Why the Straight One? - Chapter 45: Chapter 45

Jonathan's call worried me. At first, he said he was just calling to wish me a happy birthday, but as we talked he started dropping hints. Elliot wasn't okay. There was disquiet throughout the whole kingdom. Something was brewing, and Jonathan was at the head of it. Then he asked if we could use my estate after Alex and I came to visit. Something about sending Elliot there. I tried to put the phone call to the back of my mind, and spent the day with Alex and his family.
It was late when we got back from McDonald's, and we went right to sleep. Or rather, Alex did. Nighttime was the worst time for my active brain. Every time I closed my eyes, images from ten years ago flashed before me. I would blink, and they would be gone, but no amount of blinking could erase them from my memory.
I hissed in pain, and realized that I had been scratching at my arm the whole time I was trying to shake the memories. A habit for when things were getting to be too much for me, but one which hadn't happened to me in years. Angry red lines traced their way down my forearm.
Think about something else. Think about something else. I pulled at my hair, trying to physically change what I was imagining in my mind. How was it that all of the nightmarish thoughts were hitting me now? I'd been through all of this before in my teenage years. I sighed at how weak I must be to be so affected this many years later.
Alex shifted in his sleep, and snatched eagerly at the distraction. Think about Alex instead. Yes, think about how you don't deserve him.
I shook my head, trying to silence the voice of my own mind.
But why did he like me anyways? What could possibly make him tolerate me?
Maybe because he doesn't know about how disgusting you really are. I reminded myself. Because he doesn't know how far you've relapsed. Imagine if he knew what you were thinking right now...
I got quickly out of the bed, moving to stand in front of the window. With my thoughts had come a feeling of suffocation. As if all the air in my lungs was being forced out by an oppressive weight on my chest. I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, praying for this night to end, and for the ability to sleep.
"Why are you calling me again?" It was seven in the morning, and Alex was still asleep. I think I dozed off for an hour or so in the early morning, but even that didn't last long.
"Do I have your word that you will support me?" Jonathan's voice was hushed and in earnest.
"Of course. In anything."
"Good. When you two come in a week, I am going to need your support. We are going to finally make the king answer for every action, and I thing you deserve to be there. We are going to force him to abdicate."
"Who is we?" This was no small thing. If this wasn't pulled off correctly, it could end in civil war.
"Jordan, me, most of the palace guards, and a lot of the noblemen. The people have no love for Jasper, and neither do those of higher rank. Here in the palace, people are starting to notice how poorly he is treating Elliot. Everyone loves him, and so naturally, they don't like what they see. Now is the time to strike, Thomas, and I need all my friends around me."
"You have my support. Of course, I can't say that you officially have the support of my country, but if things go well for you, I know my father will take your side."
"Thank you. I'll tell you more as it gets closer, but just be prepared when you come here soon."
The morning passed by without anything remarkable happening. That is, until I smelt it. I don't know what it was, maybe it was someone cologne or perfume, maybe it was from the tree still sitting in the middle of the living room, but whatever it was, it was unmistakably the smell of pine.
A sick feeling of nausea settled in my stomach. That smell brought with it more emotions than I could process in that small amount of time. I felt my hands begin to shake, my breathing quicken, and my body began to feel clammy with sweat.
He couldn't be here, could he? I looked around me in alarm, feeling small and helpless once again. He wasn't anywhere to be seen, but something told me that he was close by. Wasn't that the smell that had invaded my nostrils when he was forcing himself upon me? How could I forget something as distinctive as that?
I felt my vision shifting, and I had a hard time focusing on the room around me. I knew what was coming. I'd had flashbacks before. I also knew that I wanted to be alone when it happened. I didn't want pity or comfort, and I could let everyone know.
I had barely closed the door behind me when the flashback hit me with full force. I was struggling to get a away from him, but not struggling enough. And then i was giving up, like I always did, like I had been weak enough to do the one time it mattered.
Now I was alone, huddled in the corner of my room. Now I was hiding in the hallway, trying to pretend I was happy at my friends party when all I wanted to do was make him understand the horrors that I was trying to process.
Within moments, it was over, and I was left breathless and covered in sweat on the floor of our bedroom. I hauled myself into the bedroom and rinsed off my face, trying to pull myself together.
"What's wrong with me?" Dull, sleep deprived eyes stared back at me from the reflection in the mirror. They held no answer to the turmoil raging inside of me. I didn't have answers for anything anymore. Everything was falling apart, and I was barely managing to keep myself together.
"I thought I was over this. This was all gone." I muttered, gripping the edge of the countertop so tightly that my knuckles turned white.
The nightmares were back, followed by the inability to fall back a sleep. The fear. The jumping at every sound. The staring in utter terror at the bedroom door, mind filling with dread at the thought of who might come through it. It was all back.
I'd been through all this before. Thats the reason for my anger and frustration. Why was I weak enough to let this effect me all over again? At 16, I had stopped having nightmares. I had conditioned myself to push away any memories of that night. I had pushed all of it to the back of my mind, and now it was suddenly pushing itself to the front, stronger than before and I was no match.
"Hey, I've been looking for you, babe. What's-"
The door to the bedroom opened, and I turned sharply to look at it. Alex stopped mid-sentence, closing the door behind him softly.
"What's wrong?" He approached slowly, and only then did I realize that I was sweating. My hand shook as I ran it through my hair in a last, desperate attempt to maintain some semblance of composure.
"Nothing." But the quiver in my voice wasn't convincing either of us.
"Thomas. Tell me. What's wrong?" It was useless to try and pretend when I couldn't even control my own voice of the way my hands shook.
"What's wrong? Everything...everything's wrong, Alex. And I can't...I can't.." I gripped the countertop again, unsure of what I was trying to tell him, but hoping desperately that he would understand.
"Is this about the nightmares?" His voice was gentle and much closer than before.
"It's been so long. They shouldn't be coming back. Not now. Not this vividly."
"Thomas-"
"I was over this!" I could feel the rising anger. Anger that I'd forced back for so long. Anger at myself for being this affected by something I should be over.
"That's not always how-"
"What the fuck is wrong with me!" My shout filled the small bathroom, and I searched his eyes desperately for the answer. He hadn't even flinched at my sudden change in volume, but stood directly in front of my, eyes filled with nothing but patience and love.
"There is nothing wrong with what you are feeling."
"It was all so long ago. Why am I letting this happen again?" I pulled at the ends of my hair, the walls of the bathrooms feeling suddenly closer. Everything was closing in on me, and even my breath felt compressed.
"Something like that doesn't go away." I felt his hands gently remove my own from my hair, gently stopping me before I pulled it out. "Especially not when you have dealt with it all alone. You need to let it out all, or else you will never be free from it." I pulled away from him roughly.
"Let it out? To who? You?" He flinched at the contempt that laced my every word.
"You know I would listen."
"You won't when you hear what I have to say." He tried to say something, but I cut him off before he could. "I can't. I can't tell you about all of that. I've never...Ive never told anyone. It's too..."
All my anger was dissolving, leaving me defenseless against the overwhelming flood of memories. The way those blue eyes looked at me right now. If I spoke, they would never look at me the same again.
I hadn't realized that I had sunk to the floor until I felt his hand on my knee. He had crouched down in front of me, trying to look me in the eyes.
"Don't you see that that's just it? You've never talked about it, and it's tearing you apart. You've forced all this down for so long, it was bound to come back again. But you're wrong. You think that there is shame in what happened, and that's why you are frightened of how I will look at you after. Well there isn't. Not for you, at least."
I shook my head. No shame? Didn't he understand that this had everything to do with shame? Everything about it was shameful and disgusting. He couldn't know. Not Alex. He would think-
"Nothing that happened was your fault. Nothing you tell me will change how much I care for you."
And suddenly I had to let it out. I had to say something or I would explode. Years of anger, pain, confusion and frustration were finally rising to the surface, and I couldn't contain them. And I was angry at him. Angry at Alex for not understanding. I would make him understand, even if I'm doing so I lost him.
"You're just saying that because you weren't there." I stood up, and he fell off balance at my sudden movement so close to him, falling back on the bathroom floor, but standing right back up again to gave me.
"You weren't there when overpowered me in the middle of the night.  When I was screaming and screaming but no one heard me. No one cared. And then when he left me there. Left me on that bed, covered in my own sweat, in my tears, in our semen. Yes, ours! I shared that with him. Isn't it horrifying that somehow I found pleasure in my best friend's father ripping away my innocence? And now you stand there and tell me that there is no shame? No shame! Shame is what has shut my mouth. Kept me from ever telling anyone. He always reminded me just when I thought I was getting over it. Just a quite whisper at a gather was enough. Oh there is shame, but it is rightful. I should be ashamed."
I was out of breath. I didn't evened realize I had been shouting most of the time, but the heavy rise and fall of my chest was sign enough. By the time I had finished most of my anger had faded again, and my voice had returned to normal.
I couldn't meet his eyes. Too afraid to see the change in them. Finally, when he made no noise, I looked up from the floor, fearing the worst.
His eyes were filled with tears, and he was biting his lip trying to hold them back. I couldn't make out the look in his eyes, but I was too scared to hope that maybe the tears were tears of empathy, not disgust.
"Thomas...you were fourteen. Anyone would know that you didn't find pleasure in what he did. But the body doesn't always work like your mind, and somethings are beyond your brains control."
He stepped closer, and I flinched away, fearing the worst. Fearing the angry, disappointed words to come pouring out of his mouth at any minute. The tears finally slipped down his cheeks, followed swiftly by others, and he reached his hand out to my cheek.
"Oh, Thomas. Please don't shut me out. Not now. You've told me the worst, and I'm still here. I still know you didn't do anything wrong, and I still know that you need to say it all. Tell me about it. Please. Just don't push me away."
The way he said it, and the delicate way he held my face in his was all the assurance I never knew I needed. I felt the tears in my own eyes, felt the memories flooding through my brain and blurring my vision. I couldn't hold them back anymore. With one deep, shuttering breath, I prepared myself for a an experience I knew would hurt me. Would pull me through the worst of everything in me and everything I had ever felt. But there was the slight glimmer of hope that this torturous journey would yield a freedom I hadn't felt in a very long time. With that small hope, I let the memories wash over me.