Chapter Text
Coy was your average American teenager. He grew up under yellow light on the street, putting more faith in God than he probably should have. He was a scrawny 16 year old boy, hated his life, went to church every Sunday, and always felt different from everybody else. Even though it was truly difficult to not be a copy-and-paste version of every person in Shady Grove, Alabama, Coy always managed to find a way. In the 7th grade, he tried to kill himself. In the 8th grade, he realized he was gay. In the 9th grade, he came out as gay. He built up all this courage, just to be told to “find Jesus,” and to “pray the gay away.”
Everybody in Shady Grove, Alabama went to the same church as each other, and were all extremely religious. This mean’t that he’d never be able to escape the hatred as long as he stayed in Shady Grove, because everybody at his school picked on him.
Everybody besides for his one true friend: Hanbon. She was a sweet, and charismatic girl, who had always stuck by Coys side. They first became friends in the 7th grade, through Shady Grove Church Youth Group. A simple conversation they had between one another as they were all walking to the towns local drug store led them into the greatest friendship of their lives. Hanbon made everything about Coys life brighter and warmer, but that didn’t stop it from being dark and ugly.
He only had one person in this entire shitty town… with an even
shittier high school football team. The whole football team constantly bullied Coy, but one boy on the team had always stuck out to him.
Anthony Potero.
Not because of some strange and unique insult he gave Coy, but because he laid back from the bickering. He’d always try to get his teammates to “not be so aggressive with the insults,” it was sucky, but it was better than being called a “pervert and a disgraceful person built brick-by-brick by Satan himself.”
Anthony had his eyes glued onto Coy whenever he’d tug at his friends to stop or whenever he’d walk away from a rough situation. His sharp blue eyes pierced through Coys skull without much effort. The gaze Anthony would give him as his friends finally tired out was a gaze nobody could describe.
It wasn’t pity, or fear, but something much lighter. Almost admiration, but not quite. Coy always managed to overanalyze people and makeout their intentions as something else. Anything that meant his life could be even slightly less awful or boring. If that meant making silly scenarios of Anthony secretly being in love with him, he wouldn’t mind. It’s not like Coy actually liked Anthony. It didn’t even matter, though, because Coys feelings would
Never be reciprocated.
So, the day Anthony said “Let Coy sin in peace,” it hurt like a bitch. It bit him back in the ass like a sharp bullet. He allowed himself to get much too comfortable with the thought of Anthony maybe not hating him like everybody else. It hurt even more because he did still believe in God, and Jesus. He still hung a gold cross necklace from his neck, swinging on his collarbones. He always lifted it over his shirt whenever it would naturally tuck under the collar. He wanted people to know he wasn’t a non-believer.
He did believe. It gave him peace, and belonging. Whenever his life felt out of control, (which happened much more frequently than he’d like to admit,) he’d get on his knees, and pray. It made him feel like he could put his hands on something when nothing else wasn’t up to him. He prayed for God to help him out of his disgusting behavior and homosexual tendencies, but it never worked.
Coy prayed twice a day, blessed his food, hoped for health and safety for everybody in Shady Grove (even the people who hated him.) Even with all of those “credentials,” he’d shown up to Sunday morning Church drunk every now and then. You know… just to… cope. His hands over his knees in a room full of faces, “Sorry if I seem off, but I’m totally wasted.” He laughed under his breath to Hanbon, who was seated right next to him.
Coy never drank much, but he liked being a bit tipsy for church or any religious get-together that had anything involved with people perceiving him. He never took shots, or went to house parties. He just drank straight from a bottle of whiskey. Just a couple big gulps right before, and then poured some of it into a metal water-bottle. He’d always offer some to Bon, but she’d always reject the offer. She’d never judge him for it, but it wasn’t exactly her thing.
Ever since Coy was a little boy, he believed that maybe… just maybe… if he prayed hard enough, it would all come true. Ever since Coy was a little boy, he knew something was wrong with him. He knew there was something… different. When he was 12, he didn’t understand what was so amazing about Cindy Crawford. All the boys in his grade would thirst over her, and have posters of her all over their rooms. He always related more to girls about pop-culture. He found Tom Cruise or Patrick Swayze much more reasonable to dream about or want to kiss.
He never said any of that, of course.