June 25th — Seth & Steven’s room

I roll over in bed and lay my head on Steven’s back. He’s picked up our passports again and he’s flipping through them. Today Matt laughed and told Steven that since we were going to London he should hide the passports and vacation money. Steven froze then changed the subject. Gramma’s face filled with sorrow before she excused herself to make tea. Matt didn’t even notice. He’s as bad as Belinda sometimes.

I haven’t asked. I want to. I want to know what troubles him and why Matt would think it was so funny and why Gramma sent me for pizza. Gramma never orders out. But mostly I want to know about Steven. I love him. I love everything about him and I accept his past, the little bit I’ve heard of. This is more of what Grampa did to him.

Although his body is beside me, his mind has wandered. He is alone in his sorrow, somewhere that I can’t reach him. I hurt so much. My heart aches for him, for me. I snuggle closer. A tear drops onto his back. I quickly wipe it away, but he turns, drawing me into his arms. “What’s wrong?”

He kisses my tears away. My throat is so tight I can’t answer. I feel stupid crying when his eyes are dry but I can’t help myself. I know he’s worried. I wave at his nightstand and clear my throat. He passes over his water which wasn’t what I wanted, but I take it. The lukewarm liquid soothes my throat and I concentrate on swallowing until I have washed the sorrow away.

I pass him the empty glass, wipe my eyes in the sheet, then lie on my back and sigh. He looks me over like he’s trying to decide if I’ll lose it again. “Do you need more water?”

I shake my head then point again at his nightstand. “The passports, why do they make you so sad?”

Unexpectedly, he smiles. “You were crying for me?”

I stare at his happy face and nod slowly. I’ve slipped into Wonderland and everything the opposite of how it’s supposed to be. He leans over me, his nose touching mine. “You are wonderful and I don’t deserve you.”

Then he is all lips, teeth, and tongue. My chest still hurts from my bout of tears, but he kindles my fire. His hands are on me. He hands are everywhere. I am a fire, an oven, a furnace, I burn clean and hot, but my nose is still clogged and I have to pull away for each breath. I feel like I’m drowning.

His lips move along my jaw to my ear where he sucks hard. I choke on a purr. Crying causes so much snot. He sits up with a laugh and pulls me after him. “I love you.”

Right now I don’t feel loved at all. Until I look again into his eyes, which are filled with sorrow and worry. I hurry into the bathroom then take my time clearing my nose and throat. I can’t really face him yet. Will he distract me again with kisses? Does he not want to tell me? Will I forever be in the dark? He comes in with his glass and refills it. “Are you ready to come back?”

“Are you going to tell me?”

“Sure, but let’s get under the covers first.” When we go back into our room, Steven puts on the shorts he keeps by the bed in case Zoe decides to join us. The door locks, but when she wants attention, she wants attention. Steven tosses me my boxers. “You might want to wear something. The story is fairly horrible.”

I slip them on then join him under the covers. Does he want me to snuggle close or stay back? What will make him the most comfortable? I want to look at his face, but he might not like that, so I lie back on my pillow and take his hand. “This is about Grampa, isn’t it?”

Steven rolls on to his stomach and presses my hand against his lips. “Tell me about him. What was he like? Mom says you got along.”

I shake my head. I don’t want to get sidetracked. I want to hear his story. Is this another way to keep me from his past? His eyes are sad again. I give in. “I didn’t like him. He used to hurt me.” Steven rears back, but I stop him. “No, he never touched me or anything, but he knew I loved you and he’d tell me about how wonderful you were but every once in a while he would let on that something wasn’t right. His words would sting and I’d go home and hold your picture against my chest and wish I’d been around to protect you.”

Steven kisses my fingers. “I love you, too.”

I lick my lips. “Then when he was dying, even before the doctor found the cancer, he told me what he did to you, how he tried to beat the gay out, but found himself addicted to hurting you. He told me how your blood would spatter, how you moaned and wept, how he used to keep an eye out for any ‘unseemly behavior’. How he thought you were asking for the beatings by drawing men’s attention. He used any excuse as an opportunity to feed his addiction. He said it was your fault. He actually believed it.”

The tears start again and I can’t stop them. I want all my hurt and sorrow to be washed away. I don’t normally cry. I didn’t even cry when my grandparents moved to California, leaving me solely in the care of Belinda and Matt. I’ve never cried for myself. But today I can’t stop the tears. Maybe it’s the stress of planning the trip and college.

Steven hands me a tissue. “Did he tell you what he did the last time?”

I nod. How could anyone do that to their own son? “He thought about it and planned it out and then took the opportunity.”

I close my eyes, but Grampa’s description was so vivid that I see poor young Steven, blood on his raw back, men’s hands on his hips, lifting them, Steven’s choked out “Dad?” and then his scream as his father raped him. I feel so sick. I open my eyes and meet Steven’s gaze. He is biting his lip. Maybe he needs me to tell him. Maybe he can’t say it himself, even to me.

“As soon as he was inside you, he wished he hadn’t. He knew he’d crossed the line. He left you there and ran away from the mess he’d created. He wasn’t sure if he would ever go home again, but by morning he’d come up with a strategy of how never to touch you again, either with his hands or his belt. He said he was jealous of all the attention you got, attention that he was never allowed to attract, so if he got someone to lavish attention on him, then he wouldn’t be jealous and he wouldn’t hurt you.”

I wipe my teary eyes and blow my nose. “I cried then too, so everyone knew that he’d said something that upset me, but I refused to say what it was. Gramma told Belinda and Matt not to bring me again, but Grampa’s hospice nurse—who never seemed to be around when he talked about you—said Grampa’s mind was going and we should forgive him. I couldn’t, because that one day was the only time his sounded like he regretted his actions. Why should I forgive the one time he actually felt guilty?”

Steven sighs and pulls me close. “Maybe his mind was already going when he acted like it was my fault. His cancer wasn’t spotted until a month before he died; he must have had it for a very long time. Perhaps that one day was the only time the last few years that he was truly himself.”

As he holds me, my tears stop as if they’ve never been. Except my nose is clogged again and my throat and chest are tight. “You are too forgiving.”

“I’ve had years to practice,” he says as he smoothes my hair. I want to sit up and remind him he’s not really that old, but I don’t want us to get sidetracked. “And remember, Seth, forgiving isn’t the same as forgetting. It always pays to be vigilant.”

Is that one reason he visits his kids? I know he loves them, but I get the idea that he isn’t close to any of them except Zoe and they are the reason for our trip. Visiting places and exploring architecture is just something to do while he spends time with them.

“We had planned a family trip to London. I stole the money and my passport and hopped a ship headed for Brazil. Matt doesn’t know why I left. He doesn’t know what my father did. I don’t want him to.”

I turn and snuggle closer. “He’s the type who’d knock Grampa’s gravestone over. Violence against children makes him so angry.”

Steven arm tightens against my chest. “He’d never forgive himself that he didn’t save me.”

I nod and relax in his arms. He holds me close, but it’s platonic affection he shows. I feel dirty just thinking about what Grampa did and all those other children out there who aren’t being saved. I don’t want sex tonight. I don’t even want to be kissed. I don’t think Steven does either.

When I hear his even breaths I let myself fall asleep. No one will ever hurt him again. I won’t allow it.

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A/N: Although this chapter is rated M for the same reason as A Prodigal’s Dilemma, later chapters are for the same reason as Waiting for Valentine’s.