Page 35 of Preacher Man
It had been a week.
Seven days.
One hundred and sixty-eight hours of nothing.
I was still in bed.Well, mostly.The sheets were tangled around my legs, and the comforter had slid halfway to the floor during what I could only describe as a very dramatic roll-and-sigh session.
Empty takeout containers littered every flat surface.Chinese.Pizza.Something that might’ve been lasagna but was now unidentifiable sludge in a black plastic tray.A crushed Red Bull can sat on the windowsill like it was judging me, and I’d flipped it off at least twice.
The TV was on, but muted.Game Show Network.A rerun of Wheel of Fortune was playing, and some middle-aged woman in a sequined blouse was clapping like she’d just won a Nobel Prize because she was going to the Bahamas.
Good for her.I hoped she got sunburned.I pulled the blanket over my head and groaned.
When Ethan disappeared, I thought I’d broken him.Crossed a line.Said the wrong thing.I told myself he’d be back.That he just needed space.A day or two.Maybe three.
But after a week?
I’d started to rot from the inside out.
I hadn’t shaved or done laundry.I hadn’t even jerked off, which was saying something because I’d once done it during a commercial break while watching Jeopardy.
Every second without him felt like a punishment I didn’t understand.Like God had scooped him off the chessboard and left me to stare at an empty square, trying to remember how to play the damn game.
I would’ve gone crazy wondering what I did wrong, if I’d driven Ethan away, if he’d decided we were just too different, too broken, too sinful…
But I’d overheard something.
Two days ago.I was loitering around the back of the church like a creep when I heard one of those bitter deacons talking to another.
“Heard from the youth camp,” the woman had said, with a voice so smug it could’ve curdled milk.“Brother Ethan’s been praying and teaching the obedient children.Hopefully, by the time he gets back, he’ll be ready to lead our flock properly.”
Hearing that gave me a sliver of relief, like one crack of sunlight through a boarded-up window.He didn’t disappear because of me.He hadn’t been raptured, or run screaming from town, or thrown himself off a cliff.
He was away on church business.Kind of like a spiritual rehab.Or maybe it was conversion therapy with s’mores and rug rats.
Fuck.
I wiped my eyes, the skin under them sore from too many nights of crying and pretending I wasn’t.Just as I was preparing to wallow in despair for another six to eight business hours, my phone rang.
I blinked at it, half-hoping it was Ethan.My stomach flipped at the thought.But no.
Brother Thomas.
I let it ring until the very last second, then swiped.“Yeah?”
“Brother Jacob.”His voice oozed through the speaker like a clogged drain.“I was wondering if you could come by the church today.The fellowship hall sink is leaking again, and the lock on the back door seems a little loose.I’d be most grateful if you could take a look.”
I stared at the ceiling, jaw clenched.Shit.I didn’t have the energy or the will.I didn’t want to see the church, or that crooked-eyed portrait of Jesus in the foyer, or the stale coffee in the fellowship hall, or anything that reminded me of the man who used to sit behind the office desk and look at me like I was the last star in his universe.
But Brother Thomas didn’t care about any of that.
“Yeah,” I muttered.“I’ll be there shortly.”
I hung up without waiting for a response.No goodbye.No God bless.
I flopped back onto the bed, surrounded by the wreckage of my loneliness.
Even when Ethan wasn’t around, the church found ways to haunt me.
