Page 18 of Slay the Gay Away, Daddy

I keep my eyes closed, feigning sleep, hoping he’ll just go. I need him out of this room, because I’m afraid of what I’ll do if he stays. I’ve worked so hard to overcome, and now, Darren’s practically throwing himself at me. Now, with one kiss, it feels like he’s turned my whole world around, and I find myself wanting more. More moments holding him against me. More of our lips brushing together. I’ve known Darren Matthews all his life, but I haven’t known him this way. Ican’tknow him this way.

His fingers comb softly through my hair, and he’s humming one of my favorite hymns, then he starts singing. “Daddy loves me, this I know.” He places a kiss on my temple, and I can’t hold back the whimper. “Because Daddy tells me so.” He’s quiet for a moment, and then the bed dips. Once he’s up, the floorboardscreak as he makes his way around the bed. His hand touches my face.

“Get some sleep,” he whispers. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Then I’ll see you tomorrow night.” Squinting, I peek at him walking away, watching in wonder as he steps onto three suitcases I’ve got piled up in the closet, and lifting himself back through the gap leading to the attic. When he’s gone, my closet and bedroom lights go out on their own.

Good grief, did he hack my smart lighting app? Why? So he can sneak in and out of my room whenever he wants?

Above, the attic window squeaks as it’s opened, then squeaks again when Darren closes it. I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling, trying to process everything. Against my better judgment, I get out of bed and make my way downstairs, because I’m kind of freaking out, and I need to tell someone.

The guest room—well, I guess it’s just Mal’s room now—is open, and she’s sitting up in bed reading one of the first books I wrote.

“He didn’t stay long this time,” she says, inserting her bookmark and placing the book on her bedside table. She pats the empty space beside her, and I shuffle over like a lost puppy.

“Mal,” I say, my voice cracking. “I don’t understand.”

I don’t know what Darren and I get up to at night, but whatever it is, Mal must’ve heard it. She must think I’ve been cheating on her.

She wraps her arms around me and holds me close. I remember how good it felt when Darren buried his face in my neck earlier, so I do it to her, pressing my face right against her, inhaling deeply. She smells good. Dang good, if I’m being honest, but it’s not the same. The perfume she’s wearing is soft and light, floral in nature. It doesn’t leave me dizzied like cotton candy and vanilla. It isn’t sweet and thick, permeating the room,leaving no space untouched. That doesn’t mean her perfume is bad, it just isn’t right. It isn’t meant for me.

I pray. I pray for God to speak to me the way my father claimed had happened with him. I pray for Him to take this hurt away, but the hurt just gets stronger and stronger until I’m weeping into her pretty nightgown. She holds me through it, which is more than I deserve. I want it out of me. This ugly, misshapen puzzle piece in my heart. This abomination that’s separated me from God’s love all my life.

Pulling away, I cup my wife’s cheek. She places her hand over mine, holding me against her. I try so damn hard to make my heart feel something it can’t, and it’s still not clicking. Leaning in, I press our lips together, needing to fix this. Needing to love her the way I’m supposed to. The way my daddy raised me up to do. I close my eyes, hoping it might make it hurt less, but all I see are flashes of my father walking me toherfront door. The things she did once it was just the two of us. Now, Mal is kissing me back, trying to meet me halfway, but I can’t do this. I physically can’t have her lips against mine, because it’s bringing all that hurt to the surface, and I’ve fought like hell to push the memory down.

She pulls away, and I thank God for it.

“Nothing?” she asks.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. We’ve spent enough time hurting, Miles. We’re almost forty, and we’ve been locked in a lavender marriage for half our lives. Don’t we deserve to finally live the lives we want to live?”

I dry my eyes. “I never wanted to waste so much of your time. I promise. I thought God would fix me. I thought he’d at least make me bisexual.”

She cups my cheek and kisses my forehead. “There’s nothing to fix, because you’ve never been broken.” Yesterday, I wouldhave argued with her about that. Now, I just rest my head on her shoulder and hold her hand.

“How long has he been coming over at night?”

“You were there. You tell me.”

I sigh when I look up at her. “My pills, Mal. Apparently I’ve been sleepwalking through nightly cuddle sessions.”

Her eyes widen. “You’ve been under the influence?” She launches out of bed and walks into the closet. When she returns, she’s got her pink pistol, Daisy, in her hand, and a pair of polka-dotted flip-flops on her feet.

“What the heck are you doing?”

“If he’s touched you while you couldn’t consent, I’m marching across the street, and I’m having a nice, long chat.” As she makes a move toward the door, I rush in front of her, barricading the exit with my body.

“You’re going to put the gun back in its case, and you and I will never speak of this again.” While I appreciate her sentiment, what she’s accusing Darren of . . . Never. He would never. There’s not a single shadow of a doubt in my mind. “He wouldn’t. I don’t know what you’ve been hearing at night, but it isn’t that.” I’m begging mercy on his behalf, because the thought of her touching him—hurting him—feels paralyzing. “Please? Go put the gun up.”

She stares at me for a moment before softening her expression and nodding. As she makes her way to the closet, I crawl back into bed, my heart still racing.

The mattress sags as she climbs in beside me. “You really don’t remember anything?”

“Flashes. Not a lot of them, and not often, but sometimes. I’ll get a mental picture of him in my head from a memory that’s just out of reach. It makes my head hurt if I think about it too long. I thought I was going crazy.”

“Why didn’t you say something to me?”

I slide my hand over hers and squeeze. The touch isn’t true, but it’s true enough. I know her hand by heart. It’s gotten me through some really rough nights, just like mine has for her.

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