Her
She knows it's wrong. She knows it's not what is expected of her. She knows it's not normal. She wishes she could say she didn't care either. But she does. She cares about the looks she'd get; the hate people would feel. She cares, and it's probably going to kill her. She wishes that she were different. She wishes she could suffocate what she's feeling. But wishes don't come true, at least not for her.
She sits in the front pew. She prays and she cries. The church is empty and the only sound is the sound of her sobs and her tears. She grips the rosary tighter. She asks for forgiveness. She asks God to change her. But deep down, she knows he's not listening.
And then she thinks of her. She tries to hate her, but she can't. She never can. She tries to convince herself that she's wicked, she's immoral, she's a sinner. But she loves her anyway. She loves her so much she thinks her heart might simply stop, worn out and over-used. She tries to imagine a world where they could be together. A world where they wouldn't be judged or despised. But she also knows that place doesn't exist. And it never will.
She walks home. Her eyes are red and her body is exhausted. She wants to scream, but she's too tired. She's always too tired. She passes her house on the way back. She wants so desperately to ring the bell. To see her. She walks passed it instead. She gets home and her mother asks where she's been. She tells her. Her mother doesn't believe her.
She tries to sleep. But she can't. Her mind is full of her. Her heart is full of her. She breathes her. Someone knocks on her bedroom door, so she pretends to sleep. She doesn't have the energy to deal with her parents now. She hears the door creak open and someone silently moving towards her. She doesn't open her eyes until the other side of the bed sinks. It's her. She doesn't say anything as she lies down beside her. She doesn't say anything as she wraps her in her arms. She doesn't say anything as she kisses her forehead. And with that, she says everything.
She breathes her in. She memorizes her face, her body, her. The world melts away in her embrace. Her fears soften, her self-hatred dissolves and instead, she loves. She kisses her. Even though she knows it's wrong, that it's not what is expected of her and that it's not normal. She kisses her anyway. She loses herself completely in her. The feeling of her body beneath her heals her. Her sighs of pleasure cure her. Their love envelops the room. She makes her not care about the looks she'd get or the hate people would feel. She makes her believe that something so right couldn't possibly be wrong. She whispers I love you. For the first time, she says it back.