13. Chapter 13
Nate moved fluidly around the kitchen, pulling out ingredients for dinner. It was cold outside, and we only had one radiator in the living room and in the bedrooms, but those didn’t reach our kitchen. Once he started cooking, things would warm up.
He wore his favorite pink hoodie and pale gray sweats.
I loved when he wore pink. The color looked so good on his tawny skin and dark curls.
I loved watching him move around even more.
He always had an ease about him that calmed and comforted me.
Nate’s butt was adorable, too. It was small, bubbly, and tight.
While neither of us was built, we were still strong and taut from skateboarding.
A lack of dietary nutrition kept us pretty thin, but we’d put on some good weight since getting off the streets.
Before we found home, if we were lucky, we tried not to miss events when a soup kitchen invited chefs to come together and cook homemade soups.
I had tomato soup with garlic bread once, which became my favorite.
But meals like that were rare and far between when we didn’t have a home.
The worst part of living on the streets wasn’t only living with hunger but also being unclean.
Some people could be friendly and help you out with a couple of bucks, but mostly, they snubbed their noses at us as if they were better, not that we could help it.
Nate and I did the best we could. And sometimes people could be cruel, kicking at us or spitting on us, as if we intentionally chose that life or were too lazy to work.
What made it even harder was staying away from cops. The last thing we needed was to get dragged back into the system, which would’ve separated Nate and me.
I stared at Nate’s black athletic socks with holes in the heels. He needed new ones.
We should go to the store to get more. Do I need socks? Probably. We could go sock shopping. Maybe that’s boring. Would Nate find it boring? Probably. We can get other things, though. What else do we need?
Nate turned and glanced at me with a sweet and shy smile on his face, bringing me back to the present with a flopping of my stomach before turning to look in our tiny pantry.
Everything had changed between us. All those smiles he used to give me meant something else now. I saw things I hadn’t noticed before, like hints of interest and touches of love.
Soothing music played in my ears as I sat creepily watching Nate from our tiny and scarred kitchen table that wobbled every time you moved.
While it annoyed me sometimes, I was grateful every fucking day we had a rickety table with two chairs in an ancient kitchen where we could make food and eat.
The food was cheap and basic, but Nate and I weren’t starving.
For two years, we had nothing other than a couple of sleeping bags, a tent, and backpacks crammed with some old, worn clothes.
Now we had a roof over our heads, thanks to Alpha and his help setting us on the right path.
Still, living on the streets had been better than being beaten in foster care or suffering in conversion therapy because I had Nate with me, making it less scary.
I didn’t think I could’ve done it alone or would’ve wanted to. Hell, I wouldn’t have been here at all if Nate hadn’t been in my life. I’d already been close to leaving this world. One more smack or choke would’ve pushed me over the edge had he not arrived on that fateful date.
When I returned home from conversion therapy, I pretended they’d ‘cured’ me.
I was normal. I wasn’t gay. Hide, hide, hide .
It was hard because I forgot so much. My mind was in a perpetual fog, making it hard to navigate through.
Bits and pieces of my past life remained, but were fractured and mingled with my present.
My memories after therapy were shattered shards of glass.
You could see them, but you couldn’t tell what shape they used to hold.
Broken pieces like me. Those people broke me, never to be whole again. Nate became my Super Glue .
My parents still hated me, or at least my brain told me that when they said the therapy hadn’t taken a good enough hold. They wanted to send me to another place. A better place. My parents explained it was more military-style based therapy.
So I ran.
I ran and ran until I couldn’t run anymore, with nothing other than the clothes on my back and the shoes on my feet. Eventually, the police picked me up and threw me into the system, believing I’d been left all alone. I never told them who my parents were, and I would rather have died than go back.
Did they ever look for me? Report me as missing? If so, social services or the police would’ve found my parents, right?
“Why are you failing physical education? Of all your classes, this should be an easy ‘A’ for you, Sampson. The rest of your grades are slipping down into ‘Cs.’ And you have a ‘D’ in language arts.” Dad’s voice is stern and angry.
Always angry. I never made him happy. I sink deep within myself, saying nothing.
“Your P.E. teacher said you just stand there half the time.”
I couldn’t remember what the teacher had wanted me to do or what he said.
The fear was too strong. I hadn’t wanted to ask.
The kids would laugh, and the teacher would be annoyed.
If I just stood still and quiet, maybe he’d forget I even existed.
I needed to make myself small. So very small. No one could see me and hurt me.
“Sampson!” I jump out of my skin when Dad slams his fist on the kitchen table. “No son of mine is going to be some fucking pansy. Your mother and I set you up for football camp to shape you up this summer.”
No football. Football hurt, and the boys are mean. The eighth-grade football players bully me all the time. I don’t want to go.
“How does that sound, Sampson?” Mom says, taking on a calmer tone.
When I was younger, I used to lean into her softness, trusting her.
No more. No more trust. It’s all gone. Only fear and being broken remained.
My parents broke me. It’s why I’m failing school.
That place broke my brain. I know this, but they don’t understand.
“Answer your mother,” Dad snaps.
My body jumps again, and my heart punches through my chest. Still, I say nothing. I’m too scared. No words are the right ones as they swirl in my head. I’m wrong—all wrong—always wrong.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
Dad sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose before looking at Mom. “Maybe the program we sent him to wasn’t enough. Doug from church recommended another program he’d heard about. It instills a military-type regime. Lord knows Sampson could use more structure.”
No, no, no… Don’t send me to another program. Please, no. I’d rather die . Instead of voicing my fears, I whimper like the broken, weak boy Dad believes me to be. I am. So weak. So small. So wrong.
“What’s that?” he says to me. “Speak up and use your words.”
“No.” My voice is too soft, but as the fear consumes me, so does my determination to run.
Run, run, run… Don’t let them take you away again. You’ll surely die .
“No!” I say again, louder.
“No? I think you’ll do as you’re told, young man.”
“No! You can’t make me go back… I hate you. I hate you. I hate you!”
I stand from my chair and bolt to the front door of our house before they can stop me and just run out into the summer night.
“Sampson! Get back here!” Mom yells after me.
No. Never again. I’d rather die. There are worse things than death.
I opened my eyes to the gentle hand on my cheek, finding Nate sitting across from me, concern filling his eyes. I removed my earbuds. “What’s up?”
“Where’d you go? I’ve been asking you about dinner.”
From now on, I wouldn’t be keeping it all in. I could lean on Nate. “I got lost in memories of when I left home… and all that fear.”
“What brought that on?”
I shrugged. “Who knows? I was just thinking about how grateful I was to have a roof over my head, a beat-up kitchen table, and you in my life… Then I sort of got lost in my past when I hadn’t been so grateful for anything because I couldn’t be.”
Nate’s smile was a black hole, pulling me in like gravity, which I had no control over, and I didn’t want the control. It was easy to let go of it all for him and be myself. He freed and protected me, doing his best to keep my fear away.
He leaned forward and pressed his soft and warm lips to mine. How did such a simple kiss feel like home? How did it erase all those memories that hurt so much and give me something so beautiful? There was no more fear behind his kiss. No more ‘ what ifs .’
He placed his hand at the nape of my neck, pressing our foreheads together. “I’m so grateful to have you, too, Sam. I love you so much.”
Every time he said that, I wanted to cry, scream, and tell him I didn’t deserve it. But I also needed to hear those words, starved and thirsty for them. Once we told each other our truths and accepted our fears, it was easy to say those words back. “I love you, too.”
Nate’s smile was soft, and his dark eyes filled with understanding. “Do you want to talk about where your memories went?”
“I really don’t.”
I could tell him, but my past physically hurt. Instead of lecturing me about bottling my shit up, he kissed me again and stood. “I’m making nachos for dinner.”
I rolled my eyes as my smile stretched wide. “What else is new?”
“Hey, it’s the food of champions. Don’t poke fun. You knew what you were getting into with me.”
I chuckled, finally feeling at ease as my past vanished into nothingness, at least for now. “I did, and I wouldn’t change a thing.”
“I can make you grilled cheese, if you want. I’ve got canned green beans for veggies.”
“Sounds good. I’ll take the sandwich. Need some help?”
Nate craned his head to look back at me and winked as he piled tortilla chips onto a plate from the set we’d bought at a thrift store for five bucks. “I’m good. You can make us dinner tomorrow night.”
“Deal.”