Losing My Religion Page 3

  As I look at my reflection, I take in the slightly shaggy ends of my hair, making a mental note to call and schedule an appointment for a cut. Rick has told me several times to grow it out.

  “Chicks dig long hair. Have you seen how wet their panties get for that Sons of Anarchy motherfucker? Grow that shit out, man. Double your tips; double my profit. It’s a win for everyone. And get yourself some pussy while you’re at it.”

  And, while I do like the way I look with my hair a little grown out—I dig that whole bad-boy image, hence the leather jacket, black knit beanie, and dark aviator shades I wear every time I leave the house—I’ll be damned if I let him think he has any influence on the way I look other than the stupid clothes he makes me wear. So, ever since he suggested it, I’ve made it a point to keep my hair closely cropped.

  As I shake my head though, the dirty-blond locks falling ever-so slightly onto my forehead, I think maybe it wouldn’t hurt to leave the top a little shaggy. I wouldn’t mind the feel of someone’s hands running through it every now and again. A little hair pulling could be fun.

  I’m spritzing on some cologne when I hear the front door slam shut. Not thinking anything of it, I finish up my last-minute preparations for work, not pausing until I see a dark shadow fill my doorway. Turning to face it, I see Alec, my roommate, leaning against the frame, his posture stiff, as he folds his arms across his chest.

  “What’s up, man?” I ask, my brow lifting in question at the irritation radiating off him in waves.

  “The super just cornered me in the hallway,” he says, his lips tight with annoyance.

  Fuck.

  “Care to explain to me why rent is almost two weeks late, Quinn?”

  I start to count backward in my head. It can’t be two weeks already. Rent is due on the first. And today is…what? The ninth? Tenth? Remembering a stupid meme I saw on Facebook this morning, it dawns on me that today is Friday the thirteenth. Some dumb shit shared a pic of Jason, all decked out with his hockey mask and machete, standing next to Michael Myers, asking if he knew what day it was, like that stupid fucking camel from the car insurance commercials.

  Double fuck.

  How did I get so far behind? I thought I was only a week late with the rent.

  No wonder Alec looks pissed. I can only imagine what our super had to say to him.

  “Sorry, man. Must’ve slipped my mind. I’ll get it over to him first thing in the morning, I swear,” I say.

  I give him my signature smile, the one that has talked my way out of more skirmishes than I care to admit. It doesn’t work on him though.

  “I gave you my half three weeks ago. You said you’d pay it by the first. What the fuck is going on, Quinn?” He seethes, continuing to glare at me.

  I glance up at him from under my furrowed brow, my hand absently going to the back of my neck to rub the sensitive skin there. It’s always been a nervous habit of mine. When the going gets tough, the hand gets rubbing.

  “I didn’t have the cash. I was hoping to get it paid before now. But don’t worry. After my tips tonight, I should be able to cover it. Fridays are always good nights. You know that.”

  Alec used to work at Ascent before he landed his job as a stuntman. He’d been an aspiring actor right alongside me, the two of us standing together in long audition lines week after week, talking one another through our nerves. But, when the opportunity presented itself, he dropped those ambitions and took the job that actually paid. I know it’s not what he wants. And, as I get ready for auditions each week, I can see the envy in his eyes, longing for the days when he was right there with me. But I’ve got to admit, I envy him just as much sometimes. A steady paycheck would be nice. I’m just not ready to go there.

  Yet.

  But having worked at Ascent, he knows how up and down it can be. Yes, even on the worst nights, I still make more than I do at the bistro. But LA is expensive as fuck. What would be considered a decent wage anywhere else barely gets you by in this town. And, lately, I have been having trouble making ends meet. Hell, I have been having trouble even getting them on the same block.

  Alec shakes his head as he regards me, his face falling in defeat. My heartbeat kicks up a notch in my chest because I know that look. It’s the look he gives me whenever he’s about to give me bad news.

  “Quinn, the casting director called. You didn’t get the part.”

  “Quinn, the audition was canceled. I guess Mark Wahlberg called the director and expressed interest. We never even stood a chance.”

  “Quinn, Greg was at the bar last night. With Jake. I’m sorry, dude.”

  “Quinn, you know you’re the closest thing I’ve got to a friend in this town,” he says.

  This causes me to raise an eyebrow. This is news to me. As far as I knew, I was his best friend. Not just the closest thing he had to one. I’m half-tempted to call him out on what he just said, but his next words cause my voice to stick in my throat.

  “But I can’t do this anymore, man. I’m sorry, but you’ve got to move out. I need someone more reliable. Someone who can actually pay the fucking rent on time,” he adds, shoving off from where he was braced against the doorframe and turning on his heel.

  I follow him out of the bathroom. “Wait, what? Because I’m a few days late with the rent, you’re kicking me out?” I shout after him, grabbing him by the arm in an attempt to halt his movement.

  He whirls around and glares at me. “Two weeks late with the rent. Two. Fucking. Weeks.”

  My mouth falls open as I try to come up with the right words, but no sound comes out. Alec waits for a second to see what excuse I’ll come up with, but after it becomes clear that I’ve got nothing, he jerks his arm out of my grasp and takes off again.

  Sympathy, I decide. I’ll play the sympathy card.

  “C’mon, Alec. Don’t be like this. It’s been a rough month. You know I’m good for it. It’s never been a problem before. You know me. You know I’m reliable. Rick has been riding my ass hard lately. It’s all I can do to make it through a shift without decking the fucker. I might’ve been a little surly at work, causing tips to not be as good. But you know me. It’s just a phase. I’ll snap out of it. Once I get back on my feet and back out there on the audition circuit, things will start looking up. It’s just a bad month. You know how it is.”

  His face softens for just a moment as he looks at me. It’s too bad he’s not gay; otherwise, I might offer to blow him in exchange for a second chance. He looks like he could use a good rim job right about now. As it is, I’ll just have to give him my best puppy-dog eyes and hope he takes pity on me.

  The moment doesn’t last long though.

  His jaw clenches as his features harden back into a frown. “It isn’t just this month though, is it, Quinn? Jack told me that you’ve been late getting him the rent for the past three months. He said he’s tried to be lenient. But the owner is riding his ass. He won’t put up with it much longer. It isn’t fair to Jack to ask him to keep covering for us. And it isn’t fair to me for you to keep asking me to bail your ass out.”

  I rear back, as if I were punched. And that’s exactly how it feels. It feels like he just punched me right in the gut. I might have had my shit out of whack the past few months, but I’ve never once asked him to bail me out.

  Not. Once.

  Anger floods through my veins as his words sink in deeper. Judging by the slight look of guilt mixed with a fair amount of haughtiness in his eyes, he knows exactly what those words did to me. And that fucking pisses me off.

  I shove him against the wall, pinning him there with my forearm as I get right in his face. His eyes are defiant, but I can see a hint of fear hidden in their depths. He knows I’m not going to hit him. I’m the least violent person on the planet. But he needs to know he can’t just say whatever he wants to me and get away with it. So, as soon as his eyes stop darting around the room and settle on mine, I speak.

  “I might be a lot of things, Alec. A queer. A bum. A joke. I might
be the laughingstock of this town in my attempts to rise to the top. But there’s one thing I’m not. And that is a fuckup. I never leave someone else to clean up my messes. If I get myself into one, you can be damn sure I’m going to get myself out. So, fuck you with your bail-your-ass-out shit. You’ve never had to bail me out. And you never will.

  “But now? Now, you’ve just ensured that I’ll never be there for you when your ass needs bailing out. Because, Alec? It’s going to happen. I’ve seen it over and over again. Guys like you don’t make it in this town. You’re going to get injured. Or, hell, just dumped on your ass when someone younger and stronger comes along. And I won’t be there to help pick you back up and dust your ass off. And, when that day comes, you’ll see me. I’ll be there, on Hollywood Boulevard, signing autographs, surrounded by people who are there for me. You’ll see me. And I might even look over at you. But you can bet your ass I won’t see you. Because you will be nothing to me.”

  Harsh? Yes. A little self-centered? Fuck yes.

  But I am tired of people treating me like dirt. If this is what I have to do to get people to take me seriously in this town, then so be it.

  I drop my hold on him without another word, storming out of the living room and slamming my bedroom door. I look around at the disaster that is my room—the clothes tossed haphazardly across the bed and the floor, the mountains of books from the library that are probably months overdue, the pile of God knows what over in the corner.

  Fuck me.

  I need to pack.

  CHAPTER THREE

  * * *

  Jaden

  As I step into the room, I drop my suitcase on the floor, my duffel bag sliding off my shoulder and falling on top of it. Six bunk beds are crowded into the tiny space, each bed made neatly with a thin comforter stretched tautly across the mattress. It reminds of the dorm rooms I’ve seen in movies and TV shows throughout the years. Except, instead of posters of half-naked women and sports stars adorning the walls, there are pictures of Jesus Christ. Instead of math books and dirty laundry strewed about, there are scriptures and pamphlets about the church.

  So, yeah, it’s just like a dorm room—if the dorm room were in a parallel universe where teenage boys read the Bible and The Book of Mormon instead of play video games and drink beer.

  Welcome to the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah.

  Elder Scott, the leader of the district I’ve been assigned to, points to the bottom bunk on the left side of the room, indicating I should put my stuff there. All the missionaries in this district of the MTC are going to be serving in the California Los Angeles mission or somewhere in the vicinity. We’re split by the area we’ll be serving in, by the language we’ll be speaking, and, of course, by sex. The sister missionaries are housed in a separate part of the MTC with clear guidelines of what will happen if those borders are breached after hours.

  I pick up my bag and toss it onto the bed before leaning over to grab my heavier suitcase with both hands. Elder Scott bends over to help, and together, we lift the monstrosity onto the bunk.

  “You can hang your suits in the closet,” he says, pointing to a tiny accordion door next to the beds on the right. “Each of you has one drawer in the dresser. Yours will be one up from the bottom. Go ahead and get your things unpacked. I’m going to head to Elder Burke’s class and see if I can borrow Elder Daniels. He’ll be your companion while you’re here.”

  Without another word, Elder Scott turns and exits the room, leaving me in the silent, foreign room by myself. An all-too recognizable pang fills my chest as I look around, and once again, I’m left wondering if I’ve made the right choice.

  It’s just nerves, my inner Jiminy reminds me, trying to soothe my budding panic.

  Or it’s the fact that you’re a total fraud, and you have no business being here, his less than delightful counterpart retorts.

  I shake my head as I sit down on the edge of the bed, grateful for the moment alone. It might be the last one I get for the next two years. Once your companion is assigned, the two of you stick together like the pages of a dirty magazine.

  I chuckle softly at my poor attempt at a joke, but then guilt immediately sets in at the thought, considering my surroundings. I can almost feel Jesus’s disapproving eyes boring into me. So, instead of lifting my head to meet his gaze, I unzip my suitcase and begin to unpack my things.

  The room is too quiet, the only sound the ticking of the clock on the wall. It looks like the ones you’d find in a high school classroom, a place where I spent most of my time for years. It is a slight comfort, seeing the familiar clock face. Time passes the same way here as it did in the classroom. And I somehow managed to endure thirteen years of that. Two years in the mission field should be cake.

  After a few moments, Elder Scott returns with a tall, lanky beanpole of a guy standing next to him. He introduces the man as Elder Daniels before leaving the two of us to get to know one another.

  Elder Daniels looks like he should be on the After poster for acne medication. His skin is clear of pimples, but the scarring on his cheeks is awful, some of the pockmarks so deep that I’m pretty sure I could fit my finger inside one if I poked at it. But the smile on his face is friendly, and the warmth in his eyes as he extends his hand to me quickly overshadows any flaws in his appearance. The guy looks positively joyful at the prospect of meeting me.

  “Nice to meet you, Elder Barker,” he says with a surprisingly deep voice.

  I take his hand, trying my best to give him that firm missionary handshake I’ve been practicing over the past few weeks. I’m still not sure I have it down, but I have been working on it.

  “Likewise, Elder Daniels,” I respond, noticing the slight quiver in my voice.

  From the look on Elder Daniels’s face, it doesn’t go unnoticed by him either.

  He grins at me. “Nerves still getting to you, huh?” he says lightly, his tone jovial instead of judgmental.

  Some of the tension leaves my shoulders as I exhale. “Is it that obvious?” I say with a smile, running my hand through my closely cropped hair.

  Elder Daniels’s smile spreads. “Just a little bit. But probably because I was in the same boat myself just last week. I thought I was going to crap myself on my first day. It’s so different here, you know? Compared to what I’m used to at home. I had to realize I wasn’t in Kansas anymore pretty darn quick; that’s for sure.”

  I chuckle, relief at his words spreading through me. If he felt these things just last week and already seems so at home now, maybe there’s hope for me after all. Surely, all I’ll need is a few days here, and the spirit will guide me and help me through.

  Elder Daniels grabs some of the suits I carefully packed into my suitcase, the garments folded gently around the hangers they’ll reside on, before stepping over to the closet and hanging them for me. When he turns, he smiles at me again. He just might be the happiest person I’ve ever met in my entire life.

  “So, where are you from, Elder?” he asks as he grabs another armful of clothes.

  I have to stop myself from telling him to call me Jaden. For the next two years, I’m Elder Barker. This is something else I’m having trouble getting used to. We’re not allowed to use our first names, not even with each other. We forgo our Christian names and are simply referred to as Elder out of respect for the work we’re doing, for we’re all equal in the Lord’s plan.

  All pawns in the church’s game, Jafar grumbles in my head.

  I shrug off the thought as I turn back to Elder Daniels, hoping the longer I’m here, the quieter Jafar will become. “Right here actually. My parents live in Lehi, just about twenty minutes north of here.”

  He nods. “Must’ve been nice, growing up around here with so many people who share your values.”

  You have no idea. So nice being told what to believe and having any questions met with admonishment rather than being welcomed and explained.

  Shut up, I snap back in my head. Where the hell is Jiminy? Who le
ft Jafar unsupervised with my thoughts? Today is not the day for him to run rampant in my mind.

  “Where are you from, Elder Daniels?” I ask, trying to distract myself from my conflicting thoughts.

  “Kansas,” he says with another smile.

  “Ah, so when you said you weren’t in Kansas anymore, you weren’t just quoting Dorothy?”

  He chuckles, shaking his head. “Nope. Though I did have a dog named Toto when I was growing up. No red heels though. Never did learn how to walk in them.”

  For some reason, this strikes me as incredibly funny, and a laugh bursts past my lips as I imagine Elder Daniels with his lanky frame and awkward limbs attempting to walk around in red sequined heels. I’m sure Elder Scott wouldn’t find the idea of one of his missionaries cross-dressing nearly as funny as I do.

  The next ten minutes pass quickly as I finish unpacking my belongings. Elder Daniels and I spend the time asking each other questions, the banter between us growing easier by the minute. I find out his family has only recently joined the church, his parents making the decision when he was fourteen. He can remember every single one of the lessons the missionaries taught him, and he’s been anticipating this moment ever since.

  “I admired them so much, you know? They had so much faith, so much wisdom, even though they were only four years older than I was at the time. I couldn’t wait until that was me. I wanted to be able to bring someone as much joy as those two men brought to my life. And, now, it’s finally my time. I finally get to enrich others’ lives by bringing them the gospel.” He speaks with such passion, with so much conviction, that it’s hard to imagine anyone closing the door in his face.

  Elder Daniels is going to be a great missionary, his story of conversion being a powerful connector to any potential investigators. He’s been where they are. He’ll be able to bridge that gap, unlike those of us who have been lifelong members.

  Strike one against me.