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“Anyway, Mariana did her best, but I didn’t make it easy for her,” Caleb admitted. He settled his fork on his plate.
I didn’t want him to stop talking, since I’d finally made some progress in getting him to open up, so I said, “Things didn’t improve with Mav and Eli?”
He shook his head. “They tried really hard. I know they only asked me to move in so I wouldn’t get into so much trouble—”
“That’s not true,” I interrupted. “Yeah, they were worried about you, but they love you, Caleb. They wanted you to feel like a part of their family because that’s what you are.”
Caleb didn’t say anything for a long time. When he did, his voice was uneven. “I tried, Jace. I really did.”
He just sounded so lost that I couldn’t stop myself from linking my fingers with his on the table and saying, “I know you did, baby.”
This time, he noticed the endearment.
And I found that I wasn’t particularly upset by that fact.
“I went to the therapist, I tried to focus on my grades, I helped around the house,” Caleb began. “But it wasn’t real. I was still that same disgusting freak who let his dad do that shit to him.”
“Caleb—”
“Some of the kids at school found out about me. The guy prosecuting my dad said that my name wouldn’t be made public because I was a minor, but it still got out. First it was the kids, then the reporters…”
“Did Eli and Mav know?” I asked. My heart broke for him as I considered all the cruel things the other kids would have said to him.
“About the reporters, but I never told them about what the kids were saying… and doing.”
I tensed at that. “What did they do?”
“It doesn’t matter now.”
“It matters to me,” I said firmly. I reached for his chin to force his head up. “Please, Caleb, I need to know.”
He closed his eyes and then looked in the direction of the stove. Probably so he wouldn’t have to look me in the eye as he spoke. “Just stupid stuff. They’d call me names when I walked by, write stuff on the bathroom walls about me, put things in my locker.”
“What kinds of things?”
“Jace—” Caleb whispered with a shake of his head. His fingers went to his arm and he began scratching at it. I doubted he was even aware he was doing it.
I got up and then reached for his hand. I pulled him along behind me as I snagged a throw from a cubbyhole by the stairs leading above deck. The air was crisp around us. There were only a few boats out and about, but I knew that would change as the sun rose higher in the sky. I tugged Caleb to one of the benches at the back of the boat. I sat down and then pulled him down to sit next to me. I maneuvered him until we were facing the back of the boat and he was sitting between my outstretched legs, his back against my chest. The position gave us both an unencumbered view of the water. I wrapped the blanket around both of us and said, “For every question of mine that you answer, I’ll do the same for you. I’m not untouchable, Caleb. I bleed on the inside just like you do. I’ve just found different ways than you to not feel.”
“Like how?” Caleb asked. His fingers were digging into the hands I had wrapped around his upper body.
“I push people away when they try to get close. I never offer trust or respect, it has to be earned. I can count on one finger how many friends I have.”
“Dalton?” Caleb asked.
“Yes. What things did the kids put in your locker, Caleb?”
It took him a long time to answer, but when he did, I felt a measure of relief. At least he was talking, even though I knew I wasn’t going to like hearing what he had to say.
“Drawings, mostly. More like a comic strip, I guess. It was of a father and son. Different sexual acts, the father asking the son if he liked it, the son saying yes, stuff like that.”
I suspected he was glossing over the worst of it, but I didn’t make him expound on the subject. I was already itching to hunt down the kid or kids who’d tormented him and make them feel just an ounce of the pain they’d inflicted on Caleb.
“Why don’t you have any friends besides Dalton?” Caleb asked.
“Because losing them is too fucking hard. I watched men I considered my brothers get blown to bits for eight long years over four deployments. I’d have to watch some high-ranking official say fancy words about men I considered blood having sacrificed their lives for something greater. They’ve been saying the same shit for years now, and guess what? We’re no closer to winning. Those men are still dead and their widows and kids are still trying to figure out how to go on without them. What things did the kids do to you, besides the drawings and the name-calling?”
