Page 16 of Body and Soul

“The Children aren't my family,” I said, my jaw tight. “They never were. A real family doesn't force you to be something you're not. Doesn't try to break you when you don't fit their mold.”

Sister Mary Catherine's eyes narrowed. “We only wanted to help you, Elias. Tosaveyou.”

“I didn't need saving from being gay. That's how God made me, and nothing you or Father Ezekiel did could change that.”

Her lips pursed, disapproval radiating from her. “The desires of the flesh lead only to ruin. You know that, Elias. We taught you better.”

“You taught me to hate myself,” I shot back. “To believe I was dirty and sinful for existing. Well, I'm done with those lies. I'm done with the Children, and I'm done with this conversation.”

I pushed past them, my pulse pounding in my ears. I half-expected them to grab me, to try to physically drag me back like they had the first time I'd run away. Instead, they watched me go, Sister Mary Catherine shaking her head sadly.

“You'll be in our prayers, Elias!” she called after me. “We'll be waiting when you're ready to repent and return to the fold!”

I flipped her off over my shoulder and kept walking, not looking back. Even as I walked away, a sense of their eyes lingered on my back, crawling under my skin like a reminder that they were always watching.

The rest of the walk to work passed in a blur, my mind churning with the unexpected confrontation. Seeing them again, the people who'd made my life a living hell for five years, shook me more than I wanted to admit.

I burst into the fluorescent hellhole, flying past bewildered customers, only to find my manager, Brett, waiting, fury glintingin his beady eyes. He seized my arm roughly, hauling me to the back room.

“You're late again, Baker,” Brett sneered, his fingers digging painfully into my bicep as he shoved me into the dingy back office. The room was cramped and cluttered, the desk overflowing with greasy fast food wrappers and sticky notes scrawled with illegible chicken scratch. A flickering fluorescent light buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows across Brett's pockmarked face.

I opened my mouth to protest, but he steamrolled over me. “Spare me your excuses. I've heard 'em all before. You millennials, always whining about your mental health and your toxic work environments. Well, guess what? This is the real world, snowflake. You don't get participation trophies for showing up.”

Anger simmered on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed it down. I needed this job, shitty as it was. So I stood there, head bowed, jaw clenched, enduring Brett’s tirade like another inescapable ritual.

“You know, back when I was your age, I was juggling two jobs, grinding from dawn till midnight, pulling myself up by my bootstraps just to survive. You kids today don’t know the meaning of hard work. I never complained, never made excuses. I showed up on time, did what I was told, and was grateful for the opportunity. That's what's wrong with your generation. No work ethic, no respect. You think the world owes you something just for existing.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, tasting blood. I clenched my fists, the urge to tell Brett exactly where he could shove his bootstraps bubbling to the surface. But I couldn’t—every ounce of self-control I had was focused on holding my tongue.

Brett's eyes narrowed, his fleshy lips curling into a sneer. “This is the third time this month you've been late, Baker. I've givenyou chance after chance, but you don't seem to get it. McHappy's has no room for slackers who can't be bothered to show up on time.”

My stomach plummeted as the realization hit me. He was going to fire me. Panic clawed at my throat, my hands trembling at my sides. I couldn't lose this job. I had rent to pay, bills piling up. Without this paycheck, meager as it was, I'd be out on the streets again in no time.

“Brett, please,” I heard myself say, hating how desperate I sounded. “I need this job. Give me another chance.”

“Save it, Baker. You’re done.” He leaned forward, his face twisted into a self-satisfied smirk. “You're fired, Baker. Effective immediately. I want you out of that uniform and off my property in the next five minutes, or I'm calling the cops and having you arrested for trespassing.”

My vision blurred as hot, angry tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. The rage boiled in my blood, a primal urge to scream, to lash out and punch him square in the face, to kick him right in his tiny fucking dick. But I swallowed it down, knowing it wouldn’t change a damn thing. It wouldn’t get me my job back or secure another for me, and I’d be right back where I started.

I spun on my heel and stormed out of Brett's office, slamming the door behind me so hard the thin walls shook. Blinking back furious tears, I ripped off my grease-stained McHappy's shirt and threw it in the overflowing trash can on my way out the back door. I wouldn't give that prick the satisfaction of seeing me break down.

Outside, in the dingy alley, I crumpled against the gritty brick wall, the rough surface digging into my back as my legs threatened to give out beneath me. My breath came in ragged gasps as reality crashed into me. I was jobless, teetering on the brink of homelessness, with no prospects in sight. Despair andhopelessness clawed at my insides, threatening to swallow me whole.

A sob ripped its way out of my throat, my chest heaving with the force of it. I leaned against the graffiti-covered brick wall, sliding down until my ass hit the filthy pavement.

I buried my face in my hands, hot tears streaming down my cheeks. The gritty asphalt dug into my ass, the stench of rotting garbage filling my nostrils, but I barely noticed. All I could think about was how utterly fucked I was.

I don't know how long I sat there in that filthy alley, sobbing until my throat was raw and my eyes burned. The sun climbed higher, the air growing thick and heavy, but I couldn't bring myself to move. What was the point? I had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. I was well and truly on my own.

Eventually, the tears ran dry, leaving me feeling hollowed out and numb. I pushed myself to my feet, my legs unsteady beneath me. I couldn't stay here, wallowing in my own misery. I had to keep moving, even if I didn't know where I was going.

I stumbled out of the alley, my feet carrying me aimlessly down the cracked sidewalk. The streets were starting to fill with people rushing to work, their faces pinched and harried. I kept my head down, not wanting to see the pity or disgust in their eyes if they bothered to notice me at all.

I walked for hours, the sun beating down on the back of my neck, my stomach gnawing with hunger. I couldn't go back to the apartment, not with Sister Mary Catherine and the Children lurking on the corner. The thought of facing them again, of seeing that mix of condescension and concern in their eyes, made my skin crawl.

But I had nowhere else to go. Cherry would be at the tattoo shop by now, and I couldn't bear the thought of showing up there and having to explain to my roommates how I’d been fired.

My feet carried me through the sweltering streets, past boarded-up storefronts and weed-choked lots, until I found myself standing outside The Playground. The neon sign was dark, the metal grate still pulled down over the entrance. Of course it wasn't open yet. It had to be barely past noon.

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