Sodomite.

“Harder!” Frank yells, his throat constricting as he gasps for precious air. “I‘m so close,”

His boyfriend, Gerard, ploughs into him with forbidden passion, getting lost in their bubble of ecstasy. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he moans as heat begins to gather around his crotch. Every inch of his body tingles sensuously. Hurriedly, he spreads Frank’s legs further apart giving himself more access.

“Don’t… call upon Jesus now” Frank groans half in pleasure half in guilt. His religious roots have left him with respect for his prophets. Unlike Gerard he never uses Jesus or God in vain; they are supposed to be worshipped not cursed.

“Oh god Frank, shut up.” Gerard slaps his mouth onto his boyfriends plump lips. A feeling begins to spread through him all the way down from his toes and he knows he’s going to blow his load any minute. He pushes deeper once, twice, three times, clenching as he tries to savour the last moments before they both reach the ultimate high.

“- What the fuck?”

Both boys jump away from each other so suddenly Gerard’s dick rips Frank on exit; however, the pain has no time to register as they scramble to cover themselves with the blanket. Mr Iero stands stiff in Frank’s doorway, clad neck to toe in a white overall, his brown beard creating a vast contrast.

A silence so loud it screams in Frank’s ears commences for a few seconds and it feels like years are passing. Mentally, Frank takes the time to call upon God to have mercy on him as he becomes aware of the fact his fathers face is an image of hell.

“You…You‘re? What do you think you‘re doing!” the man yells, shock slipping into venom, disgust. Without giving either of the boys a chance to defend themselves, Frank’s father pounces forward and grabs his sons boyfriend by the neck, tightening his clasp fatally before throwing him to the ground. “You carry the sins of the devil.” he muttered from above the offending boy, his wide eyes committing murder beneath their sockets. Leaning down slightly he spit on Gerard’s pale bruising chest in disgust.

“How dare you come into my house and corrupt my family with your sick ways!” he brings his foot up to kick Gerard’s bare body; his long black hair creates a wave on the carpet. Frank made a note of how Beautiful his boyfriend is even in his rawest moments of fear, before jumping up to save him. “Dad! Stop!” his nakedness seems unimportant all of a sudden and tears rush to his eyes.

“Don‘t you dare touch me you filthy boy.” Mr Iero flinches away from Frank’s unholy touch. “I knew we shouldn‘t have adopted you. You‘re a disgrace!” he lifts his fist into the air and punches his son so hard he temporarily knocks the life out of him.

As Frank lays beside Gerard’s bruising body falling into a pit of unconsciousness he hears the Adan calling from the distance.

-

When Frank comes around the sun is setting and the house is silent. A sudden ache in his head stops him from lifting himself off the blood stained carpet. ‘What happened?’ he questions silently closing his eyes. In less than three seconds everything comes rushing back to him. Gerard. Sex. Father. Black.

Today he’s really starting to understand the term ignorance is bliss.

Somehow, Frank convinces himself that lying on the floor for the rest of eternity isn’t going to solve his problems and he gently eases his still naked body off the stained carpet. A sharp discomfort spring to his backside. shit

Wincing he stands, shaking slightly with nerves and lack of balance. He glances in the mirror on the back of the door and notices a large bruise on the side of his face and a trickle of dried blood stuck around his ear, probably from where he’d hit his head when he collapsed on the floor. The thought of Gerard shakes him suddenly, and he glances around the room for his equally battered body. Fortunately for him, he’s no longer stuck in the house but unfortunately for Frank his absence means has to face his parents alone.

Regardless of what everyone says, Frank very much believes that God does not discriminate against homosexuals. If he did then why would he put such a possibility on earth? He, Frank, committed to all the Islamic requirements with pride; he loved the religion he had assumed at the age of six when he was adopted by the Iero family. His father James Iero hadn’t been born Muslim either, he converted in his twenties- convinced that the teachings of Islam’s where the only way he could be the best person possible. And, most of the time that’s what he is. He’s the sort of guy everyone’s happy to be friends with, always doing right by people and making the best decisions for his family, simple, he is a joy to be with. However, when Franks father he loses his temper, which is rare, he’s unpredictable.

Leaving the mirror, Frank heads slowly over to his cupboard to get some clothes to put on. To his surprise it’s completely empty bar the hangers that hang hauntingly on the metal rail. Once again, Frank’s heart begins to hammer in his chest. He rushes over to the draws, flinging each one open only to be met with more emptiness. Silence.

“Oh. Shit.”

He stands in the centre of the room allowing his new realisation settle into his system. The entire room is empty, all his books, posters, CD’s and DVD’s are gone- a detail he seemed to have missed before hand. Surely they wouldn’t have thrown them away would they? Unlike some Muslim parents, Frank’s aren’t anti-music, TV, film or anything like that. They don’t believe that such things are forbidden, so long as they’re consumed rightfully. The Iero’s have trusted their son enough to give him all the normalities of everyone else his age. They know Frank loves his religion just as much as they did, so there was no reason to ban the necessities of every teenager.

Pulling the sheet of the floor and wrapping it around his shivering body Frank heads downstairs as slow as possible, admiring the scenery. There are various pictures of Mecca framed along the wall as well as passages from the Quran written in golden scripture. He reads each verse gently, hoping God places mercy upon him. Frank speaks Arabic fluently thanks to the classes he’d been placed into as soon as the adoption went through. He used to think it was cool being able to speak Arabic, but as soon as Islamophobia became the norm, he shied away from his skill unless he was praying- or reading the Quran. Gerard thought it was cool though and unlike many people in society he respected Frank’s religion just as he, himself, respected Gerard’s beliefs.

Each of the descending steps cause a rush of pain to burn the inside of Frank’s limbs and he tries to keep focus on not crying. I’ve been through worse, he tells himself unconvincingly. The only thing possibly worse than the pain in his backside is the idea of walking into the dining room to face his parents, naked and riddled with fear.

In the living room he can hear Aljazeera channel playing on the TV, a journalist is reporting ten new deaths in an Iraqi village. I wonder if I’ll be featured on their when I get killed in a few minutes. He wonders, holding the sheet around him a little tighter.

Both his father and mother are sat beside each other on the wooden dining table, mortified expressions transforming their faces as Frank makes his appearance. Mr Iero starts mumbling things in Arabic - probably prayers, and all of a sudden his mother bursts into tears making Frank yearn to go over and apologize to her; he holds back though, because he doesn’t have anything to apologize for. Not in his eyes at least. He Hasn’t done anything terrible, apart from maybe miss his prayer at the mosque and have sex before marriage. But he can bet that both of them had done the same in their lives-well probably not his mother seeing as she was raised Muslim.

Somehow, Franks eyes catch hold of two small suitcases stacked under the table. His father notices, breaking the silence with a gruff voice. “You‘re not welcome in this house anymore. I‘m not having the devil living under my roof.” He doesn’t raise his voice but somehow his words feel like blows in the face.

“But- ”

“You are doomed to hell. To think I brought you up as my son… I‘ve never been so ashamed of anything in my entire life. ” He brings his hand to his beard and runs his fingers over it - a habit he‘s developed. Frank looks over at his mother, her head is covered in a silk scarf and her eyes are blood shot.

“I think you should leave now.” she whispers not looking him in the eye. His brain begins to overwork thinking over the situation. They can’t throw me out, can they? I can’t go back to that care home but I can’t sleep homeless. Surely, this isn’t the right thing for them to do. God wouldn’t want them to throw out their son. Would he?

“But I have nowhere to go,”

Both his parents look over, disgrace spilling from their unfriendly eyes. “You can go back to his house for all I care.” James Iero says bitterly before turning his face away.

Hurt runs through Frank’s veins as he looks back and forth between his so called parents; if they don’t want him anymore than so be it. He decides. I’ll leave. God will keep me safe…

Mr Iero kicks the cases from under the table and Frank collects them before rushing into the downstairs toilet and throwing on the first items of clothing he gets his hands on. The pain in his backside and head are practically non existent now, because he’s experiencing a worse pain. Rejection.

For the second time in his life he’s been rejected by his so called parents.

Stepping out of the bathroom he heads towards to front door, not bothering to bid his farewells to the people sitting in the dining room. With shaking hands he unlatches the door and lifts the first case out onto the porch.

“Have you forgotten something?” a voice calls behind him and he turns to look once more inside the house. His father stands in the hallway his arms crossed, face blank. “Keys?”

Another blow.

Reaching into the pocket of the jacket hanging in the doorway Frank throws the keys at his fathers feet spitefully before slipping on the garment and slamming the door behind him. As he stumbles a few feet away from the door he turns back to take one last glance at the wooden door. He can only just make out the engraving on the door in Arabic. allah the great

“Goodbye.” he whispers before walking into the dark night, away from his life.