In Another Life (6 page)

“Why did you hurt yourself?” she asked. “Did we—”

“No.” I shook my head fervently, horrified that she might blame herself for what I’d done. “It wasn’t your fault.”

She reached her shaky hand up and pushed my hair back again. “Then why? Sweetie….” She sighed. “We have to talk about these things. That’s what the therapist said.”

“Therapist?”

Her posture stiffened. “Yes,” she said defensively. “I’ve been talking to a therapist the past couple of days, and you’ll be doing the same thing.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” she asked, sounding surprised at my easy acquiescence.

“Yes. I’ll go see a therapist. But I promise you, I will not hurt myself again.”

“Why did you do it this time?” she asked again, in a whisper.

I didn’t have to tell her; I could have kept the information to myself. But when I closed my eyes and took a deep, soothing breath, I saw glimpses of my dream. I remembered feeling free of the burden to keep such an important part of myself hidden from my family. And I remembered them loving me.

“I thought it’d never stop, thought I’d never fit right anywhere.”

Those feelings had engulfed me only a few days prior, so I remembered them vividly, even if they felt a lifetime away. Knowing, just
knowing
, that I was wrong, broken, a mistake. Walking into my school and being as petrified as if I was walking into a battle. The unrelenting stream of jibes and sneers and items thrown at me: paper, pieces of food, wrappers, or whatever else was handy. Being scared, so scared, that one day the words would turn into fists or that my family would find out and hate me or be ashamed of me or throw me out of their lives.

I looked into my mother’s eyes. “I’m gay, and I thought that meant nobody would ever like me.” I gulped. “Sometimes I wasn’t sure I liked myself.”

To her credit, she remained calm. Emotions passed over her face; I didn’t know whether they were sorrow or disappointment or surprise or something else entirely, but within a matter of seconds, she threw back her shoulders determinedly and said, “You are a wonderful boy. You’re smart and you’re sensitive and you’re funny, and anybody who can’t see those things isn’t worth your time.”

It was a nice sentiment, but it wasn’t something I would have considered useful a few days earlier. I wasn’t even sure it was useful right then. But what I did know was that she was right.

I was a good person, and I could make a difference in the world—I could help other kids like me. I remembered being happy and knew it was possible, knew it was worth effort and patience. The pain that had been in my gut for as long as I could remember wouldn’t always be there. Actually, when I stopped and thought about it, I realized it was gone already, leaving only a light echo in its place.

“Thanks, Mom,” I said.

“
W
OW
,
A
serenade,” I said with my eyes still closed.

There was silence for a beat—which was a marked difference from the cats-dying sound I’d been hearing—and then Travis said, “I sing to myself sometimes when I’m doing paperwork. How long have you been awake?”

I opened my eyes and smiled at him. “Long enough to know Kurt Cobain would be, uh, honored if he heard your rendition of his music.”

He pursed his lips and scowled. “That was Bruce Springsteen.”

I started laughing, then realized he was serious and coughed to get myself under control. “Right. That’s what I meant. I’ve always loved ‘Born to Run,’
it’s one of his—”

“That was ‘I’m On Fire,’” he said dryly.

There was no way to avoid it; I cracked up. Travis kept up the scowl for just under a second, and then he joined me.

“You have a voice for print,” I gasped.

“Hardy har har,” he said dryly. He nudged my shoulder. “See if I ever share my gift with you again.”

“Your gift?” I asked.

“Yes.” He dipped his chin. “My gift of song.”

My jaw dropped open and I blinked in horror.

“I’m kidding!” He nudged my shoulder again and smiled brightly. “Although under certain specific conditions, I sound
really
good.”

“What conditions?” I asked, trying to keep a straight face.

“Well.” He tapped at his chin thoughtfully. “Usually it’s inside my car with the radio blaring.” He shrugged. “But I’m pretty good in the shower too.”

A vision of Travis in the shower slammed into my head. He was sitting on the tile floor, wet and nude and hard, and I was climbing into his lap and onto his…. I groaned.

“Shiloh?” Travis said worriedly. He jumped to his feet and leaned over me. “Are you—” He halted as he tracked my body with his gaze and landed at the tented sheet over my groin.

He dragged his gaze up and licked his lips.

I stared at him, suddenly short of breath and so turned on I ached. “Travis,” I sighed.

He closed his eyes and trembled. “God forgive me, but I want you,” he said huskily.

My insecurities resurfaced, and I looked away from him. “And you think that’s wrong? That it requires forgiveness?”

“Not like how you think, Shy,” Travis said gently. He took hold of my chin and moved my head toward him. Feeling his touch and hearing the nickname made me feel warm inside, so I glanced back up and met his gaze.

“I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“How could you be taking advantage? I want to be with you.”

“I know you think that, but you’re hurt and you’re young and—”

“I’m not that hurt. They’re releasing me tomorrow,” I said, jutting my chin out defiantly and crossing my arms over my chest. “And I’m not that much younger than you.”

“You’re only eighteen,” he scoffed.

“And you’re only five years older than me,” I snapped.

“How do you know how old I am?”

I arched my eyebrows and looked at him meaningfully.

“It’s freaky how you do that.” He shook his head. “Anyway, five years is a big age gap.”

“Maybe it feels that way now,” I conceded. “But as we get older, it won’t make any difference at all.” I reached for his hand and tugged him closer. “You’ll see.”

“Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?” he asked in amusement.

“I’m pretty sure of
us
,” I answered as I moved his hand down my body, stopping inches from my swollen shaft.

He kept his gaze locked with mine as he lowered his hand and squeezed me through the sheets. I shuddered.

“Have you ever done this before?” he whispered.

“Not in this body,” I said, choosing my words carefully.

“I don’t know what that means.” He moved his hand down to the base of my shaft and cupped my balls. “And I’m not sure if I want to.” He flicked his gaze to my fabric-covered erection and back to my face. “Does this feel good?”

“Yeah.” I bobbed my head. “But it’d feel even better if I could touch you too.”

He froze, and I could see the yearning on his face. Without waiting for permission, I reached my right hand to his pants and rubbed the heel of my hand up the hard ridge pressing against the zipper.

“Oh God,” he moaned and thrust his hips forward at the same time he lowered his face and nuzzled my neck.

I grappled with his zipper and button and, when I couldn’t get them open, I whimpered.

“What’s the matter?”

“I want to touch your skin.” I bit my lip and looked at him imploringly. “Please.”

He stilled for a moment, and then his expression changed from worried to determined and he straightened up and reached for his button and zipper. I scrambled to my knees and scooted to the edge of the bed while I shoved the front of my briefs down underneath my balls.

“What are you doing?” Travis asked.

“Trust me.” I reached for his hip and held him in place. “This’ll feel good.”

“Which is something you know even though you haven’t done it before?”

I blushed but didn’t stop my progress toward my goal. “That’s right.” I tucked my thumbs into his waistband and pushed it past his hips, exposing his thick, veined shaft. “Look at you,” I said as I traced a vein from the base of his dick up to the crown.

“Ungh,” he moaned and shook.

“You’re so beautiful,” I said, staring at his erect member.

I drew him closer to me and moved toward him at the same time; then I pressed my groin against his, letting his hardness rub over mine.

“Oh!” he gasped.

I wrapped my hand around our erections and raised my gaze as I started stroking. “This okay?” I rasped.

“It’s incredible,” he panted.

He stared into my eyes for several long seconds, his pupils wide, nostrils flared, breath coming out in short bursts. Then he wrapped his hand around our dicks, joining my up-and-down motions, and tangled the fingers of his other hand in the back of my hair, yanking me forward until our lips almost connected.

“I’m so drawn to you,” he whispered. “And it scares me.”

“Why?” I said quietly. “Why are you scared?”

“I don’t know.” He kept the movements on our shafts slow and steady. “I guess because I’ve never felt this way before. It’s like we… like you….”

You click, Shiloh. Have from the first time we talked.

“Like we click?” I offered.

He nodded and searched my eyes. “Do you feel it too?”

Both the words and the feeling were familiar, so I tilted my head, whispered, “I do,” and then I pressed my lips to his.

Neither of us talked after that—we focused our energy on touching and kissing and connecting until Travis hoarsely gasped, “Shiloh! Oh God, Shy,” and he pulsed hot streams of ejaculate over our fists. I followed him over the edge into pleasure and moaned his name like a prayer.

When we were both spent, I clung to him, tucking my head under his chin and listening to his racing heart. “I know this might all be a little weird, Travis. I know a lot of the things I’ve been saying don’t make sense, but please don’t—”

He moved his hand down my back and rested it on my butt. “Don’t worry.” He kissed the top of my head and held me tightly. “Weird or not, it’s good, and now that I’ve found you, I’m not letting go.”

Chapter 6

Shiloh, Age 18

M
Y
FATHER
was in my hospital room when I woke up the following morning. He was pacing.

“Hi, Dad.” I pushed myself up to a sitting position. “Is everything okay?”

“I love you!” he barked.

“I, uh, I love you too?”

“Your mother thinks it’s important for me to remind you,” he sputtered as he stomped back and forth in front of my bed. “I told her you already know, but if you need reminding….” He stopped, pressed his lips together into thin lines, and dragged his hands through his hair. “I love you.”

I’d never seen my father so flustered. On the one hand, I felt guilty for making him feel that way. But on the other hand, I was relieved to know he cared enough to give me his attention even when he was thrown off-balance.

“Thank you,” I said, and then I bit my lip. “That means a lot to me.”

He grunted, nodded, and kept pacing. “You almost died,” he reminded me.

“I know. It was a mistake.”

He grunted again. “You scared your mother.”

“I’m sorry.”

Another grunt. “She was more upset than the time she picked you up from summer camp and you had a yellow Star of David pinned to your shirt.”

“Dad,” I sighed. “The camp director explained it to Mom. They only had yellow construction paper and that was the only stencil they could find. It was a crafting mistake, it happened ten years ago, and they apologized.”

“I remember the reasons for
their
mistake, Shiloh.” He paused, looked at me, and then started pacing again. “But I’m not sure I understand the reason for yours. Your mother said, uh….” He crossed from one end of the room to other and back again. “She told me you think you’re gay.”

I opened my mouth but no sound came out. Wow. It was hard to say the words. I cleared my throat, gulped, and tried again. “That’s right. I’m gay.” My voice was shaky but audible, which I figured was good enough.

“How do you know?” my father asked.

I hadn’t been prepared for that question, so I didn’t answer.

“Maybe it’s a phase,” he said. “You’re young. Young people go through phases.”

“It’s not a phase.”

He finally stopped walking. “How do you know?”

“How do I…. Dad, did you go through a
phase
at my age where instead of wanting to be with girls you wanted—”

“Of course not!” He waved his hand in the air, as if the mere idea of what I’d suggested was ridiculous, which, to be fair, it was. “But things are different today. Kids your age do all sorts of things we never imagined. You might outgrow this.”

“I’m not going to outgrow it, Dad.”

His shoulders slumped, and he let out a deep breath. “Well, okay, then.” He collapsed down on the chair next to my bed and wiped his hands on his pants. “Is there anything you want to ask me?”

“Uh, about what?”

“You know the rule, Shiloh.” He looked at his shoes instead of at me. “The rule is that all penis-related questions go to me.”

I wanted to crawl under the blanket. “I think that was just Mom’s rule for puberty stuff. We don’t have to—”

“Yes, we do. You’re my son and I love you. I talked to your brothers about the birds and the bees, and I’m not a grandfather yet, so I figure it worked out well.”

“I’m not going to get anybody pregnant,” I said, hoping that would put an end to the uncomfortable man-to-man talk.

My father’s cheeks reddened, but he trudged forward. “Right, I know. This will be a bees and bees talk, or maybe it’s birds and birds, I don’t know which one fits, but either way—”

“I don’t have any questions!”

“Shiloh, I need to make sure you understand how to be safe. Next year you’ll be in college, where you’ll meet new people, uh, men, and you might want to, ehm, you might feel like you want to—”

My father looked gray and chances were I did too, so I stopped him the only way I knew how. “I’m not going to want to do anything with anyone I meet in school. I already have a boyfriend.”

My dad jerked his head up. “You do?”