Page 7 of For I Have Sinned
Although I also know that the priests and bishops would find it their calling from God himself to fix me. To get rid of the brainwashing. To make me ‘normal’ and how I was ‘created.’ Meaning, not gay.
The thought, even not fully formed, makes my chest tighten. Every bit of grief and sorrow surges inside me until I am almost choking. Even as I move through the day, praying when I’m supposed to—especially when I’m feeling ‘weak’—and mind my own business, I’m well aware of being watched.
It took me several breathless minutes to shove it all down.
None of that matters right now. None. I finished my menial task of polishing all the fine metal sculptures and crucifixes in the sanctuary. Then, having showered and dressed, I am now waiting outside on the bench for Zaiden.
If I believe in such a thing, I know this is wrong. Sinful even. I’ve given myself to this life at the Church, so I shouldn’t be entertaining this. I shouldn’t be seeing him every day, knowing that we’re both going down a road that we shouldn’t be. Or at least, I shouldn’t be. However, I can also argue that if He’s all forgiving, all I’d have to do is confess my sin and be forgiven.
I internally scoff and roll my eyes. It’s fine. It’s all fine. I’m here. I’m trying to believe. Really, I am. I try every fucking day to find a seed of truth in anything. But after three long years, I can’t seem to wrap my mind around this bullshit. It feels more like brainwashing than faith. It feels empty, cult-like, and a way to manipulate the masses into falling into a cookie cutter line.
Zaiden comes around the corner, his head bowed, as he stares at his phone. I watch, transfixed at the way he moves. How his thick legs fill out his tight jeans. How his torso strains within his too-tight shirt. I can see his fucking nipples, it’s so tight. He’s clean shaven today and his messy hair is very clearly trying to be tamed. It’s still damp, and I can already tell it’s going to be a flyaway mess before long.
My fingers itch to run through it. To feel the soft, silky strands. To push his head back and watch his pupils dilate, his lips part as he stares at me. Wanting more. Afraid to ask for it.
I can see it so clearly I can almost feel it. This straight boy isn’t straight at all. He just doesn’t understand this new desire, having never found a man he was attracted to.
Until me.
He looks up and meets my gaze. A smile breaks out across his face. When I smile back, his cheeks flush. Fuck, I love that look on him. Flushed. Pulse racing. Breaths shallow and labored.
Sexy.
Zaiden bites his lip right before he stops at my side when I get to my feet. “Hey,” he greets, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “We were thinking of going to Panta’s to watch the game and eat food that will clog your arteries. Ever been?”
I shake my head. As long as I’ve been in this town, I haven’t explored anywhere. Not until Zaiden. Even then, I couldn’t care less where we are. My focus is always on him. “Nope. Let’s go.”
One of the things I appreciate about being here is that everything is within walking distance to the church. So I don’t have to worry about having a vehicle or waiting for a ride. If I want to leave, I can. However, I’m usually too busy watching Zaiden to leave at an appropriate time. And one of us ends up walking the other home before heading home ourselves. It’s been pretty evenly split.
“What game?” I ask as we stroll down the road. His hands are still stuffed in his pockets, but his shoulder bumps mine from time to time since we’re walking so close.
“Soccer. Footy,” he says, flashing me a beaming grin. “Then there’s a rugby game on, if we’re not ready to head back yet.”
“There’s always something to watch,” I agree. In a previous life, I’d been partial to hockey myself, but I don’t volunteer that information.
His group of friends is there when we arrive. Panta’s is a strange bar and lounge combination. There is a bar, long and shiny and lined with liquor on the mirrored wall behind it. But there are also long, curved couches around oval tables. Each points in the direction of a large, flat screen television. It is both private and completely open to the rest of the place.
The table we head to is already covered in food and his friends are talking amongst themselves while shouting at the screen. I smile, a wistful memory long gone flitting through my mind. Of the friends I once had. Moments like this that I once partook of every week. The food we consumed and the alcohol that poured freely. Being sicker than a pregnant lady the next morning but doing it all over again the following weekend.
Loving life. My friends. My perfect home.
Zaiden’s hand on my wrist pulls me from the memory as he drags me down onto the bench seating. He slides in, urging me closer until our legs are pressed together. I meet his eyes and he flushes, smiling shyly at me.
I can’t help myself. I lick my lips, dropping my eyes to his. They part and I can just barely make out the tip of his tongue. I want nothing more than to taste him right now. Devour him. Instead, I drop my hand onto his thigh and turn to face the television.
“Hey, Ellsworth!” Henry says. I lean forward to look around Zaiden and offer him a smile. He pushes a plate down the table and I catch it. He grins. “Good to see you, man.”
“You too,” I call back, just as an uproar from a nearby table floods the room with noise.
Sitting back, I rub my thumb over Zaiden’s leg, dropping my fingers to the inside of his thigh, and listening to the way his breath hitches. He looks at me out of the corner of his eye, his cheeks a pretty pink. I push the food that Henry sent my way between us. “Eat,” I murmur, bringing my mouth close to his ear.
I feel his body break out in goosebumps. Zaiden scoots closer. Any closer and he’d be in my lap. But I encourage him, pushing my hand down around his inner thigh, pressing his leg close to mine. Allowing me to notice how his tight pants are being made tighter by his arousal. I am thankful mine are loose tonight. My aching dick strains uncomfortably as it is.
It has been a long time since anyone has caught my attention. A very long time. So long since I cared to even look. I am too busy being hollow and trying to force myself to believe something I don’t. It’s easier to say that aliens are real as far as I’m concerned. There’s at least plausible evidence to support it. Unexplained things that have actually happened and are caught on film.
But there’s no such thing as a miracle. Not that I’ve ever seen. I also find it impossible to believe that a God so powerful, so loving and forgiving, al-fucking-mighty, will allow one of his sheep to suffer so horribly before a far too goddamn early death.
Swallowing the thoughts down so they don’t poison my mood, I focus back on the food in front of me. Zaiden hasn’t touched anything. Too nervous. Too focused on me. So I pick up the fork and gather a bit of mac and cheese with ham on it.
