Page 34

Gran’s House, Melbourne

AXEL

After giving us a quick tour of the house that will be Justin’s home for the next six weeks, Gran makes a pot of tea and we sit at the kitchen table to discuss the situation.

“Max has given me an outline of your circumstances, but why don’t you fill me in on any details you think I need to know,” Max’s grandmother starts the conversation.

“Well, the police showed up at my place looking for Justin, so we think he’s been reported a missing person,” I explain.

“At your house? That’s… interesting.”

“Justin’s grandparents must have figured out we were involved with each other.”

“They did,” inserts Justin. I give him a look. He hasn’t mentioned this so far.

“My mother also knew, but she seemed uncomfortable with the police turning up. I don’t think she would have called them,” I continue. “Anyway, it means Justin needs to stay out of public view, you know, just in case someone recognizes him.”

“You know gay conversion therapy or whatever name they use to conceal what it really is, is illegal in Victoria, don’t you?”

“Yes, but they sent him interstate. It wasn’t done here.”

“It’s also illegal to send someone interstate for the purpose of giving them that therapy.”

“Didn’t stop them last time,” Justin points out. “If I get sent home, they’ll just do it again.”

“Well, you could report them to the police. What they did is a crime, not simply morally reprehensible.”

Justin looks bleak. “But they’re my parents, you know? If I report them, I’ll lose them. They won’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

Gran looks at him sympathetically.

“There’s no guarantee that won’t happen anyway,” she says softly. “You didn’t choose to be gay, and you can’t change it even if you wanted to, you could only ever pretend. Do you think they’ll come around and accept you the way you are?”

“I don’t know,” Justin answers in a small voice. “I always knew it wouldn’t be good if my family found out, but I hoped that maybe with time…”

“How did they find out? Did you come out to them?” I interrupt.

Justin gives me a sad look, his expression shuttered. I have the impression there’s some reason he doesn’t want me to know, and for a moment my heart freezes. Could he have been involved with someone else? We never specifically said we were exclusive, but I’d thought it was… implied?

Suddenly I don’t want to hear the answer anymore. I can’t deal with the bottom falling out of my world right here, right now. We need to focus on keeping Justin safe.

“It’s okay,” I amend quickly, “I don’t need to know.”

Maybe something of what I’m thinking shows on my face, because Justin reaches over and takes my hand.

“That last time at the airport,” he says quietly, “when I came home after mid-term holidays. My grandparents saw us together.”

My first reaction is overwhelming relief. Then guilt. Guilt that I’d misjudged him and jumped to the conclusion I had, and a second serve of guilt that I was the reason he’d been outed to his family. The conflicting emotions war inside me and I get lost in my head for a moment.

“Are you okay?” Justin asks anxiously.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I just thought for a moment, that maybe you’d… you’d…” I can’t finish articulating it, but Justin’s eyes go wide. He’s understood.

“No, no! Of course not. Only you.” He’s emphatic. And he looks a little horrified, which just makes me feel even more guilty.

I’m sorry. I mouth the words.

He gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay. Long distance is hard enough without all this other shit, oops, sorry, stuff going on." His eyes glance to Gran as he apologizes for the slip. "And I can tell from your reaction that you haven’t been seeing anyone else either, so that’s a plus.” Justin shrugs. Then he adds softly, “I did wonder, when I was locked away for a couple of months and couldn’t contact you, whether you’d move on. Especially when you didn’t answer my letters.”

I hate the look on his face when he thinks about that place.

“I did write to you, you know. When you didn’t answer my emails, I wrote letters. But I sent them to your home address.” And clearly, if he never got them, the same thing that was happening in my household was also happening in his.

Still, even with what I know now, I cringe, remembering how needy and awkward it felt at the time, writing multiple letters to someone who didn’t seem to care enough to answer any of them.

But when it comes to Justin, I clearly have no pride; I will do anything.

And then I remember he’s just told me I accidentally outed him.

“I’m sorry you were outed because of me,” I say, apologetically.

“It wasn’t your fault. Just bad luck. But my grandparents must have called my parents immediately because by the time the flight landed, my phone had been cancelled and they drove me straight from the airport to the ReEducation Centre and checked me in. I had no idea what was happening. They told me some bullshit story about going for a holiday.”

His eyes go distant as he recalls the day that started his nightmare, and I’m afraid he’s going to have another panic attack. Gran must have seen it too because she jumps in.

“Well, you’re here now and we intend to keep you safe,” she says and immediately changes the topic to distract him.

We discuss plans, but really it’s very simple. Justin can only leave the house to go in the back yard, but otherwise he’s staying home for the next six weeks. He's going to get in touch with one of his school mates who he can trust, and get him to send class notes and references, and he's going to study like crazy to catch up. Gran will take care of the shopping and any errands that might become necessary, scarcely varying her routine at all. Justin won’t answer the door, or the house phone, and will stay out of sight if anyone comes to visit.

I’ll stay the night and then drive home.

Gran excuses herself and heads to bed early this evening. I suspect she’s just giving us privacy for our last night before we separate again.

We stay up late watching a movie on the couch, Justin resting his head in my lap. When the movie ends, we reluctantly get up and prepare to go to bed.

Things are awkward between us. I’m going, he’s staying, and we’re in someone else’s house. We pause at the door to Justin’s bedroom.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Another pause. We both look at each other. Justin bites his lip. I take a deep breath.

I don’t know who moves first, but the next moment our lips come together in a fierce kiss, our tongues thrusting into each other’s mouths, taking and giving, desperate for each other.

Our hands are roaming everywhere too. His. Mine. Seeking skin. Trying to get closer.

“Stuff it,” I say, breaking momentarily from the searing kiss. I drag him towards my room and he comes willingly.

Once I have him inside, I reach around him with my foot and nudge the door closed. Backing him up, I press him against the wall with my body. Our erections rub against each other through our clothes. Justin groans and I swallow the sound with my kiss.

We rut against each other, until Justin pulls away from the kiss, and begs me, “I want you to fuck me. Please.”

There’s nothing I want more. My cock is hard and leaking. I can already feel the wetness in my underwear. But…

“I don’t think we should.”

Justin looks at me desperately. “Please,” he begs.

“We were going to wait, remember?” I run my fingers through his hair. “Believe me, it’s not that I don’t want to.”

I take his hand and place it over my crotch, to prove my point.

“I want to. I’m not sure it’s a good idea though. Especially after what you’ve been through," I say, but I feel myself wavering. A guy can only resist so much, especially as we're about to be separated again.

“I want to,” insists Justin stubbornly, looking at me with eyes wide in appeal. “I’m fine. I just want to be normal. And I’m almost done with school now anyway. What’s the point in waiting another six weeks?”

It’s true, he has seemed mentally stable since we left Sydney. There have been no more distressed outbursts or tears, or moments of shame, at least as far as I can tell. Still, this is a significant step to take…. but maybe it’s okay. Maybe it’s what he needs.

I hope I’m not letting myself be convinced because it’s what I want.

Justin can see when I make up my mind, because he grins and launches himself at me, kissing me frantically. I run my hands up his sides and groan. He feels much too good to keep at a distance.

“We’re wearing too many clothes.”

We both start stripping off shirts and jeans and underwear, until we’re standing there completely naked, both of us hot, hungry and trembling.

Falling onto the bed, we continue making out as our hands trace over warm skin and we press ourselves against each other.

Justin trails wet, open-mouthed kisses down my neck and runs his hand down my chest. I arch into his touch, and as his hand goes lower, I tangle my legs with his, and flip him over. His beautiful slim body is laid out beside me, almost begging to be touched.

Licking my fingers, I place them over his right nipple and rub it. Justin responds with a broken sound as his nipple pebbles up. He’s so beautifully responsive. I lower my head and torment him, using my tongue to flick the nipple, teasing and torturing it with my tongue and teeth.

He groans, and from the way he’s arching into my mouth, he wants more. I back off.

“Oh!” he complains.

“Oh, you like that, do you?” I tease.

“Fuck. You know I do. Don’t be cruel,” he whines.

I run a finger down his chest and abdomen in a teasing caress. Then I take pity on him and play with his other nipple until he’s writhing and moaning on the bed.

Moving on, I kiss my way down his abdomen and lick and nibble around his hipbones and the creases where his pelvis meets his thigh. Justin squirms, twisting slightly, trying to bring his swollen cock to my mouth. I ignore him.

Justin moans his disapproval.

I lick my way down his thighs, then push them up so I have better access. Missing his balls and cock altogether, I lick the patch of skin behind them. Justin whimpers. My cock must like the sound, because it responds by leaking some more. It wants to be inside him, but we’re not ready for that yet.

Pushing his thighs higher, my tongue finds his hole and I suck and lick him, savouring the unique taste of him and the sound of his increasingly desperate moans. I love this man and I want to give him everything, want to be as close as it’s possible to be.

I need the lube but it’s still in my backpack.

“Wait,” I murmur, getting up and hurrying to get my supplies from the bag. I’m back in no time, but by then something has changed, and when I press my lubed finger against his hole, Justin tenses.

“Are you okay?” I check.

“Yes, keep going.” Something in his voice doesn’t sound right, but he wants me to keep going, and I'm hard as a rock, so I ignore my gut feeling. It's a big mistake.

My finger begins to enter him, but he doesn’t move or say anything. He’s gone completely still, and it’s not anticipation or even discomfort. He doesn’t stop me but I feel very uneasy. Something is wrong. I know it.I can't ignore this.

I gently withdraw my finger.

“Justin, what’s going on?”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond. Then…

“I can’t do it,” he says brokenly, covering his face with his hands. He lets out a muffled sob. “I’m sorry. I really want to. But I just can’t.”

“It’s okay,” I tell him, “We don’t have to do anything.”

He pulls his legs up and hugs them to himself, sobbing brokenly into his knees, but when I go to comfort him, he moves away.

“Don’t touch me!”

It’s like a smack across the face and I flinch. Then he’s gone and the bathroom door rattles the frame as it slams shut, and I hear him retching, and then sobbing again.

The sound of Justin throwing up in the bathroom makes me feel ashamed. I slump on the end of the bed, feeling helpless. At some level I’m pretty sure this doesn’t have anything to do with me, or anything I’ve done wrong, but that doesn’t make me feel any better. What I was doing with him, doing to him, has made him throw up, for god’s sake! So yes, I feel shameful. I’ve never felt that way about sex in my life and it’s devastating. And now I understand a little, the terrible crushing weight he carries around with him since those bastards messed with him. He’s being doing a good job of suppressing it, until finally he couldn’t.

I’m depressed and defeated. I’ve let my own lust cloud my judgment and I’ve made a big mistake. I should have realized he wasn’t ready for this after what he’s just endured. And I recognize we need to get him professional help as soon as possible. I hope that it’s not too late for us. That I haven’t become something, someone, that triggers him.

After some time, I become aware of silence in the bathroom. And a little while later I hear Justin’s door click shut.

I’m alone and shut out. I want to go to him and talk to him, because I know he must be hurting and he’s putting a wall up between us, but I have to respect his wishes and he clearly doesn’t want to see me right now. Will that change, I wonder, or have I become someone who reminds him of things that make him feel ashamed?

Not knowing what else to do, I text.

I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. Are you ok?

Please, please tell me you’re okay.

After the longest time, he replies.

It’s not your fault

Can we talk? I’m worried about you

I can’t right now.

I don’t know what else to say. I’m devastated. I want to go to him and hold him and promise him this will all turn out okay. But I don’t know that, and in any case, he doesn’t want me near him right now. I’m torn between what I think he needs and what he thinks he needs.

And I’m leaving in the morning. Oh god, I don’t want to leave with things like this between us. If I do that, I’m not sure we’ll ever get back on track. The distance between us – the emotional distance – might be too great to bridge.

Frustration and despair chase the thoughts around in my head. I lie in the darkness searching for answers but there are none. We’re caught in a web not of our making but I can’t see any way out.

I look at the old-fashioned bedside clock. An hour has passed. I can’t sleep. I’m so afraid this spells the end for Justin and I. I squeeze my eyes tightly closed, but a hot tear trickles out anyway, followed by more. My pillow grows wet as I silently weep. Despair drains me of hope and weighs down my chest. Though the oblivion of sleep eventually claims me, it’s a slumber disturbed by random thoughts and sad dreams, and I toss and turn and wake frequently. And every time I wake, dread and despair choke the air out of me.

Sometime after midnight, waking again from my restless sleep, I hear the sound of muffled sobbing down the hallway. I’m sure it’s Justin and I can only listen to it for so long until I have to do something. I pull on pants and a hoodie and go out into the corridor. Standing outside his closed bedroom door, I can feel his pain in the heartbreaking sobs coming from inside.

He may not want to see me, but I can’t leave him to bear this on his own.

I open the bedroom door. He’s face down sobbing into his pillow and so immersed in his misery that he doesn’t hear me enter. Even in the dim light I see his body shuddering with the force of the sobs wracking him, and it’s not until the mattress sinks as I sit on the edge of the bed and place a hand on his back that he becomes aware of my presence. If it’s even possible, he starts crying harder, the sobs completely decimating his slight frame. I wonder if I’ve made a mistake coming in. Then… his body stills and the sobs soften and slowly subside into gulps and sniffles as I silently rub circles on his back.

I don’t know how long we sit like that. Quite some time, if the cramp in my twisted back is anything to judge by, but it doesn’t matter how uncomfortable I am, I won’t stop as long as he’s accepting my comfort.

Eventually, Justin reaches around and grasps my hand. Without speaking, he kisses it and pulls me down onto the bed beside him, drags the quilt up over us, and we fall asleep like that, scrunched up against each other on his single bed.

Morning finds us still huddled together, as the rays of sunshine peek around the gaps between the curtains.

When my eyes open, Justin is already awake. He looks at me with those beautiful grey eyes tinged with sadness and uncertainty.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he says, looking embarrassed. He hesitates. “I’m really not okay, am I?”

“Mmm. You will be,” I try to reassure him. “We just went a little fast. I’m sorry.”

“Nah. It’s not you. I think… I really do need therapy. There was… stuff I didn’t tell you in my letters. Things they did… I think that was why I reacted like that last night. I thought because I really wanted it, that it would be fine, but it wasn’t.” Justin’s voice trails off. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, but I know I must have.”

I pull him closer.

“None of this is your fault. And yes, I was upset, not about the sex, but because you shut me out. I was worried about you, and when you pushed me away, I didn’t know what to do anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” he buries his head in my shoulder.

“I’m not leaving.”

“Me neither.”

“No, I mean. I’m not going back to Sydney. I’ll fix things so I can work from down here, but I don’t want to leave you.”

“Really?” Justin looks at me with such relief in his eyes that I wish I’d thought to do this sooner.

“I don’t think I’d be able to concentrate on anything anyway, if I went back, and I’d rather be here with you.” I place a soft kiss on the top of his head. I can’t bear the thought of him going through this alone. Staying with him makes sense for both of us.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “I’d feel much better if you stayed. I know it’s a lot to ask…”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering. I want to,” I tell him. “I’ll talk to Max’s grandma today and see if I can stay here. Otherwise, I’ll find some place nearby. I’ll look into getting you a therapist too.”

“Axel?”

“Mmm?”

He hesitates.

“What happens if they can’t fix this? If I can’t ever get to having sex without freaking out?”

“I don’t think that’ll happen,” I tell him, hoping like hell I’m right. “But if it does, then we’ll deal, okay? It’s not the end of the world. Not all guys are into anal. And there’s lots of other stuff we can do that doesn’t trigger you. We’ll be fine, either way. Promise.”

Can I actually promise that? Yes, I think I can. Fucking is great, but it’s not worth more to me than Justin, so if I had to choose? Justin, every time. Would I resent Justin for it? No, never, but I would resent the hell out of the bastards who’ve done this to him, but I’m going to hate them anyway. So yes, I can promise this.

“Never going to let you go,” I murmur into his soft dirty-blond hair.