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“I would have come,” Josh says.
Our eyes meet for half a second, and I try hard to smile.
“I wanted it to be over,” I manage, wiping my face. “You know…just be done. But one day, they took me to a clinic bed, and there were doctors. Real ones, and real nurses.” I inhale, and he rubs my shoulder with his free hand. It feels so good that I just want to hold him. Stop this stupid fucking story. But I have to go on.
“I got put to sleep and woke up with a feeding tube in my nose. A lot of tubes. Paul came in, and he said if I ate, that they would let me go home. He came in there every day and fucked with me.” His hand rubs my shoulder. “Like…shocked me. If I couldn’t eat enough or in the early days, I was too weak to hold the fork.” Josh shifts, and now he’s holding me. I’m shaking.
“He got off on that shit, and I knew it. So when he shocked me, I would act like it didn’t hurt. I called him names, too. I knew what would push his buttons.” I laugh, the sound soft and choked.
“He was gay, Miller, I’m pretty sure.” He’s rubbing my back. My cheek’s pressed against his chest, and although it makes me kind of nervous, I like it. I try to keep my voice steady and clear.
“I think he was an alum of the program, and that his parents started it.” I shut my eyes and fill my lungs and focus on the warm weight of his arms around me. “Anyway, I gained the weight back. Feeding tube out. All the IVs out, and Paul—he knew me by then. I had asked before if he’d been fucking Riley; I let him know that Riley mattered. So he brings her in, and he says we can both leave if I’ll fuck her, right? Both her and me.” He hugs me tighter, like he knows this part is one of the worst for me to think about.
“And you would think I might have done it, right? Someone was going to, after all. She wasn’t resisting. Even if she had…”
I draw my shoulders in, and Miller wraps himself more tightly around me.
“Anyway.” My voice is rough as fuck. “I didn’t do it. Paul sent everybody out. I was still weak, and…Paul Tasered me and turned me over.” My chest shakes on a silent sob. I manage to keep from getting worse, but now I’m shaking. Miller’s rubbing me down.
“I’ve got you, angel.” His cheek’s pressed against the top of my head. Fuck, it feels so good for him to hold me. Thinking that makes more tears come. How happy I feel, even telling him this.
“He pulled my pants down, and he tried to get his dick into me.” Miller holds me so tight. “I was fighting. We were on the floor, and I was losing my mind…and somehow I got his throat. And when I squeezed…”
“You’re okay, angel.” His hand cradles my head.
“Somehow,” I whisper. “He had a stroke.”
I wipe my face with a hand. “I thought I killed him. But I didn’t. Then I got strapped down to the bed, and the staff called my mom. And she took me back home from Alton.”
His hand, softer on my back now, stroking. I like it.
“When I got home to Richmond, I was fucked in the head. So my mom sent me off to this psych place called Sheppard Pratt. She told me to pull it together, but don’t tell anyone. Or they’d find out…about what happened to Paul.”
I rub my face, take a few deep breaths. “I was there for a long time. Like around six months. And they diagnosed a million things wrong with me. Not PTSD. They had no idea. I wasn’t getting better, of course. Picked up smoking, though. And then they thought they would try ECT. You know…electroconvulsive therapy. So they did that. It was fine, and then I went to my mom’s. I told her I wanted to move down with Dad. But it wasn’t because I wanted to,” I rasp out. “I was going to hang myself. I had it all in my Jeep.”
“Angel…”
I lean back a little, so his grip loosens on me. His hand’s still on my shoulder, but he’s no longer holding me. I look down at the couch again, feeling worse now. My throat feels tight and sore, and I just want to scream at how unfair it all is. That I don’t remember.
“I don’t remember what happened after that point.” My voice sounds terse. “But since I wrote a love letter to you, and the letter said I’d link back up with you as soon as I did ECT again, I’m guessing we met and…things happened. According to what Mom said, Carl told her I was gay. The only way I know this is through a letter I wrote you and didn’t mail, but I think Carl was just telling her, thinking she didn’t know. And Mom lost her shit. She called me and threatened me. She said I better do something about it, go inpatient again, or she’d tell the cops I hurt Paul. And that I went crazy. Something she always believed, I think.” I blow a breath out, drag another one in. I rub my forehead. “Guess it’s easier to think that than to think that I was catatonic at her house because they really hurt me.”
