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Like Lady Gaga’s song stated, “Baby, I was born this way.”
From what Chase said, Thomas played the part of being reformed until he could escape. But by then, the irreparable damage had already been done.
This harmful so-called “therapy” should be considered a criminal act and outlawed in every damn state. The fact that it hadn’t been yet was appalling. Anyone who forced a child into conversion therapy should be the ones ashamed, not the youth trying to live their own truth.
“When he took his meds, he was the Thomas I fell in love with. Unfortunately, when life was going well, when he felt good, what he called ‘normal,’ he tended to stop taking them. I watched him like a hawk but not closely enough, apparently. Because I missed it. I missed the damn signs that he was spiraling into a dark hole.” He tightened the grip on our interlaced fingers, to the point of bordering on pain. “Unfortunately, I had been on a tight deadline and locked away in my office to get all the words down. I missed those signs even though he was way more important to me than any amount of money or success. He was definitely more important than my fictional characters. If he had only reached out… just said something… I would have turned off my computer, stepped away from that damn book, told my agent and publisher to fuck off and I would’ve done whatever I needed to do to save him. Honestly, I thought he had finally found his peace once we got together. That his life with me, for the most part, was happy and content. That we were solid.” His words caught in his throat and he roughly cleared it. “I was so fucking wrong.”
I didn’t encourage him to continue. I wanted Chase to only tell his and Thomas’s story if he was ready. I could already see in his face how much of a toll this was taking on him.
Even so, telling this story could be cleansing for him.
“If only I’d recognized his struggle. Why didn’t I? Was I so damn busy? Was everything else sucking up my time and pulling my attention from him? Nothing… Nothing was more important to me than Thomas. Not one damn thing. And for a moment, I forgot that. I forgot because I thought he was okay. He acted okay. I was wrong. He was suffering while plastering on a smile. Using it as a mask to hide the truth from the world. A mask to hide it from me, the one person who would be there for him when he wasn’t okay. All he had to do was say something. All I had to do was pay attention. And in that moment I let my guard down… That was all it took. One slip on my part. One slip on his.”
My breakfast churned in my stomach. I wanted to take Chase in my arms and relieve his grief and his guilt. While a simple hug wouldn’t be able to do it, I hoped continuing to listen would at least help somewhat.
“That day…” He squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed. He kept them closed when he continued, most likely reliving that day. “That day I had a meeting with my PR firm to discuss the plans for my next release. On my way home I got stuck in the backlog behind a crash and was worried I’d be late for our dinner reservations. As soon as I got into the house, I called out to him.” Chase shook his head, opened his eyes and turned them toward the lake. “He never responded. I rushed upstairs, took a quick shower, figuring he was out back waiting for me to get home…” He pulled in a long, slow breath and released it along with the words, “When I opened the closet to grab my dress clothes…”
When Chase paused, my breath seized. My fingers were cramping from how tightly I held his hand. Because I knew what was coming and it filled me with dread.
I knew, but that didn’t mean I was prepared.
If I wasn’t prepared simply hearing what had come next, I couldn’t imagine how unprepared Chase had been when he actually lived those life-changing moments.
I could barely hear his whispered, “I found him. He was in there.”
I closed my eyes, trying to imagine what Chase discovered, trying to imagine how devastating it would be to find the one you loved like that…
But unless you lived it, could you really imagine it?
“If I had been home sooner…”
I opened my eyes and jerked on his hand so he’d look at me. Once our eyes met I asked, “You think it was your fault? For being late?” more harshly than I should have. I couldn’t help it because my first urge was to yell and shake him, for blaming himself for something out of his control, for a desperate action someone else took, but I bit it back because it would do more harm than good.
