Michael couldn’t hold back any longer. He shoved the scatter cushion aside and joined Jag on the other sofa, wrapping his arms around him tightly. Jag flinched briefly and then settled against him.
“You should be angry,” he whispered. “You should hate me.”
“I love you,” Michael said. “The things you said last night did hurt, but I went into this knowing you would be leaving. I’ve only myself to blame for setting myself up for heartbreak.” He kissed the top of Jag’s head. “The thing is, I didn’t think I’d fall for you so quickly, let alone so hard.”
“Nor did I.” Jag’s voice was so quiet Michael wondered if he’d imagined the words.
“I’m glad you came back,” he said. “I’m glad you felt you could tell me anything at all, let alone so much.”
Jag pressed against him, wrapping his arm around Michael’s chest. For a few minutes, they stayed like that, quietly holding each other. Michael wanted to say something, but he wasn’t sure what. He had more questions than he could count swimming round his mind, but didn’t dare utter any of them. He already knew far more about Jag than he had previously and now felt even more fiercely protective than before. It was hard to remind himself that Jag didn’t want protecting. Despite everything, he hoped Jag wanted to be loved. By him.
“What you’ve been through…” he began, wanting to say that no one should ever have had to deal with all that crap, but Jag looked up, and his intense stare silenced Michael.
“It got better.”
Michael frowned.
“Because of my rules,” Jag explained. “They protected me and kept me safe, emotionally and physically.”
Michael thought about that. On the one hand, he could see how not accepting help might be a good thing, considering the ‘payment’ that had been exacted, but not making friends? Not getting close to anyone?
“It doesn’t sound like much of a life.”
Jag raked his teeth over his lower lips. “It wasn’t,” he admitted. “It was—is—survival.” He dropped his head onto Michael’s chest. “It was lonely. I was alive, but I wasn’t living. Unless I was dancing,” his voice became wistful. “That gave me some of my confidence back. The flirting helped me to put on a front. I started doing things on my terms, staying in control as much as possible.”
Which explained the early sex they’d had. Jag confidently calling the shots, despite being smaller and slighter. Based on Jag’s gusto during their ‘no-strings, it’s just sex’ phase, he guessed the young man had learned to enjoy it despite his early experiences with men. Giving, anyway. He held his breath for a couple of heartbeats, realising just how comfortable and safe Jag must have felt with him, to let him make love to him.
“I thought it was enough,” Jag said. “But it’s not.”
Michael stroked Jag’s hair for a few moments. “You want things to change?” he asked cautiously.
Jag nodded. “I don’t deserve you, but I want to be with you. I don’t want to run anymore.”
“You…mentioned your parents. Is that who you’re running from?”
“Yes.”
Michael exhaled slowly. What had Jag’s family done to him, that he was so scared of being found by them? Had they abused him physically? Sexually? Either one would make a horrible kind of sense. Jag had mentioned having very little self-respect. He’d talked about having to rebuild his confidence. At times it sounded as if he actively hated himself. He couldn’t bring himself to ask. If Jag wanted to share that pain, he would, when he was ready.
Jag’s shaking hand twisted into the fabric of Michael’s shirt, turning his knuckles white. “I told them I was gay when I was fifteen.” His voice had become a distant monotone.
Michael held him a little tighter, waiting.
“They decided I was sick. That I need to be fixed. Changed,” Jag practically spit the words out.
“Changed?” Michael asked. His mouth had become dry. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. “Fixed?”
“They…” Jag’s voice broke, and he let out a fractured sob. “They took me to see a man after school every night. He called himself a doctor. I think he was a psychiatrist, but I’m not sure. He told me that desiring men was deviant and wrong. He told me I needed fixing, but he broke me, and my parents let him.” He turned his face into Michael’s chest and began to cry.
All Michael could do was hold him. He rubbed Jag’s back, letting him know he was there.
“I was too scared and too tired to fight them,” Jag mumbled. “So I let them take me. But behind their backs, during the day, at school, I saw a boy. Jared,” he recalled. “He kept me sane, at first.”
“At first?” Michael echoed.
“We were caught kissing by a teacher who of course told my parents, even though I begged her not to.” He pressed his hand over his mouth, suppressing a sob. “Jared didn’t come back to the school. I tried to contact him, but he never replied. I felt so alone after that. I had nothing but ‘therapy’ and school, and I sleepwalked through most of that. I did my exams, but I barely remember taking them. As soon as they were over, my parents took me to a place they called a hospital, but I’m not sure it really was. Dr Miller was there, which I remember thinking was odd. He oversaw my ‘treatment’.”
Anger churned within Michael. It was an effort to stay silent and simply give support rather than ranting and raving about what Jag’s parents had done to him.
