This Sunday night there is Holy Mass. At last, I will have some peace, and finally I will be able to see who I want to see, even if only from afar.

A stream of people enters through the door of the church. How nice it would be if there were no end to it, if the flow never stopped, if all the benches were filled, if there weren't enough and they had to build another church, and another, and another. But it is too much to ask for such an abandoned place. It is too much to ask for the city too, for this country perhaps.

It must be the fifteen people I saw today around the car I kicked, maybe less. I never thought I' d say that sentence in my life. I shouldn't have kicked that bumper, my toes still sting a little. But the pain doesn't matter, the embarrassment doesn't matter either, because when we start, it's all going to go away. No matter how small the crowd, anyone who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will receive His blessing, no matter how small the congregation.

My seat is the same one in which I heard the welcome. Although it was a mark of my rocky start, I can now re-signify it with this service. Things are about to begin.

From the west wing, through the left door, comes a stream of boys in black robes, our male peers. My eye examines their faces. It stops on one, discards it, searches for the other, until at last I hit my target.

Of all of them, there is one who hurries up, takes the seat in the other row, at my height on the bench beyond. Finally, finally I can see you.

David looks at me.

The world around us seems to darken. Only the two of us exist, above our heads two large spotlights, surrounding us is blackness. The noises disappear little by little, they are filtered by our senses, the only image we see is what really matters: we see each other. Our distance is so little, but enough that we cannot communicate without shouting, breaking into this great silence. If we both stretched out maybe we could reach each other, if only with our hands.

His eyes are tired, haggard. But they don't blink, they watch me and wait. I give him a smile, a very slight one. Right now, I would scream, without a care in the world, but I'm too much of a coward.

But this seems enough for him, his face lights up, I can tell it cheers him up. Can a smile be that much of a comfort? I ask myself and my question is immediately answered by his. That hand that was squeezing my neck, my stomach and my chest loosens its grip.

I missed seeing your face. The last time I saw it, your expression was so bitter, so sad. And I was the one who caused it to you. But now your features have softened, the corners of your lips lift just a little, your eyes give a little twinkle.

And suddenly an unholy image is superimposed on the tenderness of his face by my own mind. The face of ecstasy, the lost look that moaned my name. I squeeze my thighs together, as if that could help me, my face turns red, I open my mouth. It's the cursed heat. My thoughts are getting turbulent.

And his face turns red too... why? Was it my gaze, does my gaze look so lecherous? My throat goes dry.

He squeezes his legs too, swallows so hard, I can even hear it from here. He opens his mouth a little, lets out a sigh. I swear I can hear it.

Such a naughty sigh.

I can't look away, neither can he. I see his body, he sees mine, and he's so vicious when he looks at me, it's unfair. Now we know what's hidden beneath our robes. It's hard to keep still in our places.

His face suddenly changes once again. I have no doubt, it's that look he had when he was touching me. In a second, he tenses completely, disengages from my sight and tries to cover his crotch, bringing his hands to it, an almost reflex action.

¡...!

Did he... Did he have one? Looking at me? Remembering? This is wrong, more than wrong, this is the house of the Lord.

I remember well when I got on top of him, how crazy he was, how hot his body felt.

I feel a tingling that invades my.... it's annoying if I don't attend to that discomfort. I bring my hands to my thighs, but no further. David follows them with his eyes. Is this what you always felt when you were going to wake me up? How could you stand it?

I suddenly see David spread his legs a little apart, and lift his pelvis slightly, pressing his robe down.

Ah! I can see it, he lets me see it through his clothes, the effect I have on him. How dare you... how dare you...

You're going to have to punish him.

Soon he returns to his position, he hides from me. I look into his eyes, he knows where mine have been a few moments ago, he smiles satisfied with his lewd tenderness.

I respond with a kiss in the distance. His body stiffens almost completely and his expression changes to that of a wounded man. It was a devastating attack Where does he imagine I gave him that kiss?

Curse the heat, I can't take it anymore.

Careful.

Our obscene little world of two is interrupted by a shadow passing between us. A figure that leaves such a thick trail, a wall that deprives me of David's body. It is the headmistress. Something is wrong, her face full of anger. She doesn't even seem to be paying attention to us, she's just heading for the altar.

I dare not look to my side. If I make that mistake again, I'm going to do something crazy in here. The headmistress was an emissary of God who saved me. Although the fear is not enough to extinguish the heat, not completely.

This is how the world recovers color, the sound invades my eardrums again, the lights blind me. It is not the noise of people talking, it is the noise of people just being, sitting, settling, moving their feet. To think I could have left this place so easily. If someone saw us... I look at Raquel on the other side of me...

“¿...?”

Suddenly she notices my gaze. For a few seconds she catches my eyes with hers, but averts them. There doesn't seem to be anything strange.

“Is everything all right? You're all flushed.”

“It's the heat.”

Déjà vu. Good news.

I dare not look at anyone but the headmistress now. Her face gets all the attention.

She's had a fight with the messy-haired boy, maybe. Perhaps it was with the pharmacist. She probably found the two of them talking. Maybe the conflict stemmed from there. But I feel there is something else.

I remember the girl's words, «The head of the pseudo-convent» That way of speaking is similar to my mother's, the way she talks about churches now. Maybe the encounter was with her. And if that girl knows her name…

Too many conclusions for so little information. The only truth is the present face of the headmistress. Its intensity serves to replace my heat with fear more and more. It's terrifying to look at her, but more terrifying to look away and have her gaze find yours wandering.

So again, she is going to preside, and this time a Holy Mass. Not unheard of, but not at all the norm, although it is explained by the lack of priests everywhere. A woman at the altar is a rare sight unless she is saying yes at the nuptials.

I've given up on the idea of saying yes, but maybe I can touch the altar after all.

We begin at last.

My shoulders relax and fall rested, my hands seem to have let go of a heavy load and now rest from their hard work. I manage to feel peace in my soul. This is what I was missing, the ritual of this meeting, the familiarity. Oh, if only this tranquility could last forever and take this heat away from me...

But here comes the Penitential Act. We must give an account of our faults aloud, repeating what the priest, or in this case, the headmistress, says.

“My brothers, my sisters, let us acknowledge our sins, and so prepare ourselves to celebrate the sacred mysteries,” says the headmistress to the congregation.

Is there anything you want to say?

A strong lump in my throat.

“I confess to almighty God”

What are you going to confess?

“I confess to almighty God” the voices rise, mine does too.

“And to you, my brothers and sisters,”

Are you going to tell them?

“And to you, my brothers and sisters,” I find my lips faltering.

“That I have greatly sinned,”

The voice laughs loudly. It echoes through the temple, louder than all the others, blocking out their voices.

“In my thoughts and in my words,”

«Sharon... Sharon, please» David's sultry voice pleading for my body invades my mind.

“In what I have done and in what I have failed to do,”

What I have done...

My arms are too weak to touch my chest. From the corner of my eye, I see the others on my bench, their hands in place.

“Through my fault, through my fault,”

My robe suffocates me.

“Through my most grievous fault.”

I bite my lips.

“Therefore, I ask blessed Mary Ever-Virgin,”

…

“All the Angels and Saints,”

…

“And you, my brothers and sisters,”

…

“To pray for me to the Lord our God.”

I want to cry.

“May almighty God have mercy on us, forgive us our sins, and bring us to everlasting life. Amen.”

“Amen," I say late, when everyone else has already said it. I don't know if anyone can hear my voice.

Remnants of those invasive ideas are like little threads. The simple act of being aware of these threads transforms them into ropes that, like a crawling animal, strangle my wrists and guide me towards those memories once again. They cannot vanish, they cannot disappear.

And deep down, I don't want them to.

How to account for my faults like this, when even my underwear is wet with my own filth?

I follow the rest of the Holy Mass by inertia. Words, rituals that once brought me calm do nothing but condemn me now.

The ordeal is finally over. I was able to hold my gaze, which never left the headmistress, but was never really fixed on her. People leave and we do the same.

I fix all my attention on the exit, where I must go. But I can't help it, I don't want to help it. There, about to leave God's house, I look back and time seems to slow down a little.

I find his face, still a little rosy. We had the same idea, in opposite places. I just want to give him my smile, I hope that will accompany him and not my lewdness. But I can't know, I don't know how I'll be used in his mind, and he doesn't know how I'll use him in mine. We disappear with these thoughts.

We eat, sanitize ourselves and go to bed. It's not easy to fall asleep, again. But for different reasons this time. I don't pray. It's not that I've forgotten.

I just can't help it. When the lights are off and darkness reigns, with one hand I cover my mouth, with the other, I soothe the heat. I think of David doing the same thing and... it doesn't take long. I feel it again, that pleasure.

I don't pray. It's as if praying confronts me with God, as if He can see me in that moment only. But God sees everything, saw everything and will see everything. It is useless to try to escape, it is useless to try to hide.