I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies
tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife
He has dealt with many unknowns in his time – his father’s abandonment, his foray into other worlds, the slippery unreality that followed – that this unknown should be laughably simple. This is the unknown faced by scores of horses, feelings ignited and confessed without surety of their requital. A laughably common problem. Sleaze should know this. He does know this, somewhere deep inside, but he is self-centered in this moment. So focused on this boy who fills him with calm and who touches him like there’s nothing to it.
Such a small thing. Such an amazing thing.
I won’t hurt you, Isakov says. Sleaze is not sure that that’s what he’s afraid of. He’s not even sure is fear has any real home, it’s just the general unease that forever haunts his bones, now honed into this thing – this one good thing – that he has found, this boy in the river, this boy with his power.
“Even if you did,” he says, “I would want to find you.”
Oh, he is so like his father.
“I am afraid, though,” he says, “of hurting you. When I was…taken, I came back with something I couldn’t explain. I could go into other’s bodies. I couldn’t control it. I’m better at it now, mostly, but sometimes…I fear it.”
He can feel it still sometimes, a distant ache in the bones, the feeling of unused power. What if it was loosed? He would not want to violate Isakov in such a way. And surely he wouldn’t – he has kept it dormant for so long – but he is made vulnerable here, and besides, Sleaze can never entirely trust himself.
Sleaze