Omorphi (12 page)

Mac nodded. “Unfortunately, bad things happen to good people.”

“Cliché, Dad. Can you give me any pointers?”

“Be yourself.”

“Come on, Dad.”

“Psychological and emotional wellness is an ongoing process for everyone.”

“Dad, I’m not a kid anymore. Be specific,” Michael pled.

Mac acquiesced. “To say that one recovers from abuse, regardless of the type, is not accurate. One survives it and compensates for it when and if they are able.”

“So, they don’t get over it, they get beyond it.”

“Good analogy. Christy’s wellness may be a two-steps-forward, one-step-back process for a fair while.”

When his dad went into doctor mode, his voice, its cadence, was warm and round on the senses. “Are you saying Christy’s permanently mentally ill?”

“No. I’m saying that his psyche may be fragile. It’s no different from any injury. Take a broken leg for example. When healed, it won’t be as strong as it originally was, and it may fracture again easily. The important thing to remember is, though you may limp, it doesn’t mean that you can’t walk or run.”

“What do I need to do for him?”

“Watch for triggers, depression, extreme behavior, social discomforts, those sorts of things.”

“What do you mean by triggers?”

“Triggers are trauma reminders. They’re things that set off negative or extreme responses. For instance, he may be afraid of the dark, claustrophobic, he may be sensitive to raised voices, may not like certain smells or sensations, and may need to be reassured often.”

“He doesn’t like to be touched.”

“You two held hands this evening.”

“We can only touch when he touches me. Rob says it’s a control thing.”

Mac nodded, sage in his understanding.

Michael pressed for more information. “What do you mean by social discomforts?”

“Victims are often socially self-conscious. The most ordinary environments, or circumstances that seem entirely common to you, may be uncomfortable for him.”

“He doesn’t seem awkward, only shy.”

“Symptoms can be very subtle.”

“So, he’s high maintenance?”

“I don’t like the connotation of that phrase. He may require reassurance beyond the norm, but that doesn’t make him incompetent or deficient.”

Michael nodded as he processed the information. “I met this little kid tonight, Darien. He couldn’t have been more than four or five.”

“Children under the age of four represent the largest percentage of abused and neglected children in our country, with the highest fatality rate being under the age of one. More than five children die each day from abuse and neglect.”

“That’s seriously sick.”

“I’m sorry to say, despite some published statistics, the rate of child abuse and neglect in this country is growing at an alarming rate. Some sources say that it’s increased nearly 150 percent in the past seven years.”

Michael shook his head, disbelieving. “Darien asked if I was going to hurt Christy.”

Mac smiled. “I’m not surprised, given his background, and he’s quite a character. Not the least bit shy.”

“He’s one of your patients?”

“Yes.”

“He’s seems really attached to Christy.”

“Good for them.”

“Do you think I should talk to Christy about what happened to him?”

“Unless something occurs that demands it, let him raise it. Then, be a good and careful listener.”

“Christy said he was at Wellington because of his neck injury, but the stuff Rob gave me talks about sexual abuse.”

Mac was silent.

“Dad,” Michael groaned.

“The scar on Christy’s neck extends behind both ears into his hairline. The scar is also very symmetrical as if made by a continuous object, rather than, say, a knife.”

“Come on, Dad, spit it.”

“Christy may have tried to commit suicide by hanging himself.”

Michael winced and sensed there was more on his dad’s mind. “Or?”

Mac threw his hands up. “Or someone strangled him.”

“You’re saying someone tried to murder him?”

“Or got carried away trying to subdue him.”

“Why would someone try to subdue him—strike that.”

“This is nothing more than conjecture on our parts. For all we know, he was attacked on the street, and Wellington made an exception for him.”

“Yeah, okay.” This day had been long and full, and exhaustion began to make its claim on Michael. And he still had homework to do. He stood and picked up Rob’s envelope.

“I’m here if you want to talk,” Mac said as he rose from the couch.

“Thanks, Dad.” Michael thought of one more question as he followed his dad down the hallway. “Dad?”

“Hmm?”

“What was with Mom tonight?”

“You never brought someone home to meet us before today, let alone someone she liked. How did you expect her to react?”

“If I thought she’d be a freak, I wouldn’t have brought him home. Tell her not to be weird. Christy’s shy.”

“I did.”

“Thanks. Night.”

M
ICHAEL
grabbed his cell phone and flopped onto his bed. His mom’s strange behavior stood to reason, he supposed, and he’d make allowances for her. To a point. He began to dial Jake and received a text message from Christy.

MNBF = My new boyfriend
.

Michael grinned like a Cheshire cat and typed back
Knew u’d get it
.

Christy sent back
Today was nice
.

If at all possible, Michael’s grin widened. He typed
Gr8!

Christy sent
Cannot wait to see you again
.

Michael gathered his courage and sent
Ditto! Can’t wait 2 kiss u again
.

Yes!!!
came back within seconds.

Michael laughed aloud and sent
What r u up 2?

It was a few seconds before Christy sent back
Painting.

Michael sent
Another ocean?

Another few seconds before Christy sent back
No.

Michael sent
What?

A long moment passed before Christy sent back
People.

Michael could only surmise that he was painting something for Rob. He typed
I like ocean that matches your eyes.

Christy sent a happy face back.

So it went for the next hour and a half until Michael realized it was nearly midnight, and he hadn’t done his homework. He typed and sent
Must do HW. Sweet dreams
.

Christy sent back
XXX

Michael cracked up and typed
Ditto! CU@7.
He set his phone on his stomach and folded his arms behind his head. A
boyfriend.
An honest to goodness
boyfriend…. One who looked sexy as hell in pink lace panties.
That was Michael’s last thought before he drifted off to sleep.

M
ICHAEL
shot up in bed. Terror cloaked him, assaulting his senses like a ferocious miasma. Vivid images tore jagged wounds in his mind as his heart pounded, his breathing labored, and sweat covered him like an ugly, wet blanket.
Holy Mother of God.
If Christy had been through anything even remotely close to the nightmare he’d just had, it was a wonder he was still sane. He glanced at the clock, and it seemed to scream at him. It was 2:00 a.m. His hands shook, and the nightmare clawed at his nerves as he sat on the edge of the bed and tried to gather his fractured, panic-stricken thoughts and pull himself together. Exhausted, he rose and went to the bathroom.

Freshly showered and reasonably composed, Michael returned to bed and reached for his phone. He typed quickly and sent a text message to Christy before falling into a restless sleep.

M
ICHAEL
reached Wellington Ranch at five minutes to seven on Thursday morning. Christy waited on the porch, a glorious smile filling his face when he saw Michael. Michael couldn’t help but smile in return, delight overriding the better part of his reason. Something had changed in him. He felt a new confidence in knowing they would be together, and it felt wonderful.

Christy jogged to the car, graceful, though a slight limp seemed to pester his gait. His long hair trailed on the morning breeze, and Michael didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone so beautiful. He leaned across the passenger seat, unlocked the door, and pushed it open.

Christy expertly swung into the seat and hugged Michael.

Michael buried his face in Christy’s thick ringlets, breathed his fresh scent in, and couldn’t prevent the appreciative sound that escaped him. This was his
boyfriend
. Correction, this was his
gorgeous boyfriend
. “Good morning.” The smile Michael heard in his own voice went a long way in convincing him that he’d made the right decision. No matter how tough things might get, he was certain they were meant for each other, and he’d do whatever it took to be with Christy.

Christy pecked his lips and mouthed, “Hi.”

“Hi, gorgeous. Put your seatbelt on.”

Christy quickly complied, then retrieved his cell phone from his pocket, touched the screen a few times, and held the phone up.

Michael smiled at the rainbow of paint slashes and spatter that covered Christy’s hand, then read his 2:00 a.m. text message and sighed. “I wanted you to know I’m here for you 24/7.”

Christy pocketed the phone and withdrew his pad and pen.
Don’t worry
.

Michael gave him the look his comment deserved.

Christy scribbled quickly
I am okay
.

Michael leaned across the divide and kissed Christy’s forehead. “I know, but I wanted you to know that I’m here if you need anything no matter when.”

Christy thought for a long moment before he put pen to paper again.
I AM OKAY!

“I believe you.”

Christy obviously didn’t believe him.
Worry a lot?

“I worry just enough.”

Christy canted his head, unconvinced.

“You can’t ask me not to worry about you.”

Christy scribbled
Keep to minimum
.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll try.”

Christy held his gaze for a long moment before nodding once. Michael ruffled his hair and immediately panicked. He’d violated the “no touch” rule. When Christy reached up and ruffled his hair in return, he breathed a monumental sigh of relief.

He turned the car around and headed to school with a giant grin plastered to his face. Christy was absolutely, 100 percent, precious. He just had a few quirks, that was all. Nothing Michael couldn’t handle.

Christy’s hand crept onto Michael’s thigh as he drove, and he covered it with his own. It was warm and soft, his fingers long and elegant.
Man, even his hands are pretty
. He glanced at Christy as he drove and found him looking out the window in fascination, as if he’d never seen the city before. When he stopped for a stoplight, he ventured conversation. “How did you sleep?”

Christy did a Groucho with his brows.

Michael laughed softly. “You’re adorable.”

Christy’s expressive eyes twinkled, and he scribbled and held the pad up.
You’re hot
.

Michael rolled his eyes. “I bet you say that to all the guys.”

Christy gave Michael’s thigh a shy smack, and Michael gave Christy’s hand a meaningful squeeze. This,
this
was what it was like to be part of a couple, Michael thought happily, and right before he reminded himself that he was driving and needed to pay attention. He hit the CD button and Blink 182’s “First Date” filled the car.

M
ICHAEL
was in luck. The parking space next to Jake’s SUV was empty, and he pulled into it. He hopped out, slinging his backpack over a shoulder as he walked around the car and opened Christy’s door. His eyes went wide with surprise.

“You don’t want me to open the door for you?”

Christy shook his head.

With a disappointed sigh, Michael reluctantly agreed. It wouldn’t look right. Rather, it would, but for all the publicly wrong reasons. “Guess you’re right.”

Jake jogged up and cuffed Michael’s shoulder. “Hey.” Then he saw Christy. He looked from Michael to Christy and back again. “Guess I don’t need to ask why you didn’t call me last night.”

Michael smiled sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“Oh yeah, you look really torn up about it.” Jake hooked a thumb toward Michael. “Watch out for this guy. He’ll steal your heart faster than you can say queer.”

Christy’s smile flashed, and he quickly nodded his agreement.

“Cap it,” Michael said lightheartedly as they set out for class.

Jake turned and walked backward in front of Michael. “Heads up, man. Jason Whitman started a fight with Lisa this morning. He punched her.”

Lisa Abrams was the only openly gay student in school, and her lesbianism gave a whole new meaning to the word “pride.” Not to mention, she was built like a WWE star, and Michael would bet anyone that she could take every guy in the school. “He actually punched her?”

Jake turned and fell into step with Michael. “Yeah, he was that stupid. She decked him. He’s in the nurse’s office.”

Michael cracked up. “Go, Lisa!”

Jake started to laugh, then turned serious. “Stay away from Jason, Michael. I don’t trust him.”

Michael abruptly stopped walking, and Christy and Jake stopped a step later and turned back to him.

“Can I tell Jake what you said about Jason?”

Christy nodded.

“He’s been hassling Christy in the locker room. Grabbing him, slapping his ass, stuff like that.”

Jake turned to Christy. “Seriously?”

Christy nodded.

“I think Whitman’s a closet case, Jake.”

“That would explain a lot.”

Michael and Jake began walking again, and Christy followed. Michael reached back for his hand and pulled him forward wanting badly to put an arm around him. Christy was pretty and perfect and, best of all, his. “Stay close to me,” he whispered.

Christy pulled his hand away and looked up at him, the morning light glinting in his serious blue-green eyes. After a beat and a shy smile, he mouthed, “Okay.”