If You Miss It

21. plummet

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

PLUMMET

—

For once, Dmitri didn't get stared down when he was in church.

Maybe it was because he had actually shaved for once and he looked semi-decent, or maybe it was because it was Easter, also known as the only time of the year where the people at church gave more of a shit about Jesus than his queerness— he didn't know.

It was a pleasant change though, being able to pray without feeling the judgement of the entire church, without wondering if he even belonged in a church that was so unbelievably narrow-minded.

The literal only reason he hadn't found a new church was because this one was the closest to home, and he didn't want to spend extra money on gas by driving too far.

It always came back to his fucking lack of money, and his inability to make said money.

Kneeling down on the pews, Dmitri folded his hands, resting his forehead on them as he closed his eyes, the familiar warmth of the morning sun washing over him, the smell of musty prayer books which the old lady sitting beside him was carrying wafting into his nose, mixed with her perfume, sandalwood.

When the pastor was done with the prayers, and had given them the instruction to stand up, Dmitri opened his eyes, adjusting to the sunlight striking the stained glass windows, blues, reds, pinks reflecting onto the pews lined up one behind the other.

The church could be the most beautiful, yet the most toxic place Dmitri had ever visited.

"Happy Easter," he murmured once the mass was done, saying it to the person on his left first and ignoring the stab of pain that shot through his chest when they gave him a look of pure disgust. Then, he turned to the old lady on his right and wished her the same.

Luckily for him, not everyone in the church was racist and homophobic, and she gave him a soft smile, wishing him the same, her tone so unnaturally warm for someone from the church.

"You're— are you Mr. West?" she asked him, limping out of the church, probably expecting him to follow her. This is fucking weird.

Dmitri nodded, albeit confusedly, helping her down the stairs outside the church. "Uh— Dmitri West. Not Mr. West."

Shushing him, she adjusted the strap of her purse such that it wasn't falling off her shoulder, as she said, "My grandson is in your class! He has told me so much about you, about your teaching, the amount you care about your students— just... everything. It's wonderful to hear him talk so passionately about a subject that he never used to have any interest in."

Fuck, was the only thing that was repeating in Dmitri's head, over and over, and then, in the background, Sorry for swearing in church, Jesus. Even if it's in my head.

"Actually..." Dmitri began, unsure of how exactly to break the news that he was fucking fired from his job to this nice old lady. "I don't teach at the school anymore, I got fired. But I'm glad I could—"

"Oh dear," she tutted, craning her head up to peer at Dmitri. "Just know that you made a difference in a person's life. He's hellbent on studying History after high school now. I hope you get your job back. Happy Easter, again, dear," she chirped, walking away before he could even wish her back.

Holy fuck, did he miss his job.

Teaching was the only thing he was passionate about. Even when he had absolutely no motivation, he would think about his students and would want to get out of bed to teach them something new.