Preached By My Neighbor (LGBT/18+)

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Dexter Evans

I don't know what has gotten into him for him to leave me like that, without even telling me where he's going, without even telling me good-bye. Of course, he knows that I'm not going to approve of that, of him leaving me. Because Dexter Evans is always the man-in-charge.

When I woke up this morning, it was the sun greeting me, and even though the sun was scorching hot, I still felt the cold breeze of air against my fingertips, against my skin, inside my room. I knew, or thought I knew, that this day was going to be a good and wonderful day with the man of my life, Wes. I woke up at exactly 8:34 in the morning. I got off the bed, did my morning routine, and did everything with a smile on my face. Because I thought I was going to see Wes. Without greeting my wife, because I had decided that we'd break things off, which didn't really turn out excellent because she threw a massive fit on me, I went off to Wes' house. I didn't knock; I just opened the door, walking like I owned the place and his house, I found nothing in the living room, in the kitchen, and in his room. They were empty. They are empty.

The time I saw it, it really didn't occur to me that he had left me without telling me anything. At first, I thought it was a joke, something that would make him happy if he'd see me freaking out. But I wasn't freaking out. In fact, I was clueless, and then just as the wind entered the empty living room, the door was open wide, that's when it dawned on me that Wes left me.

The moment I realized that Wes left me, I was furious. I was angry at myself, at Wes for leaving me. Thoughts ran inside my head like a bullet train, and it was painful. To think. It was painful to think of the reasons why Wes left me so sudden I had not expected it. It hadn't even occurred inside my head that he could leave me, that someday he would leave me. It didn't occur to me that he could do those. And I felt like I was betrayed. Like I was pushed out because I wasn't needed anymore. Did Wes really need me? Did Wes really mean what he said to me, that he loved me?

And then I realized: Wes would not leave me, not unless he thinks that there's something's wrong.

And he clearly thinks that there's something wrong about us. That's why he left.

"Damn you, Wes, damn you." I muttered out loud.

I began texting him, asking him why he left me, even though I knew the answer already. But still I wanted it to come from him. Perhaps because I wanted to have a clarification whether I was right or wrong about my theory, and I was hoping for it to be so right. So right that it would put the bigot and homophobic priests to shame.

Heading to the house where the witch lived – lives, I saw my wife sitting her lazy ass on the couch. She was watching a television, and there was bread in her hand. It hurt my eyes just to look at her, and I felt disgusted about her and me. How could I live, put up everything with her? The answer is because I love her, and it's not the romantic one. When she saw me, her eyes twinkled, and she stood up. I practically saw the crumbs of the bread falling onto the carpeted floor, and that annoyed me, too.

"Honey," she said. I thought it was seductive, very sexy, and very appealing, but the more I hear it coming out of her mouth, the more I think that it's laced with a sin. She tried to hug me, but I walked backwards, and her arms just flew into the air and dropped beside her. She furrowed her brows in confusion, and then she frowned at me. "What's wrong?"

There might be two reasons why Wes left: 1) my theory's correct; and 2) the witch talked to him.

"Wes left," I said, loud enough for her to hear.

She smiled, as if she had been expecting the news. "Good riddance," she said, clasping her hands. She tried to hug me again, but I took another step backwards. "Why does it matter? That fag knows better, the reason why he left. There's no place for him in this town, or in this world."

"And neither do you," I said through gritted teeth. "I told you we're through."

And then we fought again. There was a lot of shouting, screaming. She began to throw things on me – plates, glass of water, flower vases, and they all got smashed when they hit the wall or something that's much stronger. More screaming, more throwing. Her voice rang in my ears, and they were painful. Her voice was painful to listen to. It felt like my ears were going to bleed.

I rifled back – I voiced out my thoughts – she was a bigot, a homophobic human being who doesn't care about anything and anyone but only herself, a mother who threw her son away just because he's gay, just because Carter is gay. I told her, shouted at her, that she didn't deserve to be called a mother. I knew that I was being harsh, but we all knew that when we're angry, and fed up about everything, we feel like we can say what we want to say, and that's what I did. I said what I wanted to say, poured out my emotions like a river continuously flowing, without stopping.

She didn't seem to feel the pain, and her face only mirrored rage and anger and hatred. I felt like I didn't know her anymore; she had changed for the worst. She kept telling me, shouting at me, insulting me, that I was a fag, a filthy human being who had been possessed by a demon and "even the holy water and the name of God could not purify me". She told me I was owned by the demons now, and my spirit was burning in Hell.

The fight lasted for over two hours, and she left suddenly, banging the door close behind her as she walked past through angrily. She was in rage. The house was now a mess: throw pillows were on the floor, broken glasses scattered on the ground, and so much more.

I felt weak. I tried to contact Wes again, but his phone was turned off. That's when I sobbed. Hard. Tears kept pouring out my eyes, and then I questioned myself, whether I was good enough for him. That could probably be the third reason why he left: I'm not good enough and will never be good enough for him. My tears were hot, and they landed on my skin, on my forearm. I clenched my hands so hard they turned white. I swore, and kept telling myself, that I would find and search for him, and I will never stop until I see him. I could and would search the whole world just to see his eyes staring right at mine with full of love and happiness. I lost him, which I hoped temporarily.

And I knew somehow that I lost a huge part of me, and my heart lost its only source of energy to beat.

I felt empty. I hadn't eaten anything yet, with the hope of eating something with Wes. But he left. And that wasn't really part of the plan. The plan was, wake up in the morning, have breakfast with him, and then take off.

The phone in my hands seemed heavy, as if I was holding a 100 pounds of concrete. And my heart felt heavy as well. Wes left with my heart in his hand, and I hoped he would keep carrying it until our eyes met, until our bodies collided with each other, until we couldn't keep our hands off each other.

"Wes, Wes, Wes," I kept muttering his name out, in a whisper, and I wished the wind would carry the pain in my voice to him, to let him know that I was suffering here because he left me. And I hoped that he would hear how I was longing, yearning for him. How I was craving for him. How I was itching to be with him, to touch him, to ravish his lips with mine, to feel his pulse, to feel the beat of his heart against my fingertips. I wanted to hear his voice, to see him smile at me, to feel the lightweight of everything and that would only happen when I'm with him.

My heart ached for him, and it continued to ache, and it would continue to ache, not until I found him.