The Long Way Home

Chapter 1

"Go pack up your things,"

That was the last thing they said to me before I had to leave for good. This was all my fault. If only I had not brought Jax home that night, only if I had locked the door, if only I hadn't kissed him. I told my mom we were hanging out as friends. She came in to bring us a snack....and what did she see? She saw me kissing him. Dear God her scream was louder than anything I have ever heard. She yelled at Jax to get out and to stop cursing her pure child. Soon she called the elders. The night before the meeting with the elders, when she was out doing business, I grabbed Kevin's old car and drove it to the lot down the street. There, at least I would have a method of transportation.

I did as my mother and father commanded me. I grabbed my clothes, my money, and my journal. That journal I used to write down my thoughts. The thoughts that my parents would kill me for. A journal ridden of curse words and even worse...sodomy. I packed them into a backpack I had. I walked downstairs, the brown backpack on my back. Ever since junior year I was kept in homeschool, so I guess school was a thing I didn't have to worry about anymore. I looked at my parents, trying to see any emotion on their faces. They just kept that damn poker face and opened the door for me. Silent treatment, I was fucking used to that.

Now Jax was a kid who went to the school, I saw him at the park one day and we decided to text each other. It wasn't like we were dating. That day when my mom caught me was like an experiment of sorts. Jax texted the day after the incident, hoping I was okay  but that he doesn't want to talk anymore because of my parents. Because of my religion. I guess that was fair enough.

I walked out the door that my parents held open for me and then slammed it as soon as I was out. I started to fucking run. I was running towards the car lot where Kevin's car was. Why was he the lucky one who got to die. I wished that Jehovah struck me down instead. I stood near the car, collapsing on the ground on my knees. My stotic expression turned to welled up tears. I stared up at the sky. "Kill the fucking faggot you created Jehovah! Let me fucking die! Bring my brother back and kill me instead. I don't deserve to live, I deserve to burn with Satan. Fucking listen to me for once!" I screamed. I probably woke the whole neighborhood with my screams. I started to sob and decided to just get in the car.

I turned on the car and the radio and started to drive. The glow of streetlights in my tiny Vermont town were beautiful. I drove more, thinking of the wonderful world Jehovah has created. He blessed me to live in it and what did I do? I betrayed Him, my creator. The elders were right to throw me out to die in this world of non-believers and apostates. I was probably going to stop in a 7-11 parking lot and sleep for the night. Hopefully some crazed lunatic would smash open the window and put a gun to my head and steal my shit.

I finally reached a parking lot and stopped the car. I grabbed a sunshade, a black one with a little blue JW.org logo on it, to hide me from being seen in the car. I crawled to the back and set my phone alarm to 6am. I laid down in the back, trying to close my eyes. All I could think of was my parents. They lost their 2 kids in a 3 year span. I thought of Judgement Day and how Jehovah would send me down with rapists, murderers, and drug dealers. With homosexuals like myself, sex addicts, liars, and cheaters. I tried to text Jax but whenever I tried to send a message, it said "This number has blocked you." As he rightfully should. He was probably happy, I hoped he was. I sure wasn't.

Unable to fall asleep, I grabbed an old version of the Young People Ask book that Kevin had in the car. I looked at it, flipping to the section about homosexuality. I knew what it'd say, I only read it to hurt myself. I always thought, "how could it be wrong to love someone?" I even thought it as a child and asked Kevin. All he ever gave was a "shhh" and told me not to talk about it. I firmly grasped the book in my hand and opened the window. I ripped the page out and ripped it apart. I ripped more and more pages until my hands hurt from the papercuts. I slammed the book of ripped pages out on the pavement of the 7-11 parking lot. I started to cry again from the pain in my hands. Real men don't cry, real men don't cry, real men don't FUCKING cry.