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“I didn’t do this,” he whispers so quietly, at first I think I heard him wrong.
And then I freeze, tensing all over.
“Someone did this to you?” I blurt harshly, whipping my head toward him. I don’t even realize I’ve taken his wrist between my fingers until he lets out a gasp.
My eyes shoot up to his wide, brown gaze.
His throat bobs and he nods jerkily, but then more strongly.
I curl my lip up, shaking my head. “What the fuck? These are from needles.”
He just nods some more.
There’s something there, something in those swirling dark orbs begging me to understand. By the desperate sort of shock in his eyes, I get the impression this isn’t the first time he’s revealing this…but the first time someone’s actually taking him seriously, and he’s trying not to get overwhelmed.
“It’s okay,” I say, releasing his arm when I realize I’m still holding it.
Fisting my hand in my lap, I train my gaze downward and nod, waving him to keep going.
A beat passes, then he says, “I’m here because I tried to kill myself.”
My muscles solidify, my gaze growing hazy, vision doubling.
“I’m not an addict,” he says simply, as if what he just stated isn’t the equivalent of a bomb. “I’ve never done drugs willingly, except for the pills I took to kill myself. Whatever it was they injected me with, I don’t think it was super addictive. It was just a mild sedative, I think, I don’t know. Something to make me susceptible.”
“Susceptible to what?” My voice comes out faintly. My lips are numb. Everything in me just feels…numb at what I’m hearing.
He speaks so calmly of all of this. Matter of fact, if not a little unsure.
“Um, well, it-it was a part of their therapy practices. Behavior m-modification,” he stutters out. “It was a school—a special school, like a reform…school.” He mutters something under his breath, huffing in frustration.
“Like a school for troubled teens?” I say, remembering hearing about those as a kid. Boarding schools for students who got themselves in trouble. A sort of last-stop before juvie thing, to try and get them under control.
“Yeah. This one was an all-boys school. Religious too. Run by a bunch of pastors.”
Unease unfurls in my gut, twisting it all up.
“Most of these schools…they don’t do this kind of thing, at least, not that I know of or for the reasons they, uh, did it to me. I—”
“How is this legal?” I cut in with a quick shake of my head. I peer up at him, frowning deeply. “How do they get away with this?”
His eyes are wide, and a little red around the edges. He shrugs. “I don’t know. It feels like it shouldn’t be…and like I said, it’s not every school. Some of the ones I went to were actually not that bad.”
“How long have you been going to schools like this?”
“Since I was seven.”
My eyes bug. “Why?”
His full lips thin into something harsh and bleak, and he shakes his head. His eyes tell me he wants me to know, but something holds his tongue hostage.
“It’s okay,” I quickly assure him. “I just…I can’t believe this shit happens.”
His eyes glimmer with some emotion, but he’s quick to divert his gaze, hiding whatever it is from me. There’s a tremble to him now that wasn’t there before, and a glance down shows him digging and clawing his fingers into the sand.
My brow furrows and I feel my own fingers twitch with the need to reach out.
As soon as the thought enters my head though, I catch it, wrap it up tight, and throw it away. I don’t know what’s gotten into me today, but now’s not the time to question it.
