Confused. That’s what you felt—that’s what you could only feel in this situation. Gay? No, pfft—nonsense. That single term went against everything you believed. Your values, what you thought was right, what you taught.

But here you were, contemplating your sexual orientation as a churchman. Praying to God every day but proceeding to lie behind his back with a man.

You couldn’t deny, however, it didn’t mean you didn’t. You still went to church, still remained as the preacher, still spreading the gospel to others. But deep down, you knew what was hidden underneath: Fear. Fear of making it known.

Hell, you knew something was up—like something was wrong with you after glancing at another boy. His beauty, his voice, the way the wind moved his hair. You had to bury it—bury it all down into the deepest pits, hoping it’d reach the core and burn. Chuck the possibilities away. It all fled back up like a volcano when it came to Tyler.

You met him while reading your Bible underneath a tree in the shade. Wind lightly bristled against the surfaces of Earth as you couldn’t help but keep your eyes trained on how the light hit his face—the overall glory of his presence as he scrolled on his phone, earbuds stuffed away into his ears as he listened to music.

You noticed every detail, and never caught yourself until his gaze met yours. Your heart skipped a beat, and you awkwardly coughed, lodging your face into the sacred book. Yet, you continued to stare at him in your peripheral vision. Eyes locked as his mint jacket couldn’t help but further enthrall you. His style, his glasses, his presence. It drove you mad—and Tyler witnessed it all, minus the internal chaos and struggle.

You couldn’t, though. A wife, a kid—all yours. What the hell were you thinking? Clearly, nothing as you watched Tyler arise from his position atop the bench over to the vacant patch of grass beside you. Your cheeks flushed, and you looked in the opposite direction before hearing him speak. His voice checked off another box, admittedly. Damn, you couldn’t lie: he was attractive.

His words blurred together; you seemed to sink in the spot beside him as you remembered your religion.

“Christian?” You asked.

He paused for a moment before casually responding, “Atheist.”

You bit your lip, silence stretching out for an extensive amount of time. You wanted to tell him to convert to Christ before it was too late, but the words seemed to die on your tongue. Your usual preaching sessions seemed to disappear suddenly when he came around. Fuck, he made all those good intentions get lost. Telling you to just let the moment unfold and take it on with accountability.

And that’s what you did.

Secret dates, late-night drives to “clear your head” became a natural excuse to your spouse—saying you had to stay late to your kid, just to spend more time with Tyler. Religion didn’t matter. Your family didn’t matter. He did.

The chains never left you, only grew tighter as your chances of not getting caught became slimmer. You were tired. Tired of rebuking a sin you kept committing. It made you think: Was it all worth it? It would eventually catch up with you.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. Doesn’t matter that your religion was on the line? Your faith, your God: they all were watching your every move, criticizing. You just knew it.

No, they weren’t, you tried convincing yourself. Your chest heaving as you inhaled every breath and exhaled back into the air. Your back pressed against the bed, eyes staring at Tyler as you remained by each other’s glossy bodies, panting softly beside each other.

You felt… disgusted. Maybe that’s the realization you needed to snap you out. To pull you back into reality. God’s reality. It all blurred together, like a constant nag.

Now, as you lingered, you weren’t sure whether to put your newfound relationship or religion first. All you knew was Tyler’s soothing presence as he hummed to comfort you, his hand rubbing your hip with that gap-tooth grin you love.