Chapter 8 #2
"SODOM AND GOMORRAH!" Father's voice boomed jarringly behind me. "REPENT OR FACE GOD'S JUDGMENT!"
"Jesse..." Rebecca's voice trembled as her fingers dug into my sleeve. "Remember what they say about wolves in sheep's clothing."
But I was already caught in his gaze, wasn't I? Had been since that night in the bathroom, since the coffee shop, since the gym. Since the moment Adrian's eyes had met mine and something primal within me stirred despite every sermon, every warning bell ringing in my head.
Her grip tightened. "They don't understand people like us. They only want to—"
"He sees me," I whispered hoarsely, cut off by her sharp inhale.
Because that was the unbearable truth cracking open my chest. In Adrian's eyes, I wasn't righteous Jesse from Topeka Covenant or dutiful future-husband material or anybody's poster child for purity.
He saw through every carefully constructed layer to the raw, untested thing beneath - and still kept looking, kept wanting to look.
"Jesse." Adrian took a step closer to the barrier, his voice dropping to that low, intimate register that made my pulse stutter. "You don't have to carry that hate. It's not yours. It was put on you."
The words landed like stones in my chest. My sign slipped in my sweating hands as Adrian gestured to the celebration behind him - to couples holding hands, to laughter ringing across the quad, to people moving with the easy confidence of those who'd never been taught to hate themselves.
"Look at them," he said, softer now. "Look how free they are."
And God help me, I did. I looked past the rainbow flags and saw what I'd never allowed myself to want - the simple, terrifying possibility of existing without constant calculation. Of breathing without checking each inhale for impropriety. Of being seen and not found wanting.
My knees nearly buckled when Adrian's gaze found mine again. "You could have this too."
My knees felt weak. The sign slipped in my sweating palms. Around me, the chanting continued, but it sounded distant now, like voices calling from the bottom of a well.
"TRADITIONAL MARRIAGE!" someone shouted.
"SAVE OUR CHILDREN!" came the response.
But Adrian just stood there, steady as a lighthouse in a storm, offering me something I didn't have words for. Safety. Acceptance. A world where I didn't have to apologize for existing.
"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. After she 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.