by J P Barnaby
“I’d taken a nap in the afternoon and experienced a really bad nightmare. As I woke, I heard someone knocking on the door or ringing the bell—I don’t remember exactly.” Aaron closed his eyes, concentrating on the memory so he could relay it accurately. “I went downstairs because I thought the men had come back for me. I didn’t want them to hurt my family. Allen was standing at the door with a date. He wore his letterman’s jacket, just like the one I’d been wearing. I freaked out and had a complete meltdown in the living room. I’m pretty sure the poor girl hasn’t spoken to Allen since.”
“So you’d woken from a dream and were already vulnerable and stressed. You saw someone that looked like you had the night you were attacked. So stress was a factor, just like in the flashback in the classroom, and there was also a visual reminder.” Dr. Thomas’s voice was thoughtful as he wrote. “That’s enough to work with for today. We’re coming up on an hour, and I don’t want to take on too much at a time. Tonight, I want you to find a safe place in your house and try to think of other triggers. You can write them on a piece of paper or put them on the blog, but make sure you’re not alone when you work. Tomorrow, I want to work on a few stress reducing exercises, because that is usually a common trigger for individuals suffering with PTSD.”
“I can do that. My mom will love it if I do some homework at the kitchen table. I haven’t done that since we worked through my homeschool stuff together. I think she feels like what I’m doing now is out of her league.”
“Do. You. Want. To. Play. A. Game.?” Spencer asked as his father gathered up his stuff and wandered out of the room. Aaron wasn’t sure if he wanted to give them some time to talk or if he had something else to do.
“No, Joshua,” Aaron said with a smirk as Spencer stared blankly at him. After a minute, the smile faded from Aaron’s face. “It’s from Wargames.”
“I. Know. Where. It. Is. Fucking. From..” He slammed the lid on his laptop and shoved it across the table. Turning away from Aaron, he walked stiffly to the side table near the rec room door and grabbed his keys. “People. Have. Made. Fun. Of. The. Way. I. Talk. My. Whole. Life.. I. Did. Not. Think. You. Would. Be. One. Of. Them..”
Aaron’s face flushed. He hadn’t been making fun of Spencer at all. Unmoving, Spencer just stood waiting, but Aaron could see his friend’s hands were shaking. Walking around to stand in front of Spencer, he waited, but the other boy wouldn’t look up.
Aaron held out one hand just inches from the bare skin of Spencer’s arm, but couldn’t make himself touch—no matter how badly he wanted to.
The flashback still floated just beneath the surface of his mind, and he felt incredibly vulnerable. Breathing deeply in and out for nearly a minute, he pulled his cell phone from the pocket of his jeans.
AARON: I wasn’t making fun of the way you talk. I don’t even notice a difference. It was WHAT you said. Please don’t be mad at me. I can’t take it today on top of everything else. Please?
Aaron heard the phone buzz in Spencer’s pocket and watched with growing apprehension as he checked the display. Then, almost too slowly, Spencer looked up, and Aaron felt a rush of warmth over his face, like he’d stepped into the sun. Spencer opened his arms, and without the hesitation Aaron expected, he stepped into them and rested his head on his friend’s shoulder. A tentative hand rested on his back, but the comfort wrapped itself around him, and he sighed just as he heard Spencer’s voice in his ear.
“I. Could. Never. Stay. Mad. At. You..”
Seventeen
SPENCER STOOD in front of Aaron, soft chestnut curls spiraling around his downcast eyes, his manner so pregnant with supplication, so tempered by defeat, that Aaron’s heart ached with it. When he could not stand it even one moment longer, Aaron did not stomp his foot as others might to get his attention. Instead, he reached out with no thought other than Spencer’s comfort and touched his face. A tingling sensation, as if his hand had suddenly gone to sleep, startled Aaron, but he didn’t pull away.
The warmth of his hand on Spencer’s cheek caused Spencer to look up. An unreadable expression, shock maybe, flitted across his handsome features, and Aaron smiled. As their eyes met and Spencer held his gaze resolutely, Aaron had a wild impulse to kiss Spencer’s slightly trembling lips. In fact, his stomach burned with the intensity, the need of it. A white hot tingle of anticipation tore down his spine in a violent shiver.
Was it Aaron’s imagination, or were their faces closer?
He didn’t know if he had moved closer or if Spencer had, but neither of them, it seemed, were willing to pull away. Aaron couldn’t mistake the momentary look of longing that passed over Spencer’s face or the way his eyes darted subtly to Aaron’s mouth. Then Spencer leaned forward slightly in silent invitation.
Tilting his head almost imperceptibly, the sweet surprising sting of hope coursed through him as Aaron felt Spencer’s breath on his face, hot and unsteady.
His lips touched Aaron’s, soft and subtle….
Aaron’s heart raced as the dream clung to him and refused to recede into the dark part of his mind where hope lived. His breath came in short, quick pants as he sat straight up in bed, disoriented at being alone. Spencer had been right there with him, so close that the other boy’s presence loomed large in the room. With mounting fear, he half expected Spencer to come back from the bathroom to crawl into bed with him. His cock ached in his sweats, harder than it had ever been, and Aaron could feel nothing but confusion. The room, almost unbearably warm, seemed different in the diffused light from his window. The monsters that normally loomed in the shadows were harder to see, the angry scars on his face and body slightly diminished by the image of Spencer in his mind.
Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, Aaron sat on the edge, holding tight to his sheet, trying to stop his world from spinning. Not once in two years had he dreamed of wanting to have any kind of physical or sexual contact—with anyone—and he had no idea how to handle it. Panic rose in his chest, and he took a deep breath in through his nose and blew out hard from his mouth just as Dr. Thomas had taught him. In through his nose, and out through his mouth. The panic swelled higher, like an ocean storm, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe. Then he closed his eyes and tried again. In through his nose and out through his mouth. Again and again he breathed, slowly and deliberately. The tightness in his chest lessened, and he could have wept, if only he were able.
“Aaron, honey, are you okay?”
Aaron looked up to see his mother standing in the doorway, her oversized pajamas making her look like a teenage girl, the way she pulled her hands into the sleeves and stretched the material as she stood nervously at his door. The way she bounced just a little on the balls of her feet told Aaron how much she wanted to come into his room and comfort him, but she kept her distance.
“I’m okay, Mom, it was just a dream,” he said quietly to the floor, and breathed in slowly through his nose. She came in then, no doubt drawn to the fear and pain she heard in his voice. Making sure to keep a good foot between them, she sat down on the edge of the bed. He didn’t look up, but simply blew out hard.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Her voice sounded small and quiet in the dark, not like her usual call-to-attention mom voice. Normally, she had a way of making three nearly grown boys and one man do whatever she wanted merely by changing the inflections of her tone. Aaron knew she expected him to say no, and he nearly always did, but the confusion and the pain in his heart made the words tumble out in a rush.
“I dreamed that I kissed someone,” Aaron whispered into the darkness. The deep breathing exercise stopped, and he blushed, though he hoped his mother wouldn’t see.
“Was it a good dream?” she asked, and Aaron’s hand ached to sit, even for just a moment, on top of hers, but he didn’t allow himself to move. His head had started to ache from the stress, and his throat, bone dry at the idea of saying it out loud, rasped as he answered.
“I don’t… I don’t know…. It just…. It feels so wr
ong to think about… about kissing someone. I can’t… not after….” Aaron’s face flushed further, and he was sure she could see it glow. If she did, she gave no indication.
“There isn’t anything wrong with kissing someone, sweetheart. It scares me sometimes that because of what’s happened, you wouldn’t meet someone that made you look past the attack. I couldn’t stand that, because you are so special, you deserve to find a person that loves you like I love your father.” She hesitated, no doubt trying to decide what, if any, questions she could ask without closing the window on a really good chance to talk to her son. “Honey, have you ever kissed anyone?”
Aaron shook his head, and even in the dim light, he saw her nod.
“Does this person have a name?”
The blinding fear returned in an instant. It didn’t even immediately register that she didn’t say “Does this girl have a name?”
“I…,” Aaron started, the lie forming on his lips, but he found he just couldn’t do it. For so long, his mother had loved him despite his scars and sacrificed her time and sanity to care for him. She deserved better than to be lied to. “It… it was Spencer, Mom.”
“Your friend from school?” she asked with a neutral expression.
He couldn’t tell if the idea that he’d dreamt about kissing a guy surprised her or not. Maybe she figured, with the attack, he’d have to be gay.
“Yes, my friend from school,” he whispered as his nerve failed. The words “I’m gay” wouldn’t form in his throat so he could articulate them. With everything else he’d put her though, he couldn’t say them aloud.
“Aaron, look at me.” His mother’s voice was soft and reassuring, so he did as she asked and noticed the small upturn of her mouth. It was hard holding her gaze while he had this conversation with her. It felt like they were shining a huge spotlight on everything wrong with him, and he’d been in the dark for so very long. She took a slow, deep breath before continuing. “I’m your mom. Did you really think I didn’t know, honey? Even if I hadn’t had years to come to terms with it…. Aaron, I almost lost you, my beautiful boy. I don’t love you any less because you’re gay. Neither will your father or your brothers. We thank God every single day that you’re still in our lives, baby. That’s just not something we would get upset over.”
For the first time in two very long years, Aaron Downing began to cry.
“I thought they picked me because I was gay. If I’d been straight, Juliette would be alive, and you wouldn’t have to take care of me like I was some kind of huge baby. And… and it was just one more thing for you to have to deal with on top of everything else. I hated it. I thought it was so stupid because I’d never meet anyone that would look past the scars and the spastic freak-outs, so what difference did it make? I don’t know why Spencer is different, Mom, I don’t even know if he’s gay,” he managed through heaving sobs. Tears ran down his frightened face in the darkness.
“Oh, honey, they picked you because you were there. Your father and brothers have lived with you all your life, and I’m sure they don’t have any idea. Those… those men could not have known that you were gay. It was never your fault. Ever.” She rubbed her hands on her knees, and it looked like it took every bit of willpower she had not to reach for him. “But as for your dream, have you talked to Spencer at all about being gay?”
“No. I mean, even if he is, why would he want me? I’m broken, Mom. I’m about as fucked up as you can get. He’s such a—” He cut himself off, not willing to reveal every part of his heart, not yet. “He deserves someone whole.”
“Two years ago, we never would have been having this conversation. You weren’t rational enough to deal with it. I’d have given you a tranquilizer, waited until you were doped up enough, and kissed your forehead before going back to my room for a sleepless night, scared to death for you. I know that you feel fucked up”—Aaron gasped at her choice of words, but she didn’t pause—“but, Aaron, you really are healing more every day. The progress you’ve made just since you’ve met Spencer is astonishing. I think his friendship is really good for you, but I think if he is gay you should take anything else between you very slowly. We can try another doctor if you think you’re ready to talk to someone,” she hedged.
Aaron still couldn’t bring himself to tell her about Spencer’s father. He knew she was right, and the time he spent with Dr. Thomas helped him. It felt like telling her, like sharing his secret, would ruin it. Becoming Dr. Thomas’s patient was the first adult decision Aaron had ever made, and he wanted to hold onto it just a little longer, maybe until he had something substantial to share.
“I started a kind of journal,” he replied, trying to give her something without revealing the whole truth. “It’s helping me to sort out some of my feelings.” The blanket caught every bit of his interest as he avoided her eyes.
“That’s a good way to work things out,” she replied just as a yawn escaped. “I’m glad we got to talk tonight. It’s been a long time since we could just sit and talk.” Reaching to pat Aaron on the shoulder, his mother drew back when she saw him flinch.
“Are you going to tell Dad what we talked about?” The underlying question screamed through the subtle wording. Are you going to tell him I’m gay? Is he going to think everything is my fault? Will he hate me? Will he send me away?
“I’m going to tell him that we talked and you’re starting to cope better. Do you want me to tell him that you’re gay?” Her voice was soft and understanding, like his answer would be okay no matter what it was. Aaron nodded, unable to voice the words. “I can do that. Anthony is a little young yet, but I think you should tell Allen. You two used to be so close. I want to see you have that kind of relationship again.”
“I will, Mom… later,” Aaron reluctantly agreed. “I think I’m going to try and sleep some more before I have to go to class. It’s easier to deal with when I’m not tired.” With a long, deep yawn, Aaron crawled back under his blankets. His mother pulled them up for him, careful not to touch him as she let go.
“I love you, Aaron,” she said quietly as she stood.
He looked up and caught her gaze.
“I love you too, Mom.”
AARON HATED it when Spencer looked down. Usually it was accompanied by a look of consternation or shame on his face. It made his heart hurt. Other people might have stomped on the floor, trying to get Spencer’s attention as one might do with a dog, but he couldn’t. Some force, some overwhelming need compelled him to touch Spencer’s face. When he did, Spencer looked up and he smiled. Very slowly, as if gauging Aaron’s reaction, Spencer leaned toward him, and he felt Spencer’s warm, soft lips touch his in his very first kiss.
The panic he expected to well in him at the intimate contact never came. The only thing he felt in that moment was fire. Spencer’s kiss was like an inferno, engulfing and burning off his fear, leaving only a residual heat. Tentatively, wary of his own ingrained reactions, he put his hands on Spencer’s shoulders and was shocked by his reckless need. Spencer’s fingers snaked up the back of Aaron’s shirt, stroking his bare skin, and Spencer’s lips moved to his neck. He let his head fall back. Not feeling the tight pulling of skin from his scars, he finally realized it was a dream. The weight of this crushing disappointment took him by surprise. He had thought that even in a dream, the reprieve from his damaged skin would have been a cause for joy, but it meant he wasn’t really with Spencer.
Leaning into the kiss, knowing he was safe in this dream with Spencer, Aaron took this one unique opportunity to play out all his conscious and even repressed fantasies. Barely sixteen when his life changed, he had only just started to come to terms with being gay. He’d never had any kind of relationship with anyone, much less kissed or touched another boy. He’d fantasized about it, almost constantly, just as any other boy his age would have, but that horrifying night even took those from him. Whenever he thought about another boy after that, all Aaron could think about was pain and shame.
Aaron could almost f
eel Spencer’s soft, gentle lips opening and closing in a soundless rhythm as he left tender kisses across his chest. Looking down, he saw the unruly mop of light brown curls contrasting beautifully with his own pale skin, which, to his heart-wrenching delight was smooth rather than scarred. Aaron’s back arched, begging silently for his touch. In the dream, he could be the man Spencer deserved, unbroken and beautiful, the man he would have been. Spencer’s warm, sensuous mouth closed over Aaron’s nipple, licking, sucking, and in that moment he was filled with a desperate craving for Spencer’s affection, and he felt the low, ragged moan that was forced from him.
Aaron’s fingers entwined in Spencer’s hair as his lips moved lower, causing the muscles in Aaron’s abdomen to tighten under his attention. Pulling Spencer up on top of him, he found they were both naked.
He woke up sweating.
“AARON, YOU seem a little distracted, a little edgy today. Is there something you want to talk about? Did something happen?”
Aaron squirmed in the chair, uncomfortable remembering the dream in front of Spencer’s father, incredibly glad Spencer was studying for a midterm in the other room.
Dr. Thomas pressed gently. “I want to help you. In order to do that, you need to be able to confide in me. I won’t push. That’s not my way. Pushing you to talk about something you don’t want to disclose will only lead to resentment and distance between us, and that isn’t helpful.”
“I… I had a dream last night. It was… disconcerting,” Aaron blurted.
“Was it about the attack?”
Aaron shook his head and looked down at his knees. “It was… sexual.”
“Aaron, that isn’t anything to be ashamed of. I hadn’t planned to start that aspect of our talks until you felt more comfortable with me, but I don’t want for this to upset you.” He looked thoughtfully at Aaron for a moment, as if contemplating his next question carefully.