Page 58 of Unexpected Boyfriends

Justin shivers. He doesn’t speak, just begins softly crying again.

From the things he’s been saying about himself…

“Did they try and talk you out of being gay?”

A flood of tears confirms my suspicions. My heart aches. How could they do this to such a sweet soul?

Letting go of his chin, I pull him close against my chest. “It’s all right. I’ve got you now. I’ll take care of you,” I whisper. “There’s nothing at all wrong with you. You are a perfect human being.”

“They said I’ve got Satan in me,” he sobs.

“No. You don’t,” I counter fiercely. “It’s all lies. They brainwash you. They make you feel bad about yourself so they can manipulate how you think. It’s not true.”

“It’s going to be okay,” I reassure him. “And there is absolutelynothingwrong with being gay.”

He needs a professional and God knows I'm not a psychologist – I’ll get him one of those as soon as I can - and I hope I'm not going to do more harm than good, but he's hurtingnowand he's come to me, so I have to at least try.

“Do you remember the nights we made love?” I ask him, taking his chin gently in my hand, encouraging him to look at me. “Do you remember how beautiful it was? Do you remember howhappy we were? Remember how we lay awake all night talking? It was the best thing that ever happened to me.Youare the best thing that ever happened to me.”

My words seem to resonate with him.

“I remember,” he says, an almost-smile flitting across his face, before a frown chases it away. “I’m so confused,” he groans.

I place another kiss on his head. “They’ve messed with your brain,” I tell him, “But it’ll be okay. I’ve got you.”

Justin rests his head on my shoulder then, and his body sags into mine. I grit my teeth. I want to tear apart the people that have done this to him.Now that my eyes have adjusted to the light, I notice the tears in his jeans and the dark marks on his shirt that might be stains or dirt. He starts vibrating against me. It's his teeth chattering and I suddenly realize how cold it is – well, August in Sydney at night, of course it is.

I take a quick look through the bushes at my mother’s window. The room is still in darkness.

“C’mon,” I help him up, still holding him tight against me. “Let’s get you inside. It’s freezing out here. Quietly though, my mum’s upstairs and I don’t want anyone knowing you’re here until we’ve worked out a plan. You arenotgoing back to that place.”

Justin comes willingly into the house with me. He’s obviously exhausted. He’d clearly expected a very different reaction from me, and the relief that I haven’t rejected him must be immense. I’m a ball of suppressed emotion myself. So, so much anger at what has been done to him, fury that he’d been cutoff from all his lifelines, sheer amazement and huge respect that he managed to escape and infinite gratitude that he has come to me. Even if inhis messed-up state he thought he was coming to say goodbye, at some level he must have known he could trust me.

When we’re safely in my bedroom, I lock the door.

“Have you eaten?” I ask. Justin shakes his head. He looks dead on his feet and he’s shaking again.

I pull some pyjamas out of my chest of drawers and hand them to him, along with a clean hoodie. They’re too big, but they’ll do for now.

“Here, put these on, get yourself into bed and get warm,” I tell him gently. “I’ll bring you something to eat.”

Justin hesitates, looking unsure. A little ashamed even.

I go to him and cupping his face in my hands, look him in the eyes, and try to make him understand through the sheer force of my will.

“You are a beautiful human being. You have nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed about. You are perfect the way you are.”

Justin blinks, but he doesn’t argue or pull away.

I want to kiss him, but I’m not sure if that would be okay or not, so I instead I give him a quick hug.

“I’ll go get that food now,” I tell him, drawing away. I’m giving him some privacy. He wouldn’t have needed that before. How long have they had him - 3 months? A bit longer? It worries me how much damage might already have been done to him.

I go to the kitchen and as quietly as I can, because I really don’t want my mother waking up now, I cook noodles and heat up some bolognese sauce left over from the previous night. Then Icarry his dinner along with a glass of water into the bedroom. It takes less than 15 minutes all up, but when I get there Justin is propped up in bed with the pillows behind him, already asleep.

Putting the bowl on the bedside table, I sit on the mattress and study him. His honey brown hair is scattered on the pillow around his head like a sunburst. His features are fine and graceful. But even in sleep I can see the evidence of tension on his face, the weariness and exhaustion lending a pallor to his cheeks making him look more fragile than I’ve ever seen him. He is the broken shell of the young man who captured my heart last summer with his shy smile and gentle flirting, and it breaks my heart to see him like this.

His eyes flicker open.

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