Not Who You Thought (BxB Drama-Romance)

Sunday School

Now

Author's note: trigger warning for not graphically  detailed sexual assault and more detail on mental health/ptsd. For more clarification: Lucas's dream is him splicing together multiple memories to try and make sense of his past. The film he is watching doesn't actually exist (so no, he's never seen this) it's how his brain is processing his own forgotten memories.

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Later on I stand in my driveway with Charlie after we leave Allison's house. It's past nine, and the night sky is congested with rumbling clouds that threaten to spill rain. Normally I enjoy stormy nights, but tonight I have a strange anxiety about being home alone in this ominous weather.

"Stay over," I tell him. "Let's go make popcorn and watch a movie. Let's go listen to your music and look online at colleges in New York. Don't go home."

Charlie smiles, the makeup making him so beautiful that it's almost disconcerting. "I can't sleep over every night," he's standing only a foot away from me and it's too far. "I have to go home."

"I don't think you should wear that makeup to go home," I cringe at my own words.

He ignores me and looks up at the sky.

"Charlie," I say. "Come on, wash your face before you leave."

"It's okay Lucas," he murmurs to the storm above. "I have to be myself."

I feel as if there is a worm in my mind, chewing through the thin membrane of my brain. Every bite further opens a gap, trying to break through a dam in a river of memories forgotten.

"I need to ask you something," I say.

He turns his head and gives me a curt nod.

"Did we used to go to Sunday School together?" The wind picks up, tugging at my clothing and whipping my hair over my forehead. "Did I used to know you before I met you at baseball?"

His shoulders stiffen, and I see fear flash across his eyes. There's no secret Charlie can keep from me with his eyes which will always dispel the truth. He's defenseless with eyes like his.

"I did know you, didn't I?" I am thirsty for answers, my mind parched and scrambling for the answer that will flush away my questions. "Eleven or twelve years ago, when we were six."

"No," he says in a quiet voice I have heard before. It's the same soothing voice he uses whenever I'm worried about something and he's trying to comfort me. "You never knew me, Lucas. We met that one time at little league, then again at the party where we hooked up."

"I did go to Sunday School with you." An ugly desperation rears its head. "Don't lie to me."

"Believe me." He is weaving lies meant to alleviate my distress. "You would remember that place. You barely know the story of Jonah and the fish. I bet you've never been to church once in your whole life."

"No." I shake my head. "No, Charlie. My mom told me I went with you. It was before your dad went on trial for molesting that kid named Joshua who went to the Sunday School. Do you remember Joshua? Why don't I remember going to church with you?"

"She's wrong." He stares at his feet. "You're wrong, too. I barely remember Joshua, he doesn't live here anymore."

"Your dad..." I can barely speak. I'm scared. I'm weak. I'm remembering.

"Good boy."

"He was proven innocent," Charlie says to the ground. "We shouldn't be talking about this."