“Hey!” David says as he pulls over to the side of the road, concern in his voice. I realize I’m hyperventilating, but I don’t know how to stop. “I don’t know what you're thinking, but stop! I’m not going to kill you. Nor am I going to do anything to hurt you.”
I want to believe him, but I know people can’t be trusted. No one does anything without wanting something in return. I just hope it won’t be too bad. I’ve been through this before and I survived that, so I know I can handle this. I just have to do whatever he says, locking myself behind my mask and the cold that comes over me. I can do this, I tell myself. It’ll be worth it. A shower, a bed, and a way to get off the streets before winter.
“You don't have to be scared, I’ll never do anything without discussing it with you first. I won't do anything you don't want me to.”
The firm tone of his voice both thrills and terrifies me. What does he mean? Am I supposed to just agree with whatever he wants? Or does he mean I’ll like what he does to me. Either way, it still scares me. But the reality of my situation is, I really have no choice. I know he was right, I wouldn't have lasted much longer on the streets. While I had the money my “parents” gave me, I hadn’t had to panhandle as much. I can live ok with the scraps I find in the restaurant dumpsters, or eat at the soup kitchens occasionally. But, without the money, things have become more and more difficult. I’m on borrowed time, and I know it. He hasn't really told me why he wants me, or what he wants me for, but I don’t know what else I can do. I’ve been getting more and more desperate, and the pimps are watching me more and more carefully, just waiting for me to become desperate enough. A shiver runs through me again.
“Justin!” I realize I haven't answered him and he’s becoming more concerned, calling my name again. I’m panicking and my hyperventilating is going to make me pass out soon if I can’t get my anxiety under control. His hand comes down on my neck hard. It’s not like he hits me, it’s just a firm grip on my neck. He tightens the grip ever so slightly, using his other hand to grab my chin. Slowly he turns my face towards his, he looks calm, but stern, making me shiver again.
“You have nothing to worr y about. I know this must be a scary thing, but I swear you’re safe.” The look on his face softens a little, but the hand on my neck stays firm. I realize I’m slowly relaxing, my shoulders sliding down from around my ears. The shakes and hyperventilating slowly calm down as I unconsciously try to match his slow, deep breathing.
“That's right, slow like me. Everything’s going to be okay.” He reaches down and takes my hand, placing it on his chest so I can feel his heartbeat, feel his chest rising and falling.
“Close your eyes and just try to feel my heartbeat. Match your breathing to mine. You're doing so good for me. That's right. Breath slow. Inhale… Exhale.”
I start snickering a little at that, I can’t help it. He gives me a questioning look with a tilt of his head. I still won’t speak. Or more like, I can’t speak. It’s been six months since I was kicked out, so it’s been six months since I’ve spoken anything louder than a whisper. When I got angry at my so called parents I could almost speak, loud enough to be heard at least. I have reverted to complete silence since then, back to the way I had been trained before. If you were quiet, you weren’t struck or suffocated. The pressure and fear had all come back to me. It was like I had been struck completely mute the day they threw me out.
I’d known it was coming, that they were going to throw me out like trash. They had their “real” child now, so there wasn’t room for me anymore. At the same time, I had that tiny, little prayer of hope in my heart that they would love me enough not to do it. But they did it anyway.
So now, I don’t trust anyone. That whisper of hope, of trust, I had was crushed quickly. I’m back to being scared mute. I didn’t get hurt if I didn’t trust. No one can hurt me if they don’t see me.
I always have a backup plan, an out, knowing where the exits are at all times, so I can bolt. Knowing the only person I can ever count on is me. So why am I even in this SUV? Sure there’s a door. I can fling myself out if I need to, but I don’t feel the need to run, to get away as soon as possible. I’m not constantly looking for the quickest way out. I don’t understand what’s happening, but I kinda like the feeling that I’m not alone anymore.
I’ve always been able to protect myself, but I don’t speak. I can’t count the rusty little squeak as I try to make myself understood with David. True, his knowing I didn’t want to speak makes it easier for me. He doesn’t pressure me to speak, just reads my lips and carries on. Understanding that it’s fear that’s caused my inability to speak. Like a dog that’s been kicked one too many times, cowering away from everyone. It's like my parents ripped the ability to talk out of me again that day. But I’ve learned to whisper, I’m trying to trust. Look where that got me.
His hand squeezing down brings me back to what he wants to know. Am I okay? I put my hands together, palm to palm, and dip my head as far as the hand on the back of my head will let me.
“Yes Mister Miyagi,” I mouth the words at him. He cracks up, smiling with a wicked looking half smile, showing a glimpse of the dimple in his left cheek. It makes me wonder if there’s another on his right cheek. Would a full smile show it? The hand on my neck loosens a bit while he laughs, and I start to miss the firm grip. It had calmed me.
“Oh, man. That was funny!” He gives me a huge grin, and I see he only has the one dimple. He really is gorgeous. His closely trimmed facial hair accents his firm chin, tracing a thin line all the way around his jaw line. His cheeks are bare, but carry five o'clock shadow.
“I’m eighteen.” I have no idea why I tell him that. I hadn’t wanted to tell him, but it just slipped out in a moment of weakness. “Thank you.” He says quietly. Looking at me as if he knows me. As if he understands me. But how can he? With his lip reading, it's like he knows what I need, even when I don’t. I still don’t understand how I even got here, in this SUV and with a full stomach. And I’m relaxed enough to crack a joke which was another thing my “parents” had stripped from me. I’d learned to joke, or have a smart ass comment to make, after they adopted me. But six months ago I just stopped. I stopped feeling or thinking about anything other than survival, not allowing anything to touch me, not letting anything to hurt me. They proved to me again, that you can’t trust anyone. For six months, I’d been this flesh suit, just going on, with no life left inside me. I turned myself off, just waiting to die, but I didn’t have the guts to end it myself.
Tears start rolling down my face and the pain lashes through my body. I lean forward. More collapsing than leaning, covering my face and sobbing. The pain was so intense. All the emotions I’d held back, the thoughts of abandonment, worthlessness, and desolation, that no one even cared if I lived or died; the pain was so bad I just couldn’t contain it. It poured through me like rain over my soul.
Suddenly, I felt arms around me. I looked up, startled to find David out of the car, and holding me. I just didn’t know what to do with all these emotions, so I fling myself against his chest and just sob. The comfort in those arms make me cry even harder. The first human contact I’d had in so long. I can’t even remember when I’d last been touched in comfort rather than anger.
Long before they kicked me out, when they'd found out they were pregnant, my parents had slowly pulled away from me. They still made awkward attempts, hollow attempts, to love me. They were praying that nothing would happen to the baby, nothing would go wrong with the pregnancy. But when the baby finally came, and they knew it was okay, it all stopped. They barely spoke to me, and didn't care if I'd done my homework or even eaten. They looked right through me, not seeing me. I caused uncomfortable silences when I walked into a room. I knew they were talking about me, about what to do with me. Foster care, or just plain dumping me on the street. Guess which one they chose? It made them look better to declare me a run away. To be able to say that I had chosen to leave. They didn’t want their friends to think
they’d done anything wrong. And giving me back to foster care would make them look bad. It didn’t matter that my eighteenth birthday was only a few months away. They just kicked me to the curb with one hundred dollars and a backpack full of clothes. I was trash to them.
Holding on to David with all my might I just couldn’t hold it back anymore.
CHAPTER 3 DAVID
It’s absolutely tearing me apart. When Justin started to cry, I’m glad I pulled over. He looks like the world is collapsing around him. Barely looking, to make sure some other car isn’t coming, I fly out of the SUV. Running around the front I rip the passenger door open and grab him. When he sees it’s me, he leaps into my arms and squeezes me with all his might. Trembling and sobbing, he buries his face in my chest and just lets go. I hold him tight, rubbing his back and crying with him. I see, for just a moment before his face plants in my arms, absolute devastation and pain. I don’t know what this kid has been put through, what’s caused all this, but I’m going to find out. I need to help him. I’m not going to push him too hard, that’ll just make him shut down. No, I’ll let him tell it when he’s ready.
I know I want to jump in and hurt whoever has hurt him. I want to stop his pain, but it’d be a bad idea to do something that he may not want. I need him to trust me with his heart, and he has to make that decision. No matter how much I want to take over.
Justin steals my heart when he breaks down. The look in his eyes, pleading with me to make the pain stop. I want to help so bad, but I don’t know what’s making him cry. I need him to tell me what’s wrong, and what he wants me to do about it. I won’t take his choice away just because I want to kill someone for making him hurt like this. He has to trust me in order to be able to tell me his story. It’s one I don’t want to hear, but I do need to hear it.
I have secrets myself, things that hurt me badly. So I know the choice has to come from him, at his pace. Only then will the pain lessen. It never truly goes away, but pain like that, pain like Justin is feeling, can drive you to be a better person, or it can make you self-destruct. Many people turn to drugs or alcohol, anything to make the pain stop. That helps for a while, but then the pain is still there when you sober up.
I know Justin hasn’t chosen that path, but he needs some kind of release from this pain. A release I can give him, but it has to be his choice. He has to trust me enough to know I really do want to help him. I can help him to let the pain out in a safe environment. There’s no running away from pain like this. The only thing, to make it lessen its hold on you, is to come to terms with it. If you can face your problems, learn that it's only a very small part of you, then you can learn to live with it. It can make you a stronger person. Strength learned through pain and loss makes you a much stronger person. It makes you a survivor.
My own pain tore me up for years, until I met my first Dom, Aaron. Aaron could see my pain. He taught me how to release it safely. He taught me to be a sub first, because every Dom should know what a sub is going through. He or she should feel the pain and pleasure of release.
I knew I was a Dom r ight away. Aaron’s training helped me see exactly how I could help others. Helping a sub to let go, to release all the pain inside, and teaching them to fly, heals me each time. The rush I feel from sending someone to “subspace”, to feel the final release of everything, is better than any drug. I want so badly to help Justin, to help him let go. To teach him to fly.
As I hold Justin, listening to the silent sobs, I realize he still isn’t making any noise. He’s sobbing in my arms but where others might wail or cry out, Justin stays silent. He’s shaking, his whole body is trembling, but he makes no noise. His sobbing, his breaths in and out, the only sounds he’s making. All I can do is hold him and let him cry himself out. Just let him know I’m here. Rubbing my hand up and down his back whispering that it’s okay, that I’ll
Trust help him. He’s sobbing and broken, but at the same time, I can feel he’s holding back. Even while sobbing there’s a wall of hurt he can’t let go of, he’s protecting himself from something. From me. I swore then and there I would help him heal.
As the sobbing slows, turning into small hiccups and sniffles, I pull Justin's face up. I wipe the tears from his face and I’m slayed again at the pain in his eyes. I can see him trying to pull himself back together, the mask struggling to fall back into place. “Justin. I know you don’t believe me now, but I will help you. You’re a beautiful person, not just on the outside, but on the inside too. I can see it in your eyes. I want to get to know the real you. I won’t push you. I won't hurt you, but I do want to know the real you when you're ready”
The look of confusion is back on his face. As if he can’t understand why I’m helping him. The defensive mask is back, but it isn’t angry this time. It’s more like he’s just completely shut down. He would come to understand at his own pace.
After hugging him one more time, I make sure his seatbelt is fastened and circle around the front of the SUV, trying to control my anger. I don’t want him to see me upset, so I walk slowly, giving myself time to control my emotions. As I climb back into the driver's seat, I look at Justin. He’s trying to pull that ever present mask back on, but he’s having a hard time with the emotional turmoil rolling around in his mind. I place my hand on his neck, squeezing gently, showing him I’m here and that I’ll help him. Slowly he relaxed again, and as I released his neck, he slumped down in his seat.
As I start driving again, I see him valiantly try to pull himself back together. He’s still looking at me through those long lashes and floppy bangs. He’s exhausted, trying hard to stay awake after the flood of emotions. After another few minutes, he loses the fight and slowly falls asleep.
We were close to the house, but I decide to drive a while longer, giving him a little more time to sleep before I wake him up. As I finally pull up to my house he wakes up. It must have been the car turning off, because I hadn't made a noise. Justin bolts upright in his seat. If he hadn’t had his seatbelt on he’d probably have hit the dashboard. Looking around desperately, he’s scared of the fact he’s fallen asleep, I hold still for a minute, giving him time to remember what’s going on. I watch the emotions roll across his face. Exhaustion, desperation, fear, all rolling over each other. I don’t know if he knows how expressive his face is. His mask is nowhere to be seen, but I'd almost rather see the mask than his pain. Slowly, he turns to me, realizing who he’s with and where he is. For just one second a look of relief passes across his face and is clearly visible in his eyes before he controls himself once more. As he looks out of the window again, I see shock replace the relief.
“Where are we?” Again, I almost miss it. “Our house. Charlie lives here too, so you’ll get to see him.” A look of fear streaks over his face for a moment before it changes to determination, then nothing, the mask firmly back in place. I don’t know what to make of him. The determination makes it seem like he’ll do anything I say. I don’t even want to know what he’s thinking, what he’s been through, or what he thinks is going to happen to him when we get inside.
This kid has obviously been through a lot. I hope he’ll tell me one day. I truly don’t want to know. I don’t want him to have to tell me and relive it in front of me. But I’ll do whatever, say whatever, listen to whatever, in an attempt to help him. Admitting his fear and his pain, is necessary for healing. I know there's so much baggage he’s carrying. I can see it in his eyes. He’s never known real love or even nonjudgmental acceptance, always having to pay up by doing who knows what. I don’t want to think of the things that might have been done to him, to cause all the pain I can see plainly in his eyes. He’ll come to realize, hopefully soon, that he’s free to be himself. There's nothing to pay. Soon, maybe, he’ll trust us enough to realize that.
CHAPTER 4 JUSTIN
I fell asleep. I completely let down my guard, and I can’t believe it. On the streets you can’t fall asleep completely. You always have to keep one eye open. Never let down your guard. It
’s exhausting, but the things that can happen to you are scary as hell. There are always people to take advantage of you, or kill you for no reason, if you don’t stay on your guard. And killing you can be a lot better than some of the other things that can happen.
I fell asleep. Maybe because of the food, the crying, or even the motion of the car. I haven’t done that since I lived with my “parents”. It took years for me to be able to fall asleep when I was with them. I had to be vigilant or who knew what would happen to me. I had no idea where we were. We were parked in front of a huge house, in the middle of what looked like a park. I couldn’t see any other houses. He could do whatever he wanted to me and there wouldn’t be anyone to hear me if I screamed. What have I gotten myself into?
“Stop!” David said sharply, then spoke more softly. “Stop thinking whatever that is. You're safe here. No one will hurt you or make you do anything you don’t want to do. I understand you're scared, but I want you to at least try to trust me. I know it's too soon for you to trust me completely, but I want you to realize you will not be in any danger. Okay? Can you try?”
He must have seen my fear. I have to be more careful. Showing fear means someone can take advantage, like wearing a target on your chest. I can’t show him what I’m thinking, I can’t let him know he can hurt me. My mask has been slipping ever since I’ve met him. I need to straighten up, show no fear.
Nodding, letting him know I’m listening, I slowly look around. The house is big compared to coming from the streets and the small apartment filled to the brim with my parents, and eventually the baby too. I lived for years in that tiny apartment. It was a bit of a shock to see something so big, surrounded by trees and a large lawn. The only grass in the city is in the parks. David exited the car and I went to follow him. He wasn’t pushing me, he was just acting like it was normal to bring someone like me to his house. And for all I knew it could be true.
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