Chapter 2

"Hold on—HOLD ON!"

I threw my hands up like I was directing traffic, cutting the priest off mid-sermon first thing in the morning. We were in the center of camp, just a handful of us—three other pairs of "sinners" and their oh-so-perfect "straight saviors."

"So what you’re saying," I said, voice dripping with disbelief, "is that you hired straight people to make us straight?!"

"Yes," the priest replied flatly, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

I glanced around, eyes darting between the other boys. Yep, all of us queers had been partnered with some “straight role model.” My jaw nearly hit the dirt. This was beyond twisted.

The only reason I’m hearing this now? Damian was too damn lazy to explain anything last night. I wasted all my energy annoying him for answers and he just ignored me like I was background noise.

"It’s easier to be converted if people like you have someone to look up to," the priest droned on.

People like us? PEOPLE LIKE US?!

Oh, I swear to Lady Gaga, I will burn this entire camp to the ground. But, you know, internally. Out loud, I just folded my arms and looked iconic. You're welcome, gays. I’m basically saving our community right now by keeping every violent thoughts to myself.

The so-called morning exercise began. Picture a bunch of nuns clapping while we did jumping jacks like sinners at boot camp. I was glaring at the holy squad the whole time when Damian muttered.

"The way you move is so gay."

I froze mid-stretch and shot him a death glare. "I am gay, for fuck’s sake!"

He smirked like he won a medal. Jerk.

When exercise was finally over, they told us it was time for “one-on-one bonding with your partner.” Yeah, because forced therapy sessions with a homophobic Greek god was exactly what I needed.

We sat under a tree, trying to “relax our muscles.” He stared at the nuns working in the distance, and I, being me, couldn’t resist.

"Pervert," I muttered.

His head snapped toward me with a glare sharp enough to slice bread. I just smirked back.

"You’re the perv here," he shot back. "I know you’ve been drooling over me since I walked in."

I choked on my own saliva. Okay, he wasn’t wrong, but still! "Keep dreaming," I snapped, turning away dramatically.

I thought having a roommate would be fun. But no, I got stuck with Mr. Straight-Iron-Abs over here.

Straight guys are never my type. They always act like your very existence contaminates their air. Ugh. Now his constant irritation made perfect sense. Whatever. I didn’t like him either.

Fine. If he was going to be boring, I could always flirt with the other gays here. This is the perfect plan.

I stood up to go scout my options but Damian’s hand clamped around my wrist, yanking me back down.

"What the hell?!" I snapped.

"Didn’t you hear what they said? This is one-on-one partner time," he growled.

"We’re not even talking!" I shot back.

"Then pretend."

His glare stayed locked on me. Mine matched it. This was going to be hell.

As a matter of fact, we didn’t really talk. We didn’t even pretend. I was busy playing with the dirt in front of me, he kept swatting my hands like a mosquito. Apparently, that’s “too gay” for him. Playing with dirt is gay now?! At this point, everything I do is gay for him.

Our so-called “bonding” is just us nagging and arguing at each other. No warmth. No connection. I glance at the other pairs. Two are actually talking like normal people. Another pair looks about as miserable as we are.

I can’t help wondering, how much are these people paying this guy to be here? Must be a ton of diamonds. I mean, I’m that precious, right? Thank you very much.

While me and Damian are busy “bonding,” the beautiful nun with zero basic manners approaches us.

“Looks like you both are getting along well,” she says with a sweet smile.

“Yes, sister,” Damian answers in that fake, honey-dripping voice of his again. The one I clearly don’t deserve because he’s homophobic as hell.

“I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Sister Mary,” she adds, still sugar-sweet.

I raise an eyebrow. “Mary? Do nuns actually pick usernames to match their aesthetic now?”

Damian’s hand clamps down on my shoulder, not a flirty squeeze but a "shut your mouth before I kill you" squeeze.

Sister Mary laughs softly. “No, no. We use our real names. You’re funny.”

Of course I’m funny. I’m not even trying. It’s a legit question. Why do all these nuns have names that sound like they came out of a catalog?

“You two haven’t introduced yourselves to me,” she says.

Huh. I thought they already knew everyone here. Guess they’re letting anyone in without background checks. Whatever. Not my problem.

“I’m Damian,” the grumpy dude says.

“Adrian,” I say shortly.

“How sweet. The last three letters of your names match!” she beams.

Damian and I turn to each other and nearly gag. I hadn’t even noticed it before, and now it’s stuck in my head like a cursed jingle. I’ll save that fact for when I need to induce vomiting.

“I know you both will be best friends after this camp,” she chirps before leaving.

We blink at nothingness for a second, then both gag dramatically.

“I’d rather die than be best friends with a gay,” Damian sneers.

“Same here. I hate straight people,” I shoot back.

The whole one-on-one felt like a year in my head. It was pure torture being stuck with a straight man. I needed a breather. I needed to talk to an actual gay human before I lost my mind.

“Come on,” Damian said suddenly, standing up.

Come on? I am not coming on with you, bro.

“I’m going to talk to the others. Ciao.” I tried to make my escape, but before I could move he grabbed my wrist and dragged me back into the cabin.

“Seems like you still don’t understand how this conversion camp works, huh?” he asked, irritation thick in his voice.

God fucking damn it. Why does he always try to control me? Is that their job? To control the gays? Nooooo.

“Let go!” I shoved his hand away.

He glared. “I’m not here to be converted. I was force here, so don’t you dare make me into something boring!” I shouted.

He rolled his eyes and rubbed his temple. Good, be stressed. I don’t give a flying fuck.

“Just follow me. I have a plan that will benefit us both.” The irritation in his voice was gone. Suddenly he sounded… serious.

I rolled my eyes but followed him into the cabin. Hopefully he wouldn’t choke me to death in here. I swear to God I’d fight.

We sat on our beds facing each other. He looked uncharacteristically composed, like a man with a plan. Fine. I’ll listen.

“I’ve been doing this—this conversion thing, for a year,” he said calmly. “I ‘converted’ two people.”

I raised an eyebrow and sized him up. What was he getting at?

“Let me finish,” he snapped when I started to interrupt.

He straightened his posture and stared me dead in the eyes, and said, “It’s all a lie.”

My brain stalled. A lie?

“I never converted them. I told them they’d get out fast if they acted converted, and I get paid. Do you understand what I’m saying?” His tone was flat and serious.

I was dumbfounded. So he was a fraud. He's getting paid off the backs of gay people. Was this allowed?

“So you know what I’m going to ask,” he continued. “Pretend to be converted at the end of camp. We both take the payout, leave, done.”

“No.” I watched his face go from confused to furious.

“W-What do you mean no?!” He sounded like he expected obedience. There’s no way I was going to let him earn money for doing nothing.

“I’m not doing it,” I said firmly.

He rose, trying to intimidate me with his height, chest, and that stupid sculpted posture. Not gonna lie, him towering over me was doing weird things to my brain. Gross. Don’t think about it.

“Can’t you understand? I thought you didn’t want to be here. I’m doing you a favor,” he sneered, as if I owed him.

I stood, arms crossed, and smiled my best poisonous smile. “I’m going to expose what a fraud you are, Mr. Damian.”

He stared at me like he wanted to rip my head off, then stormed out of the cabin, slamming the door hard enough that the whole place trembled.

This is going to be fun. Consider this your beginning of the end, bro.