“Nine. Ten, maybe. It wasn’t until much later that I suspected why it had affected me so much when he left. I’d known for a while that I was different. I didn’t fancy girls like the other boys did.”
I gulped my drink. This bit was going to be more difficult, but it might go some way to explaining why I did the things I’d done.
“One day, we were in the showers after a wet and cold rugby lesson, when someone shoved me from behind. I fell into the guy next to me and...”
I took a deep breath; the memory was still painful.
“Take your time, Harv. You don’t need to tell me this.”
But I did. Didn’t he understand that?
“I touched his dick. It was an accident, but of course, a bunch of lads didn’t see it that way, and for the rest of the school year, I was taunted and teased, called many names. Gay, bender, cocksucker.”
I closed my eyes and pictured them in my mind. The viciousness of their words, the sound of wet towels as they slapped against my cold skin, leaving welts that took days to go down. I tensed, the ghost of those whips sharp all these years later.
Killian’s hand closed around my fists. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”
For the first time in a long time, I didn’t pull away and took comfort from the warmth of his skin. His strong fingers wrapped protectively around mine as if he knew the harm they could do.
“It never stopped. Day after day, month after month, they took delight in ostracising me until I believed that the feelings I was having were wrong. How could so many boys be wrong? The fact that I liked boys…”
Tears pricked my eyes. I’d only ever talked about this in therapy, never to anyone else, not even my parents.
I continued despite the tendrils of dread that skittered down my spine. “I liked boys, and although it had been an accident, the memory of that brief touch haunted my dreams. What would it be like to do it again? But the more I imagined doing it, the more the self-loathing and hatred started. Not for them, although I fucking loathed them, but hatred for what I was.”
“It’s not wrong, Harvey. It’s never been wrong to feel what you did.”
I looked at him, noted the concern and pity on his face.
Then I really looked at him. The wrinkles around his eyes. The long, dark eyelashes framing them, plump lips partially hidden by his scruff. Lips I wanted to kiss.
I shook my head and dispelled the idea that had formed there. Nope, not doing that. I knew what would happen if I did, and all the coping mechanisms in the world wouldn’t be able to stop me this time.
But still, he held my hand.
“Tell me what happened next.”
“I never told my parents. I think they suspected I was, you know…”
“Gay?”
I nodded. “Grandma knew, told me she’d always known, and I was her special boy.” A memory sprang to mind of her on her deathbed. “She clutched my hand tightly, even though she was weak.‘Live your life, Harvey. Don’t let anyone take it away from you.’ It was one of the last things she said to me, but by then, it was too late. I was already in deep.”
“What do you mean? In deep?”
I warred between telling him or not, but in the end, I decided that if he wanted to be my friend, warts and all, he needed to know.
I rolled up my sleeve and bared my shame. “These.”
There, amongst the tattoos, was the unmistakable evidence of the self-hatred that had plagued my life for the past fifteen years. The trigger had been those boys, and since then, I’d used the blade every time impure thoughts filled my head.
“My God, Harvey. How long?” He held my arm and ran his fingers over the many, many scars.
“Long enough.” I pulled it down, but not before he spotted my most recent tattoo.
“This is new?”
“I got it last week.”