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This is a work of fiction.*lt;/p*gt; Again my story involves a teenager with post-abuse trauma and with difficulties coping with a brain that works a little out of the ordinary. But it is also a story of love between young and not so young, between related and unrelated males. Love, with all its aspects, does not always like to stay within the boundaries of the volatile laws of any society. Love is the ultimate anarchist. *lt;/p*gt; Do not look for quick JO-material in this story. Sex is an undercurrent, and stuff will happen from time to time, but the buildup and the tension is where the focus is. There*quot;s also some father/son eroticism here, so if that*quot;s a no-no for you, go elsewhere.*lt;/p*gt; It is my story, it belongs to me. Please don*quot;t steal from it.*lt;/p*gt; (And just to mention it, English is still not my first language, and therefore the possibility of faults and clumsiness lurks in the shadows.)*lt;/p*gt; Feedback? Yes, please: ota*lt;/p*gt; **lt;/p*gt; And remember to support Nifty. http://donate./donate.html*lt;/p*gt; **lt;/p*gt; **lt;/p*gt; **lt;/p*gt; **lt;/p*gt; **lt;/p*gt; **lt;/p*gt; **lt;/p*gt; THE CRUSHING COLORS OF LOVE*lt;/p*gt; By Magnus Winter*lt;/p*gt; **lt;/p*gt; **lt;/p*gt; *
Part Three: LION*quot;S DEN
**lt;/p*gt; **lt;/p*gt; **lt;/p*gt; School has started. He has missed out on the first two weeks. There is the occasional Hey, Weirdo! and Space-Dave is back! to remind him of who he is, but everything is quickly back to normal: Being ignored. Ignored by everyone but the weirdo-shouters who now and then amuse themselves by bumping into his desk to disturb the neat order of his books and papers. But this is familiar and predictable, it is as though he has been vaccinated against this. He has learned to paint it over with neutral colors.*lt;/p*gt; The only disturbing elements are the two new faces in some of his classes: A boy and a girl, twin siblings, they are dark and mysterious and hard to fit into the imagery that gets him through his school days. Their unstable colors come and go, they become like shape shifters, he is at a loss how to handle this and not be overwhelmed by the noise they create in his head.*lt;/p*gt; However, he is getting better at dealing with his impossible brain. An outpatient now, still under Doctor Miller*quot;s white wings, his eight weeks in therapy are slowly showing some effect. He refuses medication, even though he realizes that the burns within him are deeper and harder to cope with than the burns on his hand, which have healed, leaving only ugly wrinkles and shiny hard patches. He knows he will need strategies and techniques to tackle the ways his brain attacks him; the hard part is finding them. Finding something that works better than the ways he has been dealing, or not dealing, with his black moments up to now. Finding peace in his confusion. Maybe the doctor is right in telling him that acknowledging this is getting him halfway there, but it does not feel like that to him. And although he suspects that medication could be a shortcut to some kind of peace, he feels it would be cheating. And he is afraid that those pills will also deprive him of the few glorious and brilliant moments his difficult brain gives him.*lt;/p*gt; And he has discovered that he wants, actually needs to find a way through his chaos to get close to the new boy. He wishes he knew how, and his helplessness threatens to drown him in those cruel orange and red waves that are so well known and so frightening to him. *lt;/p*gt; *
**lt;/p*gt; *
He watches his father across the kitchen table, allowing his father*quot;s beauty to sink into what feels like a pocket in the middle of his chest. Suddenly he gets up, walks around his father and addresses his back:*lt;/p*gt; *quot;I can*quot;t be sure, but I think there is a distinct possibility of happiness.*quot;
His father turns his head, looking slightly startled. David wants to touch him. Instead he goes:*lt;/p*gt; *quot;I mean, how can you know that what you feel is happiness? What are the criteria?*quot;
His father turns back to his plate of poached salmon and rice.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;My amazing David. Why label feelings? If something feels really good, why not just enjoy it instead of naming it?*quot;
*
*quot;Doctor Miller says it is important that I recognize my feelings. To keep them apart. Do you think my acne is getting better?*quot;
*
*quot;I think everything is getting better. You. You*quot;re actually talking to me without being prompted. Come and sit down.*quot;
He complies with his father*quot;s request, although his body tingles when his father scrutinizes him. He lets the soft yellow swells wash over him. He hides his mouth and whispers I love you inaudibly.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;Yes, I believe your skin is improving. The new prescription, perhaps?*quot;
*
*quot;Maybe it*quot;s happiness.*quot;
His father looks at him, wondering how to answer, but decides not to say anything. They finish their meal in silence, clear the table and stack the dishwasher in unison. Inside David something beautiful is filling him up; it is difficult and messy, but beautiful, and he wants to keep it. He hurries to his room and flops down on his bed.*lt;/p*gt; Flat on his back, he tries to ignore the new and disturbing smells his room gives off. He hands himself over to a brilliant blue sky where yellow sparks shoot and turn into lovely arches. His dick grows and hardens. He feels it crawl down his leg, feels how it wants to escape upwards, but he will not touch it. He refuses to analyze, refuses to reflect, all he wants is to stay in this moment where nothing is going anywhere and everything is warm and electric and enough.*lt;/p*gt;
**lt;/p*gt; *lt;/p*gt; The girl walks next to her brother, like she always does. They are so unreflectingly on wavelength that they only seem to be totally aware of each other when one of them is not there. They share the same coloring: Milk chocolate and hazel, olives and black onyx. Like they are both done up from the same box of paints where the rest of the colors are missing. They have distinctly their own mouths and noses, though. The sister is also about one finger taller, but he is catching up. Her voice is honey and sunshine:*lt;/p*gt; *quot;Have you noticed the way he looks at us?*quot;
Her brother seems to be somewhere else.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;Who?*quot;
*
*quot;That boy in class. The one with the big scar on his hand.*quot;
*
*quot;Oh. Spaceman? No, Space-Dave?*quot;
*
*quot;Yeah. Him. Haven*quot;t you noticed?*quot;
*
*quot;Not really. He*quot;s so ... I don*quot;t know, eerie. Everyone says he*quot;s too weird for words.*quot;
*
*quot;That*quot;s bullshit. I think he looks interesting.*quot;
*
*quot;But you just said he stares at us. What is he, racist?*quot;
*
*quot;No. No, no, no. God, I know racist looks when I get them. I think he wants to get to know me. And you too, maybe.*quot;
*
*quot;Then why doesn*quot;t he say so?*quot;
*quot;I think he*quot;s shy. He never talks to anyone. Only the teachers, and then mostly to challenge them, or correct them, don*quot;t you notice anything? The teachers don*quot;t like him. I think he*quot;s ... intriguing, sort of.*quot;
The boy suddenly laughs, his laugh sounds as if it can*quot;t decide whether it is boy or girl.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;Where d*quot;ya learn a word like that?*quot;
He punches her shoulder lightly. She giggles.*lt;/p*gt; *lt;/p*gt; **lt;/p*gt; *
*quot;I don*quot;t know how to make friends.*quot;
Inger Miller watches his furrowed brow and worried eyes. Gives him an encouraging smile.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;And now you want to?*quot;
What he wants is the safety of the bandages back, there is nothing to hide his nose in when she demands answers. He fidgets and squirms; Inger Miller sees this as improvement, she sees him work on his difficulties relating to people instead of closing off. Like two months ago, when he dismissed everyone around him. *lt;/p*gt; *quot;There*quot;s this new guy. He*quot;s not like them. He*quot;s so many colors and they*quot;re all equally bright. But what if that*quot;s my brain lying to me, what if I talk to him and he turns out to be just like them? And what do I say to him? And what if he sets off all the shit in my head?*quot;
*quot;Well. If, as you fear, he turns out just like them, what have you lost? Nothing. Except perhaps an illusion or a dream? Why don*quot;t you try to put into words why it scares you to approach him?*quot;
This is no help. He knows exactly what scares him and what he has to lose.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;You don*quot;t understand. He might turn out not to be a dream. He might turn out real, and still not like the others. Then what do I do?*quot;
She reflects for a minute.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;I can*quot;t tell you how to proceed or what to say. But this is the first time I*quot;ve discovered that another person really matters to you, except your father. So let*quot;s see if we can find some way for you to cope with this together. Can you think why a simple Hi! seems to be out of the question for you?*quot;
He sinks into a sea of one thought chasing the next. She watches his face contract and dissolve in a series of tics, and she knows that he is struggling. She hopes he wins this time. Finally he returns to the moment.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;I want him to know about me, I want him to know that traffic noise can be music, I want him to know that our English teacher*quot;s approach to grammar is basically unsound. And I want him to see my cock and tell me it*quot;s not small. How can I achieve that with a Hi?*quot;
*
*quot;What you want is to skip the time-factor. But David, that is not going to happen. It usually takes time to make friends.*quot;
*
*quot;But don*quot;t you see? He*quot;s bound to have heard all the stuff the others say about me, and now for once that has become crucial. I need to erase all that in one sweep, because if not, I*quot;ll forever wear that clown-costume they*quot;ve put on me. In his eyes, I mean. Then even the illusion of him will go, and I*quot;ll be fucked.*quot;
He struggles, he knows she does not see it with his eyes.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;I need to speak the language of dreams. You know, when everything comes out at once and you don*quot;t have to wait for the words.*quot;
She has to let this sink in, enjoy it. Why can*quot;t I express myself like him, she thinks, jealously. *lt;/p*gt; *quot;I think you should not underestimate him. My advice, though I hesitate to give it, is that you curb your tendency to drop the tail end of your train of thoughts on people*quot;s heads and expect to be understood. Don*quot;t test him. Simplify yourself if you can manage it. Give him space to trust you.*quot;
*
*quot;Trust me? I*quot;m weird! They don*quot;t understand me when I speak, because I speak David, I don*quot;t speak Football! I don*quot;t know shit about cars or girls or sports. They*quot;re right, you know. I don*quot;t know stuff that*quot;s real! To people!*quot;
He is about to give in now. Stop the fighting, it is all too tiring. Let the orange storm crush him, let the black knives bleed him, let the red fear swallow him. Never return to these useless newfound desires to be part of the other world, the wafer-thin hope that he could be a person izmit escort bayan someone else would want, the futile whispers in his head that beg Please! Please love me! *lt;/p*gt; She notices the small spasms that run through him, sees the way he shuts his eyes hard, the way his fingernails scratch at his scarred hand. She raises her voice:*lt;/p*gt; *quot;David! Please don*quot;t go away now. Let*quot;s fix this!*quot;
But she is too late; he is already locked in his dungeon, immune to her pleading. He screams at her:*lt;/p*gt; *quot;It*quot;s all lies! Fuck you! All of you!*quot;
**lt;/p*gt; **lt;/p*gt; **lt;/p*gt; His father comes through the door; David can see he is annoyed, his irritation hovers like smoke in front of his face. He is caught off guard and something unpleasant sinks down in his stomach; disturbing things feel like they want to go off in his brain. But he defends himself, he wants so badly to be in tune with his father, not close him off. *lt;/p*gt; *quot;Dad?*quot;
His father does not answer, just snorts; throws his overcoat onto the nearest sofa. Sits heavily down in the chair where he sits when he reads the paper and lets a stream of air out of his lungs. David gets on top of his anguish and moves over to the sofa: *lt;/p*gt; *quot;What did I do now?*quot;
His father looks up, startled, like he*quot;s suddenly aware of him.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;Oh shit. It*quot;s not you at all, David. It*quot;s that unbelievable mother of yours. And that wanker who is her lawyer.*quot;
He tenses, suspecting terrible changes in the small comfort he has found, like he is in a building about to crumble and collapse. His father reads the terror in his face.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;She wants to bleed me for a whacking lot of dosh, mostly. And then to spite me, or you, she*quot;s filing for full custody of you, legal and physical.*quot;
Panic strikes David like a sledge hammer. He jumps up and yells:*lt;/p*gt; *quot;No way! I*quot;m not going with her! Never!*quot;
*
*quot;Oh, not right away, she wants six months free of you, if you please. To find herself, as she puts it.*quot;
*
*quot;What*quot;s to find?*quot;
His father sniggers.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;You got me there. But listen, don*quot;t fret too much. She will never get full custody. If it goes to court, they*quot;re bound to listen to what you want. And besides, I have a better lawyer.*quot;
His father comes over, sits down next to him, the smell sooths him and softens the whirlwind of dangerous shapes that crowds his mind. But it is all temporary, and he knows it. *lt;/p*gt; *quot;If she wins, I*quot;ll run so far away, no one will ever find me!*quot;
*
*quot;You need to be sure of what you want, where you want to be, who you want should be your main custodian, so to speak, and tell me. Tell my lawyer. And we will do what we can to make sure what you want is going on the agenda.*quot;
But he is not convinced. His whole new world seems on the verge of going under. The safety he thought he had found, the glimpses he had had of happiness, all could be taken from him in the blink of an eye. He cries out and curses his mother.*lt;/p*gt; He disappears into his room.*lt;/p*gt; **lt;/p*gt; **lt;/p*gt; **lt;/p*gt; He has been sitting in his room for hours, squatting on the floor in a deadlock of contradicting emotions, shrouded in a dark red fog. His thighs are starting to ache so bad it throws him out of his stupor and forces him to surface. *lt;/p*gt; He becomes aware of his surroundings: the darkness outside his window, broken by the soft bluish shine from the street lamps, it reflects down on him from the opposite wall. He hears the shower going. The knowledge that his father is now naked and wet only a few yards away sets his exhausted brain in a state of emergency, he is consumed by one huge and overwhelming certainty that it has to be now. The slaying of the beast. The escape from the oubliette.*lt;/p*gt; He gets up on his stiff legs, and with no more consideration hurries, almost sprints, to the bathroom. He bangs his fists on the door and shouts:*lt;/p*gt; *quot;Let me in! I have to get in!*quot;
The sound of running water stops. Then his father*quot;s voice.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;It*quot;s open.*quot;
His father is behind the frosted glass toweling off. He tears off his clothes like there is no tomorrow, hurls himself into the shower, tears streaming down his face.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;Look! Look at me! Is it true my dick is small?*quot;
He is oblivious to the shocked expression on the face before him; his father*quot;s mouth opens, but no words come out. He spreads his arms wide, still crying.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;Tell me! Please!*quot;
His father quells his discomfort, he senses that this is something vitally important to the boy, more important than his own shyness, although way beyond his understanding. He shields himself behind his towel as he meets his son*quot;s eyes.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;Easy, David!*quot;
He touches the boy*quot;s shoulder reassuringly, still embarrassed to be naked with his naked son, but forces himself to let his eyes take in the full impact of his son*quot;s body. He takes his time, wants to make sure that David notices that he is assessing him seriously, sees that he does not back off.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;To me you look just right. Not small at all.*quot;
He lifts David*quot;s chin with his hand, stares into his eyes. He can see panic, darkness, madness in there, but also a whole world of helpless love. Suddenly he almost chokes. He reaches out, his towel drops.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;Oh, come here!*quot;
He enfolds him in his arms, roughly and awkwardly. He feels his son go instantly hard and is suddenly filled with discomfort and fear bordering on nausea as the hardness triggers a chain reaction to his own penis. He releases David as if he is burnt and turns away, leans his forehead against the shower wall. Goosebumps crawl like insects all over his skin.*lt;/p*gt; David stumbles out of the bathroom, staggers to his room and collapses on his bed, body shaking and brain lost to darkness.*lt;/p*gt; *
**lt;/p*gt; *
Daniel sits on his bed, desperately trying to calm himself, trying to make sense of what just happened. There is so much anguish and misery in his head, but there is anger as well. Anger with himself, anger with his son, aimless anger at everything in general because he has been put into this hellhole of conflicting feelings. This is a war he does not want, a war he thought he had gotten out of a long time ago.
There is a monster inside him that has suddenly reared its ugly head, a beast that has started to howl and claw at his inside, a beast he has kept firmly imprisoned for so long he thought it to be dead.
Here I am, he thinks, like my namesake in the bloody Bible, I*quot;ve fallen into the lion*quot;s den and there*quot;s no God to help me out. But how will I keep the lions at bay?
He feels utterly defenseless and so vulnerable his whole body heaves with spasms.
I am not giving in, his brain tries to convince him. I made up my mind years ago. I am not turned on by men! Never again!
And then the full impact of it sinks into his brain: It was not just any man that had turned him on. Oh God, my fucking God! And his brain goes into deadlock.
**lt;/p*gt; **lt;/p*gt; *
Part Four: HUE OF PAIN AND CRY OF BEAUTY
**lt;/p*gt; **lt;/p*gt; **lt;/p*gt; The tedium of his office day is suddenly shattered. His mouth dries out and blood thunders in his ears as he listens to the voice at the other end of the line. He gets up in a hurry, turns aimlessly around a couple of times, one hand sending blind signals in the air. Pulls himself together, finds his coat, shouts to the receptionist. And he*quot;s off.*lt;/p*gt; He finds no free space, so he parks illegally in the zone restricted for disabled. Rushes through the entrance and into the emergency ward. He is brought to a halt by a huge lady in white. *lt;/p*gt; He draws a couple of deep breaths, gives his name and states his business, hands trembling and beads of sweat decorating his forehead. *lt;/p*gt; He*quot;s led into a stark anteroom and asked to sit. There is a girl there, sitting in one of two bland plastic chairs, he can see she is as frightened as he is and his heart jumps with forebodings and compassion at the same time. He sits down in the other chair, rubs his face as if to remove the stains of his anguish.*lt;/p*gt; He watches her, only part of his brain in on the job. She*quot;s very pretty, cinnamon skin that looks warm and silken, black hair in braids and nervous fingers fidgeting and clutching at nothing. He wonders briefly what she*quot;s doing here, then his own private worries block her from his mind. *lt;/p*gt; Somewhere his consciousness is disturbed by a sound. He looks up. The girl is watching him with her hazel eyes. She asks again:*lt;/p*gt; *quot;Are you David*quot;s father?*quot; Her voice makes him think of Caribbean music. He nods. Looks at her and nods again.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;I*quot;m so sorry*quot;, she almost whispers. He has to ask her why. *lt;/p*gt; She looks down. Her fingers are even more restless, she moves her feet back and forth under her chair. *quot;Because it*quot;s our fault*quot;, she says timidly. *quot;Well, perhaps not really, but it feels like it is our fault.*quot;*lt;/p*gt; *quot;Our fault? Who are *quot;we*quot;?*quot; *lt;/p*gt; *quot;My brother and I. We*quot;re sort of the reason for this. Only I had no idea this was going to happen.*quot; *lt;/p*gt; She is interrupted by the opening of a door. He sees a young boy that looks too much like her to be anything but the aforementioned brother. His upper lip is hidden by a broad, white band-aid that contrasts his brown skin, his pale grey sweater is bloodied, but apart from that he seems perfectly fine. Until he smiles a small, pained smile at his sister and reveals at least two missing teeth. She runs to him and hugs him. Touches his lip and he winces, but still smiles. Then she takes his hand and pulls him over to where the man sits.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;This is David*quot;s father*quot;, she says. He stops smiling. Daniel holds his hand out, the boy looks at it like he is unsure whether to touch it or not, but then gingerly shakes the hand. *quot;Hi*quot;, he grunts. *lt;/p*gt; He vaguely registers the boy*quot;s handsomeness, both of the siblings are extremely good-looking. But what are they here for, and where is David? *lt;/p*gt; *quot;Excuse me, but who are you?*quot; he wants to know.*lt;/p*gt; The girl blushes, slightly embarrassed. *lt;/p*gt; *quot;Oh, sorry*quot;, she says. *quot;I*quot;m Zita, and this is my brother Max. We*quot;re twins*quot;, she needlessly adds. Her brother nudges her and whispers in her ear, but Daniel hears him: *quot;Where is he?*quot; *lt;/p*gt; *quot;Exactly what I want to know*quot;, Daniel counters. *quot;I also would like to know what*quot;s happened.*quot; He squints at the boy. *quot;Your sister has told me some incoherent bullshit about it being your fault, but then not your fault, will you please enlighten me?*quot; *lt;/p*gt; The brother looks at his sister. *lt;/p*gt; *quot;You*quot;, he slurs. *quot;It hurts to speak.*quot; *lt;/p*gt; She nods. Thinks. Opens her mouth and closes it again. And finally speaks.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;Well, some of the kids at school like to ... make remarks about us ... about our skin izmit eve gelen escort and stuff, you know. Not many of them, but they can be very ... hateful sometimes. Say really ugly things. It*quot;s not very nice, but we usually ignore them. I guess we*quot;ve gotten sort of immune to them. Because I mean, what else can we do? It*quot;s no use answering back.*quot; *lt;/p*gt; She swallows. A tear escapes her left eye and clings to her lower lashes. *lt;/p*gt; *quot;And well, we were just standing there talking to each other, in recess, in the yard, you know ... when these three seniors came strutting and calling us mud-skins and stuff like that, and one of them said my brother looks like he came out of our mom*quot;s asshole instead of her ...*quot; She bites her lip. *lt;/p*gt; *quot;And I didn*quot;t know David was there, I hadn*quot;t noticed him, but suddenly he was there, screaming something at them and butting his head in the guy*quot;s face, his chin I suppose, because I heard his teeth click ... and then they were all over him, all three of them, beating him and calling him names, you now ... and Max tried to go between them and got punched in the mouth ... and then Mr. Green came and they scattered, but David didn*quot;t get up from the ground, he just laid there, and it was really spooky ...*quot; *lt;/p*gt; She swallows hard again and wipes the tear away with her index finger. *lt;/p*gt; *quot;So Mr. Green was all what now, you know, and David wouldn*quot;t, like, get up, and Max was, like, bleeding an ocean ...*quot; *lt;/p*gt; She starts to sob. Her brother takes her hand. *lt;/p*gt; *quot;I don*quot;t know where they*quot;ve taken him!*quot; she cries, *quot;and it*quot;s all because of fucking skin! Those assholes!*quot;*lt;/p*gt; Daniel gets up. *lt;/p*gt; *quot;Please wait here, if you don*quot;t mind. I*quot;ll try to find him.*quot; *lt;/p*gt; His resolution gives him strength. His anguish turns into determination. Leaving them, he suddenly turns. *lt;/p*gt; *quot;Have you called your parents? Do they know you*quot;re here?*quot;*lt;/p*gt; They nod. *quot;Mr. Green called dad*quot;, she answers.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;Of course. He called me, too.*quot; *lt;/p*gt; The twins stare after him as he leaves them. *lt;/p*gt; *quot;Shit*quot;, the girl whispers, *quot;what is he, a model or something? He*quot;s hot!*quot; *lt;/p*gt; The boy doesn*quot;t answer. Just sits gazing after David*quot;s father, mouth half open like he*quot;s in a daze.*lt;/p*gt; **lt;/p*gt; **lt;/p*gt; Daniel wanders off in search of a doctor, a nurse, someone in the know. The double main doors open, a stretcher is wheeled in by paramedics in fluorescent vests, they hurry through the corridor and he barely glimpses the person on the stretcher, half hidden behind tubes and a mask. They disappear behind a new set of doors. He finds the reception and asks again where his son is. The large woman he encountered when he first came is there behind the glass, she picks up a phone. Her lips move, but he can*quot;t hear or make out her words. *lt;/p*gt; *quot;Sorry to have kept you waiting*quot;, she finally says. *quot;We*quot;ve had a bit of a rush today. Someone will be with you shortly now.*quot;*lt;/p*gt; He hangs around for a couple of minutes, then a young intern finds him. Introductions and handshakes, scrutinizing looks from both sides.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;We have your son under observation*quot;, he explains, his voice is light and pleasant, almost feminine. *quot; There is no serious damage, some bruises and a cracked rib. Nothing internal. But we can*quot;t make contact with him. He*quot;s not comatose, it*quot;s more like he has locked himself in. But we want to keep him here until we*quot;re a hundred percent sure there*quot;s no brain damage.*quot;*lt;/p*gt; *quot;I want to see him. I need to be with him.*quot; *lt;/p*gt; *quot;Of course you do. Come with me.*quot;*lt;/p*gt; He*quot;s in a large room behind a blue curtain. On his back, covered by a sheet, arms crossed in front of his chest as if to prevent his heart from escaping. His left eye is swollen tight and his right eye is staring into emptiness. His hair has been shaved off in patches. Daniel bends over him, bites his lip hard to fight back the overwhelming sadness and hopelessness that threaten to consume him. And then his anger grows, fills him to the brim, almost overthrows him. But anger is not what his boy needs now. He kisses David*quot;s forehead. Once, twice. The only reaction is that David closes his right eye as well.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;That was a stupid thing to do*quot;, he says softly. *quot;But you are my hero. I admire you for what you did. And I love you so much I want to cry.*quot;*lt;/p*gt; David hears his father*quot;s voice and senses his smell as if from the bottom of a well. It grows larger and more real and threatens to penetrate the protective, trancelike fog he*quot;s enveloped in to keep the bad colors and the sharp and jagged shards out. But there is the word love, and he can*quot;t escape it. It tears through the misty curtain in his mind, and through the tear: in pours the furious stream of angry reds and blacks, his protection evaporates, the abyss opens. He screams. Screams of terror, screams of loneliness, screams of unspeakable love. And then his arms leave his chest, wrap themselves around his father*quot;s neck to pull him close, closer, into himself, never mind the pain in his side that cuts like a knife through him. His screams turn into loud sobs and moans. His father is awkwardly bent over him, a very unpleasant posture, so he carefully lifts his son up, cradles him in his arms and sits down on the bed with him curled up in his lap. Two nurses, called by the screaming, have been watching, but they don*quot;t interfere. They are struck by the sight: This beautiful specimen of a man in the perfect suit and the half-naked, half-crazy, half-grown-up hurt boy in his lap clinging to him. It*quot;s like art unfolding in front of them. It robs them of speech.*lt;/p*gt; Daniel looks up, notices the nurses. *quot;I want to take him home now*quot;, he says. It*quot;s not a question, it*quot;s a statement. They seem to shake themselves out of some kind of reverie. Suddenly busy, suddenly very active. Fetching charts, fetching doctor, fetching the boy*quot;s clothes.*lt;/p*gt; Daniel dresses his fatigued and fragile son as the intern shows up again, slightly worried and unwilling to let David go. But there is no way Daniel is going to listen to him, and eventually he gives in.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;The boy needs a psychologist*quot;, he states.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;He has one. I*quot;ll contact her*quot;, Daniel counters. *quot;But it*quot;s me he needs right now.*quot;*lt;/p*gt; The twins are still sitting in the anteroom when they come out, David holding on to his father*quot;s arm and walking cautiously because of his painful ribs. They rise, the girl takes two steps forwards, her face one big question mark. Daniel smiles reassuringly. She meets them, searches for eye contact with David.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;You were amazing!*quot; she mumbles.*lt;/p*gt; David fixes his gaze on his shoes. Then he lifts his head and his eyes land on the brother who is still standing by his chair. He gingerly closes the distance between them.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;Does it hurt much?*quot; *lt;/p*gt; The boy nods. *quot;You? Fuck! Your eye!*quot;*lt;/p*gt; David is silent for a while. *lt;/p*gt; *quot;It doesn*quot;t matter. It doesn*quot;t matter if you hurt or who hurts you. What matters is who kisses the pain away*quot;, he says slowly and turns away.*lt;/p*gt; **lt;/p*gt; **lt;/p*gt; Being unprofessional again, Inger Miller chides herself, in her car, having easily been persuaded to forego protocol and see David at his home. His father had called her, told her about the incident in the schoolyard and more or less begged her to come see him. That voice, and the image of the man implanted in her brain; she knows she*quot;s been a pushover, she has to be careful not to let those two gain even more power over her.*lt;/p*gt; But she is curious as well, curious to see the house again, what will it be like, now the mother is gone? And the interaction between father and son, both equally intriguing, that*quot;s going to be more than interesting. How do they behave together? How do they cope in the wasp*quot;s nest of emotions they*quot;re in? She has never observed them together, maybe her ideas of them are preconceived, maybe there*quot;s no tangle of emotions at all. Well, you*quot;ll see, she tells herself. *lt;/p*gt; It*quot;s already dusk when she arrives, the house looks forbidding and dark from the outside. A shiver passes through her body, she doesn*quot;t quite understand why.*lt;/p*gt; The man lets her in before she rings the bell. He looks tired, but there*quot;s a grateful smile in his eyes and on his closed lips. The large, dimly lit livingroom looks much the same as she remembers it, with the exception of a new rug, Persian, she imagines, in warm and deep colors, red being the main impression. There are books and papers left out on the tables, the room feels more lived in than the last time she was here. *lt;/p*gt; *quot;Sorry to have to ask you out here.*quot; The man*quot;s voice strokes her senses like a cat rubbing against a leg. *quot;But he*quot;s had some very heavy reactions that scare me a little. I*quot;m afraid he might be more traumatized than I had realized. But then, you know I don*quot;t always understand him.*quot;*lt;/p*gt; She smiles, a little stiffly. *lt;/p*gt; *quot;Don*quot;t apologize*quot;, she says. *quot;I wouldn*quot;t have come if it wasn*quot;t for the fact that I find David singularly interesting. Question is, does he want to talk to me?*quot;*lt;/p*gt; *quot;You are one of the few people he trusts. You*quot;ve been very good for him, you know. I*quot;m not sure where we would have been if ...*quot; He breaks off, wipes his brow, worry rampant in his eyes. *quot;Anyway, thank you.*quot;*lt;/p*gt; *quot;Where is he?*quot;*lt;/p*gt; *quot;In bed. I*quot;ll go see if he wants to get up. He never complains much, but I know he hurts a lot. Although I don*quot;t think the physical pain is the issue here.*quot;*lt;/p*gt; *quot;Don*quot;t call him yet. Won*quot;t you please tell me a little more about what*quot;s happened? Any thoughts about why it happened? You*quot;re the one closest to him, you know.*quot;*lt;/p*gt; He gestures her to the biggest couch and offers coffee. She declines, and adds *quot;Maybe later.*quot; He sits down facing her.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;I wasn*quot;t there, all I have is second hand information. The rest is conjecture. To put it simple, I think he wanted to protect a boy he wants to befriend. He isn*quot;t very good at interacting with people, and I believe the combination of *quot;I like this boy*quot; and *quot;They*quot;re mean to him*quot; short circuited his brain. He*quot;s never shown the least bit of violent behavior before, he usually withdraws or shuts everything out, so my guess is that this is the first time he has been interested enough in another person to lose his cool like that.*quot;*lt;/p*gt; He arches his back and stretches out. Inger Miller watches him and feels butterflies. *lt;/p*gt; *quot;If it wasn*quot;t for the aftermath, I*quot;d have thought it a good thing. I*quot;m actually proud of him for standing up to those bullies. According to the kids concerned, he exploded like a stag defending his territory or something, and head-butted a guy under his chin. I think he surprised everybody, himself not the least. And then, the realization of what he had done put him in a kind of lockdown, more than the actual beating he received. But I*quot;m guessing. We haven*quot;t had time to talk much about it. izmit otele gelen escort I was afraid to make things worse.*quot;*lt;/p*gt; *quot;I*quot;ve experienced him going into blackout a couple of times*quot;, she comments. *quot;Two, in fact. Both times connected to the abuse that happened to him. I must admit I haven*quot;t followed that incident up yet, thinking it was best for him to avoid the hassle for the time being, but sooner or later I will have to set the wheels in motion. Has he opened up to you about it?*quot; *lt;/p*gt; He shakes his head. *lt;/p*gt; *quot;No. I only know what you told me. I must have been away when it happened, I*quot;ve gather it must have happened two years ago, when he was twelve, because that was when I noticed the changes in him. You see, I was away for a month supervising the establishing of a subdivision of our business, and when I came back he tended to avoid me, his grades went down, he isolated himself a lot. I thought it was just puberty setting in, it never struck me it could have been something more sinister. And now ... I have tried to bait him to speak about it, but he won*quot;t bite ... I don*quot;t know, I don*quot;t want to push him unless he broaches the subject himself. We still have a lot of issues to deal with, just the two of us.*quot; *lt;/p*gt; She wants to ask what kind of issues, wants to know if David*quot;s love, or crush, or whatever, is causing friction or trouble between them, but she curbs her curiosity. At least she*quot;ll wait till after she*quot;s observed them together.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;Do you think I can see him now?*quot; she asks. *quot;Will you go get him?*quot;*lt;/p*gt; He rises, shrugs and rotates his neck, as if to free himself of some irritant clinging to him.*lt;/p*gt; **lt;/p*gt; **lt;/p*gt; It*quot;s hard for her to maintain her professional role, here in these personal and private surroundings. The boy looks so crushed, so defenseless, what she really wants to do is to hug him and rock him and tell him everything is going to be fine. But that is highly irrational, as she knows well enough that fine is a long way off.*lt;/p*gt; His swollen eye is turning a deep purple, and the bare patches in his hair do nothing but strengthen the forlorn and disheveled image he presents. He sits staring at the floor, in his blue and green checkered pajamas bottom and a washed-out white T-shirt, his scarred hand in his lap, like it*quot;s protecting his genitals. *lt;/p*gt; *quot;My, my*quot;, she says cheerfully, *quot;you*quot;ve had an eventful day!*quot;*lt;/p*gt; He doesn*quot;t look up. *quot;This is a dangerous carpet*quot;, he mumbles.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;If you say so. Why don*quot;t you look at me instead?*quot; Her tone is warm and persuasive. Hopeful. *lt;/p*gt; *quot;I*quot;m ugly*quot;, he says. *quot;It*quot;s like all my ugliness and repulsiveness has surfaced and taken over. I*quot;m not going to tell you about the colors.*quot;*lt;/p*gt; *quot;Then please tell me, plain and simple, about the fight. I have only heard the hearsay.*quot;*lt;/p*gt; He lifts his head, but only briefly meets her eyes.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;Corrosive and vicious words. Smell of vulgar ignorance. But I think it was the wish to hurt him that I couldn*quot;t let pass.*quot; Now he looks straight at her, open eye flashing green. *quot;Beauty should generate joy, not jealousy. But I know how difficult it is to ache for beauty and not be able to ... to touch it. To own it.*quot; *lt;/p*gt; *quot;This is the boy you told me about, right? The one you want as a friend? Was this your way of telling him that?*quot;*lt;/p*gt; He looks irritated. Makes a sharp move, but winces as pain stings his chest.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;What do I know? You*quot;re the analyst! I don*quot;t remember anything but the stink and the fucking cruelty.*quot;*lt;/p*gt; *quot;You had a bit of a reaction afterwards, your father told me. Care to talk about it?*quot;*lt;/p*gt; He*quot;s perfectly aware that her intention is to help him, but with what? He doesn*quot;t want to recap what had happened, the memory is fraught with terrifying shapes and colors, and he needs to diminish them, diminish her, wrap it all in soft and soothing tissue and lock it away. He pictures her as the bird he once thought she were, and makes her fly away. *lt;/p*gt; She knows she*quot;s lost him. One look at his face tells her he has cut her out now. She sighs as he cautiously gets up from the couch and shuffles his feet towards the hall and his room. Almost out of the livingroom, he turns, looks at her almost with hostility, shakes his head slowly and disappears. *lt;/p*gt; His father re-enters the room shortly after the boy is gone. She briefly describes their short exchange, admits and apologizes for her failure, and leaves. Finds her own way out.*lt;/p*gt; Daniel is left standing in the middle of the livingroom, bothered and distressed, eaten by the destructive feeling of not knowing how to cope.*lt;/p*gt; **lt;/p*gt; **lt;/p*gt; *quot;Got a minute?*quot;*lt;/p*gt; David sees his father*quot;s silhouette in the open doorway. He turns on his bedside lamp and beckons him to come in. He feels how his heart starts to thump, not knowing what to anticipate. All he knows is that his father is welcome in his life, in his room, on his bedside, regardless of agenda.*lt;/p*gt; His father comes closer. *quot;Move over*quot;, he asks softly. He does. His father pushes the duvet closer to David and lies down fully clothed beside him. Stretches his hand out and turns the light out.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;Sorry about Doctor Miller*quot;, he says into the darkness. *quot;It was my idea, I thought it would be good for you. I thought you had a fairly good rapport with her.*quot;*lt;/p*gt; *quot;I do. Just not right now.*quot; *lt;/p*gt; They lie in the quiet darkness for a while. David is almost sure his father can hear his loudly beating heart. And so what? he thinks. But then his father breaks the silence.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;There*quot;s so much I*quot;ve wanted to tell you. To ask you. But I*quot;m not good with words when it*quot;s about emotions, I*quot;m afraid.*quot;*lt;/p*gt; David*quot;s pulse speeds up a notch. Oh god, please don*quot;t let this be awkward. Please let this stay round and mellow, please don*quot;t bring in the bad colors, runs through his head. *lt;/p*gt; *quot;Pretend I*quot;m not here*quot;, he whispers. *quot;Pretend I*quot;m your imaginary playmate.*quot;*lt;/p*gt; He hears a low, deep chuckle coming from his father*quot;s chest.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;No way*quot;, his father says. *quot;It*quot;s because you*quot;re real that I want to say this. It*quot;s just a bit hard to get on with it.*quot;*lt;/p*gt; Pause.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;About what happened in the shower the other day.*quot;*lt;/p*gt; Pause.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;I didn*quot;t handle that in a good way. And I*quot;m sorry. But I ... Oh, I don*quot;t know how to say this. But I ... Well, when I felt your ... your erection, I got scared of my own reaction, and I pushed you away in a not so nice way. Forgive me for that.*quot;*lt;/p*gt; David feels like everything in his body tightens, like his breath is suddenly full of resistance, full of some heavy, dense matter.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;I got so angry with myself, and so full of despair, because it felt like I was violating you by ... well, by getting hard. And also ... there was something I didn*quot;t want to ... to have to rethink, in a way... David, that boy Max. Are you in love with him? You don*quot;t have to answer. Or you can tell me it*quot;s none of my business. But ... are you?*quot; *lt;/p*gt; Fireworks go off in David*quot;s brain. He searches desperately for words than can stem the flood, ease the oncoming gale. The word that comes to him is the word Dad. He repeats it in his mind again and again. Dad. Dad. Dad. *lt;/p*gt; *quot;I don*quot;t know*quot;, he finally whispers. *quot;It*quot;s like something pulls me. It*quot;s scary. He*quot;s just so ... beautiful.*quot;*lt;/p*gt; *quot;He is, isn*quot;t he? I only ask this because I want you to be ok with it. And there*quot;s something I want you to know ... about me ... I need to tell you this for my own sake, because you may not feel good about me later, but ... Oh god, this is so difficult.*quot;*lt;/p*gt; David holds his breath. He feels he*quot;s in the presence of something so frightening and big it*quot;s almost holy. He sneaks his hand out from the duvet and seeks his father*quot;s hand. Clamps his fingers tightly around it. His father catches his breath.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;In high-school*quot;, his father continues, his voice calmer now, *quot;I had a very close friend. We always hung out together. We dated girls together. And we wrestled each other a lot ... and sometimes got hard from it, and once we compared cocks to see who had the biggest, like I guess a lot of boys do ... well, you know. And then after school we went to different unis, and didn*quot;t see each other for a while, and ... well, life moved on, right? I thought I was fine with it, I dated girls and made out and stuff, and it all seemed to be as it should be, and I didn*quot;t allow myself to miss my friend. That would have been sentimental, and I didn*quot;t want to be sentimental.*quot;*lt;/p*gt; His father*quot;s index finger starts to caress David*quot;s slowly. *lt;/p*gt; *quot;And then I met him again, quite by accident, at a congress, and it was like we*quot;d never been apart, like everything inside me fell into place, and we got a little drunk and ended up in his hotel room ... and we did everything. Everything. And I had never felt anything remotely like it. And that scared me so much I fled the room in the end, and left the congress in the middle of the night, and I swore I*quot;d never let myself get in a situation like that ever again. So I went with a lot of women and told myself everything was fine and nothing was missing, get it? ... and shortly afterwards I met your mother, and she was very determined that we should marry ... and well, you know the rest. And I thought I had buried that whole affair with my friend totally ... I never allowed myself to think of it in any positive way, because I could not handle the fact that it had felt so thoroughly right and absolutely ... complete.*quot;*lt;/p*gt; David feels the hand he holds tremble and change grip until it*quot;s his father*quot;s hand that squeezes his.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;And in the shower, when I held you...*quot; There*quot;s a new sound in his father*quot;s voice, something nasal, like he*quot;s crying? Oh, please don*quot;t! *quot;... When I held you it all came back, and I hated it! I hated that I had this sudden longing in me, hated myself for letting this beast inside me surface, and to be totally honest, really, really hated my own hypocrisy.*quot;*lt;/p*gt; David is compelled by a need to feel his father*quot;s face, he reaches out and touches the wet cheeks.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;What I meant to say, David, don*quot;t make the same mistake. Don*quot;t ever be something you*quot;re not. Don*quot;t ever let other people or conventions or stupidity tell you who you should be, who you should love. And now I*quot;m embarrassed and want to hide. I*quot;m sorry for making you listen to my drivel.*quot;*lt;/p*gt; David strokes those cheeks. Tries to verbalize the feelings he has in his head, but there are no words for them. There*quot;s just colors, and they are lovely and calm and soft-edged. He rests his hand on his father*quot;s chest, where he gathers his heart is.*lt;/p*gt; *quot;I love you*quot;, he wants to say, but the words get caught in his throat and he coughs. Pain sears through his side, he moans. *lt;/p*gt; *quot;I love you!*quot; he shouts, drowning out his father*quot;s almost inaudible sobs.*lt;/p*gt; *lt;/p*gt; **lt;/p*gt; (To be continued.)*lt;/p*gt; **lt;/p*gt; *
My other stories on Nifty:
*quot;My Blood sings in Bendik*quot; fty//gay/incest/my-blood-sings-in-bendik/
*quot;The Sound of his Footsteps*quot; fty//gay/adult-youth/the-sound-of-his-footsteps/
*quot;The Tower and the Maze*quot; fty//gay/adult-youth/the-tower-and-the-maze.html
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