Page 64 of All My Broken Pieces

I suppress a groan as I slip into a chair at the back of the classroom.

Of course it’s this class.

When I originally saw the Sexuality Diversity Studies course being offered this semester, I was excited, hoping it would help me to understand a little more about myself. Something for me to cling to and maybe even grow as a person for when Arriana came back. Plus, it would check off one of the required category coursework for my English major. So I signed up for it.

Stupid mistake.

All this class has done so far is remind me how people like me are viewed by those who long for the “good old days”. Like I needed more of a reminder of that.

“Jesus said we must avoid sin. That if we seek to join Him in Everlasting Paradise, we must cut off the parts of us that drive us to fulfill our worldly desires. Matthew eighteen versus eight and nine,” Pastor Ian flips open his bible. “‘If your hand or your foot causes you to stumble, cut it off and throw it away. It is better for you to enter life maimed than to have two hands or two feet and be thrown into eternal fire. And if your eye causes you to stumble, gouge it out and throw it away. It is better for you to enter life with one eye than to have two eyes and be thrown into the fire of Hell.’” He pauses, letting his words hang in the air. A few hushed agreements filter through the congregation, heads nodding along.

My heart beats wildly in my chest as I try to fight the urge to hide below the pew. I know he’s not talking at me, but it sure feels like the sermon is a pointed nod at my current situation.

“The Devil tempts us in ways he knows we are weakest.” Pastor Ian’s voice booms through the speakers. “When we come face to face with the desires of the flesh, wemustremember that we are children of God and we can draw strength through Christ who saved us.” He runs his gaze over the congregation.

I gulp when his piercing eyes land on me, the same feeling I’ve had a thousand times while sitting in this very seat suffocates me. The feeling that he can see inside of my soul and knows all the hidden desires. Along with it the fear that somehow who I am is wrong and sinful, despite my decision to choose love over this…this…hate.

He narrows his eyes before dragging his intense gaze over the other half of the room. “Let us pray.”

All around me, heads bow and arms raise. I dip my head, careful to keep up appearances so as not to further upset my parents.

“Amen.” All across the room the word is echoed by church members.

The sermon is over, and I release a small breath of relief as people funnel out into the foyer. My throat tightens and I fight against the panic welling up inside as I try to blend into the crowd, keeping my head dipped and eyes averted in an attempt to avoid conversation.

“Oh heavens, is that you, Fallon?” A voice calls out, and I cringe.

Turning as slowly as possible, I plaster on a fake smile. “Hi, Pastor Lyla.”

She smiles back at me, stretching her arms wide for a hug. I lift mine, the motion an automatic response after years of conditioning. “I’m so glad to see you back, dear.” She enthuses.

“Yes, it’s good to see you back in the Lord’s house.” A deep voice rumbles behind her. She smiles back at her husband, releasing me to tuck into his side.

I try to hide the fear that wells up at his voice.

Why did I come here?

“What a wonderful sermon, Pastor Ian.” My mom praises, startling me by her sudden appearance.

Pastor Ian lingers his gaze on me for another moment before turning to my mom with a blinding smile. “Thank you, Penelope. Now if you’ll both excuse us.” He ushers away his wife with a hand on the small of her back.

I watch the two smile and mingle with their congregation, the nauseating feeling growing inside of me at each fake interaction. “Excuse me.” I mumble, rushing to the bathroom.

Once inside, I lock myself in one of the stalls and bury my face in my hands. My body shakes as quiet cries escape.

I don’t know how I ever thought this place was one I could call home. There isn’t love behind the walls of this church. I’m not sure they even know what it really means.

Because love isn’t so full of hate. Love isn’t telling someone they are destined to burn for something they can’t control.

If there is a god, if somehow all of this is true and Iambroken. He’s the one who made me. Why would a loving god create flawed people and then punish us, cast us into eternal torment, for somethinghedid?

That doesn’t sound like love, not the love I’ve come to know.

“Don’t forget the test next week.” The professor calls out as all around me everyone gathers their things to leave.

Fuck.

I was so lost in my head, I didn’t even hear the rest of his lecture.

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