“Jeremy?” His mother’s voice was shrill in the background. “Is that Jeremy?” Her voice was closer. There was a rustling sound, and then she spoke loud and clear, having obviously taken the phone from her husband. “Jeremy? Talk to me. I need to know you’re all right.”
He wondered if their constant repetition of his name was some sort of psychological technique. If so, he wasn’t sure what the purpose was. To make him feel wanted? To remind him of who he was? To guilt him into speaking?
His mother carried on, not giving him much chance to speak. Not that he could make his voice work, even though he wanted to tell them he was okay.
“Jeremy? Just say something, please.”
And that he loved them.
“Jeremy, we love you. Tell us where you are. It doesn’t matter where, we’ll come and get you right away. We’ll bring you home.”
He couldn’t go home or even see them unless they were prepared to accept who he was. Even if they could do that, he wasn’t sure he was ready to face them and didn’t know if he ever would be.
“We just want to help you.”
He wanted to ask them to promise they’d never try to change him again.
“Please say something, sweetheart.”
He wanted to ask them to leave him alone.
“We’re so worried.”
To let him live his life the way he wanted to.
“We’ve been trying to find you.”
To let him be happy.
“Do you know how worried we’ve been?”
As his mother’s voice became more tearful and desperate, guilt stabbed at him. He must have put them through hell, vanishing and never getting in touch. Maybe he should go home. It would be less exhausting than the constant running. They might have changed. They might be more accepting. A painful breath hissed out of his lungs. He couldn’t forget or forgive what they’d put him through, so he wanted to tell them they’d put him through hell.
“Jeremy,please.”
That because of them he was broken. So shattered he doubted he could ever put himself back together again. So useless he couldn’t even hold on to the one good thing he’d had in his life. But he couldn’t say any of those things, because just hearing their voices left his paralysed.
There was another rustle. His father spoke next.
“Jeremy, we know you’ve been doing some questionable things, dancing in clubs, practically selling your body.” He spat the words out, his tone acidic. “But you need to know that we can forgive you.”
He went cold. He didn’t needtheirforgiveness. They neededhis,and he wouldneverbe able to give it to them.
“Come home, and we’ll get you well again. We can put this whole episode behind us.”
Anger flashed through him as sickness flipped his stomach over and round. He hung up the call, slid the back of his phone open, and tore out the SIM card, hurling it across the room. It bounced, and he wasn’t sure where it landed, nor did he care. He dropped the two pieces of the phone and collapsed onto the bed, curling into a ball, clenching his fists so tightly his fingers hurt. He wasn’t sick and never had been. They still wanted to deconstruct him, tear out the parts of him they didn’t like. They still wanted to make him believe his thoughts and feelings were perverse and wrong, but theyweren’t.
Even from a distance, they were still trying to control him. Any shred of hope he might have had that they weren’t looking for him had been destroyed. Why the fuck couldn’t they let him go? It had been four years. Couldn’t they take the hint that he didn’t want to be near them?
The queasy feeling in his gut was getting worse, making him feel almost seasick, even though he wasn’t moving. He was still trembling. Hearing their voices had brought the whole nightmare flooding back. Why hadn’t he had the strength to speak and say his piece? He would have begged them to leave him alone if he’d been able to find his voice. He was a miserable coward. The images flashing through his mind now were because of his failings. He should have known he wouldn’t have the guts to speak, so why in God’s name had he called them?
Because I want to be free.Because I want to stay here, with Michael.
But his parents would never let him be free. They would find him and drag him back to that hell hole. Dr Miller would sink his claws into him again with poisonous words that eroded his confidence and worth, and drugs that left him dazed, confused, and so desperately sick. His stomach lurched. He clapped a hand over his mouth and half ran, half stumbled to the toilet, where he vomited violently. Afterwards, he sat with his back pressed against the wall, eyes shut, concentrating on his breathing as he tried to push back the memories of his ‘treatment.’ His throat burned, and his stomach and chest muscles were sore. It took several minutes before he could bring himself to flush the toilet and move, hauling himself up to stand in front of the sink. Trembling and sweating, he managed to splash water onto his face and rinse the acrid taste out of his mouth. He stumbled to the bed, tugging the cover over himself. He was too exhausted to fight the fragmented memories that were plaguing him, so he let them follow him into the darkness of sleep, where they twisted round his core, tormenting and torturing him, holding him in the clutches of fitful slumber.
22Michael
“Boss.” Mac sidled up to Michael straight after coming off the stage. “Your boy didn’t show up for work this evening.”
