Page 20 of Slay the Gay Away, Daddy

I don’t know if I’ve ever slept so well in all my life. I’m cuddled up close to my wife, my arms around her slender waist, the scent of vanilla and cotton candy lingering on her skin, eventhough I don’t remember a single time she’s worn the scent. Either way, she smells good enough to eat, so that’s what I do. I open my mouth and lay claim to her shoulder, expecting to feel the same familiar pang of non-arousal that usually hits when I initiate sexual activity, but it isn’t there. If anything, my erection is aching, begging for much-needed release. I try to move my arms, but it’s like something is holding me in place. I suck in a sharp breath, because maybe it’s finally working. Maybe God has finally responded to all my unanswered prayers. Straight is great. God, please, let it be great this time.

When I open my eyes, I gape at the person in front of me, because it isn’t Mallory. It’s Darren. My buddy. What the heck is he doing here? He looks like he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders, and I want to take some of that weight to help ease the load, but I can’t seem to move my arms. I vaguely remember something about the attic. It’s a surprise, because I don’t normally remember anything after I’ve taken my pill.

Darren is lying beside me, his head on my shoulder. Judging by the wet spot on his face, I’m pretty sure I’ve been kissing his cheek. Sucking the skin until it left red marks. I did that to him, but he’s staring back at me with a stoic expression I’ve never seen before. His face radiates determination, but I can’t think of a single thing he’s determined to do, or why it needs to take place in my bed. I want to hug him. The urge is strong, but my arms aren’t moving. I look up and scoff. Why are my arms tied to the bedpost?

“I’ve been waiting for you to wake up for hours,” he says matter-of-factly.

I blink, trying to make sense of what he’s saying. Hours? “Why?”

He’s got this awful expression on his face. Resignation and devastation dancing in concert for dominance. “Because I’m about to break your heart, and I wanted to spend a little timeremembering you this way.” With a heavy sigh, he rolls over, reaching for something on the nightstand. The blanket shifts with his movement, and I’m greeted with the sight of . . .

God in Heaven, why is he in his underwear? Why is he wearing a tiny pink strip of fabric that hides absolutely nothing? And in my bed, no less. With me wrapped around him. Oh my God, why am I still wrapped around him? Our legs are tangled, and I’m not even trying to pull away. I physically can’t take my bare skin away from his. It’s like I’m glued to him.

When he turns around, he’s fiddling with his phone, then he brings up his photo gallery, and my breath catches in my chest, because there has to be at least thirty thumbnails of our smiling faces together on his screen, and we’re wearing different clothes in all of them. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

“I know,” he soothes, leaning down and kissing my forehead. “I know you’re confused right now, and you’re probably scared, but it’s just us right now.” He rests his palm over my racing heart. “Breathe.” I close my eyes and nod, breathing deeply. I take a few more breaths before opening my eyes again. “Do you remember anything about last night?”

I try to think back, but my head is still a blur. “You, I think. You in my bed.” I squint, trying to piece together reality. “Why are you in my bed?”

“Because this is where I belong.” He leans closer and kisses my forehead, making my skin feel tingly. “For the last two months, we’ve spent every night together in this bed.”

I shake my head, because that can’t be true. “No, we haven’t.”

“We have. You just don’t remember.” He sighs. “Your pills. The ones that make you sleepwalk. I didn’t know you were taking them at first. I thought . . . Miles, I thought we—” He bites his lip, probably to keep his jaw from trembling, but it doesn’t work. The sight of him upset makes me act on instinct, jerking my arm to break the binding so I can console him. The strapsare too tight, so I just end up embarrassing myself. “You saw I was on Grindr one night and told me to come over. You’d already taken your pill, but you were awake when I—”

“Wait,” I interrupt. “Grindr?” Whatever story he’s trying to spin about sleeping pills and late-night visits takes a backseat, because he knows he’s not allowed on Grindr. I’ve told him more times than I can remember. He knows I go on there to make sure he ain’t backsliding. Why would he risk being caught? “I told you to stay off that dang app. People get raped, robbed, and killed all the time. I’ve sent you the articles. They were very thorough! Is that what you want? Are you going to be happy when you show up to be some stranger’s cumdump only to wake up dead?”

He gapes at me. “How the hell do you know what a cumdump is? You’re an evangelical pastor, for God’s sake.” My cheeks must be as red as that ugly dress Darren’s momma wears to church most Sundays, because he’s got this goofy little grin on his face as he mutters, “Wake up dead?” almost as an afterthought.

“I have my ways,” I answer, quickly looking away. “That ain’t the point, though. Why the heck were you on Grindr again? The articles I sent you—”

“I know,” he interrupts. “I just get lonely sometimes.”

“You’re not lonely. You’ve got me.” I twist my wrists, trying to break the hold the bindings have on them, but I can’t break free. “Dang it, Darren. Would you untie me already?” When he makes no attempt to move, I groan. My mind lingers on his admission of using that dang app again. “If you’ve been on Grindr while we’ve been praying for your soul, then you were obviously looking for sex.” The words taste vile on my tongue. “Have you had sexual relations while we’ve been doing our reparative therapy sessions? Because that goes against everything you agreed to when we started this.”

“The only person I’ve ever had any form of sexual relations with is you.”

Stupid me for choosing that exact moment to swallow my pooling saliva, because it goes down the wrong pipe, and I end up hacking and coughing directly into his face, spraying spittle all over him. He doesn’t even try to wipe it away, just sits there, letting it slowly dribble down his cheeks.

“What do you mean?”

“If you would allow me to finish a coherent thought before interrupting me, I could tell you.” He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, holding it in. He’s heading for a meltdown. I can see it coming from a mile off. I used to have to calm him down in church all the time. I was the only one he’d listen to, and I need him to listen to me now. He’s under too much pressure. He needs . . .

“Breathe, baby,” I soothe. His chest rises and falls, one breath after another. “That’s it. You’re doing so good.”

His eyes are practically welded shut, but if he’d just open them for a second, he’d see he doesn’t have anything to be afraid of. “That first night when you saw me on Grindr, you told me to come over. I thought you were keeping tabs on me and wanted to pray for me.” The softest smile touches the corners of his mouth, and his eyebrows rise. “I’ve waited all my life to kiss you, and you opened your door and kissed me like it was the most normal thing in the world.”

“I kissed you?” I ask, feeling dizzy. “Just a kiss?”

He opens his eyes, his cheeks flushed a furious shade of red, but he doesn’t look away from me. Part of me wants to praise him for being so brave by maintaining eye contact when he’s clearly scared, but the majority of my parts want to know why the heck he’s got me tied to the bedposts. What the hell does he want from me? “You did things to me. Things I’ve wanted you to do for years.” He sniffles, wiping a rogue teardrop from his cheek. “I’ve always loved you, and I thought you finally loved me back.”

My heart slams in my chest. Love? He loves me?

“Darren, I need you to untie me.”

“I can’t. I’m scared you’ll hurt me when you hear the rest.”

“There’s more?”

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