Page 30 of His Elder

"According to who?"

"The mission rules. The handbook."

"The handbook says you're supposed to talk to your mission president if you're struggling with 'impure thoughts.'" Vance's tone turned the phrase into a mockery. "It doesn't say your companion has to report you."

"You're supposed to—"

"I'm supposed to be your companion. Not your warden." He took a sip of water, watching me over the rim. "What you said back there. About it killing you. Did you mean it?"

Every instinct screamed at me to deflect. To lie. To reconstruct the careful walls I'd spent nineteen years building.

But I was so tired.

"Yes," I whispered.

Vance set down his glass. Leaned forward, elbows on knees. "How long have you known?"

"Since I was fourteen. Maybe before." The confession spilled out now, unstoppable. "I thought it was just... admiration. I looked up to the older boys in the ward. Wanted to be like them. But then I realized I didn't want to be like them. I wanted—" My voice cracked. "I wanted them."

"Have you told anyone?"

"My bishop. When I was sixteen." The memory tasted like bile. "He said it was a temptation from Satan. That I needed to pray more. Fast more. Study the scriptures more. He said if I had enough faith, if I was worthy enough, Heavenly Father would remove the temptation."

"And?"

"I tried. God, I tried." The laugh that escaped me was broken, ragged. "I did everything right. I never looked atanother boy. I never acted on anything. I went to seminary every morning. I read the Book of Mormon cover to cover five times. I fasted every week. I prayed until my knees bled." I looked up, met Vance's eyes. "And it didn't change. Not even a little."

"So you decided to serve a mission."

"My bishop said it would help. That dedicating two years to the Lord would prove my commitment. That it would... fix me." I pressed the heel of my hand against my chest, where the weight sat crushing and permanent. "I believed him. I believed if I just worked hard enough, if I was obedient enough, righteous enough, then I'd come home and be able to marry a woman in the temple. Have the family I'm supposed to have. Be the man I'm supposed to be."

"And instead?"

"Instead I'm here, teaching doctrine that condemns me. Telling people that what I feel is wrong, is broken, is a trial to overcome. Promising them that if they're good enough, God will fix them in the next life." My voice rose. "And I don't even believe it anymore. I don't think I ever believed it. But I have to teach it because if I don't, then everything I've sacrificed is for nothing."

The words hung between us, raw and bleeding.

Vance didn't speak. Just watched me with those careful artist's eyes, seeing too much.

"You're going to report me," I said dully. "You should. I'm a liability. An unworthy missionary teaching the gospel I don't even—"

"I'm gay too."

The words hit like a physical blow.

I stared at him. "What?"

"I'm gay." Vance said it calmly, matter-of-fact, like he wascommenting on the weather. "I've known since I was twelve. Maybe earlier."

My mind couldn't process it. Couldn't reconcile the casual confession with everything I knew, everything I'd been taught about how this worked. You didn't just... say it. Not like that. Not without shame.

"You can't be," I said stupidly.

"Pretty sure I can be, since I am."

"But you—you argued with me about the doctrine. You called it cruel."

"Because it is cruel."