Page 40 of Loving Trent
Sitting down, I motion to each side of me, and they both sit down. “This is a nice place, bud. You did well,” Uncle Joey says, walking out of the hallway. He doesn’t let the sight of the three of us throw him off. He crosses the room and lowers himself down in front of me.
“Thank you. Let me introduce everyone,” I say, pointing to Harley first. “Uncle Joey, this is Harley and…” I lace my hand with Shawn’s before saying, “This is Shawn.”
Uncle Joey’s eyes only look at our joined hands for a second before moving up to Shawn’s face. “Nice to meet you, Shawn.” He does the same thing to Harley. He looks straight at her. “And you as well.”
I take a deep breath, and Shawn squeezes my hand like he can suddenly feel my nervousness. I’m thankful that I didn’t eat breakfast this morning because my stomach lurches at the thought of laying everything out for not only Uncle Joey but Shawn as well. “I’m just going to dive right in,” I say, closing my eyes but then opening them because I have to see Uncle Joey when I tell this story. “Remember the school Eve and Josiah sent me to when I was thirteen?”
Uncle Joey’s eyes darken. He sits up straight, and his hands turn to fists… Simply put, he turns into what someone would draw if asked to sketch anger. “Yes.”
“It wasn’t a school. It was a conversion camp… I’m gay.”
Twenty
SHAWN
As if I need another identity crisis right now.
I might not need one, but I’ve got it. Once again, I found myself questioning who I am as I shoved clothes into my bag. I’m not the type of person to follow someone around like a lost puppy, but that is who I’ve become. Trent’s note said not to make plans because he wanted to spend time with me, so when Maria asked me if I could take her back to Cape, I told her I needed a little more time with my family. Then handed her my keys. But then, when Sammy called asking if I wanted to come over, I lied. I told her I needed to be alone. I kept questioning why I was waiting for Trent when I knew nothing about him. But then I would remember how he was there for me last night and held me. Something about that felt right, and I wanted more time to get to know him.
Not to mention that I’ve never felt this way with any other guy. There is a need deep inside me that wants to crawl inside Trent and fuse us together. The demand to know everything about him has a grip on me, and it’s not letting go. My body aches to be touched by him again. There is nothing inside me that wants to put distance between us.
Plus, I got to hang out with Harley more, and I found myself enjoying getting to know her. We spoke more about her fears of going to public school. By the time we were done, she seemed more confident about her decision, and I felt proud that I helped her get there. Even though I was proud of helping her, it was just another point in the what the fuck am I doing column.
The way I’m acting is so out of the norm for me that I’m starting to worry about my mental state. I mean, for fuck’s sake. I’m sitting in Trent’s new house after meeting his uncle, not even twenty-four hours after meeting him. This is insane, to say the least. But I can’t make myself let go of Trent’s hand, stand up, and leave. I don’t want to do that. For the first time since our meeting fear is radiating from Trent while he talks to his uncle. The way he is clinging to my hand speaks volumes, and I’ll be damned if I let go. I’ve zoned out of the conversation until Trent says, “It wasn’t a school. It was a conversion camp… I’m gay.”
Automatically, my hand tightens around Trent’s, and my eyes snap to his face. What the fuck are they talking about? Conversion camps? I’ve heard horror stories about those places. Nothing good ever comes from them. The abuse… I shake my head. I don’t even want to think about what Trent went through. Red bleeds into my vision at the thought that someone hurt Trent.
“Excuse me?” The words sound like Trent’s uncle had to force them out, but I don’t move my eyes to look at him. Right now, he doesn’t exist in my mind.
My sole focus is on Trent’s face. It’s easy to see that he has slipped on a mask, so to speak. His brown eyes are almost lifeless. They have taken on a sort of glaze, and there is a muscle in his jaw that is twitching. But the most telling of it all is how it seems he is somewhere else in his mind. With one look, it would seem like he is looking at Uncle Joey, but that’s not the case.
“It all started when Josiah found?—”
My hand shoots out before I realize what I’m doing, and it cups Trent’s cheek, pulling his face toward mine. “Trent…” That’s all I say, and then I wait until he finally looks at me. I continue when his brown eyes connect with mine, and I’m sure he is here with me. Once that hazy glazed look disappears, I say, “I don’t think I need to be here for this conversation. Why don’t I take Harley out for a walk?”
Finally, life comes back into his eyes, and I see he is terrified. “No,” he says, leaning his head forward until it rests on mine. “Please, Shawn… I need you… Plus.” He swallows and pulls back slightly. “You’re part of this story.”
“How am I part of this story?” I ask. I cannot be a part of his past because I have never seen him until yesterday. None of this makes sense. Not Harley, not knowing his uncle, because if she is his cousin, of course, she should know him. I can’t wrap my head around anything going on right now.
“Like I was saying, it all started when Josiah found my journal,” Trent says, but he keeps my attention snagged with his eyes. His hand comes up, and he strokes my cheek. The skin instantly heats under his fingers. “The journal where I wrote about my crush on you,” he says.
“Me?” I shake my head because now nothing is adding up to me. I quickly try to search through my memories and place Trent, but I come up empty. Surely, I would remember meeting him, right?
Trent nods, and a coldness blankets me, chilling me to my bones. “Before I was sent away, I lived in Cape. I had just started middle school before everything happened. On the first day, you were skating down the sidewalk, and I was standing there staring up at the building?—”
“I ran into you,” I whisper, my mind swimming with visions of a young boy falling to the ground. Wait, I shake my head topush away that vision. “You knew who I was the whole time? Why didn’t you say anything?”
This unexplained need to get the hell out of here hits me square in my chest. The room suddenly shrinks. My heart kicks into overdrive, and my chest squeezes. There isn’t enough air in the small room for me. I need space. Space to breathe, to think, and I can’t do that here. Finally, my brain shuts off. Without thinking, I pull my hands back, push up, and run out the door. I leave everything behind, even my shoes. Why do I feel betrayed by someone I can’t fucking remember? Why does the fact that Trent, a stranger, kept something from me hurt so much? Do I have the words fucking lie to me stamped on my forehead?
TRENT
Once the door shuts, I drop my head and say, “Well, I fucked that up.” My nose starts to tingle, but I squeeze my eyes shut and bite the inside of my cheek to keep the tears away. I refuse to cry because Shawn left. Did it hurt when he walked away? Yes, it did, but what can I do about it? I saw the panic and confusion in his eyes right before he pulled away. I need to explain everything to him and how he fits into my story, but that can wait a little longer.
There is a shuffling noise, and then Uncle Joey’s arms wrap around me. “Trent, what the hell is going on?”
My plan to tell him and Shawn everything at the same time just went running out the door, but I still need to tell Uncle Joey. So, I wrap my arms around his waist, lay my head on his shoulder, and tell him everything. The deeper I get into the story, the harder his hold on me gets. All of his muscles lock up,and he feels like he is made up of stone when I tell him the story of the first time I was sexually assaulted. When I tell him about trying to kill myself, I feel a tear hit my neck. Halfway through my story, Harley joins our hug as she wraps her arms around my back and lays her head in the middle of my shoulders. I refuse to allow myself to think about how much I wish Uncle Joey was Shawn holding me because if I do, I won’t finish telling my story. I’ll lose my bravery right now, and that isn’t something I can risk.
Finally, once I’ve told him everything, Uncle Joey pushes me back and holds my hand between his large hands. “Why didn’t you tell me this before now?”
