Just a short drabble about Mello's Catholic Guilt.
This is in NO WAY meant as homophobic (Heck, if I was homophobic I'd be screwed) or as rude to religions. I have the utmost respect for members of the Church.
Matt, my Mail, my lover.
He is with me, always; and I need him. I can't tell him, I can't admit I love him, because it's wrong.
I tell him to go, and then I beg him to stay.
And do you know what?
He always comes, no matter what the circumstances. He always returns, even if I don't understand why. Because this can't be love. It can't. My parents taught me loving another man was unforgiveable. So I can't love Matt.
Matt has seen me do things, horrible things. He has watched, from behind those damn goggles as I shot people, because they fucked up. He has watched me put the safety back on, put the gun away and cross myself, murmuring the Our Father for every death. He has seen me cry. He has seen me screaming from nightmares.
He has seen me at my weakest, and he has held me while I cried.
We sleep together, in all senses of the term, sometimes just lying in one another's arms, sometimes making love in whispers and caresses.
But it's not making love. You do that with women.
With a man, it is just a sin.
I can't love him, but living without him would kill me.
He is the purest, most beautiful thing in my world, but it's wrong.
Surely, surely God can see?
What I have with Matt is not a sin.
Nothing that makes you feel so good, so happy, so completely whole, could be a sin.
But just in case it is, it's not love.