Inside Đông Anh's bedroom.
"She's just jealous of me," Đông Anh muttered at the mirror. The argument in the car earlier with Ms. Tư still looped in his head.
"Greedy, huh?" He brushed a hand over the red marks scattered along his neck and chest. And instantly, he remembered what had caused them—those hungry lips that refused to stop biting, sucking, branding him. "Dung…" Đông Anh whispered. "Do these bruises count as the spoils you were after?"
He unbuttoned his shirt. His eyes ran over his body: the chest where so many kisses had been laid; down to the pale belly where a face had buried itself, lost in desire; the slim waist once held tight, fingers pressing hard into his skin. His cheeks flushed as the hot rhythm of lust came back. In the mirror, he saw again his own depraved look—a look he'd once thought could never exist in his devout soul.
That depravity was stirring now, demanding to be satisfied. He reached for his fly, then pulled back when his eyes caught the cross on the chain at his neck. He hesitated, examining himself, examining the mad feeling rousing him. For a devout believer, it was perverse—worthy of being cast out.
"I have to stop," Đông Anh told himself.
But then Dung's demon-face rose in his mind, breath burning hot at his nape, teeth scraping his ear, whispering:
"Can you really stop, sir?"
"Damn it… I can't." Đông Anh tore the chain from his neck and dropped it on the desk. He looked at his depraved self in the mirror. It was beautiful. It was decadent. He slid the zipper down and reached deep. The live wire of their evening coupling sprang back to life, wilder by the second with each quick snap of his wrist. His breath hitched. One hand braced on the table, holding up his sagging body. The push-and-pull rhythm made all four table legs shake.
Clack. Clack. Clack-clack. Clack-clack-clack-clack—thud.
The pendant—one side etched with the cross, the other with angel's wings—slipped to the floor. Đông Anh jolted, eyes wide, horror slamming into him.
.
Thud
The rosary slipped to the floor, and Đông Anh jolted. He stared at it. In its place, before his eyes, rose the vision of a bare-backed boy, writhing in the grip of passion. The longer he stared at the fallen beads, the clearer the face of that boy became.
"Mr. Út"
The sound of his name hit him like a thief caught red-handed.
"Mr. Út!"
Only when the voice called a third time did he come to, realizing where he was—inside church, Sunday morning mass.
"Pick up my rosary for me, will you?" the old woman behind him asked.
He bent down, lifted it, and handed it back with both hands. All around, the congregation's voices swelled together, offering the prayer to God. Đông Anh hurried to follow, forcing his heart and mind back into the church.
"Why on earth was I thinking of something like that now?" Đông Anh scolded himself. His eyes darted to the rows of beads in the hands of the other worshippers. Don't think of it again, he warned himself, even as his lips lagged behind the hymn of praise.
It was true—hard for any lamb to keep the temple of the soul pure when demons kept circling about. And there, one such devil in fine form was strolling down the aisle with the collection basket. His shoulders, broad and tempting beneath a shirt, his grin laid on thick for every woman he passed.
Seeing that, Đông Anh's brows tightened.
"Dung's never sincere with anyone," Ms. Tư's voice echoed in his head.
As Dung reached Đông Anh's pew, he deliberately brushed against his hand while passing the collection basket. One Dung's eyebrow arched in wicked tease, and Đông Anh's heart leapt. Blood rushed wildly through his veins, setting his whole body aflame. Dung's sly scent seeped into every corner of his mind, dragging him into illusion. Before Đông Anh's eyes, rosary after rosary slipped from the hands of worshippers, falling to the ground.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
Again, there appeared an image of himself writhing in ecstasy before the mirror, pleasuring alone. Outrageous!
"Út!" Dung nudged him, seeing the boy stand frozen while the entire congregation had already knelt in prayer. It was the first time Dung had ever seen him so dazed inside the holy hall.
Quietly, Dung withdrew to a corner of the church, watching Đông Anh. Barely a week had passed since they crossed the line of master and servant, and already he had witnessed so many faces of the young man: innocence interlaced with a dignified grace, shifting into a face of intoxicated abandon, and now… vacant, lost. Why is it like this? Dung wondered.
When the congregation rose to receive communion, Dung's eyes accidentally caught those of Madam Kim. Guilt stabbed him, shame for failing in the duty entrusted to him: to guard the boy's purity. At the thought, he quickly scanned the crowd for Đông Anh, only to see him slipping quietly out into the churchyard.
"What's wrong with him, that he won't even take communion?" Dung hurried after, weaving through the pews toward the one he longed for.
"Ahem, what sin have you committed, standing out here instead of taking communion?"
Đông Anh flinched, tense. Only when he recognized it was Dung approaching did he relax a little.
"What's wrong, Út? Tell me," Dung whispered, reaching for Đông Anh's hand. The boy instantly pulled back.
"This is a church!"
"Yeah."
"What if someone sees?"
"So what?"
Đông Anh frowned, glaring a warning.
"All right, all right, I'll stop teasing you. Don't frown like that! I've been watching you look sour all morning. What's the matter?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing? Then why skip communion? You must have sinned, huh?"
"Well…" Đông Anh glanced at Dung, as if about to shift the blame onto him, then swallowed it back.
"Well?"
"Well… it's because my mind isn't clean. All I've been thinking about are unholy things."
"So what? Same here. I didn't take communion either—been thinking only about you."
"Don't lie. You never take communion anyway, now you're pinning it on me."
"Not lying. I really am blaming you. All day long, I can't stop picturing… those hot, burning images of you."
"Cut it out!"
"Your ears are turning red—pretending like you haven't thought the same. Come on, let's go!" Dung seized his hand.
"What are you doing?" Đông Anh yanked it free.
"If your mind's not in the church, then let's leave. Mass is over anyway."
Đông Anh hesitated.
"If you stay, your grandma will corner you soon enough and ask why you skipped communion."
Đông Anh bit his lip, thinking, then asked: "So… where are you taking me?"
"Out to play. Wherever you want to go, I'll take you."
"Then… let's visit Sister Xuân's orphanage."
"Oh Lord, Út! We just left church and you want me to go see some old nun? And what's there to play with at an orphanage?"
"Didn't you say you'd go back there every Sunday? You skipped last week, so you have to go today."
"Come on, let's go somewhere else!" Dung pleaded.
"Not today. I'm already a sinner, you have to let me do something to make amends."
With that, Đông Anh strode ahead. Dung sighed from behind and had no choice but to follow.