Christian was having lunch. I couldn't eat, not the way I was feeling, but he'd made himself a feast. I smiled on the verge of laughter at his delight as he tucked into his food, chatting away at me between mouthfuls. He had, thankfully, put a t-shirt on and I no longer had to bear such a stark reminder of his scars.
As he cleared his plate away, still babbling on in the cute way that he always did, I felt at ease. I felt that I could go home safe in the knowledge he was not broken. When he went to brush his teeth, I dressed myself. He came back in as I was lacing up my boots.
"Where you going?"
"Um, I thought I should go home now."
"Oh."
"I need to talk to them. It's overdue."
"What are you gonna say to them?"
"I don't know. I guess I'll have to play it by ear, see what they say."
"But I mean, what are you going to say... about us?"
"I'm not going over there to talk about us. I'm going over there to talk about me and them, and I'm going over there to do what I can to put this all right."
Christian's breaths were heavy, irregular, like he was trying to contain... anger? "We know what that means."
"Now isn't the time to bring all of this into it. There's damage I've caused that needs repairing."
"Caused by this. You, me, us."
"OK, yes, fine, but I need to focus on reconciling things with them. I need to do whatever it takes to..."
"Well I'll shut up now, shall I?"
"What?"
"You'll go over there and agree to anything they ask of you. And they'll ask you to deny yourself."
"This isn't about 'myself'."
"Of course it is!"
"No, Christian. It's about a lot more than that. Something bigger. It's about family and community and realising these things are bigger than the individual. I'm not going to march over there and lay down my demands, and what I want. You seem to think I should just do whatever I want and to hell with the consequences. I care about these things, they're important to me."
"And I care about you. So don't do this, Sy. Don't forget your humanity for the sake of making them more comfortable."
"Don't put others before my sexual gratification?"
"That's insulting, Sy, and you know it."
"That's what it boils down though, isn't it? I love you, I don't deny it. But what we do, it is that! Our... relationship; it's sex."
"And what's wrong with that? Religion goes to great length to attach shame to a concept it feels threatened by. When we are together, I feel anything but shame. I feel beauty. And pride. And I know that what I am expressing is deep, pure, something that words alone do no justice. If you don't think you have the right to that, Sy, I... I might just be the saddest man in the world right now."
"I can't justify putting myself first like you do. I'm not saying you're wrong, you can live your life by that philosophy and..."
"And go straight to hell for it."
"... And I won't judge you," I continued, correcting his presumption. "But your philosophy is not mine. And it's not that I don't see beauty in this, I do. I think you're the most beautiful thing I've ever laid my eyes upon. But I'm not the most important person in my life. That's just how it is."
"So I what? Accept my tough luck, I suppose. Life goes on, to hell with me really."
"No, of course not."
"What then?"
"I don't know! I don't know. What can I do? This will never be right in their eyes – in God's eyes. And I know you don't care for all that but it matters to me."
"But, Sy, surely your relationship with God is personal. And if he made you, then he made you gay."
"He gave me a test."
"To see whether you could resist me? Why? Why would he do that? Why wouldn't he allow you to love?"
"But it's the wrong sort of love!"
"I shouldn't have the right to feel special?"
"Of course you should!"
"Well then stop being so hypocritical! Stop having one rule for me and one rule for you. If I deserve love and happiness then so do you."
"But I won't be happy without my parents' acceptance. I won't be happy if my community shuns my family. And I won't have their love. So being with you doesn't equal what you think it does."
He threw his hands as if to say 'well that's that then' and then started fiddling with a pen lid that was on the table. There was a silent aggression to him, one that made me want to hug him and tell him everything was okay but I couldn't, of course. We stood there like this – him playing with the lid, me looking at him – for what seemed like a minute or so. I wondered whether I should leave but I'd hate to leave him like this. He opened his mouth to speak but then decided against it. I wanted to hear what he had to say though, or rather I wanted him say something at least.
"What?"
He shook his head.
"Christian, just say."
"I wish there was something I could say... that would make you want to be with me as much as I want to be with you."
"I do want it, so much. Christian, I do. But I can't."
"You won't, you mean."
"I won't do that to my family, no."
"Then... celibacy."
"If that's what it'll take to regain their trust. To make them proud of me."
"They should be proud of themselves. They've managed to gain monopoly on their son – have him love no one but them, hold no one but them. And he'll be in no one else's arms for the rest of his life. He'll live a lonely existence and when they're gone, he'll be lonelier still – just him and his regrets."
I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what reaction he was trying to provoke.
"And when he's old," he continued, "he'll resent his parents for denying him of what they themselves got to enjoy. A life with companionship, with sexual and emotional fulfilment, with someone to live for. He'll remember a young man called Syed who for a while decided to live his life and he laughed and loved and connected with someone... whatever his name was...and he'll wonder what happened to him." He was looking at me as if trying to pierce me. "And beyond that, I can't think of anything to say that might stop the man I love making the biggest mistake of his life. So I'm done. I'm spent, and useless to you now. So go tell your parents of your successful castration. I'm sure they'll be so proud of you."
There was such a finality to his tone that I felt I had to leave. His voice, his face, devoid of emotion. It was clear he wanted me gone. I slowly walked out and stopped in the hallway, debating whether I should turn round and go back in. Then I heard an almighty SLAM! of the door that shook the walls and the foundations beneath my feet. Ouch.
