurred together. My lips hurt from moving so fast. My stomach twisted, but I didn’t eat. Every pang felt deserved. Every dizzy spell felt like penance.

By afternoon, Genevieve knocked on the door.

“Ezra? Are you studying?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Keep at it.”

I heard her footsteps fade, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

I wasn’t studying. I couldn’t focus. I was sitting there, replaying that kiss. That second where my lips touched his. That frozen silence. His eyes—dark, unreadable. The way he looked at me like he wanted to step closer but didn’t.

I buried my face in my hands. “Stop thinking about him.”

But I couldn’t.

At dinner, she tried again.

“Ezra, you need to eat.”

“I’m fine.”

“Discipline is good, but your body is still growing. You’ll make yourself weak.”

“I’m not hungry.”

She gave me a long, searching look. “You’ve been quieter lately.”

“I’m just… focused.”

“Focused,” she repeated, nodding. “Yes. That’s the word. Good. Stay that way. The world is full of temptation. You must rise above it.”

The word temptation hit me like a punch. I flinched, even though she didn’t notice.

She leaned back in her chair. “Your parents would have been proud of you.”

My throat closed. I nodded quickly, blinking back the sting in my eyes.

“Thank you,” I managed.

She smiled, satisfied, and changed the subject to her board meetings.

I pushed food around my plate but didn’t eat.

That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. My stomach growled. My head hurt. My heart hurt worse.

I prayed again, over and over, until my voice cracked.

“Please, God. Take it away. Take him out of my head. Take this away.”

Silence answered me.

I rolled onto my side and pulled the blanket over my head, but it didn’t help. The image of him—shirtless, rosary dangling, sweat on his neck—burned behind my eyelids.

I pressed my hands together tight enough to hurt.

“I won’t fall,” I whispered to the dark. “I won’t. I won’t.”

But even as I said it, I wasn’t sure if I was trying to convince God… or myself.