Forbidden Kiss

*Trigger Warning – this book may contain and explore some topics that some find upsetting and difficult. *Please also note – there are occasional scenes of a s****l nature, some more graphic than others, throughout the book.  Zeke’s POV ‘Ezikiel’ my mother shouted at me from the bottom of the stairs ‘Come on, we are all waiting for you!’ she tried not to sound annoyed, but it seeped through just a little. ‘Coming’ I called back, and I ran my fingers through my curly black mop of hair. I ran down the stairs and grabbed my boots as the rest of my family stood at the door waiting for me. My mother looked me up and down, as she stood in her Sunday best, hair neatly put into a chignon, pearls visible around her neck. She was a petite, mild mannered woman who I had never seen step or speak even an iota out of turn. ‘You’re wearing that?’ my dad said in a disapproving tone. My father was a foreboding man. Tall, broad, and portly. His deep voice commanded respect and he held himself with high regard, as did his peers. He was not one to take nonsense and was never wrong. ‘Uh… yeah’ I didn’t mean to come across as disrespectful, but apparently, I did. ‘Don’t speak to your father in that tone Ezikiel, go and get changed please, and hurry, we can’t be late’ my mother soft dulcet tones failed to hide her despair at the son she so wished had be more like her youngest. I hated the way she and Dad refused to call me Zeke, I prefeed it, but they didn’t care. I knew they loved me, but they constantly frowned at my choice in clothing, style, and choices. I was practically an adult, but that didn’t seem to register with them. I had one year left in school, I was 18 in just over 6 months and was about to start my second year of 6th form. I was smart, got good grades and was athletic. I worked hard, kept my head down and was polite. All the things they should be grateful for. Somehow, my slightly grungy look and longer hair offended them. They dislike my preference to be called Zeke and found my music taste highly inappropriate. I had taken to listening to it with headphones on. I once overheard them discussing my ‘rebellion’ as acting out and that I would grow out of it. But 6 months later, their plan to let me get over it without interfering had failed, so they had started to form a new plan, which compromised of subtly but constantly beating me down. I ran upstairs and changed into the only clothes I had that they deemed ‘suitable’. The same dark trousers and button-down shirt I had now become accustomed to wearing every Sunday. Clothes I had been given for Christmas, by them. I hated them. That’s the thing with living in a small town, with many sharing very specific views. You had to fit the mould or become the talk of the town. My parents had no intention of being the talk of the town, they were far too involved to allow that to happen. ‘That’s better’ my mum smiled as I returned and grabbed my cheek as if I was 5 again ‘Very handsome’ ‘Well, except for that mop of hair’ my Dad grunted as he walked out the door followed by Mum, my sister, my brother, and me. I ignored both comments, but my sister shot me a look of annoyance and my brother just grinned as he was always left alone when they vied their attention towards me. We arrived at the quaint little stone church that was the centre of the small town’s social hub. As we entered through the large double wooden doors, the pace opened up and inside seemed much bigger than it actually was. Large stained-glass windows adorned every wall and either side of the central reservation were wooden pews lined for the patrons of the church to fill. Dad walked to the front and slid behind a door, almost hidden from view. He was preaching today, although not a priest, he often spoke the sermon in services, he was proficient at speaking and was very well versed in the values and views of this paticular church. He agreed with them, and liked to be at the forefront of the church. While the church never openly stated that s*x before marriage was a sin, it was not encouraged and clearly something many or the congregation still felt strongly about. In the same instance, same s*x reltionships were not openly judged, but It was clearly frowned apon, having no acceptance of same s*x marriages.  However, outside of the church's offical stance, my parents were quite extreme in their views. Although some disagreed with them, most went along with it as it didn't directly affect them.  I was well aware that not all churches, or indeed people in genral, took hold of the same values. In fact, most did not. I had done some research into it not so long ago, away from the prying eyes of my family, who would never have allowed me to consider any alternative. However, my curiosity got the better of me and a whole new world was introduced to me. But all the new interests I had been secretly researching, had to momentary stop. Last week, school broke up for the summer, and I now had nowhere I could legitimately go to seek the information I needed. Our family home computer had privacy settings galore and was not worth the risk of my parents finding out. The local librarian, avid church goer and my mother’s best friend would never keep the secrets of my interests to herself and if I wanted to venture out of this town, I had to have a bloody good reason. Which at present I did not have. Hannah, my best friend, and I, would always be allowed to go together, if given a good enough reason. She was good at coming up with fake reasons to suit her insatiable need to be free from this suffocating town. But even though she wasn’t like the other kids in this town, I couldn’t even tell her my secret, it felt too out there, even for me. As the patrons of the church started to fill the seats around me, I stared aimlessly at the alter at the front of the church, deep crimson cloth covered a central table that held gold candle sticks, and a gold chalice. Tapestries filled the spaces between the windows. The podium to the left, tall and proud, held a microphone to blast the speaker’s message to even the deafest of the congregation. I bathed in the peace and silent murmurs of those around me while I could. Because once the service started, there was no drowning out the drawling voice of the priest and the booming voice of my father. Just as my mind started to wonder, a sharp nudge to my ribs jarred me back in the room. ‘Thanks Bro, keep up the good work’ my little brother Gabriel chided. Dressed immaculately in black slacks, white button down and a sweater vest, he was the epitome of this town’s 1950’s throwback vibe. His sleek black hair gelled to one side and cut with the perfect choir by look. At 15, he had my parents eating out the palm of his hand. Having learnt from my mistakes, he kept his bad boy antics well hidden and played the role of doting church son incredibly well. I almost envied his ability to be a chameleon. I was never able to supress my need to express myself completely, around my parents and the rest of the town, like he did. ‘Huh?’ I looked at him in confusion. ‘Keep pissing them off like that, and I may even start to pay you. I never need to try quite so hard when you rile them up’ he grinned. He was growing into quite the little s**t. I knew what he got up too, but I chose to ignore it. Tabitha, my sister, however currently held her secrets more closely to her chest. That, or she didn’t have any! Which I highly doubted. She was 16 (yes, my parents got busy way to quick after each of us was born! Ugh) and her long thick white, blonde hair was a stark contrast to mine and my brothers. We often joked (and thought) she was adopted. But it seems she was the spitting image of my mother as a child, although Mum’s hair had now darkened over the years, while Tabitha’s never did. Gabriel and I shared our dark hair with our father. Although my curls were a mystery to everyone. ‘Shut up Gabreil’ I chided. ‘Shhhh’ Tabitha hissed just as the priest entered the front of the church in all his regal glory wearing white robes that dropped to the floor, embroidered with gold etching, looking quite the pillar of the community he was.   As the sermon started, my mind was embedded with his drawling slurs of being saved and repenting our sins. Sins which today, I discovered that we were discussing, were that of the mind and soul. Great, my favourite kind. I often wondered how we could stop our mind wondering to where our thoughts took us. How could it be a sin if we had no control over it. I never dared to ask, but apparently, I was about to find out. ‘…. And so, while we are born clean and sin free, our minds and soul were destined to sin because of the mistakes of the first, Adam and Eve. Thus, we must learn to control our thoughts and minds to be pure and Godly to the best of our ability. But complacency is not something we must allow. And forgiveness must be sought and asked for often, in order for us to be cleansed of the devil within and allow us to enter the gates of heaven as God intended…’ Well, I’m glad he cleared that up I still felt none the wiser really, it seemed like a lot of words without very little content or explanation. How do we control our thoughts? How can I possibly stop my mind from wondering to the things my heart desires? As I contemplated this seemingly impossible task, I was bought back into the room by a poke from my sister. ‘Ow’ I shot her a look before getting a scowl from my mother. ‘Move Ezekiel’ she whispered through gritted teeth as she tried to get past me, bible in hand, looking rather impatient. ‘Oh, Sorry’ I spluttered as I realised, she was about to do a reading and I was stopping her, all eyes on me. I moved out the way and she elegantly moved to the front of the church in her perfectly pressed knee length pleated skirt, high neck sweater, Mary Jane’s, knee high white socks and Alice band. She looked like she had come straight out of the ‘little house on the prairie’. She smiled sweetly at Dad, before swishing her hair and opening her bible ready to read the verse in question. I paid little attention to what her sickly-sweet voice was saying but remained watching her avidly like the rest of the congregation around me. As I moved to allow her to return to her position, the priest rattled on some more and my mind returned to the question in hand. How do you control your wandering desire filled mind? Because I for one was having a real hard time of it. The loud, deep, and assertive voice of my father commanded everyone’s attention as he proceeded to commence today’s teachings. As he started, it was as if he had read my mind and was talking solely to me. ‘Desire, the strong feeling of wanting or wishing for something to happen. This is not a need; it is not essential and nor is it a necessity. Therefore, we must conclude, desire is a sin. What we desire, something we hunger or lust for and want, is the devil’s way of making us weak and fragile of the mind. Tempting us to delve into illicit and forbidden paths that will end in the destruction of our relationship with Christ and therefore, falling into the arms of the devil himself’ I tried to hide the rise of heat slowly creeping into my cheeks as my father spoke. While I should be concentrating on how my desire was going to send me to hell for all eternity and how I need to control it, all I could think about was the lust and want my body had started to crave. My mind was going into overdrive as I frantically tried to curb the images flashing across my mind before it became obvious to all around me, I was, in fact, allowing my desires to control my mind and I was going straight to hell.