Page 65 of On Your Knees

It’s so perfectly and simply expressed. The hopelessness. The utter aloneness. I recognize it at once—I feel it. But I’ve never painted it, not like this.

And yet I see that this is the truth, far more than what I intended to paint—and it’s not a sin.

Something breaks in me again, so sharp and sudden that I sway on my feet. Something is pouring through me, washing out all my strength, washing out all my anger.

I don’t want to paint him like this.

I don’t want him to feel like this.

I crouch and hook my arms around him. As I haul him up, he turns toward me. As I lift him, he latches onto me like he did in the park when I found him. As I carry him to my pallet in the corner, he starts sobbing.

I lie down with him. I slide my leg between his, hooking him in, pulling him closer. His face is pressed to my throat. The sobs wracking his body wrack mine too. I shudder through them, and I don’t let go.

TWENTY-THREE

Levi

I must have fallen asleep because I find myself drifting up from a dark, unthinking space. I’m aware first of the solid press of Ethan’s body and his limbs entwined with mine. We’re lying on our sides front to front. My face is tucked under his jaw. Then I become aware of his fingers stroking my hair.

I draw a deeper breath as I wake up more. I open my eyes a little. Pressed against him, I can’t really see anything, but I can tell there’s a light on somewhere behind me. A harsh light. The cellar light.

My heart sinks as I remember where we are and what brought us here. I remember what I did. All the things I did.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

Ethan’s hand stills for a moment then he resumes stroking my hair. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

I know that’s not true, but I can’t think enough to argue with him.

“I want to take you upstairs,” he says. “This isn’t a place I want you to be.”

I have questions, but I can’t get them to form, so I just nod.

Ethan sits up, pulling me up with him. We’re on a thin pallet on the stone floor. Ethan pulls aside a blanket that’s lying partway over us. As we get to our feet, he keeps his hands on me. I try to keep my hands on him too, but he’s moving too much. He picks up the blanket and draws it around my shoulders. I take the ends of it and pull it tight.

Ethan snags his sweats off the floor and drags them on, then he hooks an arm around me and guides me across the cold, eerie space of the cellar.

I see things but don’t really process them. I only know that this is a place of suffering. We walk to a different set of stairs than we came down. Ethan is limping. He walked through all that glass I broke. A heavy weight pulls down on my heart.

These stairs are wood, and our feet thump hollowly as we walk to the top. Ethan opens the door, letting in soft light. I follow him into some kind of pantry. I blink, gazing around as Ethan turns off the cellar light and closes the door.

The pleasant hominess of the pantry is surreal after the chilling dark of the cellar. The wood has that soft, old look, and the glass-paned cabinets hold pantry staples and tableware.

We both freeze at the sound of a door. Ethan puts his finger to his lips, signaling me to be quiet as he creeps past me and opens a drawer. I jolt as Ethan pulls out a gun. He motions for me to stay then slips out of the pantry into a hallway.

I hold my breath, listening tensely as Ethan moves down the hallway. Then he barks, “Jesus Christ, Patrick, you scared the shit out of me.”

I sag in relief.

“And what the fuck do you think you did to me when I walked into your penthouse and found that fucking mess and you were gone. Where the hell is Levi? And why are you limping?”

“Just… hold on,” Ethan mutters.

He comes back to the pantry. “It’s okay,” he tells me as he returns the gun to the drawer. “It’s just Patrick.”

I nod.

Ethan plants his hand on my lower back, and I walk with him into the hallway. It runs both directions, but I don’t have time to look behind me. Ethan leads me into a kitchen that confirms this is an old house.