Page 35 of Unbound
"Jesse, come on let’s go further down the line.” Rebecca tugged my arm insistently. "We need to keep the line strong."
I forced myself to look away from Adrian, to raise my sign higher, to open my mouth and let the familiar chants pour out. But the words felt like ashes on my tongue. Like betraying something sacred.
When I looked back, Adrian was still there. Still watching. His expression had shifted—not angry, but sad and disappointed. Like he was watching something beautiful being destroyed.
The pride celebration continued around him, a riot of colour and joy and unapologetic freedom. Music played. People danced. Children ran between the booths with rainbow streamers trailing behind them like fairy wings.
And I stood on the other side, holding a sign that condemned them all, feeling like I was dying inside.
The counter-protest lasted two hours. Two hours of chanting words I no longer believed while staring at a life I couldn't have. Adrian's group never left. They stood their ground with gentle persistence, their signs answering our hatred with love, their presence a constant reminder of what I was missing.
When Pastor Caldwell finally called for our retreat, I followed numbly. We gathered our signs, our righteous anger, our certainty that we'd done God's work. But as we walked back to the parking lot, I couldn't stop looking over my shoulder.
Adrian was helping an elderly man fold a rainbow flag. The drag queen was packing up her story books. The couples were still holding hands, still moving like they belonged together, still existing in defiance of everything I'd been taught.
They looked so goddamn happy.
"You did well today," Father said as we reached his car. "Standing firm in the face of the Devil. I'm proud of you, son."
I nodded and climbed into Rebecca's car, my chest hollow with something that might have been grief.
The drive home passed in silence. Rebecca kept glancing at me, her eyes worried, but she didn't speak. Maybe she was afraid of what I might say. Maybe I was afraid too.
She dropped me off at my apartment with a chaste kiss on the cheek and a reminder about dinner tomorrow with our parents. I nodded and walked inside, my legs moving on autopilot.
The apartment felt smaller than usual. Sterile. Like a place where someone was pretending to live rather than actually living. I set my sign by the door—Rebecca would pick it up tomorrow to store with the others—and stood in my kitchen, staring at nothing.
My reflection caught in the microwave's black surface. Hollow eyes in a pale face. Hair perfectly styled, clothes wrinkle-free, everything in its proper place. I looked like the poster child for Christian youth. Clean. Acceptable. Empty.
I walked to the bathroom and flipped on the harsh fluorescent light. The mirror showed me the same thing: Jesse Miller, faithful son, devoted boyfriend, committed church member. The person I'd been trained to be since birth.
But underneath, barely visible, was someone else. Someone who'd felt his heart race when Adrian smiled. Someone who'd watched that pride celebration with longing instead of disgust. Someone who was tired of carrying other people's hatred.
"I don't know if I believe that anymore," I whispered to my reflection.
The words hung in the air like a confession. Like a prayer. Like the first breath after drowning.
From the living room, I heard Rebecca's key in the door—she'd forgotten her sweater the last time she was here, probably. I quickly turned off the bathroom light and composed my face into acceptable lines. When she peeked in to check on me, I was sitting on the couch with my Bible open, the picture of dutiful study.
"Feeling better?" she asked softly.
"Much," I lied. "Just needed some quiet time with Scripture."
She smiled, satisfied, and retrieved her sweater. Aftershe left, I sat in the growing darkness, the Bible heavy in my lap, those dangerous words echoing in my mind.
I don't know if I believe that anymore.
The seed Adrian had planted was growing roots.
9
ADRIAN
The house felt electric when we got back. That's the thing about protests—win or lose, they leave you buzzing with adrenaline, ready to tear down the world or build it back up. Tonight, we'd managed both.
I dropped my jacket by the door and followed the voices into the living room, where Phoenix was already holding court from their perch on the back of the couch, paint-stained combat boots dangling.
"Did you see his face when Adrian called him out?" Phoenix gestured wildly, nearly knocking over Diana's iced tea. "Like a deer caught in headlights. A very pretty, very confused deer who's been told his whole life that headlights are Satan's work."
