by Z Brewer
Lloyd picked up his cards and said, “Not to be a hypocrite or anything . . . but amen, sister.”
We played a couple hands. I didn’t do too bad at first, but then Lloyd put on his bluffing face and everything went south as far as my pockets were concerned. Dropping my cards on the table, I sighed. “That’s it for me. I’m out.”
“Hey, me too!” Lloyd’s laughter was infectious. It spread around the table but stopped short of affecting Caleb, who still seemed to be in a sullen mood.
After a beat, Susan said, “So, earlier today, Dr. Hillard told me that God wants me to be normal. Like, what even is normal, anyway? Who gets to decide that? It was insulting.”
“‘Doctor’ Hillard’s concept of God is insulting.” Air quotes from Lloyd again, only this time, they were accompanied by a tone of absolute anger. “Any god who’d hurt people for being the way he made them is a hate-filled prick.”
“God wants us to be normal because he loves us. Because God is love.” No one had been expecting Caleb to speak. In fact, I’d been wondering why he’d stayed in the room if the company wasn’t making his evening any better.
Under her breath, Susan said, “Normal?”
Lloyd’s chest rose and fell in quick breaths. It might not have been on purpose, but Caleb was testing his temper. “Oh, really, Caleb? ’Cuz I’ll tell ya something. If God is love, he sure as hell isn’t here.”
Caleb shook his head, as if he realized he was beginning to fight an uphill battle but was too stubborn to back down. “You just need to have faith.”
Lloyd rolled his eyes. He pressed his lips together before he spoke. “Oh, you’re right. Because up against logic, it’s the only thing you’ve got.”
I’d seen boys disagree before, watched disagreements turn into arguments, witnessed arguments turn into fistfights. I didn’t want that to happen, so I interjected, “Why are you so angry, Lloyd?”
“You wanna know why? You really wanna know?” He was almost shouting, and I wondered if any of the staff would hear him and come downstairs. If they did, we were in trouble. The cards and money were still sitting on the table.
Susan said, “Lloyd, don’t. You’ll scare her.”
“Good. She should be scared.” As he stood, Lloyd lifted his T-shirt and pulled it off over his head, revealing tan skin and lean muscles. His stomach was firm. His chest was defined. And Caleb noticed every inch. The look of longing in his eyes as he traced Lloyd’s half-naked body was almost sad to see, because it was so swiftly replaced by suffocating guilt. Lloyd stood and turned around, revealing his back, which was marred with scars and cuts. Some were old. A few were fresh. “This, Quinn, is what happens when you refuse to follow their rules here. This is what happens when you hold on to the fact that you’re queer no matter how many times they hurt you. It happens over and over again. And our parents pay them to do it. They’re monsters, all of them.”
You can’t run from the monster. The monster is you.
The words whispered through the back of my mind like a vague memory of a bad dream. Was that what I was? What we all were? Monsters? Maybe I was the only one here fighting my demons—or at least trying to understand them—but I doubted it. I couldn’t be the only one questioning the feelings I had for someone of the same gender. So if I was a monster, I could only take comfort in knowing that I was surrounded by other monsters, and in the lingering hope that, one day, we might all be free of whatever it was that plagued us.
My chest grew tight as I took in the image of Lloyd’s back. Without thinking to ask if he’d mind, I reached out and ran a finger along one of the healed scars. It was smooth. A curved line like a sliver of the moon. Goose bumps appeared on his skin and I pulled my hand back with a nervous jerk. I wasn’t sure why I’d touched him—especially without his permission, which left a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. It wasn’t like I was attracted to him. I mean, I found him attractive—who in their right mind wouldn’t? But I wasn’t attracted to him. Caleb, however, absolutely was. And I could tell he was beating himself up about it. I could tell because I recognized the feeling. I said, “You okay, Caleb?”
“Yeah. I just . . .” Caleb studied Lloyd’s scars, disbelief coating his expression. But there was something else there. Worry, maybe. Worry that he’d been misled. Worry that he’d been wrong. “You’re lying, Lloyd. They don’t whip anybody here.”
Lloyd turned back around to face us all. His voice was calm, but it was only just covering a layer of understandable anger. “Oh yeah? You’ve been here two months and are buying into their bullshit, Caleb. Just imagine if it was six months and you refused to bow down to their homophobic doctrine. What might your back look like then?”
“But why? Why would anyone resort to”—Caleb gestured to Lloyd’s back with a nod—“that?”
“The first time was after ‘Doctor’ Hillard referred to guys who had sex with guys as fags. I suggested that if he was so focused on men screwing other men, maybe he should go fuck himself.” A smile touched Lloyd’s lips, but the bitterness he felt for Dr. Hillard weakened it. “It was worth every lick.”
“How many times?” I knew—I think we all knew—that Caleb was asking how many times Lloyd had been whipped. It was like he couldn’t bring himself to say the word “whipped.” Maybe he was still clinging a little to his apparent delusion that all was kind and understanding here in Camp Redemption.
“Six.”
Caleb was quiet for a long time, as if he were processing all that he’d seen and heard. He shook his head, his words close to a whisper. “I’m sorry. I . . . I didn’t know.”
“I know it may seem like I’m an asshole sometimes, Caleb. But it’s not like I don’t have reason to be.” Their eyes locked. The argument between them had been forgotten, or at least put aside for the time being, replaced by something else. Something indefinable. And beautiful.
Lloyd took his time sliding his shirt back on and Caleb’s lingering gaze said that he noticed . . . and that he liked what he saw. Their eyes met and a silent conversation passed quickly between them. Lloyd’s voice sounded softer, kinder, than it had since I’d first heard him speak. “You all right?”
Caleb’s face flushed pink. “I’m fine. I’m just . . . tired.”
Lloyd held his gaze, and I realized that I was holding my breath. No one else in the room was speaking, so I knew they were as intrigued by the current developments as I was. We were all watching in utter fascination—a silent audience to what felt like an intimate beginning of something real. “Maybe you should go to bed. I was thinking of turning in for the night too. Want some company on the way upstairs?”
“Yes.” A look of genuine surprise appeared on Caleb’s face, like someone else was doing the talking for him. But he meant what he said, and not just to walking upstairs with Lloyd at his side—that much was obvious. He was saying yes to the feelings he had for Lloyd. He was saying yes to the sins he very much wanted to commit. And for the moment, he was saying yes to the possibility that the staff at Camp Redemption could be wrong.
In that moment, it would have been hard to argue with him.
20
The next morning, Lloyd and Caleb were late to breakfast, and when they arrived, both were quiet. But it wasn’t an awkward sort of quiet. It was comfortable. And whatever it was that passed between them when their eyes met made me ache to see Lia again, to hear her voice, to lace my fingers with hers, to tell her about Lloyd’s scars. How had I been here only a day? It felt like weeks at least. But then, every moment away from Lia felt—
“Quinn, Dr. Hillard is waiting for you in his office for your first session.”
I’d just finished rinsing my plate. Everyone else was seated around the kitchen table eating breakfast. Everyone but Valerie. And Dr. Hillard, of course.
“Oh. Thank you.” I set my plate in the sink before waving at the others and making my way to the set of large mahogany doors at the end of the hall. I knocked three times, and when the door opened, I was greeted b
y Dr. Hillard’s warm smile. Images of Lloyd’s back flashed through my mind.
Dr. Hillard shook my hand as if we were old business acquaintances. “Good morning. Can I interest you in a cup of tea?”
He gestured to a small table to the left of the door that held a teapot, along with two cups and saucers and a bowl of sugar cubes.
“No, thank you.”
“Are you sure? I’ve found it helps to calm the nerves. And I know from experience how emotional young girls can get.” The chuckle he emitted after sounded friendly enough, but his words made my jaw clench.
“I’m good, thanks.”
He poured himself a cup of tea and dropped two sugar cubes in. When he turned back to me, his warm smile had returned. “How are you enjoying Camp Redemption, Quinn?”
The inside of his office looked like something Ernest Hemingway would have called home. It was colored in rich, dark tones, full of heavy wood furniture, with bookshelves, a globe, and the decapitated head of a deer hanging over the fireplace. Because nothing said healing like having a dead thing looming over you while you revealed your most intimate secrets.
In front of the large mahogany desk at the center of the room were two chairs. As he walked around to the other side of the desk, he gestured to one of the chairs and I took a seat. The leather felt new, and not cheap. “It’s okay so far, I guess. The people are nice. But I am curious about therapy. Like, do I lie on a couch and tell you my life story, or . . . ?”
“Nothing like that.” He waved his hand in the air, as if erasing my ridiculous question. “I’m not what you’d call a traditional therapist. I specialize in afflictions of the soul and treat those afflictions accordingly.”
I bit my bottom lip before saying, “But how exactly?”
He sat back in his chair and folded his hands together on his chest, relaxed and calm as could be. “It depends on the case, but as a few examples, through talk therapy I help those afflicted come to terms with whatever sexual abuse led them to believe they are homosexual. I, along with the rest of the staff here, work hard to recondition patients through various means. If all else fails, we offer Deliverance.”
“Deliverance?” The word rang out into the room like a shot. It sounded so noble, so freeing. So sinister.
“When a soul becomes tarnished by demons of lust, that soul can only be purified by driving the demons out. Deliverance offers that.”
My crazy alarm was going off like . . . well . . . crazy. “You mean . . . like an exorcism?”
“Only as a last resort. When other methods aren’t effective, we have to attack the problem in a direct, firm manner.” He met my eyes and chuckled, as if he knew what I was thinking. “It’s nothing like the movies, I promise. No spinning heads or vomiting pea soup.”
How could exorcism still be a thing? Hadn’t people died undergoing exorcisms? There was no way that could be legal. “What happens if it turns out that I am actually into girls and not sick?”
“We have a very high success rate.” Another vague response that didn’t answer my question. Before I could press further, he opened up his notebook and picked up a pen. “Why don’t we get started? Your parents tell me that you’ve been involved in a lesbian relationship with a girl called Lia. Why do you think you were first attracted to Lia?”
Lia’s smile filled my memory. It had been the first thing I’d noticed about her that day in school. “Well, she’s really pretty, funny, smart—”
“That’s not what I mean.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his desk, his clasped hands under his chin. “I want you to reach back to your first memories as a child. Can you recall any inappropriate sexual contact when you were young?”
My stomach tensed at the accusation. I could feel my breakfast threatening to reverse gears. “What? No!”
He nodded. “It’s common to repress memories of abuse. I know it can’t be easy to hear, but Quinn, if you believe yourself to be homosexual, I can assure you that you were most certainly sexually abused as a child. In your case, most likely by a female adult. Perhaps a babysitter or a friend of the family. Can you think of anyone who fits that description?”
I glanced out the window, half expecting to see gray skies, but the sun was still shining. “That’s disgusting. No.”
“Perhaps a family member, then. Maybe even a sibling. Do you have any sisters or brothers?” There was a knowing look in his eye. I would have bet anything he already knew about Kai.
My face flushed white hot at the presumption that Kai would ever do anything like that to anyone—especially me. Dr. Hillard was walking on razor-thin ice. “I wasn’t molested as a child, and I don’t think I have feelings for Lia because I was abused.”
“Because you were what?”
“I was abused.”
A look of gratification washed over his expression. After a brief pause, he scribbled something in his notebook and said, “How did it feel to say those words?”
It took me a moment to see what he’d done, and I wondered if he actually believed that tricking me into saying those words would make me believe them to be true. “I . . . I don’t understand what you’re trying to do here. I only came here to figure out if I’m sick or if I really am gay.”
“If you weren’t sick, we wouldn’t have admitted you.” He flipped to the next page of his notebook and scanned it before readying his pen and meeting my eyes. “Tell me about your relationship with Lia. Is it sexual in nature?”
My pervert alarm sounded, drowning out the crazy bells. “That’s none of your business.”
“Do you want to get well?” His eyes bore into me. I was awash in guilt but couldn’t pinpoint what I’d done wrong. As if by reflex, I nodded. Mostly because I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to be healthy. I just needed to determine what that meant exactly. Tightening the grip on his pen, he said, “Then answer the question.”
My throat felt dry. I coughed into my hand. My face felt warm, and I knew I was probably blushing. I’d never talked to anyone but Lia about our sex life before. “We’ve been intimate, yeah. But our relationship is more than that. We’re very close. We talk about everything.”
“I see. Did you discuss your stay at Camp Redemption with her before you left home?” He glanced up from the page he was writing on and acknowledged my nod with one of his own. “And how did she react?”
Lia’s words rang through my mind. I can’t believe you! How can you do this to me? To us? To yourself, Quinn? It doesn’t make any sense!
“She was angry.”
“Even though you were coming here to ease your confusion?” He clucked his tongue. “That doesn’t sound very supportive.”
“She was just upset because she doesn’t want me to—”
“She doesn’t want you to go home believing that you are heterosexual.”
I tried to imagine what it would be like if I returned home and told Lia that it was over between us, that I was actually straight and had just been confused this whole time. She’d be heartbroken. “I . . . I guess, yeah. Maybe. I don’t know.”
The warmth that had been in his expression before returned. “That sounds a bit controlling, doesn’t it? Like she’ll only support you if you continue to give in to your sinful urges with her?”
I shook my head. “It’s not like that. She just doesn’t want me to leave her.”
“Do you attend church?”
Happy to put the subject of Lia and me to rest for the time being, I shrugged and relaxed back into my chair. “On holidays mostly. The big ones. Easter. Christmas. Or whenever Mom and Dad insist. I just don’t feel like it’s all that important to go. If God is everywhere, he’s in our living room too. Y’know?”
He seemed to perk up at my mention of the G-word. “So you do believe in God?”
I shrugged. “Yeah. I mean. I guess.”
“Does Lia?”
I wasn’t sure what Lia’s beliefs had to do with whether or not I was gay, but I put my questions aside and said, “Lia’s an a
theist.”
The air in the room grew thick again, as if the A-word were capable of summoning the devil himself. Dr. Hillard set his pen down and leaned forward on his desk. “I find it interesting that the girl you’re in a lesbian relationship with seems to want to control you and has an aversion to accepting God into her life. Those are very demonic qualities.”
I almost laughed. “Are you saying that Lia is a demon?”
His tone warmed, and when he spoke, it sounded like he was trying hard to be supportive. “I’m saying that she is very likely afflicted herself. Demons want to infest as many souls as they can so the souls are tainted enough with sin to claim them for their master, Satan.”
“This is all sounding a bit . . . well . . .” Images of the many movies and TV shows I’d seen filled my head. Inhuman entities with black eyes. Horns growing out of heads. Priests fighting against the forces of evil for the greater good. The very idea that something like that could be affecting my life was almost laughable. Almost. Unless, somehow, it was true. “I’m sorry, Dr. Hillard, but it sounds ludicrous.”
I’d expected him to look insulted, but he didn’t. He looked more like he’d been expecting my reaction. He’d probably heard it several times before, from multiple patients. “Let me put it this way. Before they are taking the right medication for their condition, do you think schizophrenic people believe that they are ill?”
“Most likely not.”
“Prior to receiving treatment, possessed souls also believe themselves to be healthy. But based on our conversation today, I can assure you that you are ill, Quinn.” His words dripped with concern, which reminded me so much of my parents’ reaction upon hearing that Lia and I were dating. They were worried. Dr. Hillard sounded worried too. “It may be a long, arduous journey, but I am going to help you become pure once again. Let’s talk again tomorrow. Same time.”
I left Dr. Hillard’s office with an overwhelming need to be alone for a while. Partly because I needed to think about the things he’d said and my reasons for being here, and partly because I didn’t want to think about anything at all. I soon found myself in the rose garden out front inhaling the sweet scent of the blooms and basking in the warmth of the afternoon sun on my skin. It was a great place to lose myself, with no one around to tell me what was wrong with me or ask me why I thought anything was wrong at all. Sometimes a little bit of nothing made a whole lot of something more bearable.