by Elaine White
Donald couldn't stop the blush that rose on his cheeks, as he realised the true meaning of those words. “Have you been back to school yet?” he asked, instead.
“The doctors and the police thought I should stay away until everything has blown over,” he confessed, with a light bob of his head. “Something about rumours and possible retaliation, if anyone thinks I had anything to do with it. But, I couldn't stay at home. I went in yesterday and...I wasn't ready, but I was there long enough to find out about the group, which was great. Right now, I'm getting updates from Defiance. No one at school knows the true story, only that you were found injured in the locker room and there was a lot of blood involved.”
He stopped and made a face as though he was considering his next words, then Ryder peeked up at him and shrugged. “It sounds like everyone thinks you were attacked by a bully. Defiance says that Curtis is the main suspect, since he's been suspiciously absent from school since it happened. But I'm also a suspect, according to rumour, because I found you,” he revealed, smirking and letting out a short laugh that said he found it morbidly amusing.
Donald didn't. “That's ridiculous! You saved my life.”
“Maybe,” he allowed, though without the conviction it deserved, “but people like to gossip, and some time off would be appreciated. And, quite honestly, they're only working on what the football team reported. That I went in for a shower, while leaving early; I was in there a really long time then there was a lot of screaming, and Coach came in to sort it all out,” he explained, not looking at all bothered by the rumours that made Donald squirm with discomfort.
“To them, it was Coach who called the cops and the ambulance. And you have to remember that I was the only one interviewed by the police, at first. The minute the authorities arrived, you were dragged out in a stretcher and I walked out, covered in your blood.”
Thinking about it that way, Donald wanted to smack himself. Of course Ryder looked guilty. Heck, he was surprised the police hadn't attempted to lay blame on him yet.
Thank God he was lucid as he was dragged into the ambulance, though he was sure his panicked apologies to the paramedics and the sobbing hadn't been much help. His phone was proof of the emotional turmoil he'd been going through. Ryder's name didn't appear once in any of the hate mail he'd gotten online, so he only hoped that was further proof for the police to trust that he was innocent.
Chapter 6
They fell silent for a while, just thinking, while Ryder absently stroked his bandages and stared off into space.
When he finally spoke, it was with a quiet, distant tone and a light squeeze of his fingers. “Can I tell you a secret?” Ryder whispered, still staring at the other side of the room with such intensity that it made Donald worry.
“Of course.”
“I think I'm...bisexual,” he confessed, lowering his gaze as Donald blinked in surprise. “I've had a girlfriend or two and I think girls are just fine, but...I think I like boys more,” he continued.
The confession came out of nowhere, at least for Donald. He'd known who Ryder was for years, admiring his natural talent for football from afar and marvelling over how many friends he had, how well liked he was. Ryder was who he'd wanted to be, for a long time. Then, a few months ago, he realised that his awe had turned into a pretty serious crush. And that was when he asked Coach that he stay away from the players, but remain in the background for his team duties.
Regardless of what everyone would be thinking, right now, it wasn't to escape Curtis' attention. Donald had been raised by two strong, emotionally grounded men, who taught him to fight injustice and stand up for the little guy. He'd done that, even when the little guy was himself. So, despite being terrified of the bully, he'd refused to cower from him in public.
School was the one place he felt safe from his bully, until those messages started flooding into his social media accounts. At first, he'd been checking them on the school library computer, as he waited for an assignment related article to load. Then, it became almost an obsession. He couldn't stop checking to see if they were there today; again and again and again, he told himself that by not engaging, Curtis would lose interest. But it only seemed to encourage him.
It had been fear of Ryder discovering his crush and maybe hating him for it that made him retreat from the side-lines. And, though he would never tell Ryder, it seemed to also be a signal to Curtis that his threats and words were having an impact. Because they suddenly became unbearable; every hour, every platform, in every emotionally hurtful and physically threatening way.
Who could have guessed that it would be Ryder who saved him from that?
Who'd have thought that Ryder would be questioning his sexuality and about to make his crush all the more complicated to bear?
“But my dad–” Ryder went on, heaving a heavy sigh that said he'd taken those few minutes to think to himself, “he's really homophobic. He keeps talking about how it's unnatural and disgusting. He grew up here and says that since “all the gays” moved into the area, all the “normal people” have suffered for it and moved away,” he complained, even using air quotes with one hand to emphasise the terms.
The disgust and frustration in his voice would normally have made Donald smile, glad to have an advocate. But this was Ryder, confessing to being bisexual or questioning, and he was admitting that he had a homophobic father who frightened him into staying in the closet. That was nothing to smile about.
Thinking quickly, Donald tried to inject a little positivity to counteract the anger and fear Ryder's father threw at him all the time. “Papi says that the town is a safe haven,” he admitted, loving that he thought that way. “That once a few of “the gays” moved here with their kids, they realised it was a safe, accepting place to live, so they told all the other “gays.” Eventually, word spread and “all the gays” decided to settle down here, where it was safe for them and their kids.”
Ryder snorted in amusement at his use of vocal air quotes, stressing the terms, since his hands wouldn't let him make the little quotes.
Honestly, even as Donald smiled in relief to see Ryder taking a moment to process what he'd said, he wondered why everyone found the word “gay” so offensive. He understood the frustration when it was used incorrectly to label someone as something they weren't or when it was used in a derogatory term. But he'd never understand the homophobic people of the world using it like a swear word, an insult or whispering it like it was some curse that was going to turn them gay if they said it too loud.
Donald wasn't ashamed to be gay. He didn't shrivel up and hide whenever someone called him gay, as if that made him any less of a man, and he certainly didn't cower when it was thrown at him like a knife.
It wasn't the unexpected outing of his sexual orientation that sent him over the edge. It was the certainty he'd felt, as he realised that it would never end. No matter how much he didn't engage with Curtis, no matter who he reported him to or what was done about it, the bullying would never end. Because, no matter what, Curtis would find another way of doing it. Verbal, physical or through social media, he'd shown that he had no limits and no hesitation over changing his method, if necessary.
The taunts about his sexuality were nothing more than proof that Curtis was always going to find something to complain about, some fault in Donald's genetic makeup or personality that made him unworthy of being treated like a human being. Something that separated him out from the crowd as 'different' and therefore had to be punished.
“Hey,” Ryder swept a finger over his cheek and Donald flinched from surprise, “why are you crying? Did I say something?” he asked, his eyes wide with panic that didn't belong there.
“No. I just–” he stopped, licked his lips and faked a smile, “I was just thinking about what got me here. You know? My parents thought this was the perfect little town, safe from all the hardships they'd been through when they were kids. They thought I wouldn't have to fight to be seen, here. To be myself or to be treated with civility
,” he explained, not sure if Ryder could really understand that, just yet. “I just realised that, no matter how much they tried to protect me by living here and putting me in this school, I wasn't safe here and that must be killing them.”
Ryder hummed and looked away. “I never thought about that,” he admitted, his voice quiet and thoughtful again. “Were you...did you plan to come out, at school?” he asked, not looking at him, though his jaw tensed as though he was angry.
Donald didn't know what to make of it, so he told the truth, with a shrug. “I don't know. I was scared to, but I figured I'd think about it and maybe decide when I was sixteen. You know, when I was more sure. When I was old enough to experience a real relationship,” he reasoned, with a sigh. “I didn't really get that chance.”
With a nod, Ryder trailed his fingertips over the top of Donald's fingers, which were free from the bandages. The butterflies that flew about his stomach as he felt their skin touch almost made his heart stop. “I never planned to come out. Maybe ever. I think I just thought I'd date girls and get by that way, to keep my dad happy,” he said.
It wasn't clear if he was talking to himself and venting or if he expected Donald to reply. But he heard the 'but' in his voice; the 'that was then and this is now' uncertainty that said he was questioning so much more than just his sexuality.
“And now?” Donald asked, prodding just once. If Ryder didn't reply or said he didn't want to talk about it, he'd drop it until he was ready.
“Now, I think I'd rather be happy than let him tell me how to live,” he replied quietly, “and who to love.” Looking up, Ryder appeared surprised by his own words, but didn't try to take them back. And Donald didn't make him.
For a long time, they just sat there, holding hands. It was a comfortable silence and, though his mouth was dry, Donald was glad for the feeding tube and the constant fluids he had been put on, due to the damage to his wrists and being asleep for two days. It meant that he didn't have to interrupt this moment for anything. He just got to sit there, staring at Ryder and drinking in the natural beauty, the inner strength and marvel at the fact that they had somehow formed a bond, during their surprisingly short time together in the boys’ locker rooms.
Eventually, Donald couldn't take the suspense anymore. He whispered, “Ryder?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you scared?”
Ryder flinched and turned to meet his gaze, but didn't tell him to mind his own business. Instead, he deflated a little and sank back in his seat, letting his hand trail away from Donald's to the edge of the bed. “Yeah.” He sighed and pressed his lips together. “Yeah, I'm really scared. But I'm ready. I don't want to live a lie anymore,” he whispered in reply.
Donald wanted to take his hand again, but he didn't dare risk trying to move when he wasn't ready. Instead, he smiled and hoped that Ryder understood what he was trying to convey. “I'm here for you, if you need me. And...if you need to get away from your dad, my folks would be happy to let you stay in my room. Until it blows over,” he promised, knowing how important it was that Ryder had an escape.
He wished he'd had one, but the more Donald thought about what he'd been going through, the more he realised his dad was right earlier. He hadn't allowed himself to have a safety net, back up or a safe place to hide out. He hadn't allowed himself to stop checking his phone, to close down his social media accounts or really do anything productive to stop the bullying.
Because, somewhere deep down, Donald had learned that Curtis couldn't be stopped, so all preventative action was futile. Somewhere along the way, though he hated to think about it, he'd given up fighting back. He'd given up hope, because...because he believed he deserved it.
And what angered him most, as he sat there looking at Ryder tear up, was that he didn't know what he deserved it for. What had he done that was so bad that he thought he deserved to be treated that way?
Tentatively, Ryder sat forward and touched his hand again. “I had my first appointment with Sterling's Pops this morning,” he admitted, out of the blue.
“I really like him,” Donald confessed, unable to stop the smile from breaking out, as he thought about Pops and his therapy sessions. “He's amazing. Sterling's dad is cool too, but quiet and a little harder to read,” he explained, just in case Ryder hadn't met him yet.
“Yeah.” He smiled and lowered his head to rest his chin on the back of his hand, avoiding putting any weight on Donald's hand. “Pops has been helping me go through what happened to you and how I feel about it. I haven't told him that I might be–” He stopped and shook his head, as though it was too hard to say the word. “Not yet. But I think he suspects. He's smart enough to probably know, but I bet anything he wants me to come out and say it,” he said, with a derisive chuckle.
Donald couldn't help himself. “So, I'm the only one in the whole world who knows?” he realised, shocked and awed by the silent nod Ryder offered in reply. “I'm honoured. And I'll keep your secret, until you're ready.”
Chapter 7
Five Weeks Later
Life was tough at home. Ryder had been struggling with it for a long time and that was without having come out of his closet. Though, he often wondered if his dad would be the same homophobic, judgemental bigot he was today if he'd come out when he was younger. Or would he have been raised to hate himself and what he wanted in life?
He would never know.
But, true to Donald's word, when Ryder picked up his phone that night, after a particularly brutal argument with his dad, Donald's Papi answered within two rings. “Mr Leary? I...I need a safe place to sleep tonight. Can I come over?” he asked, already on the verge of tears.
“Give me your address. I'll be there in five minutes,” Papi replied.
That was when Ryder gave in to the inevitable. The first tears bubbled out of him with a whine, followed by a choked sob that had him doubling over in his attempt to holding himself together just a little longer.
“Ryder, I need your address,” Papi reminded him quietly.
Rhyming it off, he reluctantly hung up when Papi told him to. Then he backed up to sit on his bed, turning to look at the bag he'd packed on autopilot, before he'd even considered calling Donald's parents. In fact, he didn't remember having any plans after running upstairs and slamming the door behind him. He just knew that he couldn't stay here one more night.
He hadn't even come out of his closet yet. All he'd done was answer his mum's question of how Donald was getting on with his recovery. He was in intense physical and psychological therapy at the hospital, trying to regain full use of his wrists and hands again, after he'd accidentally damaged a tendon. Luckily, he hadn't cut right through it, so with a very minor surgery, he was healing on his own.
But it still meant that Donald basically lived in the hospital right now and, though he wasn't really sure why, Ryder visited him every day. He was still seeing Pops for therapy three times a week and avoiding school, while all the legal issues were sorted out, so he thought taking the time to hang out with Donald was a good thing. It would help them both heal a little, but also build on that intense bond they'd developed while sitting in that dark shower all alone together.
Somehow, though it shouldn't really be a surprise, his dad didn't see it that way. He just kept ranting about the same things. About how Donald was 'one of them' and people would get the wrong idea about their friendship, that it didn't even matter if seeing Donald helped with his emotional and mental recovery, only that it was wrong and forbidden 'under this roof'.
So, Ryder wasn't going to stay under this roof.
He sat there, trying to breathe evenly and not shed any more tears. The last thing he needed was for his dad to see him crying and make fun of him for it. He focused on good things. Happy things.
Donald was getting better, both mentally and physically, even though he'd be in intense therapy for a long time.
He didn't have to go to school until he was ready, which was signed off by Pops, so he could avoid all
the gossip and the drama until there was something more exciting for everyone to talk about.
Defiance had been friendly, but had accepted the space he asked for, when he said he wasn't going to be back at school for a while. Ryder had more important things to think about than his old crush on the guy and what the 'distance' he'd put between them might mean for the future.
Even better was that Karsyn had been texting him in random, thoughtful ways. At first, just messages of support, that he and everyone in the Bright Side Brigade were thinking about him, missing him and that they hoped he was coping. Then with more personal things that didn't quite encroach any boundaries. It felt so much like their old friendship that it had given Ryder one more person to add to his 'trust implicitly' list. Which was growing increasingly smaller by the day.
When he heard a car horn honk outside, Ryder shot to his feet and grabbed his bag. Even if it wasn't Papi, he had to get out of this house. He'd rather wait outside on the street than sit here slowly going stir crazy.
Running down the stairs, he stopped by the sofa to kiss the top of Nico's head. “I'll see you soon, kiddo. And call me if you need anything,” he whispered, before rushing towards the door and out of it, before his parents could leave the kitchen where they'd been arguing ever since he said he was leaving.
He'd left it deliberately ambiguous, so that they didn't know how long he'd be gone or how serious he was about it. He wanted them to worry and panic, just a little, because he was so sick of being the only adult in the house.
“Ryder.” Papi nodded a hello from the end of the path and he couldn't help but smile, even as he felt his emotions getting a little more chaotic, again.
“Hey. Thank you so much.” Ryder walked over and hugged the man who was more compassionate than his own father. “Thank you for coming. Thank you for saying yes. Just...thank you.”