Page 32 of The Care of Broken Things
“I went to school the next day, and he invited me home. He was being sweet at school, like things used to be. Gentle. So I thought it would be okay. He gave me more tea when we got to his place, and asked how I was feeling. I said I was feeling better because I didn’t want to sound like a baby. So he asked if he could hold me—just to hold me. He wouldn’t do anything else. And I said yes, because that sounded okay. But then he wanted me to take off all my clothes, and he took off all his clothes and when he put his arms around me, he was hard again and it was pressing against me, and I was so scared I was nauseous. My throat started hurting really bad, and I told him it hurt, and that I didn’t think I could use it for a while. And he said that was okay. That there was something he wanted more. Something that would bind us together forever. Would I give it to him?” It was strange how much of the retelling was embarrassment. More than fear or hurt he just wanted to crawl up into a ball and nevershow his face again. The memory was so old, but he still felt just as stupid.
“I didn’t even ask what, I just said yes. And he started to touch me to—to open me. It felt really weird. Not good at all. And I panicked and asked what he was doing, and he said he was marrying me. That this was something all married people did. And I knew he was right. That married people had sex. And I was almost happy about it. I wanted to marry him. I’d fantasized about it in my head so many times. But it hurt. It hurt a lot. And I was so nauseous and scared and I kept waiting for it to be over, and then it was, and he told me he loved me, and I said nothing. I just waited for him to fall asleep and then I ran out of there, or rather, I walked out of there. It hurt too much to run, and I got home, and Jenny asked me what was wrong, and I told her nothing. To just leave me alone, and went to clean the gunk out of myself. It hurt, but I kept doing it, cleaning myself, because I still felt dirty, but touching it, even to clean myself, only made me feel dirtier.” He’d felt so guilty about it all, knowing it was wrong and trying not to know it, because if it was wrong that would mean Mr. Edward’s love was wrong, and he didn’t want to believe that even if it was a lie.
“I spent the night writing him a letter, trying over and over to tell him what I couldn’t make myself say. That I hated when he touched me, hated his dick, hated the way he would forget everything but his own pleasure as soon as he started touching me. In the end I just wrote that I didn’t think we should continue doing “those” kinds of things. That it was too dangerous, and that other people wouldn’t understand. I said we could have sex when we were older, thinking that if I pushed it off for a few years I might come to like it. But I never gave him the letter. The next day when I told him good morning, he ignored me, and he ignored me at lunch. All day he ignored me. And I was so afraid that he knew the truth, that I hated when he touched me.
“I waited for him after school, hoping to ask him what I’ddone to upset him. And when I saw him come out, I jumped up and asked if I could come home with him. But he didn’t answer me, he just grabbed my wrist and dragged me to a motel. As soon as he’d paid for a room, he pushed me inside, and I started to cry. That’s the part I hate most. That I cried. And not even because I thought he would hurt me again, but because he was angry at me, and I thought he hated me. I tried to kiss him, but he wouldn’t let me. He just shoved me into the wall and yanked down my pants and tried to fuck me, but I struggled, and I broke away, but he only shoved my face into the wall again. He told me this was how I wanted it. That I was a whore who just wanted his cock, because I’d run off after we’d had sex like it was a one-night stand.”
He couldn’t think about this. Didn’t know why he was thinking about it now when he always put so much effort intonotthinking about it.
“The second time was much worse. He didn’t prepare me. Just some spit, I think, and I was already raw from the night before. I might have blacked out for a few seconds. I’m not sure. My face also hurt and my scalp, but I didn’t notice those at the time. It felt like he was shoving broken glass into me, but the worst part was him calling me a whore, over and over he called me a whore, and I remember thinking it wasn’t fair because when you called someone a whore they were supposed to like sex, but I hated it. I never wanted to have sex again. I was only doing it for him, and he hated me. He told me so. Also that I was ruining his life, and that he just wanted to be normal. That he hated me. That he could never love a whore. That he wished I would die. And then he came, and I remember how much that stung, like pouring salt into an open cut. But then he released me, and I fell.
“The first thing I did was pull up my pants. I remember that distinctly, the wanting to cover myself. I was something disgusting. A whore. And it wasn’t even over, because then he started to cry, and that was worse than the rest, because I stillloved him, and I’d made him cry. He picked me up and hugged me and told me he didn’t mean it. That he really was going to marry me. That he would be gentle. That he loved me. But I didn’t believe him. Because I’d already heard the truth. He really did hate me. I knew it then and I know it now. He hated me because he needed me, and he wanted to punish me for making him want me.” And hehadmade him. With that kiss. And with trying to be grown up. For coming to his house and staring at his bare feet.
“He took me home, or mostly home. I had to walk a block. He never wanted anyone to see us together, though I only realized that later. That block was hard. Every step felt like a knife in my ass, but I made it home. I went around to the back and made it up to my room without anyone noticing, or so I thought, but when I turned around Jenny was there. ‘You’re bleeding,’ she told me. I told her to go away. I even threw something at her. But she didn’t leave. ‘Someone hurt you,’ she said. But I pushed past her and locked myself in the bathroom.
“There was blood down my legs, and some had seeped through my jeans. It hadn’t really shown in the dark outside, but in the lighting of the bathroom it was obvious. And it was weird to see the blood. I hadn’t known you could bleed from your ass, and so much of it. It was dried on, and I didn’t know how to get the blood out of them, and the soap wasn’t working. I thought maybe I would just throw them out if I couldn’t get them clean, but I was still using the soap when my father came in. He didn’t even try the lock. He just broke it. He’s big. Bigger than me now, even. Bigger than you, even. He caught me there with the blood on my legs and I remember looking at him, and him looking at me, and knowing it was over, everything, and there was Jenny, too, with the Tylenol in her hands.”
He fell silent then. The story felt finished, even though it wasn’t. There had been so many things after that. The hospital. The DNA tests. The arrest. Switching schools. And that was just the first time. But he was tired. Really tired. He badly wanted tosleep. His jaw cracked in a yawn. And then he heard it.
Eli’s crying.
The man was doing it quietly. He had a hand pressed over his mouth, but he was crying. His hand, shirt, and pants were all spotted with it. He’d been crying for a while.
“Oh,” Samuel said, surprised. Beyond surprised, even. “Why?” But then he remembered Hailey, who was in sixth grade. Hailey, who Eli worshiped even more than he did his husband. He put a hand on the man’s arm. “It’s okay. She’s smarter than me. Nothing will happen to her.” But that didn’t work. Eli only cried harder, so hard the sobs became audible, choked out like they were hurting. Samuel didn’t know what to do. “Nathaniel will protect her, and nothing will happen to you either. No one will touch you. I promised Nathaniel, and I’ll promise you too. Please don’t cry.”
But Eli did cry, and Samuel didn’t have experience with things like that. The only person he really loved never cried. But he knew what you were supposed to do, or at least, he knew what people did in books and in movies. So he pulled on Eli’s shoulders, not really expecting it to work, but Eli followed his pressure and then the man was doing all his bawling into his shoulder. He could feel the power of the tears then, and Eli’s shaking body sent tremors through his own, and the sound was louder too now that Eli’s mouth was near his ear.
It was awful. Truly. He’d never felt so useless. And more to dosomethingthan from any real hope it would work, he began rubbing Eli’s back the way his sister sometimes did for him when he was having trouble falling asleep.
“No,” Eli said, or something like it. He couldn’t be sure. The man wasn’t exactly enunciating. “I’m not the one who—It’s your pain, you shouldn’t have to comfort me.”
That seemed stupid. “But you’re the one crying.”
Eli made a frustrated sound, but he didn’t try to emergefrom the safety of his shoulder, so Samuel kept on with his rubbing, even after the man’s breathing had mostly evened out again.
It was kind of soothing, that rubbing. He felt a little like he was rocking a baby to sleep, only this baby was ginormous, and he wanted to see it naked—maybe. He wondered what Nathaniel did when his husband pulled stunts like this. Maybe he didn’t have to do anything. Nathaniel probably didn’t make him cry. Nathaniel, who was so steady and funny and, apparently, great at sex. He probably made Eli laugh and smile all day long and then at the end of it they had great food and great sex and went to sleep feeling like there was no home in the world better than the one they had. And now all that was fucked up, their family ripped apart, and Eli was stuck here getting his underwear stolen and listening to child rape stories. Who wouldn’t cry?
“You’ll get back to him soon,” he found himself saying. “Two years isn’t so long. And at the end of it you’ll appreciate everything so much more. Food will taste amazing, and showers will be so relaxing and just imagine shitting in private. I think I miss that the most. And you’ll have Nat back, and Hailey, and you’ll be able to go on your Paris trip.”
“Nat, huh?”
He didn’t realize what the man was implying at first, then he played the words back over in his head and the heat came to his face again. Sometimes it felt like all he did these days was fluctuate between anger and embarrassment. “Nathaniel. Sorry.” He’d started using “Nat” as revenge for the stupid “Sam” business, but Nathaniel hadn’t minded in the slightest, and somehow it had become a habit.
“Don’t apologize. It’s cute.” Eli’s hand found his hair, but instead of the usual ruffling, it just rested there. That is, until the man jerked it back with an apology of his own. “I keep forgetting. You don’t like to be touched.”
He caught the wrist before it could be retracted completely. “No. It’s—if it’s you, it’s okay. I think.”
“‘You think’ huh?” Eli shook his head. “You don’t have to force yourself, puppy.”
But he wasn’t forcing himself. At least, he didn’t think he was. The man’s danger barely registered anymore. The crying-fest might have eradicated it completely. But something else distracted him from the evaluation. “Why do you call me that?”
“Hmm?”
“Puppy. If you haven’t noticed, I’m on the large side.”
There was a flash of white in the dimness of the closet. Eli’s smile. “I’ve noticed, all right.”
Samuel’s flush deepened, but with embarrassment or pleasure he couldn’t say. He didn’t know how to interpret things like that. From someone else it would have been a compliment, or even flirting, but Eli was so nice—nice to everyone. It didn’t have to mean anything. “Then why?”
