Unquestionable

TW: Violence, descriptions of gore, and swearing.

There is an innocent question that lingers on all of us who are desperate for affection; “What is love?” and “Will I ever be loved?” The question plagues us. We want that love. The sort of love people don’t question because that love is unquestionable. 

To me “love” is a strange thing, most times it’s used as an excuse. “I yelled at you because I love you” or “I’m sorry okay? I didn’t mean to cheat on you. I just love you so damn much.” or “I love you a lot, but I wish you could stop tying your hair like that.” An excuse to be the worst version of ourselves to ones who know us best. 

It’s weird hearing these words so casually tossed around and watching as the victims of the word “love” happily accept these excuses. Watch as their spirit slowly shatters because of the lies. So desperate to hold onto something doesn't exist. I don’t want that sort of love. 

Maybe at one point I had been one of the bullies. Superficial and deceiving. But that was before I met him. Someone I cared about more than my own existence. 

What we had, it was real love. The sort of love that made people jealous. The sort of love that wasn’t wrong or a sin like people say it was. It was pure. 

In him, I discovered myself. 

But he’s dead. So everyday, I sink slowly into the shithole I have created for myself. My own way of mourning for him. 

I think back to the first time I saw him. Or rather noticed him. He says he’s always been there, I just didn’t look closely enough. 

A hand taps me on the shoulder. I look up, a guy with light brunette hair stares back. He looks too skinny for his height. A  smirk plays on his face, “Can I borrow your pencil?” He holds out a hand, evident that despite having phrased his words as a question, it wasn’t one. He was demanding I give him the pencil. 

I shrug. I gave him one of my shittiest pencils. The erasers at the end chewed off and the pencil not sharpened. 

Nevertheless, he gives me a grin, the sort of grin many would die for. It’s gorgeous. It’s out of this world. “Thank you.” 

That had been the first time we met. In high school, Biology 11. Following that, the two of us began hanging out. We became best friends. 

Then lovers. 

In a world that hated us, we made it work. Two men. Unguided. Confused. Somehow we managed to survive. In hiding, each day wondering what it was that we did that would get us caught. At times, we were reckless; holding hands underneath a table, kissing in an alley. 

It didn’t matter which of the impulsive acts got us caught. Only that we were. 

We were caught. 

Knocking sounded on the other side of our apartment door. I look at Alex, confused. We had not invited anyone over. We never invited anyone over. 

Alex shrugged, “Probably one of those adsellers.” Regardless, a dark look takes over his features. He and I both know that adsellers don’t come to apartment buildings, especially this part of the town. Rogue. Filled with the ink of death. Any respectful person with half a mind wouldn’t wander here. 

Despite being a rather naive person, I knew what we had on the other side of the door was trouble. Perhaps our time had come. It didn’t matter, we were on borrowed time anyways. I just wish it were different. A different person in a different place. 

“Stay behind me.” Alex instructs. He shoots me a look, daring me to argue. 

And I do. “We’ll both die anyways.” I say, my lips thinning into a line. Everyday, we hear about people like us dying. A trans person. A gay person. Someone different from the majority. People who had so much to give just suddenly because of a hate stemming from a fake belief, a fear of something different.

It was fucked up. Why should I have to be ashamed of being myself? It’s the haters in this world that should be dying, not me, not Alexander, not the people who’re trying their fucking best to survive. 

Men don’t cry, but I do anyway. I cling onto Alex like he’s my lifeline as shameless tears run down my cheeks. Death had been inedible from the beginning. People like us don’t survive long in this world, in this country. No matter where we turn, we are cornered. 

The door shakes violently. Cracks begin appearing on the door as the wood is slowly split into pieces. 

I thought I had accepted death, but at that moment I wasn’t so sure anymore. I wanted to live. Yes, I would eventually die, but not like this. Not in this shit apartment. Not in the hands of these shit people. 

I began shaking. In fear. In confusion. Why? Why? Why?

Alex begins rocking me back and forth. It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay. He keeps on repeating. And I believed him, I always did. 

It’s okay. If not now, then later. Soon. 

Silently the two of us watched as the door slowly smashed into pieces. Watch as men with hunting guns and pitchforks approach us. 

One of them took aim. 

The shot echoes loudly. 

I looked around, wondering who he had been aiming for. Too late. Beside me, Alex falls to the ground. Moaning in pain. Red stains his shirt. 

“No, no, no, no…” I sobbed, then started screaming. My hands gripped his. “No!” At that moment, it felt like I was drowning, unable to surface. When he died, he had taken a part of me with him. Never again would I be as complete as when I was with him. 

Too soon. Too soon he was taken from me. 

That had been the day he died. There was no funeral. People who sinned didn’t get funerals. Not here. Here, we were forgotten…

It’s not okay. It will never be okay again. 

Not for me. Not for people like me.

We were shunned by society. Even children knew to hate us. We’re worse than feral animals and the killers that roam, that’s what parents teach their kids. 

Stay away from the freaks and they’ll go. 

Don’t look one in the eye. 

If you hang out with them, you’ll become one of them. 

Words that cut so deep. 

I didn’t choose to be this way. I want to shout every time someone makes a joke about transgender and gay sex, but my mouth remains shut. Sometimes the need to survive is stronger than defending my ego. Let them be who they want to be, I cannot change them. But I sure as hell wished I could. 

When I die, maybe I will meet Alexander in the afterlife, where we’ll spend the rest of eternity together. Or maybe not,what’s probably gonna happen when I pass is that my body will rot. It doesn’t matter. Perhaps my story is just beginning, perhaps it is nearing the end, but I hope for the days where discriminatory violence ceases. 

I look to the days where we can be our truest selves in front of everyone, not in hiding nor fear. Just free. 

Note: This is a work of fiction, it is also not set in a real world place (though there are many countries that prohibit LGBTQ+ love)

LGBTI Rights, Amnesty International: https://www.amnesty.org/en/what-we-do/discrimination/lgbti-rights/