Page 22

Sandy Point, Sydney

AXEL

It’s well after midnight when I slip the key in the lock of the front door, and the lock clicks open. The lights in the house are all off, so it’s likely that my mother is fast asleep in her bedroom upstairs. Good. I really don’t feel like conversation right now, so I’m extra careful not to make any noise whatsoever.

It's been another too-late night in the middle of the working week.

As I come in the front door, I make sure to turn off the porch light. I hadn’t said I’d be home tonight but she’d left it on anyway. She’s doing everything possible to be the caring mother right now, but for some reason I'm suspicious. She never supported my relationship with Justin. Maybe she knows why I'm so sad right now and she wants me to get over it.

I don’t want to be in this house anymore. There’s nothing but emptiness and heartache for me here, and the memory of what could have been. But I have no choice. If he comes back at all, he would come here. So, I have to stay, for now at least. Right now, I don’t know if he’ll come back or not. Maybe he’s already brushed me from his life and moved on. I haven’t heard a word from him since the day he left, so maybe it’s just that I'm hanging on, living in the past, unable to move forward. It’s kind of pathetic. At 22, I'm supposed to be the mature one, and here I am behaving like a love-sick teenager. I can't help it though.

I don’t know what’s going on or what I should do. The uncertainty, the unknowing , is killing me. I’ve tried everything to reach him; text, phone call, email, social media. For god’s sake, even snail mail. But he hasn’t answered anything I’ve sent. Disturbingly, for months he’s had no social media presence that I’ve been able to detect. But perhaps he just doesn’t want to have anything to do with me. I wouldn’t be the first person to be totally blindsided when they were ghosted. Maybe I really was just a summer fling?

Is he okay? More than anything, I want to know that he’s okay. If he doesn’t want to be in my life, well, I’ll deal, but I need to know that he’s fine, that he’s happy. The thought nags at me constantly – what if he isn’t alright? What if he needs me?

I sink onto the sofa, burying my head in my hands. This is killing me. What if he’s out there somewhere, in trouble and waiting for me to help him? Is there any way to find him that I haven’t yet thought of?

“Fuck!” The worry and frustration is driving me mad, and swearing is easier than giving in to despair. In the back of my mind I know that it's probably over, that if he’s ghosting me, it means we’re done. Nothing more complicated than that. Just because I want answers doesn’t mean there are any, other than he's decided he doesn't want me for whatever reason. God! The thoughts just go round and round in my head. I have got to move on.

I get up and make my way through the dark house to my bedroom. I pause in the doorway. The room looks exactly as it did the night I made love to Justin.

The same navy coverlet on the bed in the middle of the room. Two matching fluffy pillows against the bedhead. My desk in a corner of the room is still the usual organized mess of artwork – completed drawings, discarded designs, a few computer-generated collages.

Framed photographs of us at the beach last summer still sit on top of my chest-of-drawers. My favourite still hangs on the wall.

It’s a photo of the two of us on the beach with our backs to the ocean. Justin was standing up against me, and I still remember the sensation of his sun-warmed back against my bare chest. His hair is windswept, and his eyes are narrowed from the glare. Justin has said something playful and his head is tilted and he has a faint smirk playing about his pouty lips. I’m smiling like crazy as if I've won the lottery or something, the smile lines splitting my face.

Some random person walking by had seen us and snapped the photo. And then offered to send it to us because they thought we looked like a sweet couple.

I sigh.

The room is the same, but it’s also different. This room where we loved and lay awake through all the dark hours, enjoying each other’s proximity and the sheer joy of being together flushed with excitement for the future, now seems empty and sad.

Just like me, I think.

I’m too young to feel like this.

Moonlight shines through the window, so bright tonight that Scorpius can’t be seen. The celestial light illuminates the gauze curtain with an ethereal glow. It runs along the carpet and up across the mattress. If Justin were here, he would consider the scene romantic.

But he’s not, and I want to hide in the darkness and lose myself. I’ll have to close the blinds if I’m to have any chance of that. I don’t want to lie in bed with my heart breaking in the moonlight, wondering if maybe Justin is somewhere also looking up at that same moon.

I cross to the window and pull down the roller blind and as the blind reaches the windowsill, a little sliver of paper glowing in the moonlight catches my eye. It’s lodged between the window and the sill, and only the tiniest part is poking through, which is why I haven’t noticed it until now.

Someone has tried to push it in from the outside.

Curious, I put a finger on it to hold it in place while I struggle with the other to unlock and slide the window up. It’s a note. And as I read it, I begin to tremble.

Axel

I’m in the backyard.

I need to see you one last time. Please.

Then I’ll leave you alone. Promise.

Justin

Justin? He’s here! My heart begins to race. But… what is he saying? What does he mean ‘one last time’? And why would he promise to leave me alone? Does he think I won’t want to see him? Why would he think that?

Icy fingers of dread run down my spine. Something is very wrong.

Quickly but silently, I make my way through the house to the backdoor and slip outside. I look around. In the light of the moon, the garden is silent and still, the leaves on the bushes silvery, the shadows dark. It’s not that dark because of the moonlight, but I can’t see him, so if he’s here, he must be hidden behind the bushes somewhere. None of this makes any sense. But nothing has made sense since he left here in April and never contacted me, so…

Slowly I make my way towards the back of the garden, stooping under the trees and bushes that conceal the back fence. And there I find him, a pale shadow slumped up against the palings, hidden from the house by the drooping branches of the weeping apple tree and some large camellia bushes.

“Justin?” I whisper.

He startles, and his eyes shoot open.

“Axel,” he says my name on a half-sob, and when I draw close I’m shocked to see the fatigue and distress on his face. He looks thinner too and paler, and he’s shaking all over. What is wrong?

I move towards him, meaning to take him in my arms but he lets out another sob as he hunches in on himself, and hides his face. Before I can make any sense of this incomprehensible behaviour, words begin to tumble from him.

“I know you must think I’m disgusting,” he blurts out, “and I promise I’ll go away, but I just wanted to see you one more time… I can’t help it, I missed you. I’m sorry…” his voice trails off into soft sobs. Tears glint as they trickle down his cheeks in the moonlight. The anguish in his voice is heartbreaking and unbearable.

“What? Why would I think that? I don’t understand what’s going on,” I protest.

Justin is sobbing so hard, I’m not sure he’s heard anything I’ve said. It’s alarming, and an icy finger of fear wraps itself around my heart. I reach for him and pull his trembling body close to me, wrapping myself around him. This time he doesn’t pull away. I have a feeling that as much as he thinks I’m going to reject him, he desperately needs comfort from me.

But I would never reject him. No matter what. Doesn’t he know that?

“What’s going on, Justin?” I drop kisses on his head. “What’s happened? Please tell me. I missed you. I love you. No matter what’s happened to you. But please, please, tell me what’s going on. I hate seeing you like this.”

“How can you love me?” he asks between sobs. “I’m disgusting, a deviant. How can anyone love that?”

What kind of bullshit is this? It’s like he’s regurgitating words someone has fed him. Where has this come from?

“You’re none of these things! Who’s been telling you this stuff?” I demand, angrily. “They’re not true. None of them.”

Justin quietens a little. The sobs are smaller but the shudders still shake his thin frame. He’s so much thinner than I remember. All bones, where he used to be slender but firm. I kiss his forehead, and rub his back, even as I hold him close.

“They’re not true,” I say again. “These are terrible things. Why are you saying them?”

Justin sniffs. “That’s what they said at the ReEducation Centre. And if they’re not true, why didn’t you write back? I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me… that you must have thought so too.”

“Oh my God, Justin, no ! I would never think those things about you! I’ve been so worried. I’ve been looking for you.”

“Then why didn’t you answer my letters?” he asks again, finally looking at me. His eyes are tragic. The hurt and despair and disbelief I see there cuts me like a knife. Then he drops his head again.

“I never saw them,” I whisper.

“I wrote to you,” insists Justin. “They took my phone away, and there was no internet or email, so I wrote letters and when people left the Centre, I got them to take them and post them on the outside.”

“I didn’t get them,” I tell him. “Any of them. I hadn't heard from you in months. I thought you were ghosting me.”

But the things he’s saying make me wonder…where was he that he couldn’t even post a letter himself? And why was his phone and internet taken away?

And if he had other people send letters for him, either they didn’t do it, or something or someone has stopped them from getting to me.

I have a suspicion about that and it makes me very, very angry, but I tamp down that emotion for now, because Justin needs me to stay in control. I put my fingers under his chin and tilt his head to look at me again.

“Where were you, Justin? What sort of place was it?” I query him gently, because I have a nasty feeling I already know the answer.

Justin shivers. He doesn’t speak, just begins softly crying again.

From the things he’s been saying about himself…

“Did they try and talk you out of being gay?”

A flood of tears confirms my suspicions. My heart aches. How could they do this to such a sweet soul?

Letting go of his chin, I pull him close against my chest. “It’s all right. I’ve got you now. I’ll take care of you,” I whisper. “There’s nothing at all wrong with you. You are a perfect human being.”

“They said I’ve got Satan in me,” he sobs.

“No. You don’t,” I counter fiercely. “It’s all lies. They brainwash you. They make you feel bad about yourself so they can manipulate how you think. It’s not true.”

“It’s going to be okay,” I reassure him. “And there is absolutely nothing wrong with being gay.”

He needs a professional and God knows I'm not a psychologist – I’ll get him one of those as soon as I can - and I hope I'm not going to do more harm than good, but he's hurting now and he's come to me, so I have to at least try.

“Do you remember the nights we made love?” I ask him, taking his chin gently in my hand, encouraging him to look at me. “Do you remember how beautiful it was? Do you remember how happy we were? Remember how we lay awake all night talking? It was the best thing that ever happened to me. You are the best thing that ever happened to me.”

My words seem to resonate with him.

“I remember,” he says, an almost-smile flitting across his face, before a frown chases it away. “I’m so confused,” he groans.

I place another kiss on his head. “They’ve messed with your brain,” I tell him, “But it’ll be okay. I’ve got you.”

Justin rests his head on my shoulder then, and his body sags into mine. I grit my teeth. I want to tear apart the people that have done this to him.Now that my eyes have adjusted to the light, I notice the tears in his jeans and the dark marks on his shirt that might be stains or dirt. He starts vibrating against me. It's his teeth chattering and I suddenly realize how cold it is – well, August in Sydney at night, of course it is.

I take a quick look through the bushes at my mother’s window. The room is still in darkness.

“C’mon,” I help him up, still holding him tight against me. “Let’s get you inside. It’s freezing out here. Quietly though, my mum’s upstairs and I don’t want anyone knowing you’re here until we’ve worked out a plan. You are not going back to that place.”

Justin comes willingly into the house with me. He’s obviously exhausted. He’d clearly expected a very different reaction from me, and the relief that I haven’t rejected him must be immense. I’m a ball of suppressed emotion myself. So, so much anger at what has been done to him, fury that he’d been cutoff from all his lifelines, sheer amazement and huge respect that he managed to escape and infinite gratitude that he has come to me. Even if in his messed-up state he thought he was coming to say goodbye, at some level he must have known he could trust me.

When we’re safely in my bedroom, I lock the door.

“Have you eaten?” I ask. Justin shakes his head. He looks dead on his feet and he’s shaking again.

I pull some pyjamas out of my chest of drawers and hand them to him, along with a clean hoodie. They’re too big, but they’ll do for now.

“Here, put these on, get yourself into bed and get warm,” I tell him gently. “I’ll bring you something to eat.”

Justin hesitates, looking unsure. A little ashamed even.

I go to him and cupping his face in my hands, look him in the eyes, and try to make him understand through the sheer force of my will.

“You are a beautiful human being. You have nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about. You are perfect the way you are.”

Justin blinks, but he doesn’t argue or pull away.

I want to kiss him, but I’m not sure if that would be okay or not, so I instead I give him a quick hug.

“I’ll go get that food now,” I tell him, drawing away. I’m giving him some privacy. He wouldn’t have needed that before. How long have they had him - 3 months? A bit longer? It worries me how much damage might already have been done to him.

I go to the kitchen and as quietly as I can, because I really don’t want my mother waking up now, I cook noodles and heat up some bolognese sauce left over from the previous night. Then I carry his dinner along with a glass of water into the bedroom. It takes less than 15 minutes all up, but when I get there Justin is propped up in bed with the pillows behind him, already asleep.

Putting the bowl on the bedside table, I sit on the mattress and study him. His honey brown hair is scattered on the pillow around his head like a sunburst. His features are fine and graceful. But even in sleep I can see the evidence of tension on his face, the weariness and exhaustion lending a pallor to his cheeks making him look more fragile than I’ve ever seen him. He is the broken shell of the young man who captured my heart last summer with his shy smile and gentle flirting, and it breaks my heart to see him like this.

His eyes flicker open.

“Hey,” he murmurs sleepily. “I fell asleep.”

“Yeah, you did. When did you last sleep?”

“In a bed? Three nights ago. I escaped after lights out. Been travelling since then.” He sounds more like himself. He yawns, his nose wrinkles cutely and he eyes the bowl of bolognese. “Smells good. That for me?” he asks hopefully.

“It’s all yours,” I tell him, passing the bowl, and then leaning across I run my fingers through his hair. “God, I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too,” his face crumples and he blinks rapidly, to hide the tears that are threatening again.

“We need to talk, but that can wait till tomorrow. Just for now, though, I need to check something… you're still in school, right?"

"Well, I'm supposed to be. School ends mid-September."

"Yeah, what I mean is, you're still living at home..."

"Oh yeah. Don't get my inheritance until I turn nineteen on September 21, so yeah, theoretically still living at home."

“Yeah, thought so.” I bite my lip.

“They'll send me back there...” The fear that twists his face is painful to see.

“Only if they catch you. But don’t worry,” I hastily cover his free hand with mine. “That’s not going to happen. I’ll make sure of it.”

Is it illegal to hide a missing person?

But I don’t share that thought with him. He’s got enough to worry about as it is. And I'm not leaving him to deal with this alone.

“Tomorrow, we’ll talk, yeah? And we’ll make a plan to keep you safe.”

Justin smiles gratefully and hands the empty bowl back to me. His eyes are starting to drift closed again already.

He sighs as he slips down under the covers. Then he reaches across and grasps my hand.

“Stay with me?” he asks in a small voice… as if he’s afraid I’ll say no.

“Of course, if you’re sure,” I reply.

“Yeah. Need you,” he whispers, barely awake now. “Always need you.”

I turn off the main light, and climb into bed with him, wearing another pair of pyjamas. I’d rather sleep naked but I’m not sure of his state of mind and I don’t want him freaking out in the night.

When I turn off the bedside lamp and slide down under the covers, I reach for him and pull him to me. He comes willingly and presses his body up against mine. Minutes later I hear the soft huff of his breathing, his chest rising and falling softly against me. It takes me a lot longer to fall asleep. Thoughts and emotions are spinning around in my head. Whichever way I look at it, I come to the same conclusion. They’re going to be looking for him and it won’t be long before they figure out he’s come to me.

He came to me .

I remember another night, months ago, when I told him I wanted to be the one he ran to, not the one he regretted.

Tears of gratitude fill my eyes. He did. He ran to me.