Our captors hadn’t come for me often, but the few times they had it wasn’t what you’d call gentle. However, I made it worth their trouble. And that wasn’t going to change as long as I was still breathing.
“My parents kicked me out before I was captured,” the kid’s tiny voice choked, bringing me back to the present. “I have no one. Therefore, no story.”
“Why? Why would your parents kick you out?”
He sniffled before letting out an almost unnoticeable huff. “I came out of the closet,” his voice was barely above a whisper.
“I’m sorry, Kid.” I couldn’t see his face as he turned to bury his head into my stomach in shame or embarrassment, I couldn’t be sure.
My heart ached for him. As far as I could tell, my family was pretty open. I’d been lucky in that respect. I couldn’t recall a time that they’d ever looked at or treated a gay person any differently than anyone else. They always treated people with kindness and respect, which was how they’d raised me.
“I’ve personally never had to deal with that, but I can assure you, there’s no reason good enough for any parent to kick their child to the curb.”
“Easy for you to say….” His voice turned cold, but he didn’t move away from me. “You aren’t gay.”
No, I may not be the textbook definition of gay, but that didn’t mean I didn’t play for both teams. Of course, I wasn’t going to tell the kid that.
Ezekiel
An unexplainable feeling of impending doom filled me as I threw my legs over the side of the bed and roughly dragged a hand down my face. The heavy dusting of hair that now decorated my face scratched against my palm, but I didn’t give a flying fuck how unkempt I appeared. I had no one to impress. And even if I did, it wouldn’t matter.
Shuffling my feet over to my small coffee pot, I threw a K-cup in the top and started a mug of liquid goodness. The brown envelope my brother had given me the night before sat on the counter beside the machine, tormenting me with its contents. I still wasn’t sure if I wanted to know what secrets it held.
As long as the kid was happy, safe, and well taken care of, I wouldn’t allow myself blow into his life like a hurricane, uprooting everything he had that was good. It wouldn’t be fair to him. And from what little I knew about his life before his capture, he deserved to have a little bit of good, not more issues.
And God knew I had enough on my own plate as it was.
Mug in hand, I stepped out the door and took a seat on the chair under the cover of darkness as I sipped my coffee and watched the sun slowly rise over the horizon. Birds dove from the few trees that dotted the edge of the property and driveway casting long shadows across the yard in search of their breakfast. It was a simple, peaceful morning without a soul in sight.
For most, this would be considered a relaxing morning, filled with happiness.
But not for me.
Truth be told, I’d never felt lonelier or more lost in this huge world. Sure, I’d always been the loner type–that much hadn’t changed–but as hard as that was to believe, I was far worse these days.
Keeping both my thoughts and feelings to myself was the only thing I knew how to do without fail. Growing up, I was always closed off from others. I never willingly gave more than I was able to, or felt comfortable with. Of course, it didn’t help that I intentionally set myself apart from everyone else. I was my own worst enemy.
Clearing my throat, I shook the thoughts from my mind. I couldn’t allow myself go down that path. I hadn’t survived this long for it all to come to an end. Not like this.
About a year ago, there was a huge story done on the remaining survivors. At the time, there were only three or four us. The remainder of those who had been rescued chose to end their lives because they couldn’t find a way to live with the guilt. I honestly didn’t blame them. It was a hard cross to bear knowing that we were the only ones who hadn’t been tortured to death. And I mean that literally. Being beaten a few times was nothing compared to what the others suffered.
Yeah, I’d gotten beat up quite a bit in the days following the kid being dragged from our cell. But at least I wasn’t raped. Don’t get me wrong, that doesn’t mean they didn’t try. I wasn’t the type to just cave from being punched a time or two, so I fought with everything in me. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop them from doing other shit to me.
A shiver wracked my body as memories better left forgotten resurfaced. With a shaking hand, I set my coffee on the table and leaned forward, head in my hands. Focusing on my breathing, I took several slow deep breaths to ward of the impending panic attack and forced the thoughts back where they belonged.
It took several minutes before the thoughts and the feelings that came accompanied them vacated my mind. The sad truth was that I could only hold them off for so long, so I knew the silence would only last until the next one reared its ugly head. Thankfully, my panic attacks were few and far between these days. I just hoped to God that it stayed that way.
The first year had been the worst. Everything seemed to set me off. Slowly, things began to get better, but not as quickly as I would have hoped. By the second year, I could control things a bit better. Having my own place in the middle of nowhere certainly didn’t hurt. When I was here, I didn’t have to pretend to be okay when I was drowning in my own misery. I didn’t have to hide my feelings when all I wanted to do was throw shit around and break a window. Not that I actually did any of that, but it was tempting nonetheless.
It was about that time that I discovered a different type of therapy. One night, while I was out having a drink at the bar, I overheard someone talking about a special club–a kink club, more specifically. In my drunken stupor I decided to go check it out, more out of curiosity than anything. But as luck would have it, they had exactly what I needed to help release my pent-up stress.
It wasn’t exactly the healthiest of options, but it was better than drinking and doing drugs until my mind was freed of its demons. I guess you could call it my own personalized type of self-care. And the best part was that it worked better than the handful of pills the therapist tried to shove down my throat.
Speaking of which–if I had any chance of keeping the panic at bay any longer, I needed to get a fix tonight.
With one last deep breath, I pushed myself to my feet and sauntered back inside, the sun giving off enough light that I could actually attempt to start the day.
After setting my mug in the sink, I turned my attention to the envelope that continued to taunt me from where it rested on the counter. Slowly, as if there were something inside that might bite, I pulled it closer. Then, just as slowly, I opened the tab and pulled out the pack of papers that had been tucked inside.
