Page 26 of Gay for Pray (Arport Sacred Sacrament University #1)

Chapter Twenty-Six

Theodore

SITTING IN THE STUDY room on the second floor of the library feels wrong. My shoulders itch. My mind drifts. I struggle to focus on the philosophy project I’m supposed to be finishing up.

Jude should be here with me.

His absence grates against my skin, an itch I can’t scratch, can’t dig out, can’t banish with coursework and studying.

The moment Jude stormed away from me outside Professor Demsky’s office was the last moment I saw him.

He skipped our next philosophy class, as well as choir practice, and he certainly hasn’t texted or called.

He’s a ghost, a dream fragmenting as wakefulness banishes the warm comfort of fantasy.

The loss is a talon in my chest tearing me open again and again.

Every time the wound attempts to heal, something rips it back open, like Prometheus suffering for gifting humanity fire.

Except I haven’t done anything for anyone.

Not for myself, and certainly not for Jude.

I gave him only trouble and pain and hardship, and the ache in my chest is no better than I deserve.

A cursor blinks within an empty document.

I’ve been here for an hour and haven’t managed a single word.

I scan my outline— our outline, the one I made with Jude—but the words wash over me, no more substantial than the stale air conditioning filtering through the library.

I used to be so good at this. Studying and praying and singing in the choir was everything to me before Jude appeared and opened up whole other realms of possibility in my life.

Now, I can’t even manage a simple introduction to my paper.

Professor Demsky did indeed reduce the requirements for both myself and Jude.

Our papers and presentations will be half the length of everyone else’s, but it’s a hollow victory.

We’ll be giving more or less the same presentation twice, turning in two versions of the same paper.

Because we did this together. We truly collaborated on this project.

The end products will reflect that no matter how my father meddles in order to tear us apart.

The thought of my family needles at me, and I jerk into motion.

I’m clearly not getting anything done today, so I shut my laptop and pack it and my books away.

I don’t know what good it’ll do me to head back to my dorm, but it won’t be any worse than sitting here accomplishing nothing but self-pity.

Maybe I’ll leave the library and just start walking, moving my body until I’m too exhausted to think about anything at all.

The idea is tempting, even when I shoulder a backpack heavy with my computer as well as my books and study materials. A.S.S. Uni’s campus is massive. I could probably wander for hours without retracing my steps.

Even as the thought crosses my mind, I know I can’t run forever.

I can’t exhaust myself every single day for the rest of the semester.

And what happens next semester when I have yet another class with Jude?

What happens if he returns to the choir some day?

He’s part of my life in ways I can’t escape, and not just because of his physical presence.

The things we did together linger with me still, like the fading taste of a favorite candy.

He’s stuck between my teeth and in my bones, impossible to dislodge no matter how life tries to push him away.

It’s not like I helped. He was right when he confronted me in the hall.

I am a coward. I could have said something, could have tried standing up to my dad.

Then again, what if it cost me my education?

Is this thing with Jude really worth my bachelor’s degree?

I don’t even know what it is. I don’t have words for what we’re doing, and I dare not think about what it could be, what a future with him might look like.

That’s territory I can’t fathom, even if my father wasn’t in the way.

No, I simply have to keep going. I have to put my head down and focus on getting my degree so I can go to seminary school like my father and everyone else expects and wants.

That’s the only possible path for me. A future with Jude is a fairy tale, something enticing and magical, but ultimately absurd.

I have to focus on the things that are real.

I adjust my backpack with fresh resolve and head out of the library, but I let my steps wander instead of going back to my dorm by the most efficient path. I have the rest of the afternoon to myself, no classes or practice to worry about, so I can meander as much as I like.

The movement quickly helps settle me, endorphins flooding in to take the edge off my anxieties.

It doesn’t make my problems any less real, but it does convince me that this will pass some day.

I’ll move on. I’ll do the things I’m supposed to and forget about what happened the first half of my sophomore year.

Lots of people do stupid things when they’re young.

I’m no different, as much as my father might hold me to a higher standard.

Some day, this will be a story I laugh about, no matter how daunting it feels in the moment.

I very nearly feel better when my phone buzzes. My heart skips, mind immediately flitting to the possibility that Jude is reaching out, but then it buzzes again. I doubt he’d call, which means this can only be…

“Hey, Dad,” I say when I answer.

“Theodore.” His tone is stern, as though even with all his meddling, I’ve still messed up somehow. “I heard you had a meeting with that philosophy professor of yours.”

Anger flashes through me, shocking in its immediacy and heat.

I don’t know if I’ve ever been this mad at my father.

I don’t know if I’ve ever been this mad at anyone .

But when he casually mentions hearing about that meeting with Professor Demsky, it opens up a deep well of resentment.

How does he know? The meeting only happened the other day, and I certainly didn’t tell him about it.

How is he managing to track every single thing I think or do or say?

“Are you keeping tabs on me?”

Silence greets my question. I’ve never spoken so harshly to my father before. I doubt anyone has. He’s not the sort of man you snap at, but my blood is boiling, and I fail to moderate my tone.

“Theodore.”

He pronounces my name like a warning, but I don’t care.

“No,” I say, “I’m serious. Are you keeping tabs on me or not?”

“I’m keeping tabs on your immortal soul, Theodore. I’m not just your father, I’m also a deacon. I care about you. When I hear of you going astray, it’s my duty to intervene.”

Every word only stokes the anger boiling inside me.

I’m a kettle about to shriek, and I grit my teeth to keep from doing exactly that.

It’s one thing for him to talk to my professors while he was on campus for the choir performance.

Weird, sure, but not completely unheard of if you have an overly concerned parent.

But he’s somehow continued watching me after derailing my project with Jude.

“I spoke with your professor,” he says, “and she explained that the situation has been resolved.”

The passive voice rankles me. The situation has simply “been resolved,” brushed away, magicked out of existence. And by “the situation” he means, of course, Jude. Like he’s dust my father can sweep under a rug and forget about.

“Nothing is resolved,” I say. “Do you know how hard we were working on that project?”

“We?”

I can all but hear my father’s eyebrow rising in his tone, but I don’t back down.

“We were nearly finished,” I say, “and we were doing a good job. I might get a lower grade because of this.”

My father clicks his tongue. “Come on, Theodore. I’m sure that isn’t true. You’re an excellent student. You’ll get a better mark with that—”

I shout before he can finish, not caring about the other students beginning to stare at me. “Don’t. He’s just a classmate, Dad, and we were working on our project the same way everyone else was. There was no reason to do this.”

“The reason ,” Dad says, “is because that boy is a bad influence on you, and I care about more than just your grades. What has gotten into you?”

My anger deflates a tick at his incredulous tone. I sound like I’m defending Jude; I sound like I care about him. It’s dangerous for both of us if my father ever thinks that’s the case.

“I’m just…” I splutter, “just frustrated. We worked really hard, and now I have all this extra work to do. I have to start my paper all over.”

My father sighs, but seems to accept the excuse. “I understand. You’re working hard, but please try to understand why I had to do this. It’s for your own sake.”

I grind my teeth, mashing my initial response between my molars. “I understand,” I grit out.

“Listen, when the semester is over, there’s this big Bible conference I’m thinking of attending. I’ll bring you along. Then you’ll understand why this is all worth it. Trust me, Theodore. I’m your father.”

In the past, that promise would have genuinely lifted my spirits, but today it’s no more substantial than a soap bubble.

I agree regardless, mostly in the hopes that I can escape this conversation.

The talk turns to my mother and my sister, and I suffer through catching up with my father, trying the whole time not to sound as angry as I feel.

By the time he lets me hang up, I slouch against the red brick of the closest building, catching my breath in the cool shade while the emotions I bottled up throughout the call plug up my throat like a cork plugging up a shaken bottle of pop.

I don’t know how much more pressure I can take before I explore.

As my breathing calms, I blink and find angry tears clinging to the corners of my eyes.

I scrub at them before they can fall, putting myself together, stuffing even more frustration into that shaken up bottle.

I have to make it to the end of this semester somehow, but if my father keeps interfering, if I keep having to see Jude, if my secret keeps punching its way into my real life, I don’t know how I’ll manage.

I search vainly for salvation, and find the campus church off to my right. Of course this is where my wandering feet led me. Where else would I possibly go when trapped in my head, my heart aching?

I don’t pause to question it, simply head for the church. It’ll be empty, but in the middle of the day they leave the doors unlocked so people can come and worship if they like. This is exactly how Jude and I got in that first time we…

I try to shake off the memory, but it clings to me like a spiderweb as I pass into the cool shade of the church. The space echoes around me, huge and cavernous, the stained glass throwing shards of color across the empty pews.

I don’t feel deserving of salvation, but I’ve never needed prayer more than I need it now. I slip into a pew, folding my hands between my legs and staring up at the enormous image of Jesus at the back of the church. With an exhale, I confess everything in my heart to him.