CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
COMING OUT
PAST
I was in the hospital when I got the text. It was from a strange number, and so I didn't even look at it at first.
James and I were taking turns sitting vigil with Bianca, who'd been brutally attacked just days before.
Sometimes we flanked her, each taking a hand, because neither of us could stand to be far from her when she was so obviously in need, but a lot of times, like now, the nurse needed to check in on her, and one of us had to move out of the way so she could.
This time, I had stepped away from her. It was hard to do, but I knew it was necessary. I had to learn to share her now, as much as that went against the grain of the complexity that was my relationship with Bianca.
I was in a bad place, though not because of that. It was the attack that had me in a dark state—the fact that someone had hurt Bianca.
The last few days were an awful blur. The nightmare of finding her sprawled out on her floor, beaten unconscious. I'd called an ambulance, and just as I was getting in my car to follow it to the hospital, James had pulled up, looking distraught as he saw her being pulled away.
We'd ridden together, followed her here, gone through the ordeal of uncovering all the damage that'd been done to her together. It was a toss-up which one of us was more messed up about it.
I couldn't believe what had happened, and how I had failed to protect her. I'd been just minutes too late.
I knew James felt the same. We were bonding, in a way, over it—a shared, impotent self-loathing over how this impossible thing never should have happened.
I checked my phone again as I paced outside her room, more to pass the time than anything else. I went through all of my other texts before I checked the one from the unknown number.
It's Javier. New number. I just wanted to make sure u r ok. I heard about Bianca. Is she ok?
That had my heart pumping faster. I programmed his new number into my phone.
He hadn't contacted me in so long. And here he was, actually being nice to me, actually asking how I was.
I tried not to let that make me too hopeful.
STEPHAN: I'm ok. She's in rough shape, but she's going to be fine.
His response was near instant.
JAVIER: Thank God! Ty for getting back to me. I've been so worried. I can't believe she was attacked. Sending prayers and much <3 your way.
That warmed my chest considerably.
STEPHAN: Ty. It's really nice to hear from you. Ty.
JAVIER: Let me know if you need anything, or if you ever just want to talk. I'm here for you. I'm off until Wed, so I can meet up even, if you want.
STEPHAN: Ty. I'd like that. It would do me good to see you.
JAVIER: Can I visit at the hospital? If it's not ok, I'll understand.
STEPHAN: No, that's great. I'd love that. Visit any time. I'll be here until they discharge her, which won't be for a few more days.
JAVIER: Is now a bad time?
That had escalated quickly, I thought, not at all upset about it. Just the opposite.
STEPHAN: Now is perfect. I could use the company.
It only took him twenty minutes to get there, but for some strange reason, it felt like forever.
I'd closed myself off from him a long time ago, but I found that, letting him back in, in even the smallest way, had my feelings for him coming back in great waves. In that time between the texts and direct contact, the anticipation of seeing him again was nearly overwhelming, so much so that, every one of my pores had opened up to let the flood in, as though it were making up for lost time.
I missed him.
I hadn't let myself even think that before, but I let myself think and feel it now.
I missed him.
Why had I let him go? Had it really been necessary?
It had certainly felt necessary at the time, as though I'd been forced into it.
But why?
Had it been stubborn pride or self-loathing that fueled that breakup? I'd always assumed it was one of the two.
Even now, with over a year under my belt to think about it, I wasn't certain.
Perhaps it was neither.
The scared, rejected kid that still existed somewhere inside of me, the one who knew he was so unworthy he hadn't even been guaranteed food and shelter, that boy thought it was panic, just sheer irrational panic at the idea of living my secret out in the open. Of showing the way I loved to the world.
That kid scared the shit out of me, so much so, I rarely gave him a say in things, but sometimes he was right.
Bianca was still sleeping; James camped out beside her, looking awful. I gave him a heads up and went out to the parking lot to greet Javier.
I met Javier just outside the doors. He was carrying a large bouquet of sunflowers, enough to fill his arms.
"For Bianca," he told me, when I just stared at him.
He looked good. So good I wanted to do something completely insane, like kiss him.
"Thank you," I said, the words coming out low and hoarse.
He stared right back for just as long, uncertainty in his eyes. He'd come for support, but I could see that all he'd thought he'd find here was a polite rejection.
Jesus, I didn't know what to do with him. What to do with myself.
For now, I settled for walking him inside.
We didn't say much as we brought the flowers to her room. They were already in a vase, so we just found the perfect spot to put them.
I introduced Javier to a despondent James. Bianca was still out, so Javier and I went back out into the hallway to talk.
"You look good," I finally said, to break the ice, and because it was true.
A corner of his mouth kicked up in a crooked smile. "Thanks. You look good too. Sad and tired, but good."
I grimaced. "It's been a rough couple days."
"I can't even imagine. What crazy person would attack Bianca, of all people? Don't they know you're going to rip them apart with your bare hands now?"
"Who indeed," I said, not wanting to elaborate.
He studied my face. "If you're worried I'll tell anyone anything about it, don't. You can trust me not to say anything, if you wanted to talk about it."
I nodded shortly. "Thanks. I don't really want to now, but I might . . . some other time."
We walked down the hallway, and I led us back outside. I needed some air. I hated hospitals.
We found a bench outside and just sat there in silence. He didn't sit close to me. We were both being very cautious.
I don't think either of us knew what was happening.
"Thank you for checking up on me and for coming by," I said, feeling like I was repeating myself, but I didn't know what else to say. No topic was safe for us.
"Of course. I texted the second I heard. But . . . did you say that because you're ready for me to leave?"
"No! That's not what I meant by that at all. I like having you here. I hope you can stay for a bit?"
"I can," he said simply.
Another silence swallowed us. It was full of things I was scared to say.
Finally, I said it. The thing I needed to say, the thing I should have said a long time ago.
"I'm sorry for the way things ended with us," I told him quietly.
I heard his gasp and reached blindly for his hand. He clasped mine warmly, with no hesitation.
"I didn't want it to end," I added. "I wasn't ready for the things you were asking me to do, but I wish I had been."
His voice was thick when he replied, "No, I'm sorry. I was such a jerk to you. I really regret it. I was just so hurt."
"I'm sorry for that. I was hurting too. And you were right. I just wasn't ready to hear it yet."
"No, I wasn't right. You were. You have a right to your privacy, to dictate how you want to run your life."
I took a very deep breath and sent him my most honest smile. I knew it was a broken one, but it was mine, and it was real. "I'd like to be with you again. I'm in no rush. We can take it slow, but eventually I'd like to try to make it work between us. I never did get over you."
He was suddenly pressed hard to my side, face buried in my neck. "Yes, yes, yes," he said against my skin. "I want that very much. So much. That's what I've always wanted."
I turned my face and kissed him, just a quick press of lips before I pulled back.
He was breathless when he said, "You don't have to make a big production out of it. You don't have to throw a party or anything. In fact, you don't have to say a word to anyone. Just stop hiding, stop lying about it."
He was right. He was so right, and I was finally ready to see it. I was letting the past have too much power over the way I lived my life. I had been for a long time.
"Coming out is not as painful as you think," Javier told me, his tone playful, teasing. "You'll barely feel it. Trust me."
"I did come out once," I confessed, watching his face, pulling slightly away, taking my hand out of his. "To my parents, when I was fourteen."
That had swept the rug out from under him, going by the stunned look on his face. "You did?" he asked.
I nodded. "I know you love your parents, and you've told me how supportive they've been of you, but you've got to know that's not typical."
"I know. My mother is the best. I can't wait for you to meet her."
"My parents were not like that. I knew they wouldn't be, but I told them anyway. You know why?"
He shook his head, solemn eyes carefully scanning my face.
I clenched my jaw, clenched my fists. "Because I was hurting. Physically. Mentally. I was conflicted and surrounded by people that would not, could not ever accept what I was. Who I was. I've told you that my dad was abusive. Well, I thought he might kill me when I told him, in fact a part of me, a big part of me, expected him to." I cleared my throat. "Not even expected. I wanted him to."
He was blinking his eyes rapidly, and I looked away before continuing. "So I told him, laid it all out. We beat the shit out of each other. I couldn't help it. I fought back. No matter how much I've ever hated myself, I've always had that instinct to defend. To survive.
"I don't know how long we fought. I remember it was light when it started and dark when I lost consciousness. I guess my mom finally got fed up waiting for him to overpower me, because she clocked me on the back of the head with a frying pan."
Javier was crying. He reached for my hand, and I let him take it.
My eyes were dry. "I woke up in his work shed, in the backyard. He'd tied me to a chair and tied the chair to a wooden beam. I couldn't budge it. Couldn't move my arms or my legs.
"There was just one dim light in the shed, but I could see him when I woke up. He was just sitting there staring at me, hate in his eyes. Disgust. So much disgust. Like I was everything he hated and feared in life, sharing air with him, his own flesh and blood.
"God, he hated me. I swear, to this day, I can taste that hate, chew on it until bile rises up in my throat to gag me. It was what he felt for me, but it was so strong, I think he projected some of it into me. It's hard to have your own father feel that way toward you and not feel some of it yourself. Not hate yourself at least a little."
I took a few deep breaths, trying to ignore the awful noises Javier was making on my behalf. "Did I tell you my dad was an electrician?" I asked him.
He was sobbing nearly too hard to answer, but I finally made out a sobbing, "No."
"Well, he was. Not a very good one, I don't think. Or at least, not good at making a living out of it. His brother often had to help him pay his bills. But he was good enough, I guess, to rig up this thing. This grid looking contraption. He had it all set up in the shed, hooked up to my temples, and," I waved at my torso, "some stuff stuck to my chest."
"Oh, God," he gasped in horror.
My mouth twisted unhappily. "His own homemade version of electroshock therapy, I guess. You see, he knew before I'd told him. He'd been doing some research, heard you could cure a person with the right brand of pain. Well, okay, I know that's not the science behind it, but that's how it felt at the time. What he did just felt like torture. My dad was no scientist."
"It was torture," Javier sobbed. "He tortured you." He said it like he couldn't believe, like it was too horrible to actually have happened to someone he knew. Someone he cared about.
Story of my life. Not many people could relate to the things I'd been through.
"Yeah, well, he called it curing me. It didn't work, obviously. I don't think even he believed that it would. I've since read up on it, and he wasn't even trying to use the usual methods. He just shocked me, over and over, and said awful things to me. He did it until I passed out again."
"I don't know who untied me, but when I woke up I was laying on the floor. I went inside the house, packed a bag. My dad tried to keep me from leaving. We fought again as I walked out the front door, but he finally got fed up and told me to leave and never come back. I left. I was on my own after that. A homeless runaway. Alone, until I met Bianca."
"I'm so sorry," Javier said, burrowing into me like he wanted us to merge. "I'm so sorry. I never should have pressured you. I didn't know. I didn't know."
I held him to me, let him comfort me, comforted him.
It was some time later when I spoke again. "The good news is, coming out this time has got to go better than the first time."
He didn't find that very funny.