Criminally Vulgar

Chapter 7-

With thoughts of talking to Butters again popping constantly into Bradley's head, he found it hard to pay attention to most everything else; for not only did the idea generate happy, bubbly feelings, it also brought wild hopes of somehow becoming romantically involved with him, and with those hopes that familiar, bitter edge of guilt and shame. The messages that the counselors were intent on beating into their psyches were once again striking that fragile strain in his heart that desperately wanted to love and be loved, made even more tender by this renewed hope. Once again, simply hearing another speech on how God was repulsed by and hated how he felt almost reduced him to tears. Just as I thought I'd hardened myself against being hurt this much by it, too.

About a week after receiving Butters' address from Kyle, the afternoon sermon happened to be an especially vituperous lecture on God's disgust for homosexuals. Bradley tried to let the words roll over him like a wave. He stared at the ground, feeling his bottom getting numb from the hard seat, he felt so heavy sitting there. The baritone voice of the preacher reverberated in his ears, and he couldn't force the words to become an intelligible murmur like he wanted them to. They were far too clear in his trembling mind:

"Homosexuality is an immoral act; it is a sin. Like any other sin, God hates it. Like any other sin, it corrupts the soul. Like any other sin, you will go to Hell for it. Romans 1:27 clearly states: 'Men committed indecent acts with other men and received in themselves the due penalty of their perversion'. And I say to you, if you do not repent, if you do not change, if you do not give yourself over to be cured of this most heinous disease, you also shall receive in yourselves the due penalty of your perversion."

It felt like a literal wound, like a knife had been plunged into the tense muscles of Bradley's heart, and he felt the blood seeping from it as it continued to beat wildly, nervously, ashamedly, painfully. Yes, there was the light-headed feeling of morphine rushing to the cut, only what could possibly cure the guilt entrenched in his soul by this "most heinous disease"? The familiar and terrifying feeling of helplessness, that nothing would ever fix him, washed over him. He tried frantically to check the tears and haggard breathing that already threatened to overtake him, clutching to the last vestiges of his pride, scarcely getting out of the chapel as fast as he'd have liked. All but running back to his dorm, he dashed inside, wobbling over to his bed as if he were about to collapse. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small piece of creased paper, slightly dirty and crumpled from being kept in his jeans at all times. He unfolded the note to stare at the name and address penciled on it. Finally, the tears fell with a heaving sob.

Butters Stotch
1020 White Oak Ave.
South Park, CO 80440

He couldn't help the simultaneous floating and sinking feeling in his chest whenever he thought of the other boy. It would be like trying not to breathe. He'd hold it in until it showed, until it hurt, until he thought he'd die, but he couldn't help but enjoy the sweet, liberating taste of fresh air, even while he beat himself up over having been weak enough to take another breath. He felt his heart being pulled in two directions at once.

Through his crying, he didn't notice Finch slip in the door several minutes later. Letting the door close silently behind him, Finch watched his accountabilibuddy cry his heart out on his bunk, clutching the address of the boy he loved. The redhead's face was completely impassive except for his eyes. His eyes regarded Bradley with an understanding and sympathy that he had not even once shown since his arrival. As much as he tried to remain aloof from it all, Finch couldn't deny that in this moment, Bradley was an equal. He shared his suffering. He shared his confusion. He shared his secret pain and joys and guilts and tears because they were also his own. Just change the names to protect the innocent.

But what Bradley lacked now was strength and courage and reckless abandon. And that Finch could provide; but first, something they both wanted more than anything. He crossed the room to stand at the side of Bradley's bed.

"We missed you at dinner." Bradley jumped at Finch's voice so close. He sat up, hastily wiping the tears away, even as fresh ones took their place. Sobs still racked his body. The address had fluttered down to the spot on the mattress next to Bradley's knee. "Mind if I sit?" Bradley looked away, signaling his ambivalence on the issue, so Finch perched himself on the edge of the bed. Then he continued, softer and more gently than Bradley had ever heard him speak, "Look, I know I'm not the most devout person or anything, but I personally find it hard to believe that this God, maker of the universe, whose love preachers keep rambling on and on about really hates people for being gay. I mean, that would make him a hypocrite, wouldn't it? They keep on talking about how he loves everybody, right? So, wouldn't that mean he loves us, too?"

Bradley wouldn't be consoled so easily. "God may love us, but he hates and is saddened by what we do. By how we feel. By who we are. I just…" The sobs returned. "I'm tired of it. I'm tired of living a double life, I'm tired of feeling wrong and horrible and evil. I-I don't think there's any way to cure us, or help us, or anything. I really don't." Sniffles. Finch waited patiently. "I've felt this way a lot- actually most of my time here- but sometimes it just gets so overwhelming… I feel like there's no way out. …The last time I felt like that I tried jumping off the bridge just down the road. I almost did it, too. But then, Butters…" He hid his face and cried. Again, Finch waited; not contemptuously, not impatiently, just waited. A couple minutes later, Bradley calmed down enough to speak again. "That was right before he left. He gave his speech about how God loves homosexuals for who they are, and then he left. It almost seems like a dream now. I want to believe him, I really do. But then the counselors talk and…"

The two boys sat in silence for a minute as Bradley got his crying under control. Then, Finch spoke in his cool, low voice. "There's this guy who comes around our town every Halloween. We call him Devil Lad because of the mask he always wears trick-or-treating. I've known him for several years. He's probably the one person in the world who gets me the most. I'd never even seen his face. And then one day… I found myself falling in love with him. I thought I was crazy at first, and I tried to tell myself otherwise, but as time went by, it just became more and more clear that I loved him. I was afraid of how I felt, so I hid it deep within myself. It became the secret I vowed to myself I'd take to the grave. No one, not even Devil Lad himself- especially not Devil Lad himself- could know. I'd just have to deal with it on my own.

"And then I got sent here. I don't know why my mom decided this was for the best. I don't know if she knows, or if she guessed, or if someone else knew and told her, or guessed and told her, or anything. But as much as she wanted me rid of my crush on Devil Lad, this place has succeeded in doing two things." Bradley looked at Finch curiously, and Finch looked Bradley straight in the eye. "One- it's made me positive that this is not how I'm going to live my life. In fear, in guilt, in shame. That's no way to live. And two- They're wrong. They keep telling us how we're wrong, how we need to be fixed, how we inspire hatred and disgust. But to the best of my knowledge, none of us has ever inspired hated or disgust in others without them first seeking to have it inspired in themselves. We never did anything but love, and love from afar. They are the ones who've made every single person here hate them, and it's entirely their fault. They're bigoted, self-righteous assholes, and you're better than them. You don't deserve to bash yourself up." As Bradley stared at him in shock, Finch picked the paper up off the bed gingerly and held it out to him. "I think Butters was on to something." Bradley took the paper dazedly, and clutched it to his chest.

Just then, there was a knock at the door, and Kyle and Alex stepped in.

"Bradley? You okay? You didn't come to dinner," Kyle said. Bradley nodded mutely. Finch looked up at the other two.

"We were just talking about how this places sucks ass. Care to join us?" Alex caught a look in Finch's eye, and his brow furrowed.

"What're you thinking of…?"

"I, for one, can't take this camp anymore."

Kyle rolled his eyes. "So what do you suggest we do about it? Break out?" Finch's face betrayed no sign of jest. Kyle's face grew equally serious. "You're not really thinking of breaking out." The statement asked for confirmation. Bradley turned to Finch.

"He's right. It's crazy. We'd never be able to do it. And assuming we did, where would we go? And how? We're pretty destitute, here."

"I was thinking that we walk home. That would be the final destination from this place, after all, right?"

Alex's jaw dropped. "That's insane! Finch, we live, like, a kajillion miles away! It was a two-day drive out here, man! We'd never make it!"

"Never say never. There are ways." His eyes narrowed at Alex, who shut up and appeared to be thinking long and hard over this. Finch turned to Kyle and Bradley. "And you guys don't live too far from here, right?"

"No, but that's beside the point," Kyle said. "We could never do it."

"What if I told you that I'd been planning for us four to escape for about two and a half weeks?"

"That's insane," Alex repeated weakly.

"Is it?" Finch asked. "I know every detail of every counselor shift of every day. I know when the most opportune moment is, and where to go to take advantage of it. We've got our youth, and we've got drive. And may I remind you of the alternative." He spread his arms wide, indicating the room, the camp, the torture they'd had to bear. Alex shifted his weight to one foot, grabbing his elbow with his hand.

"I'll go if you go, Finch."

"That's my Pig Pig."

"You guys, it'll never work," Bradley asserted, out of concern for the others' safety. He gave Kyle a pleading glance, asking for his backup. Kyle, however, took a good look around the room and sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Tell me exactly how this plan of yours works." Finch smirked.

"Gentlemen, we would leave tomorrow evening at eight."
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