“Get his doctor here,” says my dad. “I want to know what’s going on.”
“I am his doctor.”
A nurse removes my parents from the ward.
I squeeze Catherine’s hand. I see Gareth waiting for me. “He’s here. He’s going to get me.”
She touches my face and makes me look at her. “Look at me. I’m here with you. You’re safe, Malachi, you’re safe.”
My breathing begins to slow down. I am covered in sweat again but I don’t get sick or wet myself and everything subsides.
“I’ll go and let your parents know what’s going on.”
“Do it here,” I say, “in front of me. Tell them every last thing.”
“Are you sure?” I can tell Catherine doesn’t think it’s a good idea.
“Tell them everything. That way I won’t have to. Bring Sam in here I want you both with me.”
She nods, then leaves.
I love her and I love Sam. I’m sweating and it was close but she talked me out of it. I’m sure Sam could do that same thing. Could my mum? Could my dad? There’s this whole wall of religion and sexuality between us and I don’t think I trust them. I don’t think I’d be able to trust them to do it.
Catherine brings all of them in. Sam sits at the other side of me and puts his hand on my shoulder.
“I don’t want him here.” My dad flicks his head back.
“Malachi wants him here.” Catherine points at the chairs. “I’m going to tell you everything there is to know and it will be hard on him. Don’t begrudge Malachi his support.”
Wow, my dad got told, and by the look on his face he knows when to shut up.
Catherine runs through a list of the physical and mental injuries I’ve suffered and what caused them. She gives them the whole story.
The pills have kicked in; my mind is flat now and nothing she says can hurt me.
“Four members of the staff held him down and took turns giving him oral sex. Then one or more of them orally raped him. They gave him and all the other boys electric shocks as some kind of aversion therapy. After that, when he was helpless, one of the leaders raped him anally. With that and the beating he was given he’s developed post traumatic stress disorder and possibly some psychosis but you’ll have to speak to his psychiatrist about that.”
“Psychosis?” My mum sounds like she’s never heard the word before.
“We think it might be nothing more than an after affect of his memory loss but he’s had hallucinations of his brother.”
They are silent. I expect them to object or say something in their defence at least but they don’t say a word.
“What you witnessed was a PTSD episode which we managed to stop in its tracks. They’re going to be part of his life for a while. He's re-living the first time he was raped. You’re going to have to learn how to help him deal with them.”
“I want to take him home,” says my mum. “He’ll be much better off there. I want to take him home right now.”
“No,” says Catherine. “No, I don’t think he will.”
My eyes close.
Chapter Eighteen
Breakfast is over. Catherine is arguing outside with a hospital administrator who’s made the trip down to see her because she refused to go and see him, even though he’s been calling her all morning. She comes back in and tells Noah and me she’s sorry.
That’s it then. We’re going home.
I figured it was almost time when my stitches were out and I could take a shower by myself. I know Catherine would keep hold of us forever if she could.
I have to go today and Noah will go when his parents come and get him. Catherine takes me through my pills and makes sure I know when they should be taken. I thank Sam and her for everything they’ve done and they've done so much.
“Can I have an hour with Noah,” I ask. “Just the two of us?”
“Of course you can,” says Catherine. “I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed.”
We sit in the day room and hold hands, hug and kiss.
“I’ll miss you like crazy,” he says.
“Only two years,” I say. “Keep thinking of that.”
I wonder how Noah will cope with his family. His dad seemed so aggressive and as though he didn’t care about him in the slightest. Would he be sad when Noah left home at sixteen? It makes me wonder why some people have children. I wonder if he's like that with Noah's brothers and sisters or is it that Noah isn't living up to being a man or some bullshit like that.
At least my parents were calm and though they didn’t believe in being gay, at least it might be liveable at home. I don’t even want to think about how I’ll cope without Noah. How ridiculous it must seem – I've known him two weeks and I want to be with him for the rest of my life. I always thought love like that was a fiction but here it is.
There is one fact that hits me now that my mind doesn’t like. If not for all the shit I’ve been through I’d never have met him. Is it a question of balance? Is that what matters in the end? Because the way I feel at the moment I’d have given up a lot more so I could get to know him and have him be mine.
We do the whole cake thing again but I feel like it’s as apt as someone bringing streamers to a funeral. I thank all the staff for looking after me. Candice hands me my medication and says the instructions are in the bag.
Its time to go but my parents aren’t here. “How am I getting back?”
“I’m taking you home,” says Sam.
I hug Catherine and I kiss Noah goodbye, then we go. I get to the doors out to the car park and feel a sense of anticipation at walking outside. I stop. It feels like I’m going to have an attack. I do deep breaths and calm myself. Sam puts an arm round my shoulder and leads me to his car, a gold Jaguar E-type, and we get in.
“You’re going to be fine. You know that?” He starts the engine.
“I’m not sure Noah is.” I put on my seatbelt. I’ve been away from Noah for a few minutes and it’s terrible. It feels like we’ve been together forever.
Sam pulls out of the parking spot. “I’ll do my best. Catherine too. You need time with people who care about you. That’s your mum and dad and I hope Catherine and me in a couple of years.”
“You two for sure. You know my parents won’t accept I’m gay? You know that’s never going to happen?”
“I know. Just don’t be in a rush. Give them a chance.” He concentrates on getting out of the car park and doesn't turn to look at me.
I wonder how much this car is worth. “Will I see you?”
He stops when we’re on the edge of the road, then turns to me. “Your mum and dad said I’m to have no contact with you. They don’t know about our offer and you probably shouldn’t tell them but any time you want to meet or fancy tapas, tell me when you’ll be at the Science Museum.”
It makes me think back to when we first met and I smile.
We get to the high street by the church. Sam stops outside Kahn’s, my local newsagent, and takes me in. He walks up to the counter where Mr Khan is reading the paper. “Are you the owner?”
“Yes. Is there a problem?” Mr Khan rests the paper on the counter.
“You know this boy?” Sam’s words are sharp.
“Yes, he’s the minister’s son.”
“Are you a Christian?”
“No I am Hindu.”
“Good.” Sam pulls out a roll of money. “This is a thousand pounds, take it.”
He hands the roll over to Mr Kahn who looks scared. Then Sam reaches into another pocket and pulls out another roll. “This is another thousand pounds. If you keep quiet about it and tell no one what I ask you to do, it’s yours.”
“For what are you giving this to me?’ Mr Khan looks over at his phone.
“This boy gets whatever he wants. If you don’t have it you go and get it for him. I’ll pay you back whatever he spends and give you that much to keep for yourself. That money will cover us all for a while. Do you understand?”
“Y
es.”
“Do we have an agreement that you will say nothing of this to anyone?”
“I will say nothing.” Mr Khan looks at me and swallows.
Sam reaches into his wallet. “Good, here is my card. If you need more money let me know.”
We leave the shop. I’m somewhat shocked, not at Sam’s generosity, that was made clear already, but at how daunting and frightening he could be if he wanted. What did Mr Kahn think he was? A gangster? Probably.
Sam hugs me. “Now you better get home.” He slips an envelope in my pocket. “That’s an emergency kit. Hide it well when you get in and don’t open it unless you need to. Remember to call when you can and make sure you tell your parents that Catherine drove you home.”
I hug him and he slouches over me to return it. I walk off to my road and keep turning around to look at him. He doesn’t go anywhere and is still standing looking at me when I turn into my street.
The front door is open and my dad is in his study. He greets me with a hug that feels so uncomfortable and we go on through to the kitchen and sit at the breakfast table. My mum is cooking. My sister barges in. “I heard the door go.” She has a black eye and a bruise on her jaw. I know I must have hit her but I didn’t realise how much I’d hurt her. I feel terrible.
I shake my head, “I’m sorry.”
“She knows,” says my dad. “It wasn’t your fault.”
She doesn’t look as if she knows at all – red faced and pissed off with me. She sits at the table with us and my mum joins us too. There’s something different about the house which I can’t place at first.
I realise what it is when my mum picks up a photo from a sideboard and shows it to me. It’s me and my brother aged ten or thereabouts, both smiling and happy so I couldn’t have known I was gay at the time.
I look around and notice the other pictures that are now on display. There’s one of me and my brother in the bath and Isla is washing us. She looks so happy.
“When you both got ill we rushed you into the hospital. They wouldn’t let us sit with you for a while. They told us it was meningitis but we’d picked it up late. Your brother died a few hours after we got you there.”
“I don’t even know his name!”
“Daniel,” says my dad.
“When you came round from the fever and were more alert you couldn’t remember who we were. But you kept asking about Daniel so we told you what had happened. You couldn’t handle it. You were screaming and crying. They gave you something to help you to sleep and when you woke up you didn’t mention him. You didn’t know anything or anyone.”
“So you moved? You hid it from me?”
“We’re sorry,” says my dad. “We were trying to do what we thought was best. I prayed to god and he told me this was what I should do.”
And how can you go against god?
I think it’s only the drugs I’m on which stop me from feeling this so strongly. How can you miss someone you can’t remember anyway? Or does your brain punish you because all that emotion can’t find an outlet? There are dark places in my mind now. I feel them there waiting for me to inadvertently wander into. Daniel is now one of them. Any time I think of him I ache.
My mum asks for the bag with my medications in. There are three days of antibiotics left and the mental pills. Plus other pills I can take when I need if I have a bad attack. I take the HIV pills out and put them in my pocket.
“I have to see my therapist once a week. Will you take me?”
“No,” my dad says, “you’ll be seeing a Christian councillor. I’ve arranged it all for you.”
“Yes, because the last treatment you arranged for me went so well.” Why are they doing this again? Why are they getting in the way?
“Don’t backchat your dad!” My mum checks herself. “You’ll get a little slack because you’re not well. But there are some things we won’t put up with.”
“Why don’t you spank me then? Use a belt? Cut me with a knife? Cut my hand off if you want, stone me at the fucking village gates. It won’t change who I am. Why did you send me to that place?”
Now my mum is on the back foot. “We thought they could help you, Malachi, we really did.”
“So if you’re wrong about that could you be wrong about other things?”
My dad is trying not to show his anger but his face is almost white. “Like what?”
“Mum, Dad, I’m gay. You have to accept it. The only help I need is to deal with what that place did to me. Nothing is going to change me from being gay. You know what they did to me in that place – I'm still gay!”
My dad shakes his head. “You’re not gay. Those men who did those things to you were gay. Is that what you want? Do you want to be like them?.”
And then my mum pipes in. “It’s Satan trying to ruin your dad’s career.”
And there it is. There’s no answer to that, is there? I mean, what possible argument could I make to someone who’s willing to accept as truth the existence of these insane fantasy bogeymen? There’s no logical argument I can make because my parents beliefs have to be assumed as true a priori.
“I understand.” And I do, just not in the way they think I mean it. I get up and go to my room and lie down on my bed.
My name is Malachi Russell and nothing here will change. How can my parents be so stupid? This whole situation is ridiculous. I’m gay, this is a fact. Their god, their bible tells them that being gay is a sin against god. Their son can’t be a sinner so he can’t be gay.
I am gay. Now I’ve met Noah and Jacob nothing in the world will make me want to be straight. Now Noah is mine and I am his. That’s all that matters to me. I’m trapped here with people who want to change me and won’t let me be who I am. They sent me to that camp to change me and it has. It's made me hate them. It makes me hate myself for being so weak. Given the chance if I were born again and could choose my sexuality I would choose to be gay.
Now I’m back here and it’s like being in the camp, except slower and the correction is to delivered by mental pain, frustration and boredom.
I sit on my bed and nothing happens. If this were a book there would be ten blank pages. My parents knock at my door and ask me if I’m all right. This happens every hour. I don’t answer. I can’t answer. I can’t talk to them any more. Everything they say is a lie. Everything they believe is a lie.
I will on the next episode, just to see if I can make it happen but here in my room it doesn’t work. I think about going outside and going to the shop to get some chocolate but now I’m back home the thought of going outside is what makes me start to panic.
So I stay in my room.
If Sam were here he would take me out in his car and talk to me and nothing would matter but I am truly without help here now. I push the emergency envelope under the wardrobe so no one will find it. If I ever need it I will have to fish it out with a coat hanger. I put the mobile phone under my pillow and try to sleep.
When I wake up there is a plate of sandwiches inside my door and my pills but no drink. I can't bring myself to eat. I look outside the curtains and it is dark. I check my phone and there is a message from Sam: Just checking in to see how you are. Noah is good and going home tomorrow.
I like that he doesn’t abbreviate. I want to tell him I’m not good but something stops me. So I send a message saying everything is all right.
It’s 12:30am and too late to call Jacob. I don’t know what I’d say to him: Hi, how are you, enjoying life with your boyfriend? I feel so angry and I know Jacob and Warren don’t deserve it. How hateful I have become.
So I try and read a book but I’ve read all my books before. I pace around my room and catch sight of myself in the mirror. My face is hideous. The belt has left a scar that runs from my forehead and down my cheek under my left eye. The eye itself is red and everywhere around it is still swollen. Where I hit my head is still bruised.
I tell myself I should go to the kitchen and get a drink and I will do it. I open the door to my ro
om and feel sick. I take a step towards the stairs and my heart starts pounding and I’m down on my knees and Gareth gets me again.
When it’s over my mum is holding me and my dad is holding my head. I’ve wet myself again. I push away from them but even though I feel close I’m not sick this time. I get up and run back into my room. I take my jeans off and throw them on the floor. I’m hard. I’m so hard and horny. I go bright red and feel sick again. I collapse face first on the bed before my mum gets there with a drink and my pills.
“Get out!” My cock is hard and not going down.
She leaves at once.
I don’t want to think it but I can’t help it. Did I enjoy what happened to me? Did I want it to happen? Am I fooling myself that I am a victim. My mum shuts the door behind her. I pull off my wet boxers and I wank and try to think of Noah. Only Gareth is there, spanking my arse and sucking my cock and it turns me on. It turns me on so much. I come. Then I cry and punch the wall. It hurts so I do it again. I hit my head off the wall and can’t do it again.
Then I can’t cry. I look at myself in the mirror and am I ugly, scarred – a boy who fancies the man who raped him, who showed him in his look what he truly desired.
I see the boy I was only weeks ago and see he is surrounded by invisible walls of worldly ignorance that will protect him from all harm and realise that’s what I’ve lost. That these moveable walls have fallen away like baby teeth and so now I can only count on the walls in my room.
I can’t face two years of this. What will Sam think? What will Catherine think if I ever tell them what my mind is doing to me now? What will Noah think? I look into the mirror and see a damaged person that I hate with everything I am. I look in the mirror and see a poof, a queer, a dirty little pervert. They are right, my parents. It is immoral. All of this happened because I’m gay. I’m used and dirty.
I pick up the phone and send Sam another message: Goodbye. I’m sorry but I can’t do this. Tell Noah I love him.
Then I am calm and I know what I have to do. I put on my dressing gown and I walk downstairs to the kitchen and everything is calm and even. I pick up the chef's knife and run it deep across my wrist. I don’t look at the blood. I crash onto my back and look up at the light.
The Crucifixion and Resurrection of Malachi the Queer Page 19