Page 2 of Boyfriend on Parole: The Care of Broken Things Extended Epilogue

“Hmm?”

“Give me your penlight.”

“What happened to yours?”

“Dead battery.”

“That’s what happens when you stay up late every night reading porn.”

Rat was a friend. He had to remember that. The dear friend who had been at his side all the long and terrible years of prison life. He kicked the frame of the bunk bed, the clang sending an awful shudder through the shoddy construction—one small prayer away from structural collapse. “You going to give it to me, or not?”

The letter was well worth staying up for, but also a torture. Whatever Nathaniel’s complaints, he hadn’t seemed very constrained by a lack of ‘imprecision.’ If he’d been Forest Chuck, or pretty much any other prisoner in the dorm, nothing would have stopped him from enjoying the letter to the fullest, but because he was a prude, he needed the closet. Or rather, he thought all he needed was the closet, but when he got there and finally got his pants down, the letter and Rat’s penlight in hand, he found he couldn’t do it. Even there in the dark with no one as witness, he couldn’t. It wasn’t that he couldn’t be roused. He’d been in a perpetual state of blue balls since the day Eli had come into his life, but there was damage there. A damage he hadn’t quite realized the extent of until Eli had left, and now his dick would die the moment he thought about putting his hand on it.

“Shit.”

The Android was part of it. That infamous night in solitary combined with the knife scar that still ached whenever he over-used his shoulder. But he knew there was more to it than that. More to it even maybe than Mr. Edwards. Maybe he’d just been born with dysfunctional packaging.

He folded the letter back up and pulled up his pants. “Shit,” he said again, the trembling coming back into his hands a little. Afraid, again. Even when nothing was actively threatening him, he was afraid, always afraid, like his mind’s only purpose was to search for threats.

He made himself go to the phones. Usually, that wasn’t something he had to force. His favorite part of his day. Unless it was a visitation day, of course. But even then he liked to call. It was the best when he could be with them on the drive back home, as if he were going with them, being taken along. But what right did he have to go along? A dysfunctional thing like him. Broken toys went in the trash. They didn’t go back on the shelf.

He lifted the receiver.

“Sam. I was just thinking about you.”

It was a shock to hear that voice. The reason he’d been able to lift the receiver at all was because he’d known he wouldn’t get that voice. It was still far too early in the day for Nathaniel to be up. Eli could be when he went to bed early enough, but not his husband.

“Nat.”

Maybe the shock of that naming was in his voice, because Nathaniel laughed. “I’m so happy I pushed through with the papers. You can be my reward. How are you doing, sweetheart? Did you manage to sleep?”

The papers. Term papers. Nathaniel always had to grade them after finals were over. Days and days of work, though Nathaniel would often push through to finish in a single marathon session. It meant staying up late—very late—all night, even, when the house was quietest.

“You shouldn’t pull all-nighters. It’s not healthy.”

“I’ll just sleep during the day. Everyone will be at work or school anyway, and I’d just be waiting for them otherwise. You'll be my stay-at-home wife, won't you?"

Samuel was smiling already. Even with anxiety, it was impossible not to smile with Nathaniel. "I'll be whatever you want.”

"No, be whatever you want. I'm so crazy about you, Sam. I would have been even if you hadn't chosen me."

That should have had him leaping for joy. Instead, the pit in his stomach tightened further. “I have something to tell you.”

He heard the soft sounds of Nathaniel getting up from his seat and walking across the room. He’d been shown pictures of the house, and Hailey had included a hand-drawn diagram in one of her letters, so he found he could imagine it almost perfectly. He might even have heard the soft snick as Nathaniel locked the door and returned to his seat. “Yes, I thought you might. I could hear it in your voice. Is it still nerve-wracking to tell me things? It’s just me, Sam.”

“It’s because it’s you.”

Nathaniel laughed again, that sweet laugh that always felt like a hug. “Don’t seduce me while I’m trying to be a listening ear.”

Samuel trembled. He thought he might cry. Worse was worrying Nathaniel might cry once he was told, and that was intolerable. It was bad enough he’d made Eli cry that one time, and it would be worse with Nathaniel. Maybe because he’d never seen the man cry otherwise, or because he was smaller. Or simply because he was Nathaniel. Samuel couldn’t bear to hurt him. He refused to bear it.

"I got your letter.”

“Oh no. Did you get in trouble for it? Eli said I shouldn’t have—”

“No. I didn’t—I—” Shit. How to say it? “My body doesn’t work the way it’s supposed to. The way it does for other people. I think it might not be able to…”

“Sam.”