The Broken Man

1607 Words
Cristian gripped the toilet, his breath heaving and stomach-churning, the porcelain gleaming pristine, the water sparkling clear. But nothing came up, even though the desire to poke remained strong. He gazed at his shimmering reflection in the clear toilet water, grateful that he was embracing a church toilet that was carefully kept and cleaned regularly. Drops land on the water with a little poink! Sounds. Cristian drew his quivering hands across his cheek, rubbing through a stream of tears while loosening his grasp on the side of the toilet. He clutched the toilet bowl once again and hung his head, his eyes heavy and blurry as he watched his tears splatter into his mirror. Isaac's face appeared and lingered behind his eyes. His ears were overwhelmed with the man's silky, flawless voice as he sang words of gratitude and optimism. And the sensation of his eager tongue on his lips. Cristian's eyes clenched, his jaw clenched, and his gut twisted, cruelly squeezing. What little he had inside him emptied into the pure, clear water, quickly contaminating it. As he strained to squeeze out what was no longer there, his belly appeared to turn inside out. "Goddamn it!" He was choking. Tears streamed down his cheeks. As he dries and heaved a couple more times, one arm wrapped about his midsection. His hand scraped at the back of the toilet before grabbing the handle and flushing the smelly filth away. Weariness gripped at him, yanked down the toilet lid, put his moist, feverish cheek against the cool surface, and closed his eyes. He should get up, wash his face, rinse his mouth, and return to the service, but he couldn't move his body. He didn't appear to have any strength left in him. He was about to drift away when the touch of a moist, cold towel on his face jolted him awake. "There are many better locations to nap." Cristian struggled to open his eyes, and when he did, they were puffy and swollen. Isaac's face was a blur in front of him as the guy crouched to his heels and cleaned Cristian's cheeks with the clean, wet towel. Cristian drew away instinctively, but he remained still. I couldn't help but stare at the man as he wiped the cool towel across his hot brow and flushed cheeks. I don't require your assistance... simply leave me alone. The words formed on his tongue but traveled slowly down his throat. His eyes were weary once again and began to shut. The cold cloth was pleasant and comfortable against his heated flesh. Isaac said gently, "Hey." Cristian's eyes slowly opened. As he stood up, Isaac grabbed Cristian's arm and helped him to his feet. Cristian gripped the sink's edge as the room shook slightly. "In the nursery area, there is a sofa," Isaac informed him. "Why don't you go in there and rest for a few minutes?" I'll inform Ashly that you're not feeling well." I'm not feeling good at all. Cristian looked in the mirror at himself. It's more than simply not feeling well, his image appeared to say. You're ill. And it's this man who's making you ill. Cristian yanked his arm away from Isaac's gentle grasp. "I'm OK." He grabbed the sink with both hands and gripped it. His face pinched as he gazed at himself, his brow is wrinkled and tense. "Please leave me alone." Isaac let out a quiet sigh. He brushed his fingers over his mouth softly. "I'm simply trying to assist." "I did not request your assistance." Cristian bit his lip firmly, not looking at the man. "I don't require your assistance." Isaac paused for a while, absently folding the moist towel, before draping it over the sink's edge and walking to the door. "Whatever you say," he muttered. Cristian clutched the sink with his chest heaving, his knuckles whitening, and his fingertips becoming crimson. "And... keep your distance from me." He spoke in a tight, hushed tone. "Never... touch me again." He shivered. As he gazed at the sink basin, his eyes burned. Tears streamed down his cheeks and flowed down his feverish skin, splashing on the porcelain. "I am not... like you. I'm not interested in...the same things." When he didn't hear anything back, Cristian gently raised his eyes and glanced in the mirror, almost expecting to find an empty doorway behind him. Isaac leaned against the doorframe, one hand on the back of his neck, his gaze fixed on the ground. His beautiful face was strained, his brow furrowed. But not in a rage. Cristian couldn't put his finger on the emotion that the man evoked. I'll take over from there. Cristian's thoughts raced back to Ashly's harsh comments from earlier. Her blatant dismissal of the man and complete disregard for his offered assistance. And now he was being Cristian's heart was prickled with remorse, but he refused to give it a voice. He was perfectly within his rights to urge the man to leave him alone. Isaac was wrong to make assumptions about him and then act on them. I'm done with him. Isaac raised his head and noticed Cristian's reflection in the mirror. His dark purple eyes pierced deeply into Cristian's gloomy soul, leading right through the barrier Cristian had so meticulously erected around him. Don't even bother looking in there. You have no legal standing! I don't want you to see—I don't want anybody else to see! "Remind yourself of that," Isaac spoke softly. Cristian couldn't explain the sad tone in his voice, but he refused to be persuaded by it. Isaac pulled away from the door frame and went out of the restroom, whispering to himself, "Maybe one day it'll be real." ….. I don't request your assistance. The narrow corridor that connected the bathroom and the childcare area and led back to the sanctuary was little more than twenty feet long. The brief trek felt like the last mile of Isaac's life for reasons that were yet unclear to him. Stay away from me. The soles of his dress shoes slid softly into the plush crimson carpet with each stride. His hands hung limp at his sides, but the tightness in his shoulders crept up the back of his neck, burrowed into his brain, and began to ache. Don't ever come near me again. The entrance to the sanctuary seemed to move away from him as if he were in a weird cinematic dream. However, he did not quicken his speed. The notion of going back out there, sitting with his family—nearly attacked him with a wave of anxiety-induced nausea. Just behind him, outside the cloud of his thoughts, he heard the toilet door close silently lock. Are you afraid you'll return? Take more of what you like Isaac's feet slowed when the door stopped moving away from him, and it was right in front of him. He ran his fingers over the smooth knob, which was brass-plated and cold to the touch. He stood there, stroking the cool metal, then peered into the nursery room through the huge wall-length window. The walls were adorned with cartoon representations of Jesus with small children, Jesus cradling a lamb, and Jesus stretching out his hands invitingly with the phrase 'I love you in the restroom. Isaac's gaze was drawn to those words. The faucet was switched on again in the toilet. A soft, barely audible sob trickled through the closed door. Cristian saw himself crouched over the toilet, eyes red and swollen from sobbing, and vomited his guts out. His mind was cracking under the strain of what he couldn't accept. "He'll never accept it," Isaac said quietly to the image. As long as he believes you despise him for it. Isaac closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and exhaled a tired sigh. When he turned his attention again, the phrases from the image glared back at him. 'I love you.' "Do you?" he said, his voice husky. "Are you sure?" He didn't ask it bitterly or sarcastically. It was a genuine question. One to which he had little prospect of receiving an answer. The chilly knob pressed against his palm as his fingers tightened and he twisted, gently opening the door. The crowd had moved on to a new hymn, but everyone had taken their seats. He stood in the open door, his hand slipping off the inside knob and softly grasping the door's edge. The music was reassuring. He enjoyed going to church, listening to calming songs, finding comfort in God's word, and communion with God's people. How many people would you invite to join you in fellowship? Isn't it nice to have someone who knows you, and welcomes you with arms wide open? This was not his church, nor was it his hometown. He visited here on and off, and he even had a house here. This, however, was not his home. Few people knew who he was. Would these folks, who exuded such fervent love for God, remove him from their church if they realized who he was? He didn't have to worry about them finding out because his father respected him and would never say anything without his permission, Lizella believed in keeping family matters private and within the family, and Ashly... Isaac licked his lips gently and looked behind her head. Ashly would sooner die than tell her church family that her stepbrother was gay. As though it may harm her. What would you do, Ashly, when you find out that your fiancé is a gay person frantically attempting to persuade himself that he is straight?  
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