He doesn’t know when it started. He can’t put an exact time
or date to when such blasphemy entered into his very thoughts. Can’t even lie
when the belt bites into his flesh and his mother calls him a sinner once more.
No, no, he can’t lie about this. He doesn’t want to.
Maybe it was following their third meeting that Credence
began to pray for the stranger once more. Thanking him for treating him with kindness
and charity in his nighttime prayers. Or maybe it’s after their seventh
meeting, when, Mister Graves is his name, stiches up the broken skin along his
back and palms. When Credence says in whispered tones under his breath thank you.
Maybe it was following their twentieth meeting when Percival
cups Credence head in his palms and brings their lips together. So wickedly
soft and sweetthat there is no way
that something such as this could be wrong. That this man was not a man but
something divine. Maybe it is after the fourth kiss in a row, when Credence
whimpers against Percival’s lips and thanks him over and over.
Maybe it happened when Credence lost count of all the times
they were together. When Percival kisses down his neck, whisper praises into
his skin, and oh so gently makes Credence see stars. When he manages to weaken
Credence’s legs and still kiss him with such fervor. When he tells him how good you are my boy, so good or that he
was sogorgeous, could keep you here forever Credence and it would still not
be enough time. When Percival leads him on shaky legs to satin sheets and
shows his love over and over again. When he kisses Credence and breathes
against his lips that he is special
and wonderful and mine.
He doesn’t know when it happens; cannot put an exact time or
date for when he claps his hands tight in prayer and no longer thinks of God.