A sharp intake of breath. Crew cleared his throat. I could hear a wobble to his voice, amplifying the emotions of the moment. The most magical thing happened when he began to speak. His voice, though tearful, was full of confidence.
And the world around us quieted… slowing until it was silent so he could speak his truth into the wind.
“Seeing you here,” he began, directing it straight in front of him. To the decrepit sign naming the demon he’d fought for so long. “Makes me feel the power I lacked when you were around. Every strength you stole from me or beat out of me. I can feel it now.”
I wrapped my arm around his middle, holding him to my side. Where he was usually ice-cold, I could feel a fire building from his core. It made everything stop. Nature let his voice be heard, above all else. Where Crew was silenced, he would be heard.
“I hate you. I hate your fucking guts, Thompson. You made me think you were safe. That you liked me. That you cared about me. But then you ruined me with punishments nobody deserved. I was a child, Thompson. Achild. Not even the Devil himself would punish someone so innocent. You sick, perverted fucking freak. You made me think I was insane for hating it all. You made me believe it was okay. I thought it was okay. You got me to drag Tobi into it. Youmade me ruin another child’s life by introducing him to the Hellyoudeserved—not me, not Tobi, not any other fucking child you touched.
“I was fucking powerless, and you knew that. Not anymore, you sick fuck. I found someone who loves me, no matter the infraction. He showed me what happiness looks like. He showed me unconditional fucking love without hatred. Without bruises. I don’t need to bleed to live, Thompson.” Crew sat up, maneuvering to his knees. His entire body was shaking, barely containing the flames I could see enveloping him.
When he leaned forward, shouting at the ground, shouting at the Earth that covered the demon beneath it, I felt a tear of my own fall down my cheek. “I never deserved it! None of it!” He slammed his fist onto the wet ground, letting his skin cake with dirt. “It wasn’t my fault!” he screamed. “I was just a kid!”
His anguish came back to us in echoes. Every word, every scream, every guttural, crying yell tore into the skies bit by bit.
A final punch to the ground. “My skin is not defined by who touched it!” His scream came back, forcing the clouds to part and the moon to surface.
Relief forced Crew backwards as he cried. I caught him, wrapping my arms around him. The wind began to howl, the crickets started to chirp, and the fireflies lit up the world in front of us.
Both nature and I cradled Crew in that moment. Our comfort would never heal the hurt, but we could soothe it. My silence was overpowered by the country summer, allowing my tears to fall in unison with the frog that croaked in the small pond just feet away.
“My skin is not defined by who touched it, the scars that mark it, or the bruises that have faded from it.” Crew sniffled in my arms. “I am worthy of love. I am worthy of happiness. I am entitled to a life, and I refuse to stop living it because of the things an old fucker like you did to a child like me. I was powerless then. I am full of power now. And I’m gonna prove it every single day, Thompson. I have Price and Willow. Callum and Tobi. Jesse, Isaac, and Liam. The ghost of my mother. I’m not alone anymore. You can’t hurt me anymore.”
He began to stand, so I followed him, never releasing my arms from around him. Fireflies blinked in my peripheral, and we nodded in sync. Weturned our bodies, facing Thompson’s grave. Crew spat on it first, and I spat on it next.
I hugged my boyfriend close, letting him bury his face into my neck. Two years ago, even this would’ve been too gentle for him. “Let’s go,” I whispered.
We walked to the car hand in hand. I could feel the tension Crew had released, and I could only hope he felt some peace. Lord knows he deserved it.
In just a few days, I knew he’d be smiling. I imagined it the entire way to the Bed ’n Breakfast, patting my pants pocket every so often just to make sure it was still there. Even before we had become official, I had promised myself I’d do anything to make Crew smile.
Then, and for the rest of my life.
Two Days Later
My hometown wasnothing special unless you were a northerner experiencing it for the first time. Price was enamored by Southern Hospitality, exclaiming every time someone kindly waved or opened the door for a line of people. He said that even our driving was nice here.
I had to break his bubble, explaining that on the outside, people were nice, but on the inside, they were nosy and judgmental. That was the truth behind Southern Hospitality. Keeping their nasty comments behind your back rather than to your face.
Visiting Thompson’s grave had done more for me than I imagined. It was emotionally draining, yet so damn relieving. I had been worried I wouldn’t feel any different, or that it would exacerbate my PTSD. Maybe it would later, but for now, all I felt was a sense of peace I hadn’t felt since I was a child.
It also helped that we were keeping busy. Price and I went to all the mom-and-pop shops around, stuffing ourselves with food and enjoying the relative quiet.
Price refused to admit that he suffered from the weather change, but I found it endearing. He started to wear tank tops and shorts, whereas I was comfortable in my jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. I didn’t want my scars to be noticed by a bunch of asshole people.
Not many people recognized me. Or if they did, they didn’t say anything. I’d expected to be bombarded with questions when we visited from friends of my mom. I was thankful that wasn’t the case.
We had two days left in town before we went back home. Today, I was going to show Price my prized memory. The creek Willow and Iwould go to when the world got to be too much. It sat still in my memories, reminding me of a simpler time when I could pretend everything was okay—I wasn’t a prostitute, and Willow and I could just be kids. Nothing more, nothing less.
He was just as excited as I was, albeit a little nervous for some reason. My Prince Charming’s anxiety had lessened substantially over the years, but it still got to him sometimes. I wrote it off as one of those days and steered clear of anything that might make it worse.
Except for one thing. Something neither of us planned for. As we turned down the dirt road I instructed Price to drive on, I pointed at another turn to the right. “My mom is that way. Can we go see her?”
The rental car slowed down, almost to a stop, as Price looked at me. “You sure?”
I could tell he was studying my face, looking into my eyes for any further information. When I nodded, I knew what he would see in them.
It had been seven years since I had seen my mom’s grave. It was her funeral, and I hadn’t stayed for the entirety, too full of emotions I couldn’t process. Emily and I talked about the idea of visiting in our sessions. I’d convinced myself I didn’t need to visit, or that I didn’t want to. In my mind, I was too much of a failure to see her, and one year turned to two, to three, to five, and I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
