Stepping Out in Faith Ch. 05

It would be an understatement to say that this story has been an emotional rollercoaster to write. Andy and Marcus are intense characters and there have been times during the writing process when I found myself too emotionally worn out by them to keep writing. I hope this last chapter doesn't move too quickly and that I have done these guys justice in telling their story.

Thank you to everyone for leaving such encouraging comments. I've been pleasantly surprised at how many people have connected with this story. Your comments have encouraged me to push through emotional fatigue and follow Andy and Marcus' journey right to the bitter end.

Happy Reading!

Yours,

HB

Copyright © 2015 by Hudson Bartholomew. All rights reserved. This story or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

*****

Stepping Out in Faith - Chapter 5

Marcus was early to brunch. He sat in the corner with his sunglasses still on, sulking and draining his Bellini every time the waiter came by to fill it up. He felt like shit; he knew he looked like shit. Not sleeping for a couple of nights would do that to someone. But Marcus didn't really care anymore, Andy had left him.

"You're here early," Cheryl said, as she took the other seat. "You're never early. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Marcus said. "I just couldn't sleep and had nothing else to do."

Cheryl frowned at him, clearly not buying his excuse.

"Take your sunglasses off and tell me exactly what's wrong."

Marcus grabbed the sunglasses off his face and just barely caught himself before he threw them onto the table. He glared at the sunglasses but didn't saying anything.

Cheryl watched Marcus chug his Bellini with a concerned frown. When he put the glass back down on the table a little too forcefully, she took it and moved it out of his reach.

"How many of these have you had?"

Marcus narrowed his eyes, "Why?"

"Because you look drunk and it's still early. Are you hung over?" Cheryl clearly did not look impressed.

Marcus rolled his eyes then stared off into the distance, unable to bring himself to look at his mother.

"Marcus," Cheryl's voice was stern, but Marcus could detect that little twinge of fear. He hated when she sounded like that, like she was worried about him. "What is going on?"

"Nothing," Marcus mumbled under his breath. "Andy broke it off, that's all. He's in the closet, we all knew that. And he's going to stay in the closet, we all knew that, too. I was just stupid enough to think I could change him."

To her credit, Cheryl didn't come back with a smart retort. Instead, she waited for him to continue. The silence was deafening and Marcus couldn't stop himself from filling the void.

"I may have come down a little harsh on Christianity and its views against gays."

Marcus glanced at his mother and was irritated to find concern written all over her face.

"He said his faith required sacrifice and this was his sacrifice. We were his sacrifice."

Marcus took a deep breath as the pain of those words throbbed in the middle of his chest.

"And I said that it was bullshit; that the whole thing was bullshit and he was just too scared to admit it. It didn't go over so well."

Marcus shifted in his seat and held out his hand.

"Can I have my glass back now?"

"No, you've been drinking too much."

"Mom!" Marcus didn't care if he sounded like a whiney teenager, he felt like a whiney teenager.

Cheryl sighed before continuing.

"Look, sweetheart, I know how you feel. It's infuriating what some Christians think about homosexuality. It makes the rest of us look like horrible people."

"Exactly!" Marcus threw his hands up in the air and let them drop to the table with a thud. He ignored the curious glances from people seated beside them in the restaurant.

"So I don't understand why he can't just see things the way you and dad see things. You've never had a problem with me being gay. So why is he so blind?"

"Sweetheart," Cheryl reached out to grasp her son's hand in her own. "You have to put yourself in his position. It sounds like his faith is everything to him, so he's looking at things from a different perspective."

Cheryl squeezed Marcus' hand reassuringly.

"Your father and I never forced you to go to church once you were old enough to decide for yourself. You always had the choice to believe what you want, to explore other faiths and other ideologies and make your own choices about spirituality. But maybe Andy never had that choice, maybe all he's known is that very conservative version of Christianity and it's been so ingrained in him that he can't separate himself from it."

Marcus didn't like what he was hearing, didn't like how much it made sense. It was easier being stubborn and angry than being accommodating and understanding.

"You have to imagine what it would feel like to abandon everything you've ever known and ever believed about the world and your place in it," Cheryl sighed. "It must be terrifying, especially if he doesn't have the support of family behind him."

Marcus frowned, leaning back again with his arms across his chest, "What am I supposed to do with that?"

"I don't know," Cheryl shrugged. "I guess it depends on whether this is something worth fighting for."

Marcus paused, not sure if he was strong enough to put himself out there again. And yet, he was terrified that he was walking away from the one true love of his life.

"So what if I do?" he whispered, not meeting his mother's gaze.

"Well, the first thing is to reach out to him again. It sounds like you both have a lot to talk about. But you need to be patient. Try to understand why he thinks the way he does, don't just dismiss it outright."

Marcus wasn't sure if he liked the sound of that. But what choice did he have?

*****

Marcus slipped through a heavy oak door and into a dimly lit room that looked like it was built entirely out of wood. What looked like flood lights were set up on the wooden rafters above, but the room was pretty cavernous and the light wasn't making much of a dent on the darkness.

Marcus took a seat in the back pew and then stood again when everyone else suddenly stood up.

"The Lord be with you," said an older man dressed in fancy robes from the pulpit.

"And also with you," intoned the 50 or so people in the crowd, startling Marcus when they all spoke in unison.

"May almighty God bless you, the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit," said the priest.

"Amen," said the congregation again in unison.

"Go in the peace of Christ," said the priest.

"Thanks be to God," said the congregation. Then they all started murmuring among themselves, some gathering their things together.

It had been a while since Marcus had attended any church services, and this was definitely the first time he had attended a Catholic mass. He had never heard people all reciting the same words together and he had to admit that he found it kind of creepy.

He waited in his seat for the crowd to clear a little bit before he could make his way to the front. He had spotted Andy off to the side of the stage, also dressed in those fancy robes. It was a little weird, since Marcus hadn't seen Andy in any of his priestly clothing since that day at the baseball game. The sight of it brought up some pretty naughty images before Marcus scolded himself to behave—he was in church for heaven's sake.

Marcus could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and he couldn't keep his hands from shaking. He stuffed them into his pockets, hoping that he didn't look as nervous as he felt. He really had no idea how Andy would react to him suddenly showing up like this. Andy had been pretty clear about his intensions to stay in the closet, but after numerous unanswered texts and phone calls, Marcus had been left with no other choice than to ambush him.

Despite his nerves, Marcus could feel a silly, stupid smile threaten to spread across his face. He hadn't seen Andy since that night Andy walked out and just seeing the other man across the room was affecting Marcus a lot more than he wanted to admit. He wanted to run over and pull Andy into his arms, to smell his woodsy scent and know the rightness that came with holding him. But Marcus restrained himself and quietly approached Andy who was chatting with some grandmother, looking for the right opportunity to make himself known.

Andy looked up from his conversation suddenly and spotted Marcus halfway down the aisle. True to form, Marcus could read each and every one of Andy's emotions as they ran across the handsome man's face. First was surprise, followed by a brief spike of happiness which was quickly replaced by shock and then panic and terror. By the time Marcus was within earshot, Andy had turned his attention back to the grandmother and was doing his best to ignore Marcus.

Marcus' heart sank. He had hoped that Andy would be happy to see him, had harbored a flicker of hope that this was the right move. But it was clear that he was wrong. He shouldn't have come here, this was a mistake. But instead of turning and marching out, he found himself drawing closer, as if his body was being pulled toward Andy by an invisible force.

Andy only acknowledged Marcus' presence again after the grandmother turned toward him with a welcoming smile. Andy's own smile was forced and Marcus frowned.

"Hi," Andy jumped in quickly. "You must be new, I haven't seen you here before. I'm Father Dylan, you are?"

Marcus froze. Of all the possible reactions he had anticipated, he had not prepared for this one. He blinked blankly a few times, his brain trying to process what was happening. Marcus glanced at the kindly looking grandmother with the sweet smile and then back at Andy whose eyes were large with panic and fear.

Marcus stuck out his hand formally. "I'm Marcus," he said flatly.

He saw Andy swallow with a bob of his Adam's apple before he took Marcus' hand in a handshake. Marcus gripped the familiar hand, now wet with a layer of nervous sweat and squeezed tightly. Andy swallowed again at the strength of Marcus' handshake.

The grandmother had been chatting away, introducing herself and welcoming Marcus to the church. She commented on how nice it was to have new young people join them, but Marcus wasn't listening to any of it. All he could hear was the pounding in his ears. He dropped Andy's hand like it burned him.

"Thank you, Mrs... Ma'am," Marcus said to the grandmother without taking his eyes off Andy. "I'm afraid I have to go. Have a nice day."

He turned and stalked out of the church quickly, not trusting himself to stay in that place one moment longer without strangling Andy.

Once outside in the mid-day sun, Marcus stopped to catch his breath, his mind reeling in shock. How could he have been so stupid? Andy had made himself perfectly clear. Who was he to barge into Andy's life and expect to be welcomed with open arms? God, he was so stupid. Stephen was right, this wasn't worth it. The excruciating pain that threatened to cripple him on the steps of that church was not worth it.

The door opened behind him and Marcus turned to see Andy come out, still wearing his robes. Too angry to deal with Andy, Marcus turned on his heel and started walking fast.

"Marcus, wait!" Andy called after him.

Marcus ignored him and kept walking.

"Marcus!"

He stopped only because of Andy's hand pulling on his arm.

"What? Now you know who I am?" Marcus strained to keep his voice down, not wanting half of the New York sidewalk to know his humiliation.

Andy sighed, eyes pleading. "It's not like that. It's... What are you doing here?"

Marcus laughed bitterly and looked away, not trusting himself to speak. He couldn't believe he thought it would be a good idea to come. He was so foolish to believe that he was anything more than a convenient little side fuck for the priest who couldn't keep his dick in his pants.

"Marcus, look at me."

Andy put a hand on Marcus' arm and squeezed familiarly.

Marcus took a step back, moving out of arm's reach.

"Do you really think touching me is a good idea?" He snarled at Andy. "You wouldn't want your precious parishioners to know that you're a little gay fucker who likes to moan while taking my big cock up your ass."

Andy paled, jaw hardened, eyes filled with shock and disbelief.

Marcus grinned coldly, maliciously.

"Yeah, didn't think so."

Then he turned and walked away.

*****

Andy stood on the sidewalk, watching Marcus walk away. Ever since he had run out on Marcus, Andy had felt like a dead man walking, his heart and soul numb with the pain of his sacrifice. But now as he watched Marcus walk off, Andy felt his heart and soul crumble with every step until he was truly empty inside.

As Marcus turned the corner and disappeared from sight, the last of Andy's heart and soul disintegrated. He was now a shell of a man, no more joy and no more pain, just empty. Andy continued to stand there on the sidewalk, still in his vestments, staring at the last spot he'd laid eyes on Marcus.

Was this what it felt like to sacrifice? Was this what it meant to follow his calling? Is he meant to live the rest of his life dead inside? The cost seemed too great; the burden too much to bear. If this was what it meant to live a holy life, Andy wasn't sure he wanted to keep living.

Andy stood there on the sidewalk in a state of shock, his mind and body unable to cope with what had just happened. It wasn't until he felt a hand on his shoulder that Andy jumped and snapped out of his trance.

"Andy?" Father Sullivan had changed already after mass.

Andy swallowed thickly. He didn't know what to say, didn't even really know if he had anything to say.

"Is everything okay?" Father Sullivan asked. The frown on his face told Andy that the older man already knew the answer.

"You disappeared after mass. That was half an hour ago. Have you been standing out here the whole time?" Father Sullivan took Andy's arm and led him back inside. Andy didn't have it in him to resist.

Thankfully, Father Sullivan led them down a worn path to the side door of the chapel, away from the people still milling around the front of the church. He didn't let go of Andy's arm until they were inside their office with the door closed.

Andy sat down heavily in his chair, staring into space, knowing that Father Sullivan was waiting for an explanation, but he didn't have one to give. Andy blinked and shifting his gaze down to his wringing hands when Father Sullivan moved his own chair and sat down right in front of Andy.

"It's clear to me that there is something terribly wrong, son," Father Sullivan started. "I'm not here as a priest, or even as your boss. I'm here as a friend who is concerned about your well being. There's something eating away at you from the inside. From your vantage point, you might think it's the end of the world. But trust me when I say there is nothing that is too big to work through. I've seen a lot in my years, I doubt you can shock me. So how about you tell me what's wrong?"

Andy gazed at Father Sullivan, processing the words he heard. Under any other circumstance, Andy would resist, deny anything was wrong and try to go on as normal. But what really was normal? Andy wasn't sure he knew anymore. This double life he had been living certainly wasn't normal; a lifetime of denying who he was didn't feel normal either—at least, it didn't feel right.

As he took in Father Sullivan's pleading eyes, Andy realized that he didn't have any fight left in him to keep denying himself. He wasn't strong enough to keep up the façade. Andy knew he had two choices: if he kept denying what he knew deep down to be true, he'd end up dead in every sense of the word, or he could finally own up to the truth. There would be consequences to confessing, there was a good chance he'd lose everything he claimed to live for. But was the other option really viable? No, he decided, it wasn't.

Andy watched his hand move as if it belonged to another body. It reached for the drawer of his desk and pulled it open. Lying at the top of the drawer was one of the drawings that Marcus had made of him. Andy kept it at his desk to look at whenever things got too difficult to remind himself of the peace he felt with Marcus. Andy had another of the drawings tucked away in his wallet so that he'd always have a piece of Marcus with him wherever he went.

Andy took out the drawing from the drawer and traced over the lines with his finger. He still thought Marcus had been too generous—Andy certainly was not as beautiful as the drawing. His actions today proved that, if nothing else. Andy's heart broke as he realized what he had done to the man he loved. The weight of his actions fell heavily on him and tears started streaming down his cheeks.

Andy had spent the last weeks trying to pretend he was okay, trying to forget that little piece of paradise he'd found with Marcus. He had buried himself in work, going into overdrive at the church to prove to himself that he was still pious enough to be called a priest. He'd even resorted to scrubbing floors on his hands and knees. All that had gotten him was bruised knees and blisters on his hands, but he was no less at peace with his decision.

He put the drawing down on the desk before he started dripping tears on it. Father Sullivan picked it up and studied it for a moment before turning back to Andy. Andy expected a frown of disapproval, but instead he only saw curiosity and concern.

"Do you want to tell me about this?" Father Sullivan asked.

Andy couldn't help the sobs that escape his throat, his shoulders shaking with the force of his crying. This was embarrassing, a grown man sobbing into his hands, but Andy couldn't stop, couldn't get a grip on himself. Andy sobbed, pouring out the anguish and pain that had consumed his being for longer that he could remember, releasing all the pent up fear that had enslaved him for so long. Andy let it all out until the tears dried up and his head ached.

Andy wiped his face with the tissue that Father Sullivan handed to him. He couldn't look the older man in the eye. He was drained and he couldn't deal with the judgment that he was sure was being directed his way.

"Heavenly Father, I pray for Your peace upon this young man," Father Sullivan started in a quiet, gentle voice. Andy's head snapped up when he realized what Father Sullivan was doing, and then quickly dropped his head in prayer.

"Heavenly Father, I know not what troubles Andy, but I know it must be a great and tiresome burden. Father God, we all have our burdens to bear, but You never leave us to bear them alone. Lord, I pray for Your strength upon Andy, help him turn his burdens over to You, help him lean on Your strength rather than his own. I pray that he would not feel alone, but rather know the peace of Your presence with him always. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen."

Andy quickly crossed himself, and whispered Amen. He was embarrassed by the prayer; it was intimate and personal, as if Father Sullivan knew exactly what kind of prayer Andy needed. It was a heartfelt prayer that Andy didn't feel like he deserved. He had been so disobedient, what right did he have to all those things the prayer petitioned for.

"Andy," Father Sullivan's voice was ever patient. "Would you like to tell me what's wrong?"

Andy glanced up at Father Sullivan and saw nothing but concern—no judgment, no condemnation. Just Father Sullivan patiently waiting until Andy was ready to talk.