To Hell With You

When I first met John, he was a rebel. He hated the system and everything associated with it. I was raised on and subsequently abandoned Catholicism. But I never could shake that fear and obedience of the law and rules and structure. John had none of these qualms, and it was exciting. I wanted to be him so badly, but I just couldn’t. So I settled for being with him instead.

He came into my life as a hitchhiker, drifting in and out of cars and cities. I was on my way home from visiting my parents out of state. He told me where he was headed, but I don’t really remember where it was. He never made it there. We got to talking and found out we had quite a bit in common. He’d also been raised in an excessively strict household. He’d also been raised religiously, though Southern Baptist rather than Catholic. He was also into classic rock and knew the CD I had in the car word-for-word.

We stopped at a Denny’s in the middle of the night for some coffee. It was there that he mentioned that he didn’t have a place to stay when he got wherever it was that he was going. So I suggested that he could just stay with me at mine.

“But that’s not where I’m going.”

“I know.”

From that moment, I think we both understood that there was no going our separate ways. I’d found him attractive from the moment I saw him, thumb out on the side of the road. It’s the reason I stopped, to be honest. He must have seen something in me too because he agreed to come back to mine. Mine, that was still five hours away.

The rest of the drive back I thought he might sleep, but either the coffee was doing its job, or he was wired on my company. We continued talking, comparing our upbringings, and our respective takes on religion based on what we were taught as children. We were of similar minds that there might be an afterlife, but there was no way to know until we were there.

Once we pulled up to my home, I helped him get his bags, leaving most of my own in the car. We managed to get through the door but not much further before we deposited everything including our clothes on the ground. We made our way into the bedroom, our bodies intertwined and clumsily knocking various items to the floor. As we climbed into the bed he pulled away from me momentarily.

“Charles, are you sure about this?” He asked. “I don’t mind, but it is kinda fast.”

I don’t know what came over me, but I looked him dead in the eyes and said–

“I’ve never been so sure in my entire life.”

After that, some people might say we had sex, but I’ll always maintain that we made love. I believe it was present that early on. In fact, I believe it was present from the moment we saw each other. I know for sure that there was electricity coursing through my veins, and I hope, much like most people would, that there was the same reaction on his end.

The next morning I made us breakfast. Over it, we talked some more. He was trying to join some kind of ecological resistance movement, one that I’d heard of. They’d blown up pipelines and done other things to get themselves labeled as eco-terrorists. Or, it was assumed it was them. No one had come right out and claimed ownership of the attacks. But they were known for their less-than-non-violent espousing in regards to what we were doing to the planet. When I confronted him about it, he smiled and said that if he had to become a terrorist to enact change, then that’s just what he had to be.

I’d never had a cause that I was willing to die for, never an ideal that I was willing to kill for. So I found his dedication to his cause intoxicating. I asked him why he was so invested, why he cared so much. He said that the world was here long before us, and should be here long after we were gone. But at the rate things were going, there wasn’t going to be much world left for future generations. I melted at that answer, thinking of the children.

As I gathered our plates he asked me what I was doing for the rest of the day. I told him I had to go to work later, but I’d be back around seven.

“Do I need to be gone by then?” He asked.

I was slightly taken aback by the question. Of course, I understood the question, and why he asked it, but I hadn’t even thought of kicking him out.

“I was hoping you’d still be here when I got home, actually,” I said.

He seemed surprised, and I was a little bit too. I wasn’t the type to let strangers into my house, let alone let them stay there while I was gone. But for some reason I trusted him. So I told him what food I had and where I kept the remote to the TV, and left him alone, in my house, for over eight hours, hoping he wouldn’t run away.

He never did.

A few months later we were in the grocery store buying fruit together. I was in heaven. I’d tried to have relationships like this before, but the dating pool in my fairly small town was pretty nonexistent. At least, for people like us it was. So for him to come into my life the way he did was like something out of a dream, and I didn’t want to wake up.

It’s not like he’d had a ton of boyfriends before me either. Coming from the Bible Belt didn’t lend itself much to being homosexual. It was one of the reasons he’d left home, or been thrown out of it rather. His parents weren’t accepting of who he was in the slightest. Nor was just about anyone in his town. So he left it. He’d been on his own for years now, slowly drifting around. But now he had me.

Every fairytale has its evils though. My town wasn’t Bible-thumping, but it wasn’t exactly gay-friendly. We had our fair share of run-ins with hate. But for the most part, we kept to ourselves. We tried not to be too affectionate in public, or at least I did. John didn’t care much about what anyone else thought, so naturally to him I was a bit prudish. But he truly seemed to enjoy riling me up and “bringing me out of my shell,” as he called it. I was content holding hands, but he wanted kisses and such. I would give them begrudgingly, but I secretly liked them. He knew I did.

Not everyone liked them though, and some people were more vocal about it than others. John was vocal right back. Sometimes it got him in trouble, but for the most part, we were able to avoid it. Until that night.

We were walking in the neighborhood on a cool, breezeless night some year or so into our relationship. It was so nice outside, and we were walking hand in hand. Suddenly, something hit me in the head. I stumbled and raised my hand to my head. I was bleeding and covered in beer. I looked up and saw one of our regular tormentors, David. He was yelling slurs at us in a slurred voice. John was giving it right back. David came up and got up in John’s face, and before I could do anything John punched him. They began fighting, and I pulled out my phone and started to call the police, looking around and screaming for someone to help us.

A shot rang out. It felt like the slowest I’d ever moved as I turned my head to look at them. John was already falling to the ground, and David was standing there, a horrified look on his face as the gun shook in his hand. When he looked up we locked eyes, and I could see fear and regret. Then two more shots rang out, and he fell backward. I looked to John and saw him with his hands outstretched, holding the gun we kept in the bedside table for home defense. He dropped it to the ground, and I saw him cough up blood. I ran over to him, crying harder than I ever had in my life.

As tears obscured my vision, I picked him up and held him in my arms. It had all happened so fast. I hadn’t had a chance to do anything.

“I thought I might need that. I don’t know why, but I had a feeling,” he said.

I heard sirens going in the distance, and neighbors were looking nosily out of their windows, blinds drawn but cracked.

“Don’t talk,” I said. “Don’t say anything, just wait for the ambulance. It’s got to be on the way.”

“Charles,” he said before another bloody cough. “I love you, but I’m not gonna make it. This is it, I know it.”

“No, no it can’t be,” I sobbed. “You can’t leave me.”

“I’m sorry Charles. But hey, look on the bright side– I’m gonna find out what the afterlife looks like.”

My shoulders heaved and tears ran down my face, landing on his and stinging my cheeks.

“Charles, I’m starting to go. I’m getting cold. Which is kind of funny don’t you think?”

At that, I wiped my tears and looked at him with incredulity.

“What could possibly be funny about that, John?”

“Because Hell is hot,” he said with a smile on his face as he closed his eyes. “And according to both our faiths, that’s exactly where I’m going.”

“I love you, John.”

Silence greeted me. No witty banter, no smart comment. Only silence. I could barely hear the echoes of the police getting closer, more and more sirens filling the air. The only thing that filled my ears was my own heartbeat as I looked down at my lifeless lover. As I gazed at him, I saw the gun in my peripheral. A thought shot through my mind.

I reached down and grabbed it as the police arrived. They got out of their cars and shouted at me to put it down, but I had a plan. I barely heard them as I raised the gun to my temple.

Honestly, it felt natural to follow him into Hell. In a way, there’s nothing I’d rather do. Nowhere I’d rather be.