What a sense of power Seth derived from making me submit to his demands and humiliating me in front of his friends. He thought I would choose the burger—he was counting on it, in fact. And because that was what he wanted, I chose the opposite. I didn’t give him the opportunity to back down, just dropped onto my knees in front of him, yanked out his semi-hard dick, and went at it.
James and his henchmen hooted and hollered and made several derogatory statements about gays that I won’t repeat. I knew it must have angered Seth even more than it bothered me because if I was performing for these assholes, then Seth was too. My blowjob was without any feeling whatsoever. I made my mouth like a machine and sucked Seth off so robotically that he went limp a few minutes into it, but I kept going until finally, he pushed my face away and buttoned up.
“That’s enough,” Seth said, not meeting my eyes. I hoped he was ashamed of himself, but who really knew? His ability to justify his actions was some kind of superpower. Seth plucked a baggie from his pocket and passed it over to me. “Go wait for me in my room.”
I snatched up the bag and bowed dramatically before them. “I’m available for parties too,” I said with the bitchiest glare I could muster.
I made it to Seth’s room before the tears came—hot and angry. I couldn’t believe I still had some left in me. I didn’t want to sit around and wait for his majesty to grace me with his presence, so I used the fire escape to climb down to the bottom of the second floor and dropped to the pavement from there, landing in a crouch.
I drove over to the park by my house and swung as high as I could, trying to get airborne only to become nauseated instead. Seth caught up with me later in the cement tunnel where I’d ducked in to get high off his shit. I didn’t know how he found me—he’d probably installed some GPS app on my phone during one of his search and seizures. I thought he’d chased me down to recover his drugs, but he was after something else altogether. I was in the throes of pleasure when Seth came in with that crumpled-up piece of paper where I’d scribbled down the lyrics to a song I’d already abandoned. He must have retrieved it from the trash pile.
“Your song needs a chorus,” Seth said to me, using his knees to flatten out the paper. I didn’t know why, but there were tears in his eyes. I also couldn’t find it in me to care.
“It’s not a song, Seth. It’s a receipt for an oil change.” He was sitting right next to me, but it felt like I was shouting at him from across a vast distance.
“It’s our anthem, Hiroku,” Seth rasped in a husky voice. I touched my finger to the moisture on his cheek and tasted his tears to make sure they were real.
“How do I know you’re not faking?” I asked, which to anyone else would seem nonsensical, but Seth understood my meaning.
“Fine, I can figure out a chorus,” he said. “What about a name?”
“Queen of Hearts,” I said dizzily, too high to give a shit about anything, which was just the way I liked it.
“Why that name?”
“Because all ways are the queen’s way,” I singsonged.
“And am I the queen?” Seth asked as if he already knew the answer.
I dipped my head in mock deference, “Yes, your majesty.”
NOW
There’s a pastor who comes into New Vistas on Wednesday evenings and gives a sermon. Attendance is optional, which I appreciate, not being the religious-type myself. Usually I’m bored enough to wander into the group activities room to see what’s being said.
He’s all right, Pastor Dan. I believe that he believes what he’s saying. That Jesus is the answer and that by putting your burdens on His shoulders and giving yourself up to God, you’re making the weight of your sins a little less heavy. Distributing the load, as it were—it makes mathematical sense as well. And the idea that someone cares enough to keep a watch over you, like a benevolent parental figure, that’s all good.
The thing I get tripped up on is the forgiveness aspect. Confess and you will be forgiven—seems way too easy. No punishment? No consequence? What’s to stop you from doing it again? Where’s the incentive to stay on the straight and narrow path if all that needs to be done is say you’re sorry?
In rehab, we call that shit being an enabler.
I have regretted nearly every decision I’ve made in the past two years, but I don’t feel forgiven. My parents haven’t forgiven me, and I can’t forgive myself for what I put my family and Sabrina through. I couldn’t forgive Seth then, and I sure as hell can’t forgive him now. I doubt he’d forgive me either. Maybe I’m missing some aspect of the sermon, or maybe my forgiveness bone is broken.
Seth used to marvel at my ability to freeze him out when I was upset. He said I made it look so easy. But it was never easy. It was survival.
I feel it happening in here too. Only this time, I’m shutting out my former self. The Hiroku who loved Seth is dead and gone. Here in the incubator of New Vistas, someone new is forming in his place. He’s harder, more bitter, and generally pissed off all of the time. I hardly even recognize him, and that’s a good thing.
This is a much easier concept for me to grasp than forgiveness.
THEN
After that weekend with Seth—the first time he hit me—I determined that I needed to do something about my addiction to free myself from his control. I had the money Seth had deposited into my bank account. It wasn’t a ton of money, but if I rationed my habit, I could float my addiction for a couple of months at least, and maybe I could even wean myself off of the drugs altogether. Then I could stop lying to my parents as well. What a relief that would be.
With that plan in mind, I approached Kyle at school on Monday and asked him if he could hook me up with some pills.
Kyle took me to a secluded corner of campus, near the bus drop-off where kids sometimes went to smoke weed or cigarettes or vape. He told me Seth had spoken to him that weekend and told him that if I came asking for a hookup to tell me no.
“Or what?” I asked while trying to rein in my anger so that I wouldn’t explode on Kyle.
