Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“Yeah, of course.”
“Well, you wouldn’t believe who I ran into last week...”
“Really?” The surprise and interest in Fitch’s voice warmed him, and he sank deeper into the comfort of their conversation.
“Yep, it was crazy. I hadn’t seen him in six years and then out of the blue we literally bumped into each other.”
“How was it?”
Ansel couldn’t have hid his happiness if he’d wanted to. Knowing he had family in the world who didn’t hate the sight of him helped restore his long-buried optimism and gave him something to look forward to. “Good. We’re going to stay in touch, I hope.”
Fitch was silent for a moment, and when he finally spoke his voice was softer, gentler. “Can I ask why you haven’t seen each other?”
Could he talk about it? It would be a hell of a lot easier to speak about his past over the phone. And after everything Ansel had put him through, Fitch deserved a little background.
“Are you sure you want to hear this sad tale of woe?”
“If it’s your sad tale, then absolutely, yes.”
He sighed and braced himself for the memories. “I left home when I was seventeen. I ran away.”
“Really? Why?”
“Let’s just say the house wasn’t the greatest environment for a teenager who preferred pink over brown and heels over loafers. My mother didn’t take it well when she walked in on me trying on her shoes and wearing her lipstick. That was the first time she hit me. I was nine.”
“Shit.”
“It didn’t get any better either. I was shocked the nurses never called child services. It must have been pretty clear what was happening to me. But no one ever helped.”
He remembered the pitying looks the women would give him every single time his father brought him to the hospital. Every time they needed to do an X-ray or put his arm in a cast or stitch up his bleeding skull. But they never fucking said a word.
Honestly, though, he wasn’t sure he would have been any better off if they’d stepped up. He doubted foster care families would have taken him in. And the system was a total fucking waste of taxpayer money. He’d survived on the streets and if Lirim’s history was any proof, his path had been a blessing.
On the phone, Fitch was silent. But it wasn’t an uncomfortable quiet. His soft, even breathing gave Ansel the courage to continue his story.
“She used to call me fagboy or Miss Priss. I’ll never forget it, the way she curled those words into the worst insult I could have imagined at the time. Still, I managed to put up with all of it until my seventeenth birthday.” Even just remembering caused his voice to tremble and his skin to itch. These were memories he had buried for so long as a defense mechanism. During his time at the shelter the in-house therapist had tried her best to get him to talk about the abuse, but he’d always refused.
He’d been scared to give it voice, like talking about it would bring it all back. Like saying his mother’s name would make her appear.
Even now, he curled into a ball and shivered in imagined fear, wondering if Fitch could hear it in his voice.
“Damn, that must have been tough. What happened on your birthday?”
“Nothing.” He said it so quietly it sounded somewhere between a whisper and a sigh.
There was another quiet breath before Fitch asked, “Nothing?”
“Not a damn thing. It was like I didn’t exist. No party, no celebration, no presents, nothing. My parents completely ignored me.” He remembered how cold he’d felt, how alone, and struggled to keep in mind where he was now. His new life was full of people who cared about him. But it was hard to hold on to those new and precious feelings when the whirling darkness seemed so much bigger, so much more powerful.
“Ouch.”
“Yeah,” he choked out. “It would have been easier for me to take a beating. At that point I was so used to the slurs and curses and everything that went along with them, they seemed normal. The complete absence of any reaction...” He trailed off, remembering the empty ache in his chest that day.
He’d felt like a ghost in his own home. And when he found himself wishing to be smacked around, he’d known it was time to get out. So he packed his school bag with everything he thought he’d need and took off.
“So you left,” Fitch said.
“And never saw my brother again.”
“And your parents? Have you seen them since?”
Despite the awkward memory, he answered, “My father, yes. Once.”
“He found you?”
“No. No one ever came to look for me. I’d, um...”
“It’s okay,” Fitch’s deep rough voice rasped out before he cleared his throat. “You don’t have to say any more if you don’t want.”
Ansel bit his bottom lip. “I got myself into trouble one day, about four years ago, and ended up in the hospital.”