Chapter Twelve
Eight Years AgoAuden began to touch St. Sebastian in small but possessive ways.
At first, the touches started with a politely uttered may I? before each one. Before he’d take St. Sebastian’s elbow to show him something—may I—or before he dunked him in the river—may I—or before he brushed dirt and grass off his back—may I, may I, may I.
The asking bothered St. Sebastian for reasons he wasn’t sure he entirely understood.
Finally, one lazy evening out on the moors—St. Sebastian preferred the moors to the village, less chance of running into the scowling boys there—he told Auden, “You can stop asking before you do that s**t. I know you like doing it.”
Auden, who’d been holding a half-empty wine bottle up to the sunset and watching the colors it made, made a patronizing noi
