The must and old paint and dust smelled like home. The flickering candlelight illuminated the painted ceiling. Cracked and broken and imperfect. Whole and beautiful and real. Up here, near heaven, he could be close to the Holy Mother. The pain in her eyes, the touch to her heart, it was something beyond physical for him. Her pained look tormented him...and he never wanted to look away.
The work in the cathedral had been halted. It was a small one anyway. So each day was a gift. The climb was exhilarating, the feeling of fear and risk making it all the more...holy.
It wasn't as if he'd not played with heights before. There were times, up to and including last weekend, that he and a few friends had climbed a telecommunications tower, walked along its overhangs. At one point, he lowered himself so that he hung over 500 meters of space solely by his hands. Trees looked up at him, ready to impale him if he fell. And strangely, he let one hand go, looking down, held by a single grip. Felt the adrenaline and fear and defiance.
And then he used his other hand, pulled himself up, triumphant, endorphins flowing through his veins. He had wanted to fuck that night. To celebrate with his head between a women's legs and his little death drenched in sweat. But nothing was a sure thing.
Here, it was as beautiful but deeper. Because the Mother watched. And this was his own sanctuary. A collage of what kept him focused.
He could hear her coming and his heart began to race. There was something about Nina. She was so solid and real. Practical and driven. She was his opposite in every way. But the way she looked at him, the curve of her lip, the slight half smile...she didnt know how she slayed him. He didn't even care that she was years older than him. Not a fucking bit. She was real.
And he wanted to share himself with her. This place.
The work in the cathedral had been halted. It was a small one anyway. So each day was a gift. The climb was exhilarating, the feeling of fear and risk making it all the more...holy.
It wasn't as if he'd not played with heights before. There were times, up to and including last weekend, that he and a few friends had climbed a telecommunications tower, walked along its overhangs. At one point, he lowered himself so that he hung over 500 meters of space solely by his hands. Trees looked up at him, ready to impale him if he fell. And strangely, he let one hand go, looking down, held by a single grip. Felt the adrenaline and fear and defiance.
And then he used his other hand, pulled himself up, triumphant, endorphins flowing through his veins. He had wanted to fuck that night. To celebrate with his head between a women's legs and his little death drenched in sweat. But nothing was a sure thing.
Here, it was as beautiful but deeper. Because the Mother watched. And this was his own sanctuary. A collage of what kept him focused.
He could hear her coming and his heart began to race. There was something about Nina. She was so solid and real. Practical and driven. She was his opposite in every way. But the way she looked at him, the curve of her lip, the slight half smile...she didnt know how she slayed him. He didn't even care that she was years older than him. Not a fucking bit. She was real.
And he wanted to share himself with her. This place.