Sins of the Flesh

CHAPTER TWELVE-- The Past and the Future

"Everything was easier when things were black and white and not all these shades of grey."

"No one," Oliver states. "What are you doing with my journal?"

"Seems like someone. Seems like someone with bright blue eyes and dark brown hair and pale, perfect skin. Seems like someone who looks good in tight, black jeans and jackets. Seems like a freaking guy."

"He's – it's not like that," Oliver says. "We have to keep a journal for – for a creative writing class and-"

Skylar snaps the little book closed. "How about you stop lying to me and tell me what's really going on."

"Why did you even look at it?"

"Well considering you always tell me whatever's bothering you but then last night you got so pissed – I was super worried about you. Never would have thought it'd be this."

"Please don't do this," Oliver begs, taking a step closer to his friend.

"Don't," Skylar says lowly, taking a step back. "Don't even come near me until you can tell me what this is about."

"He's just – just a friend," Oliver says. "He's my best friend down here and-"

"Best friend, huh? Did you write in your old journals like this about me? Did you?"

"No! It was never like that with-"

"But it is with him."

"I – I-"

"I can't believe this," Skylar mumbles, tossing the journal onto Oliver's bed. "I can't believe – all this time you were – you're a fag."

"I'm not a – that's not what this is about, Skylar, it isn't."

"I don't know what you think it's about, then. Because I don't keep journals where I talk about how good some guy's butt looks in a pair of jeans. And I also don't include pages full of apologies to our Lord for thinking that. What the – what is this, Ollie? What is wrong with you?"

"There's nothing wrong with me," Oliver states, angry tears bubbling up in his eyes. "He's-"

"There's a lot wrong. You know what the Bible says about homosexuals. You know."

"I know what the Bible says," Oliver says, knees beginning to tremble because this is exactly what he was afraid of. "But the – the Bible was written by man and it's not always-"

"This," Skylar says, storming over to Oliver's desk and picking up his Bible, "is God's word. This is His word and you don't get to question that or doubt that. You don't get to be a fag!"

"You've never had doubts?" Oliver whispers. "You've never had questions, you were never confused about anything, you never-"

"No," Skylar says. "Because I was raised right. And I know what's right and wrong and this says that homosexuality is an abomination."

Oliver stares at his friend, wondering if he sounded this mean whenever he told Blake something along the same lines.

But Skylar doesn't have the right to do this. Not after-

"You don't get to preach to me," Oliver says. "You don't get to preach to me about this because I know where you went wrong."

Skylar freezes, recognition and fear clouding his expression.

"That's not even the same thing."

"You slept with Jessica last year after that spring dance at church. You slept with her in the backseat of your dad's car. God doesn't approve or premarital sex either, Skylar. And I know you know that because we were raised in the same town, in the same congregation."

"People have sex all the time, it's not-"

"And there are plenty of gay people and there are plenty of people who are just as confused as I am. My sin is no worse than yours."

Skylar glares at him, eyes hard and unforgiving. He drops Oliver's Bible back onto his desk.

"So this is how it is, then? If I tell anyone about your stupid journal, you'll tell everyone that I had sex with Jessica."

"I don't – I don't need anyone knowing about this stuff I'm going through. I don't even know what it is, okay? But if this is the only way I can be sure you won't-"

"Fine," Skylar says firmly. "Your little faggot secret is safe with me."

The two boys fall into silence, the air thick and heavy with unspoken resentment. Oliver looks at his friend, this kid he's known his entire life, this same kid who he has always trusted with everything. Skylar was his everything back in Missouri.

"I'm sorry," Oliver says quietly. "You're my best friend."

"I'll never be friends with someone like you."

"I'm still me," Oliver says with conviction. "I'm still the same person."

"The person I knew always told me everything. The person I knew was a good Christian, a good, straight Christian."

"I don't even know if-"

"It doesn't even matter," Skylar grumbles. "Because you know what? At least I slept with a girl."

"I haven't slept with anyone."

"Whatever. Just don't – don't even think of talking to me again unless you know for sure that you're normal."

Oliver stares blankly as Skylar shoves past him and stomps out of the room. His steps on the staircase are too loud in Oliver's ears. He hears Skylar say something to his parents about Oliver having a bad stomach ache and that he won't be joining them on the ride to the airport.

The front door slams shut.

Oliver's knees give out and he begins crying into his hands because this is exactly what he's been so terrified of: the rejection, the hate, the preaching.

Losing people he cares about.

It isn't fair, none of it is fair. It isn't his fault that he feels this way about Blake, it isn't his fault that he's attracted to another boy. He can't stop it. He can't stop being who he is. And now, in order to keep his old friends, he has to pretend to change? He had to be normal?

He doesn't even know what normal is anymore.

Rage and pure, undiluted pain coils in his stomach, leaking out into his system and the house is far too quiet, far too still.

He breaks.

Hot, angry tears spill down his face as he stands and reaches for his journal, his stupid journal that he thought would never be read. He had been foolish to think he could keep secrets. White noise tingles his ear drums as he opens the little book and begins ripping out the pages by the fistful. He tears them, tossing them about his room. They scatter, drifting down to cover his floor. Some pages, including those with the longest apologies to God, he shreds into tiny pieces. He tears and he tears and he cries and he cries.

"Owe no one anything, except to love each other, for one who loves another has fulfilled the law," he keeps repeating to the empty room because he can't lost himself, he can't lose everything he has learned at the cost of these pages. "Owe no one anything, except to love each other, for one who loves another has fulfilled the law."

When there are no more pages to tear, he tries to rip apart the cover of the journal but he has no more strength to do so. He throws the thing across the room and it collides against the wall with a satisfyingly loud sound. Oliver pants, emotion and physical strain exhausting his body, his little soul aching inside his chest. The floor of his room looks like it has been covered with snow, stained with scratches of black ink.

Nothing will ever be the same.

Everything has collapsed.

Suddenly frantic, Oliver reaches for his phone and dials Blake's number.

"Hey, you," Blake greets happily upon answering.

"Can you come over?" Oliver chokes out.

"...I thought you were taking your friends to the airport," Blake says. "I just got back into Arnold. I was going to text you and see-"

"Please come over," Oliver begs. "Please. Please."

"Yeah, of course. Yes, I'll see you in a few minutes."

"Thank you," Oliver whispers.