The Worst Drug

•Jesus•

      
               Sitting in the back of the church I try focusing not so much on how many people are in here but only on what the pastor is saying. It's been a while since I've been to church, now feels like a better time than ever. I've always been a religious person because of my parents influence but my own choices as well but found church too intimidating. Personally, I don't think church is mandatory for faith, you don't need a big building to pray.
      Pastor Allan closes out his sermon, smiling brightly at everyone at the front of the church. Everyone starts gathering their belongings and standing. I stay in place while everyone works their way out of the church, some stopping to talk with their friends. Pastor Allan gives me a smile as he exits, the doors closing behind him.
   I get up with my bag in hand, hearing someone still in here too. I'm shocked when I look up to see Idris standing not even six feet away from me. It's been an entire months since we've seen or spoke with one another, I figured we both needed time completely apart. Church is the last place I've expect him to be since he's atheist; the only reason he came the times before was because I asked him to.
    "What are you doing here?" I ask in surprise, holding my bag tighter.  
    "Your dad mentioned you started going to church," he says. I sigh, putting my head down. I forgot about my dad and him working together. I know about him beating Idris up for what he did; I didn't want him fighting my battles as nice as it was of him. He promised not to do it again without my permission. "We need to talk and I didn't feel like it could be done over the phone."
    "Talk about what?" I ask, setting my bag down on the pew next to me. He comes closer, rolling up the sleeves of his black button down. The first four buttons are left open to show the tattooed on his upper chest, black faded jeans fitting him well but not tightly. His hair is combed back, a stray piece falling in front of his face. He looks good.
     "Us. It's been a month; I don't know how long you were planning this separation to be. I'm ready now," he says. I sigh, knowing I should have expected that. It's too soon to have this conversation. Nothing can be resolved in a month.
    "Idris, we're not ready for that. I'm not ready for that. You aren't either," I tell him. I'm surprised this time were able to talk somewhat calmly. We aren't yelling, so that's something; I guess you can just say we're speaking very passionately. "It's only been a month, I don't know how long this will be. Not until we're both ready."
    "What do you mean by ready?" He asks. I open my mouth to reply but I honestly don't have a answer. I'm still hurt from that night and his distrust in me, and then mostly his disrespect after finding out I had a miscarriage accusing me of not actually being at the hospital because he doesn't trust Sin.
    "When everything is worked out. There were more problems than you realize. Insecurities and not trusting each other doesn't go away after a month," I say. He takes his bottom lip between his teeth, exhaling deeply. A church maybe isn't a good place to have this kind of talk. Isn't divorce a sin all itself? Well, technically we aren't divorced, just separated.
"Is this because of Sin?" He asks. My shoulders slump.
"No, it has nothing to do with him actually, we've hardly talked," I tell him, although he doesn't need an explanation. "We just need more time. Also, a church is the last place we should be having this conversation."
"I'm already going through hell, he can't do me any worse," he says through clenched teeth. I grab my bag again and turn away, giving him on last look before walking away. "WE HAVE TO TALK!"
"We just did!" He grabs my shoulder and whips me around. My ankle twists, setting me off balance. Grabbing my waist, he presses me against the tall stained glass window of a colorful mural of Jesus with his arms extended.