tw//internalised homophobia, religion
Lucas
Lucas sat on his bed, the crisp white sheets and blankets folding around him. His laptop sat in front of him, his homework open, the screen dim. He wasn't doing his homework.
He had almost finished it when his brain became too tired when all he could do was lay back and close his eyes, not even able to open his phone and pull up Instagram or text Kes.
Jens hadn't messaged him anymore. He missed him a lot, even just the short, one-word messages he'd gotten from him. But he especially missed seeing him. Looking at him. The way his eyes shone in the sun. The way his lips stretched into smiles.
He knew it sounded like a shitty romance film, knowing someone for just two weeks and falling this hard. But the way Jens made him feel...
It was bound to happen one way or another.
It was like they were star-crossed.
With his eyes closed and his hands folded in his lap, Lucas remembered one of the conversations they'd had on one of their dates about parallel universes. He wondered if maybe there was a universe when Lucas didn't hurt Jens. Where they stayed together.
Maybe there was a universe where Lucas was okay, too.
There was a knock at Lucas's door and he sighed before swinging his legs off the bed to answer it.
"I'm going to get lunch with Milan, you coming?"
Lucas stared at Ralph for a second before answering.
"No, I've got—homework."
Ralph raised his eyebrows and looked over Lucas's shoulder, at his bed, his nest of blankets,
and his laptop screen glowing.
"No Jens today?"
"No." Lucas was tempted to shut the door in his face.
"Okay, well, I'll bring you something. Call if you need anything, yeah?"
"Yeah."
Ralph gave him a little smile before turning on his heel and making his way down the hall, a little bounce in his step.
Lucas turned and shut the door behind him, huffing lightly and closing his eyes as he pressed his back to the door, letting his head thump against it. He was trying to avoid thinking about Jens. He'd stayed off of Instagram, avoiding Jens's account and Robbe's and the others' accounts. He'd tried to focus only on his homework, the only tabs open on his laptop being Spotify, Google, and his email.
It sucked.
As he dropped himself onto his bed and covered his legs with the blankets, his phone buzzed. The world hollowed out and he stared at the screen, the phone too far away at the end of his bed for him to read it. Then he reached over his laptop and grabbed it, quickly holding it up to read it.
A message from his mother.
Whoever lives in love, lives in God, and God in them. - Ephesians 4:2
I love you, my boy
He sighed and rubbed his cheek, looking up at the ceiling, before writing back.
I love you too mama
He shut off his phone and set it on his bedside table, looking back at his laptop to work more. The screen was too bright, but he didn't fix it.
Instead, he stared blankly at the words in his essay, not comprehending a single thing.
He stared.
And stared.
And stared.
Until finally, he slammed the laptop shut and dropped it to the floor, on top of his school bag. After making sure it wasn't directly on the floor, Lucas lauded on his back, his legs still crossed, and closed his eyes.
Whoever lives in love, lives in God.
Did Lucas live in love? He loved people, of course. Kes and Jayden. Isa. His mom. He tried his best to show them that he loved them, but didn't always know how to. He told his mom he loved her. Showed his friends, trying to spend time with them, doing little things for them, remembering things they'd mentioned to him, things they didn't even remember telling him. He always hoped it was enough to show them that he loved them. They were important to him, that he was grateful for them.
Did that mean that God lives in him? That's what it's said. He didn't think he was particularly worried about God loving him (he assumed that what that meant). He was more concerned with whether or not his mother loved him.
She told him she loved him almost all the time, paired with bible verses or little emojis. It was reassuring, even with the verses that he hated so much. Even when he didn't see her often when she spent all day in bed, he spent all day in school, or when he stayed over at his friends', she sent him I love you messages. He often felt guilty that he didn't send them first.
But the verses.
The verses made the messages feel like back-handed compliments in a way. I love you with terms and conditions. I love you but...
He felt guilty that he didn't really believe in God. That he didn't pray every night the way she wanted him to. The last time he prayed was a few years ago. She had just been admitted.
Lucas remembered how it felt to be on his knees, his elbows on his bed, a please, please, please, rattling around in his head, an intangible letter to ears that would never hear it. He remembered how useless, helpless, scared he was.
The praying didn't do anything. She stayed in the hospital for months afterward, until she was stable enough to come home, and she stayed in her room, too ashamed of herself to speak to Lucas, too guilty to come out from behind her heavy door.
Lucas felt like that too sometimes.
He knew she loved him. He just worried she would stop when she found out he was gay.
That he was an abomination, that he was dirty, that he was sinful. He didn't know how he planned on telling her.
Mom, I'm gay.
Mom, I like boys.
Mom, I don't want a girlfriend.
Mom, I have a boyfriend.
Mom, I'm sorry.
Every time he tried to come out to her in his head, every time he imagined it, it ended with her telling him to repent. Or to hide it away until it didn't exist, until he could fall in love with some pretty girl and go about his life, normal.
It always ended with her not loving him.
He didn't know how she was about LGBT things; he'd ever heard her talk about it before. He'd just assumed she was homophobic from how religious she was. And based on the posts he'd seen online, the photos of posters and signs held up by strangers, posters with words like "God Abhors You," or "You're going to Hell." Words from people who didn't know anything about him other than the fact that he was gay, who didn't know anything about what it means to be gay.
Strangers who don't know what it feels like to desperately want to hold a cute boy's hand, or kiss him on the cheek. To look at the stars with him, or have existential discussions.
It hurt Lucas to know that all they thought they saw in him was sex. All they saw was what they wanted, and what they wanted was to see the dirty, immoral, impure parts of him, so they had an excuse to hate him. So they had an excuse to shout at him in the road, to post hateful, vile things on the internet.
And what was almost worse was seeing the casual things people said, people close to him, people he knew, who knew him. People who said things like "that's so gay," about things they didn't like, things like homework assignments or an ugly shirt. People who said things like, "What, are you a fag?" when their friend was physically affectionate. People who said things like, "No, they'll think I'm gay," because that would just be so awful. People who did things like make faces when someone was visibly gay, when they sounded gay. People who said they didn't mind gay people, they just didn't like it when they shove in their face. Lucas knew that just coming out would be shoving it in their face, while the straight couples making out in the hallways, when he made out with girls in the hallways, it was never shoving straightness in anyone's face. People who complained that every show nowadays has to have a gay character, that it was unnecessary and excessive. As though not every single show has a straight couple, or straight romance drama completely unrelated to the plot. People who thought that gayness and queerness was just sex, and not falling in love. Not feeling at home within one's own body, or feeling at home with someone else.
Lucas had told himself after realizing that he was gay that he could just not show it. Pretend all the girls he kissed were boys, pretend he liked them.
But Lucas was tired.
He didn't want to hide. He didn't want to pretend. He wanted to be able to go out with a rainbow flag and bright makeup if he decided to. He wanted to be able to hold a boy's hand while they walked on the sidewalk together, without being scared. He wanted to kiss a boy without being scared that the boy would say mean things or hurt him. He wanted to be himself without being scared of being beaten or murdered for just being.
Lucas sighed and covered his face, groaning quietly, trying to shut himself up.
When it was unsuccessful, he reached to the floor and pulled out a pair of earbuds. He plugged them into his phone and pulled up his music app, pressing play on the loudest song he had saved.
And he closed his eyes again.