Heretics book 3 - The Apocryphile Press

THE KINGDOM :: 281
her, he thought, she always knows just the right questions to
ask.
He knew what the wrong answer was to the question, but
not what the right one was. “I don’t know,” he finally
breathed.
“Bullshit,” she said with an affectionate smile. “‘I don’t
know’ always means, ‘I don’t want to say.’”
“But I really think I don’t. It’s just a feeling.”
“Okay,” she said, “Why don’t you tell me how you feel
using other words?”
His gaze wandered off, and became unfocused as he rooted
about inside. “I feel completely fucked up inside.”
“That’s more like it,” she said. “What feels fucked up? I’ll
make a list.” She held up her clipboard in a gesture of helpfulness.
“I don’t deserve to lead this order.”
“Why not?”
“I feel like a fake, an imposter. Like I’m just playing at
being the Prior. I feel like a friar—I just don’t feel like a
leader. I’m not...holy. I’m fucked up.”
She bent her head and scribbled with hands misshapen by
arthritis. She looked up. “What else?”
“You aren’t going to try to talk me out of it?”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Should I?”
He scowled at her. Her methods always took him offguard.
“I hate being bisexual.”
“Why?” She looked at him with real affection. It unnerved
him.
“Because I don’t know who the hell I am. I don’t understand
myself. I can’t seem to commit to men or women. I
feel...”
“Don’t say ‘damned,’” she warned.
“Okay, I feel...” but there wasn’t another word. “Set up?
I feel set up by God. For failure.”