Page 23 of Gay for Pray
“Just for a few minutes,” he says as he pulls on a T-shirt. “You’re going to feel crappy today, but I know just the cure. It might be Sunday, but today we’re going to take care of your body and not just your soul.”
He winks, smirking from one side of his mouth, but it feels like a shield. He’s still running from that statement about being used, running from the idea that I only needed him because he was the closest available human and not because he’shim. If my head didn’t feel like it was being poked with needles, I might have the courage to push back, but in my current state, I sit there on the edge of his bed and watch him flit around his room. After dressing himself, he pulls out a couple shirts and another pair of sweatpants.
“They might be a little small on you, but they’re better than what you were wearing last night,” he says. “Take a shower and get changed. Take alongshower and get changed. I’ll be gone for about half an hour. I can’t stop you from simply leaving, but please don’t, alright? I promise you’ll feel way better if you cleanup and give me thirty minutes. Nick still isn’t back, either, so no one will bother you.”
He pushes the clothes into my hands. He’s moving too quickly for me to follow, especially with my body all screwed up. In moments, he’s grabbing a wallet and keys off the messy desk.
“You’ll be here when I get back?” he says, pausing at the door of his room.
I should say no. I should bolt. But instead I nod, and I know it’s true.
“Good,” he says with a smile. “I’ll see you soon, Choir Boy.”
Chapter Thirteen
Jude
PART OF ME EXPECTS to return to an empty dorm room, but when I get back Theodore is sitting on my bed, his hair damp. He fills out my baggiest T-shirt in a way that takes every ounce of will power not to think about, and I’m glad he’s sitting so the sweatpants can’t…do what sweatpants do.
Clean, pure thoughts,I chide myself.He probably feels like raw ass today. Be good, Jude.
I texted Nick while I was out to let him know what’s going on. This situation is insane enough that I wouldn’t want him walking in on it accidentally. He asked me if I “hit that,” which I took as an attempt to goad me into reacting, then said he can make himself scarce for a few more hours. Luckily, he had a much better night than me or Theodore.
Theodore looks up when I enter my bedroom. He was reading something on his phone, probably the Bible, knowing this guy. Sleeping in the same bed as a gay man likely made him so unclean he’ll have to spend the next five years confessing this grievous sin to any priest who will listen, but that’s not my problem. I’ve seen people having a bad trip, and I didn’t want to watch him go down that path, so I did what I had to to get him through the night.
I’m still trying to get him through this, actually. I set down several plastic bags on my bed, then start pulling take out containers out of them. A feast of greasy bacon, heaps ofscrambled eggs and syrup-drenched pancakes clutters the bed. I toss the plastic bags on the floor, then pull out the chair at my desk and place my laptop on it facing the bed.
“We are going to eat until we can’t fit another bite into our stomachs,” I say. “The grease will be good for you. What do you want to watch while we do it?”
“They livestream Mass,” Theodore says.
“We’re not watching Mass. Pick something else.”
He doesn’t, so I head to a free streaming site and pick a sci-fi show I hope he won’t hate. It’s got explosions and green women, so maybe he’ll like it.
Theodore doesn’t complain, and I settle on the bed with him, handing him a plastic utensil.
“Dig in,” I say. “This is the ultimate hangover cure, no matter what is causing the hangover.”
“Is this okay? Where did you even get all this?”
“Don’t worry about it. Just eat, dork. You’re probably starving, am I right?”
He demurs, but after a beat of hesitation pries the lid off a container of bacon and gingerly picks up a piece. I hide my victorious smirk by opening up a container of eggs and another full of pancakes. There’s more of all of it. I blew a month’s food budget on this feast, but if my guess is right, Theodore is going to need it. I can pinch some extra food out of the cafeteria to make up for the deficit or beg Nick to help me out, if I’m really desperate.
Theodore tucks in quietly, but ravenously, just as I suspected he would. He demolishes the bacon, and goes for the eggs next. We open another container of pancakes after he helps me finish the first one. It’s weird seeing him so…normal, his fingers greasy from bacon, his sweatpants and T-shirt a sharp contrast to slacks and a button down.
He finally slows somewhere during episode two of the show.We put the lids back on the food so I can move it out of the way. Then we scoot back, our backs to the wall the bed sits against and our knees pulled up to our chests.
“Should the captain really being going on all these expeditions personally?” Theodore asks during episode three.
I shrug. “Probably not, but it’s way more fun when he does. If the show was realistic, it would be boring as hell.”
“But the entire bridge is on the planet’s surface now. If something happened, the whole ship would be in danger.”
“True, but have you ever seen a named crew member in this show who isn’t on the bridge?”
He considers. “The doctor? Wow, this ship really is doomed.”
