Work Text:
I kept forcing myself to forget about him.
***
God.
That was what my parents talked about. I read the Bible, I went to church. There were whispered talks about men loving men, and how it was a sin.
We hadn’t gone to church since Mom and Dad died. I didn’t miss it, but I wanted to. I wanted to keep part of them with me.
And I guess that turned into hating Dallas Winston. Not taking his cigarettes or offering him my lighter. I clutched tight to the chain around my neck and glared at his Christopher, wondering how he could kiss me with a saint around his neck.
I wondered how I could kiss him with a cross around mine.
I had never cared about church when I went. I only cared now, and I wondered why. I wondered if something had changed.
I would kiss him and be disgusted. He would touch me and I would like it and my stomach would turn. I spend more time with him then I’d like to, and less away from him like I should
I wondered if my parents could see me. I wondered if they were disgusted with me. I wondered if they wanted me dead, if they thought I was dirty and wrong for touching him.
I’d pull away and slip off. I’d lock myself in the bathroom and slip down to the floor. I’d cry, I’d hate it, but I’d cry. I hated myself, I wanted to be gone. I wished I could make it stop, the tightness in my chest when he looked at me and the feeling in my stomach when I remembered it was wrong.
I’d take an aspirin and go out and help Darry with dinner. He didn’t notice my swollen lips and glazed eyes. Or maybe he didn’t care.
He’d kiss me all the time. I hated it and loved it, I could feel his lips, chapped and dry. I pretended they were a girls. Or I tried. But he always came back, I pictured exactly how his face looked, flushed with his hair ruffled.
I almost threw up sometimes. If I could feel the Christopher pushing against my chest. I knew it was wrong. I swore I could feel God standing over us, disapproving, disappointed.
The weight of the cross around my neck got heavier every day.
Next time I kissed him, I took it off and shoved it in my pocket.
***
I didn’t want to know what Darry would think. I knew what he thought anyway. He was the most religious of all of us, Pony and I could hear him praying every night before bed. We didn’t. I think we thought of it as a small bit of freedom, a choice. I wished I had now, maybe it could make up for a small bit of something.
I did last night. Pony looked at me strangely, but he couldn’t say anything because that would be admitting he didn’t do it either.
I smoked a cigarette a minute now. My lungs could die and go to hell with me if it could soothe my pounding headache.
Pony-I don’t know what he would think. Maybe he’d yell. Or cry. I hated either of those options.
What if he hated me. What if they both hated me, kicked me out.
I vowed at that moment to never tell them anything. Any of it, no matter what. The betrayal on both of their faces made me squirm.
I was the first to pull away next time we kissed. Rubbing my fingers over the cross in my pocket, I turned and walked inside. Ran to my bedroom as soon as I was out of his sight, dropped to my knees and prayed like a dying man.
I didn’t know if it could help at this point.
***
I’ve given up.
I love him. I do, I do.
I’ve stopped shoving the thought out of my mind. I’ve stopped hating his hands on my hips, in my hair, his lips on mine.
I’ve stopped running. I’ve talked to him. And now I know he fears life too. I know how he feels about God, about gayness, about love.
We’re together. I still haven’t told Darry or Pony, I don’t know if they can push past it like I can. Or like I try to.
I can kiss Dally’s bloody knuckles behind closed doors. My stomach doesn’t turn when he loves me anymore.
I pray every night now. I pray for my brothers, for mom and dad, for the gang. For Dally.
I don’t pray for different lips on mine.