The Shame between Us

drowning in my thoughts

The next morning, the first rays of Australian sun didn't feel as warm as usual. Instead, they cast long, unsettling shadows across my room, mirroring the ones forming in my mind. The thought of what had almost happened, what could happen with Caleb, settled like a heavy stone in my stomach. A relationship with him, beyond the easy, comfortable brother-sister affection we'd built, felt like walking into a minefield. Mom would be furious, her disappointment a tangible weight I couldn't bear. And Maya… my sister, Caleb’s half-sister, would be heartbroken, betrayed. The thought alone was a bitter taste in my mouth. More than that, there was my faith. This felt like a sin, a transgression against everything I'd been taught, everything I believed.

But then, another thought, sly and insidious, crept in. One week. Seven days until I was on a plane to London, leaving behind the heat, the familiar comfort of home, and all the complicated emotions that came with Caleb. Seven days until I was free, anonymous, miles away from the tangled web of family expectations and religious strictures. Seven days for something that wouldn't have to last. It was a terrible thought, selfish and deeply unsettling, but it was there, a tempting whisper that promised a temporary escape from the tightening noose of my own desires.

I made a silent pact with myself: avoid Caleb. For the next seven days, until I was safely on that flight, he would be a ghost in the house. I'd master the art of strategic bathroom breaks, timing my appearances in the kitchen, becoming an expert in disappearing acts. If I didn't see him, I couldn't feel anything. If I didn't feel anything, I couldn't do anything that would shatter my family or condemn my soul.

What came as a surprise, however, wasn't the ease or difficulty of my Caleb-avoidance strategy. It was the sudden, undeniable pull towards something else entirely. Church. The old wooden pews, the familiar hymns, the echoing words of the pastor – places and rituals I'd treated more as a Sunday obligation than a source of solace – now seemed to call to me with an unexpected urgency. It wasn't just about penance or escape; it felt like a lifeline. Suddenly, my faith wasn't just a rulebook to avoid breaking; it was the main focus, a sanctuary I hadn't realized I so desperately needed.