“Just some video,” I say, downplaying it.
“A video that paid enough money to afford a new motorcycle?” Dad asks. He shoots a suspicious look at Sabrina, probably figuring out by now that she knows more than she’s letting on. “How do we know you’re not lying to protect him?”
The video is my sexuality on screen for the entire world to see. There’s no way my dad could deny it, and neither can I anymore. I have to be honest about who I am and accept myself, even if he won’t.
I pull up the video on my dad’s phone. It’s on YouTube and Vevo, and judging from the stats, it appears to have gone viral.
Awesome.
I sit there with my head buried in my hands while they watch it. Mai rubs my back. She’s already seen it. She’s probably scoured Seth’s Instagram as well, trying to piece it all together. Dr. Denovo sits back like he’s watching the screening of some sad-ass, made-for-TV movie about family dysfunction. That’s probably most of his workday. Being a rehab therapist seems like a pretty shitty job, but I’m glad he suffers through it, for my sake and that of my compadres.
My father puts away his phone with a look of disgust. He takes a deep breath and says with the utmost conviction. “We are putting this person in prison.”
I shake my head and tell them that isn’t the point, that everything I’ve done, I did so willingly. That by placing all of the blame on Seth, I’m not owning up to my own bad behavior. I lay on all of the psychobabble about TRUST, HONESTY, RESPECT, and RESPONSIBILITY I learned from Dr. Denovo, and then I say as my final word, “and if you try it, I won’t talk.”
My mother gets mad then and yells at me in Japanese, which is rare. The gist of it is that I am her son, and she’ll be damned if she’s going to let some monster get away with what Seth did to me. She asks me if that’s where all those marks on my face came from, and I shake my head, because I know that will really send her over the edge. Even after all of this, I’m still trying to protect him.
When it seems she’s finished, I finally lift my face to look at them. “I want to put all of that behind me. I know this is news to you, but I’ve been living it for the past two years, and if this treatment plan is going to work, I need all of you to help me stay away from him.” As an afterthought, I add, “and stay off the drugs.”
They settle down. My dad asks me what I think I need in a tone that suggests I clearly have no idea how to take care of myself. I take him at his word and go over some of the things Dr. Denovo and I discussed: new school, new friends, a curfew they’ll hold me to no matter what, a tracker on my phone to make sure I’m not lying about where I’m going, and their support in my artistic endeavors because I truly believe that is what gives my life meaning. I ask them to please not take away my bike because it’s one of the few things in my life that brings me joy. I also say that it would be nice if they could forgive me, eventually.
“We’re not mad at you, Hiroku” my mother says, then glances over at my father whose expression definitely does not echo her sentiment. “We can forgive you,” she assures me.
“What can I do?” Mai pipes up.
“I need you to call me at least once a week and ask me what I’m up to and hound me like you used to do.”
She nods. A fresh round of tears springs into her eyes. “I’m sorry I left you behind.”
I squeeze her hand and tell her it’s not her fault for having a life beyond Hilliard High. “You’re my guiding light,” I tell her, and I’m not being flippant about it either.
Then I turn to Sabrina. She’s been distant this whole time. Perhaps it’s because she knows this played-out song already, or perhaps it’s because she feels partially responsible.
“I need you to take him far away,” I tell her. “I can’t communicate with him anymore—not online or by text or phone, and especially not in person. You can’t tell him anything about me. In fact, I probably can’t be your friend for a while.”
She nods. “I’ll move up some of the tour dates so that we’ll be gone by the time you get out of here.”
“I canneversee him again,” I tell everyone present, and they all nod like they understand how dire this situation is for me.
I sit back in my chair, tired to my bones. We all share another round of hugs, except for my dad, who still can’t bring himself to do more than pat me on the back stiffly. After they leave, I ask Dr. Denovo what he thinks about my chances.
“I think you’re going to make it.”
“Don’t they pay you to say that?”
He cracks a smile, finally. What an achievement it is to see his teeth. “Yes,” he admits.
I grin along with him because I know that he means it. Then I experience a swell of confidence that couldn’t possibly be considered abundant but is certainly sufficient.
“I think so too.”
It may not seem like a lot to those who’ve never been through something like this or known someone who has, but at the end of all of this—Seth’s manipulations, the drugs, my overdose—I could at least say the words “I survived” and be truly grateful for it.
There are a lot of us who can’t.
EPILOGUE
The first time Seth and I had sex, it hurt like a bitch—maybe because we rushed it or maybe that’s just the way it goes. Anyway, at one point, I told Seth to pull out. He was facing me, my hips bolstered up by pillows, my knees buckled on either side of him, and he told me it was supposed to hurt and to stop squirming because I was making it worse.
