by Ann Grech
Our softening cocks still in my hand, Angelo let his weight rest fully on me. Pinned below him in the warm water, my legs spread and his mouth close to mine, I was the most comfortable I’d been in days. My eyes closed, and I tilted my head up to his for another kiss. This one was slow and sweet. Lazy swipes of our tongues and brushes of lips. It was heaven.
Angelo looked up and around, surveying the damage, and grinned. “We didn’t lose too much water.” He lifted off me and reached for the soap, drizzling the liquid over my belly. Using steady hands, he rubbed the bubbles over my skin, washing away the evidence of our orgasms and the sweat from our hike. He tended to every inch of me, from the tips of my fingers to my hair and down to my toes, unhurriedly caressing my skin. I lay with my eyes closed, enjoying his gentle touch. His hands left me, and I opened my eyes to watch him vigorously scrub himself with soap, not taking anywhere near the care with himself as he did with me. I reached for him and tried to help, but he playfully swatted my hands away. Taking the hand-held showerhead, he pulled the plug and rinsed us both down before passing me a towel from the cupboard.
“I feel like I could sleep for a week,” I mumbled, my words already slurring with exhaustion. I did a half-assed job of drying myself, and Angelo led me to our bedroom, pulling down the covers and taking me into his arms. Head resting on his shoulder, I hooked my leg over his and held him close, sleep taking me just after I felt rather than heard his happy sigh and the press of his lips to my forehead.
It was only a few weeks later that I found myself standing next to Angelo in the lobby of one of the nearby hotels. The nerves jangling around in me were a stark contrast to the surrounding calm. Soft music played from hidden speakers, and the staff processed the line of people checking in and out quickly and quietly. The high ceilings and square columns accented with steel beams, black light fittings, and gray walls gave the lobby a modern warehouse feel, but the rich red-gold of the polished timber floors added a welcome warmth.
I looked around for the sign to the café my therapist suggested we book at. Apparently, it was the perfect setup for private conversations, and at this time of morning, the café was usually quiet. Angelo pointed to the sign, and we headed up the curved stairs to the café. Dr. Hansard was waiting for us just outside the entrance with her colleague who would be acting as intermediary. “Trent, hello,” she greeted me warmly as I stepped off the stairs and we made our way over to them. “And you must be Angelo. I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you. It’s lovely to finally meet you.” They shook hands, and Angelo smiled politely.
“Hello,” he mumbled, his cheeks flushed. He shot a glance my way, and I reached out for him, brushing the back of my hand against his. I swallowed hard and closed my eyes, my nerves in overdrive. I’d been semi-okay up to that point. I could tell Angelo was worried, watching me while I got dressed and on the way over to the hotel. He’d driven us here, and on the elevator ride up from the basement parking lot, he didn’t take his eyes off me. I’d assured him then I was okay.
Now? Not so much.
My gut was busy doing a gymnastic tumbling routine that would rival that of an Olympic gold medalist, and my heart was thudding hard in my chest. It’s really happening. I’m really seeing them again. I smoothed my hands along my black, button-down shirt and made sure it was still tucked into my dark gray dress pants. Angelo insisted I looked good. I’d liked what I’d seen in the mirror before we left, and he was right—I was comfortable and more confident in the tailored clothes. But while the clothes made me look put together on the outside, inside I was a quivering, swirling, freaked out, nauseous, nervous mess.
Angelo stepped a fraction closer to me. Anyone who didn’t know us wouldn’t even look twice at the picture we painted—two friends standing shoulder to shoulder. But his being slightly in front of mine was his subtle way of protecting me, like he could push me behind him and shield me from whatever I needed an out from. I appreciated his presence more than he could ever know. I wasn’t strong enough to do it alone. But that was okay. I knew my limitations now, and this was one of them. I needed him as my support person, and Angelo was exactly that. He was my person.
I admired him from my peripheral vision. His navy blue slacks were paired with a pale-blue check shirt and a navy bow tie. Matching check socks, brown leather shoes, and blue suspenders finished off the outfit. He was carrying his suit jacket in his left hand and he had his camera with one of the smaller lenses slung over his right. He turned and smiled warmly at me, and my heart flip-flopped in my chest.
Dr. Hansard studied me closely, her expression filled with genuine concern. “How are you doing, Trent?”
“I’m nervous. Scared about their reactions and them not understanding why I ran away. I’m more scared of my godfather being here.”
“He’s not.” Dr. Hansard’s colleague spoke with an Indian accent. “I introduced myself to them when they arrived. They’re sitting down waiting for us, but you take your time going in. We’ll wait for you to be comfortable before starting, okay?”
I nodded, and my mind wandered as they continued talking with Angelo. When I looked up, they’d left Angelo and me alone at the entrance. There were other people around, but not many, so Angelo pulled me to the side and spoke quietly, with no judgment in his tone. “You zoned out. He’s Dr. Ankur Bhat.” This time I did reach for him, threading our fingers together and squeezing his hand.
“I’m scared, Angelo.”
His smile was soft, his eyes full of love when he encouraged, “You can do this, Trent. You’ve come so far. You’re strong enough for this, and I’m right here. Always.” Instantly my nerves settled. He grounded me. I wanted this. I wanted to meet them again. I was scared, terrified even, but I couldn’t let it stop me from walking through that door. Angelo pulled me close for a moment, hugging me hard.
Before he moved away, I whispered, “Thank you.” Hands shaking, palms sweating, I drew a deep breath in and entered the café with Angelo close behind. The maître d’ met us and guided us to a table in the back corner. Like Dr. Hansard had promised, each area was designed into a private nook. Some were larger than others and overlooked the main street and towering mountains beyond, the view framed by picture windows. Others were just an armchair and small side table enclosed between tall bookshelves packed with books of every description. Paintings and sculptures were dotted around too, giving the place an eclectic, artistic vibe, and the smell of roasted coffee beans and fresh-cooked pastries permeated the air. My stomach growled, uncaring that I’d been too jittery to eat much of anything that morning.
The maître d’ showed us the table that my parents and Dr. Bhat were seated at. Dr. Hansard hovered nearby, but I didn’t take much notice. All I could focus on were my parents. Dad had a full head of steely gray hair now, and his face was no longer smooth. Wrinkles had aged him, and he’d lost some of his bulk. He was still broad-shouldered, but the muscle had started to turn soft. Underneath though, I saw the same strong man I’d idolized as a kid. We gazed at each other and he slowly stood up, stepping out from behind the table. Mom followed, pushing her glasses up her nose as she stood. She hadn’t worn them when I was younger. It wasn’t the only change either. She looked frail. Much thinner and more hunched than she was all those years ago. Her hair was streaked with gray like Dad’s, and her hands bonier too. She moved a lot slower now, and Dad held out his hand to help her walk. Tears ran tracks down her wrinkled cheeks as she placed a hand over her mouth and choked out a cry. “Keir,” she whispered like a prayer, my name sounding strange on her lips after all this time.
Angelo’s hand on my lower back rubbing small circles had my legs reengaging, and I acted on instinct, pulling both of them into my arms. I was taller than them now, broader than Dad too, but I felt sheltered like I did as a child when he hugged me. Mom’s frailty didn’t show in her hug, her arms winding around me in a vise grip. I cried hot tears. Years of pain and longing, of missing my parents, of fear and betrayal by my godfather
washed over me. Powerless to stop, I trembled in their arms, wishing I hadn’t waited so long. Wishing I’d been stronger. Braver. Mom and Dad cried too, all three of us clinging desperately to each other.
“We never thought we’d see you again.” Dad spoke through his tears, and my already broken heart shattered into a million pieces. “I was waiting for them to find your body. We’ve waited so long, but you’re here. You’re really here.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” It was the only thing I could say, but it was nowhere near enough. Shame mixed with that self-loathing for fucking everything up threatened to drown me. I hated that I’d hurt them. With everything in me, I wished I could turn back time and change how things happened that night and the shit storm that ensued. But I couldn’t. I’d known in my gut that I’d hurt them, but hearing the words crushed me. Weighed down by them, I reached blindly for the one person who could pull me up. Angelo. His hand on my shoulder steadied me, and I breathed again. That simple touch was enough to haul me from the depths of despair so I could take a gasping breath.
I don’t know how long we stood there, crying and holding each other tight, but when we eventually pulled away, I looked for him again. He was still there, right next to me. He squeezed my shoulder, but it wasn’t enough. My emotions were running close to the surface and as much as I needed his touch, I needed to comfort Angelo too. Pain laced his features and I needed to soothe it away. His eyes, glassy and red, cried tears for me, and seeing his hurt broke my heart. Angelo’s free arm was wrapped around his midsection, shielding—or maybe comforting—himself. I reached for him, pulling him into my arms. The moment I did, his love enveloped me. All I hoped was that I could give him the same comfort he gave me with a simple touch. Angelo’s grip around my shoulders tightened, and he buried his face in the crook of my neck. I breathed him in and Angelo did the same as I held him close, never wanting him to pull away. “You okay?” I whispered.
“I should be asking you that,” he huffed. “Seeing you with your parents was beautiful. Heart wrenching, but beautiful.” He patted me on the back, a move so unlike Angelo that when he pulled back, I looked at him, making sure he was all right. I knew he was doing it to protect me, but I suddenly hated not being open about what he meant to me. I hated that he thought he needed to.
“Mom, Dad.” I motioned to the man standing next to me and smiled at him. “This is Angelo.”
“Your roommate, I remember. Hi,” Dad replied, holding out his hand.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Campbell. Mrs. Campbell, hello.” They shook hands and Angelo pulled out our chairs, the four of us sitting down with Dr. Bhat at the head of the table.
I looked to the doctor, who motioned for me to speak. I remembered that he would only participate if he thought he needed to. He was, for all intents and purposes, an observer.
“So…,” I began, not knowing how to start the conversation between us. I had so much to say, but no idea of where to start. The initial awkwardness didn’t last long though. We all started talking at once, then stopped and laughed. It broke the tension, and I let Mom and Dad go first.
“We were so happy you reached out.” Mom held out her hand from across the table, and I slipped mine into it. Her warm fingers closed around mine, the difference in her Maori tones and my half-white coloring more pronounced in the winter when I had no tan. She squeezed tight. “We thought the worst when it’d been so long. We tried everything we knew to find you, but you’d disappeared. When we got your letter…. I didn’t believe what I was reading until I saw your photo. It left me in no doubt.”
Dad spoke then. “Our psychologist told us to call anytime we ever needed anything. When I told her about the letter, she wanted to reach out and make initial contact. I’m sorry if that upset you.”
I shook my head and added, “No, I understand. It was out of the blue on your end. I’d been working up to it for months. Years, really.”
We were interrupted by a waiter taking our order for coffees, and when we were alone again, Mom asked, “Why did you leave, Trent?” Dr. Bhat went to interrupt, but before he could get a word out, Mom put her hand up and shook her head. “Never mind. That doesn’t matter. What’s important is that you’re here now and we can keep up contact again.”
“We’re probably supposed to stick to safe topics today, but I do want to explain. I need to, so you know it wasn’t your fault.” Angelo squeezed my shoulder and I leaned into his touch, taking the strength I knew he was offering. “It was Ryan. He hurt me.” I sucked in a breath, trying not to drown in the memories. My voice cracked as I tried to push through and keep the story going. “It was… awful. Every moment’s burned into my memory. I wish I didn’t remember, but I do.” I closed my eyes and tried to center myself. Focusing on Angelo’s comforting touch, I kept going, my voice barely above a whisper. “I couldn’t go back there. I couldn’t see him again. I knew you wanted me to go and apologize, but I didn’t understand why. I was ashamed. Scared it’d happen again. Scared of him. I just reacted. I ran. I hid. I was trying to get away from him. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never wanted that.” I huffed, disgusted at myself. “I didn’t want to make you choose between us. So I made the choice for you.”
Dad shook his head, his jaw clenched tight. He closed his eyes and visibly relaxed his fists before running his hands through his steely gray hair. I knew I’d said the wrong thing the instant he did it, and my gut sank. Mom squeezed my hand tight, almost crushing my fingers, and she sobbed. “We found out. I saw your clothes in the bathroom. I saw the blood in your underwear and on your sweatpants.” Dad wrapped his arm around Mom and pulled her to him, and she cried softly against his chest.
He continued, “We came looking for you, but you’d already run. We called everywhere. We drove around the streets yelling out for you. Begging you to come home. Every one of your school friends was out looking for you too. No one had seen you—”
“No one?” I asked incredulously.
“No.” Mom answered, sadly. “The police told us that you’d seen Jake, but he never broke your trust.”
The same waiter reappeared with a tray of coffees, and tea for Dr. Bhat. The doctor stood and looked after the check while we sat there quietly for a moment. I stirred my latte, remembering my childhood friend. I’d wanted to reach out to him so many times, but I was scared of my godfather knowing I was alive. Of him discovering where to find me. Jake had kept my secret, and I was so very grateful to him for protecting me like that.
Dad broke the silence after a beat, adding, “You’d only been missing for an hour when we called the police. They came straight away and interviewed us.” Dad looked away and closed his eyes. Clenched his jaw and blew out a breath. I couldn’t see his free hand, but I was sure he’d made a fist again. It was hard seeing him like that. So obviously in pain from something I’d done. From memories I’d left them with.
Mom took up where Dad left off, seamlessly continuing like I remembered they always did. “They interviewed Ryan too. He promised them that you’d drunk all the beer in his refrigerator without him knowing it. You were drunk and hurt yourself falling down the steps. It might have been a reason for your black eye, but it didn’t explain your other injuries.”
“He let me have one beer, but he was drinking all night. The refrigerator was almost empty by the time the game was nearly finished.” I blew out a breath, nauseous from the memory of the smell of it on his breath as he’d spewed his hate-filled words at me. “I haven’t been able to drink it since,” I said quietly, ashamed that he still had that control over me.
“We’d handed over your clothes to the police that first day. But Ryan kept insisting that the last he saw of you, you were stumbling home. I was so angry with him.” Mom shook her head, rage flashing in her eyes. “I confronted him. Told him we’d handed everything over to the police for testing. That if he’d hurt you, I’d kill him. He sneered at me and I lost it. I remember kicking and punching him. Scratching him and yanking out his hair. Your f
ather walked into the house and pulled me off him. I’ll never forget what he did then.”
“What?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. Strangled by the soul-deep anger my godfather evoked in me.
“He got two plastic bags from the kitchen and taped them over my hands, hair and all, and we went straight to the police station. They collected the DNA evidence under my fingernails and the hair and sent it for testing against the samples they’d collected. It came back positive.” Tears pooled in her eyes and fell down her cheeks. On a whisper, she added, “We just wanted you back. We wanted to help you heal from what he’d done to you.”
I hung my head in shame, and the tears fell again. They knew. Angelo wrapped his arm around me and I turned into him, crying into his shoulder. He held me close, his touch a comfort. His warmth, his smell, and the hand on my back rubbing circles was home. He was love. It was a bitter contrast between the topic of our conversation and the gentle way Angelo handled me. It made one thing stand out in stark relief: I wanted to tell them who I was so badly. I wanted the nightmare of my past gone and to look forward again.
