To Be Free Read online

  "...we met in English class," I start, and I can hear my voice threatening to fail me, my throat tightening. With those first words, my fear escalates and I tense, and I shiver at the memories that assault me. I force myself to breathe deeply and calmly.

  He doesn't rush me. Quinn simply keeps his lips against my skin for a bit, then tucks his chin on the top of my head and hums that same lullaby at me, whispering the lyrics until I regain my composure.

  I continue, and my story - the one I've divulged to no psychiatrist, family member, friend or anonymous stranger - tumbles out eagerly while still giving me a challenge. As if the story was waiting for the day I'd meet the one I'd be willing to trust, to trust so openly and so fully in so little time that I'd finally come clean.

  I'd finally begin to heal.

  "I was thirteen years old, and in Germany that's about the age people start looking for lifetime partners - we're a lot like the N.O. that way, though without the capital punishment for being gay. It is frowned upon, yes, but people just don't practice it openly - and we hit it off pretty quickly. Sarah was... well, she was the girl of every boy's dream.

  "She was beautiful and she was kind, too. Her hair was golden yellow and her eyes were blue, and her skin was always that shade of sun-kissed that was just right. She was the captain of the Cheerleading squad, she was smart and funny - everyone wanted a chance with her, and I admit that I did too." I swallow thickly, finding his hands again and holding them - pulling them away from my person to intertwine my fingers with his, and he doesn't complain. He them simply presses our hands by my heart.

  "A few months after we met she asked me out, and I agreed. After a few dates she wanted to be my girlfriend, and I didn't complain about it - I was happy. I thought she was the girl of my dreams - she was everything I wanted. She was kind and caring, passionate and loving and patient. Everything I wanted in a girl."

  For a moment I'm silent, opening my eyes to look at the dirt wall I can't even see but that I know lies about a meter away from me. He starts whispering the song again, and my heart beats once painfully at the sound, so close to my ear.

  "Then... a year later, she showed her true colours.”

  I stand along the line of oak trees, watching the leaves as they begin changing colours and dancing in the afternoon wind. My scarf is pulled to my chin and for a moment it's just the thick scent of leaves, the chilly wind and me - the rest of the world doesn't exist, doesn't matter. In that one moment, I'm happy and carefree.

  I mean, I have a girlfriend I love, my parents are still together and don't fight, my grades are good, and I honestly feel on top of the world. Like Theseus when he was king of Athens, believing he could have anything and any woman he desired.

  Arms wrap around me from behind, hands pressing against my eyes and a happy, familiar voice singing guess who! even though she knows I'll be able to identify her. I turn around in her arms, so that they fall around my shoulders, and kiss those cherry-red lips I'm familiar with.

  Her big, bright blue eyes shine as we part and look at one-another, someone from the Yearbook committee taking a picture and running away before I can thrash him. I shout after the offender, making Sarah laugh lightly and toss her curled hair over her shoulder.

  "Come on, Seb; we need to get going if we want to get a good spot for the show!" She takes my hand, our fingers intertwining in familiarity, and I turn around to smile at her and nod.

  She's dressed as stunning as ever; a low-cut white halter top always slipping off her right shoulder and exposing the smooth skin there, a short dark blue skirt that swishes up just so as she walks and hints at a very slight bit of skin of her ass, and black heels compliment her look, her long legs left completely exposed and just as smooth as the rest of her.

  But I'm not with her so I can get laid. I really, honestly love the girl and want to be with her.

  Her sex appeal is an added bonus.

  We walk all the way to the park, about five blocks away from the school, hand in hand and chatting about our midterms. She tells me about something Helena did that was such a scandal it made the rumour mill for a week straight at the very least, and I nod and laugh at the right places, offer sympathy at the others, but I don't listen too much to that part.

  When we reach the park, the sky darkening for the evening and promising clear skies for the fireworks display, she leads me to a secluded spot surrounded by trees and rocks that's on a bit of a incline so that no one can see you, but leaves a clear view of the sky - best seats in the house, in other words, and it's well known at school by a different name.

  I feel a cold chill run down my spine as I follow the girl of my dreams, for some reason feeling dread. Usually there are at least half a dozen couples here, but tonight...

  What is she planning?

  She finds a soft spot on the grass, sitting down and patting the space beside her. Not wanting to be rude, I accept the silent invitation and pull her into my arms when she offers me that smile that's her silent way of asking me to hold her, and she smiles up at me.

  "Isn't this perfect? We're the only ones here tonight," she sighs, leaning against me. I nod, a gnawing fear at the back of my mind as I glance around the clearing.

  "Yeah, but usually there are at least a few others..." I mutter, and she shrugs a shoulder with feigned interest.

  "Melody told me that they found a better spot, a nicer one apparently, so they all went there. It's just you and me, Seb!"

  I nod again, deciding that the uneasiness I feel isn't something I should be concerned about, and ignore the fight-or-flight instinct that's urging me to run away from the girl I love.

  She would never do anything to me. We've been together for a year now, and she's respected my wishes about waiting before having sex when she asked around the six month mark. She hasn't asked once, though she'll probably inquire soon.

  The thing is, I just want to be with her. I don't want anything sexual yet, at the very least, no matter how tempting it might seem to someone else. I'm just... not ready, I guess. I'm only fourteen, so I think that's a bit normal.

  Maybe.

  The fireworks start, and for a while we watch them with awe. When about fifteen minutes have passed she seems to get bored, and starts kissing my jaw while I'm still watching, surprising me.

  "S-Sarah?" I stutter, and she hums quietly. "W-what are you doing?"

  "You know I love you, Seb," she muses, and the dread comes back again with a big I told you so, knowing too well my window of opportunity has passed.

  "So do I," I reply earnestly, though I admit my confusion and concern is evident in my voice. She turns around in my arms and claims my lips, of which I reply to with equal enthusiasm.

  Until she pushes me down on the grass, that is. I break the kiss and look at her, the fear surmounting and actually giving me a bad taste in my mouth.

  "I want to show you," she continues, and that loving glint in her eyes has changed. It's changed and the sight of it, the sight of that predatory gleam makes me dread her plans. "I want to show you just how much I do."

  No matter how much I tried to resist and no matter what I said, she won over me. She dominated me and didn't let me leave, didn't let me the chance to escape her clutches until she was satisfied and finally relinquished her hold of my mouth and hands.

  I never believed in fighting a girl. Never.

  The fireworks quieted my screaming while she did this to me, and suddenly I knew that she'd forced this situation, played her cards and set it up so that we'd be alone. When I slipped away to the edge of the clearing, by a tree, I was shaking so hard and crying, I couldn't help the fear and the pain. I'd honestly thought she would wait, that she would honour that and that she was better than what she's shown me.

  I threw up in those bushes, and she comforted me while I spewed, as if she didn't just rape me, as if she didn't have sex with me without my consent. I shied away from her touch, screaming and begging her to leave me alone, but she didn't relent. She trapped me bet
ween two oak trees and threatened me.

  "If you leave me, Sebastian, I promise you I'll go to the police and tell them you raped me here tonight. Who knows? I could also say you got me pregnant - they won't look into it," she hissed softly, holding my face so that I couldn't turn away. My tears had dried, my energy spent, but I still shook. "They never do. I could say you beat me to silence me - I'm not above hurting myself for proof. Do you want that, love? Do you want your entire world crashing down on you like that?"

  "I hope you burn in hell," I spit back, narrowing my eyes.

  What else could I do? I went along with it. I played her game, pretended I still loved her.

  At night, though, on those nights I was left alone, I began running the knife along my arms because the emotional pain was too much to bear, because I needed something to help ease it - to make the pain go somewhere else. I tried suicide a few times, each time unsuccessful. She'd come at least once a week, and told me that if I didn't do exactly as she said, she'd tell the police I raped her.

  I couldn't do it. Who would believe me if I said it? "Yeah, excuse me? My girlfriend raped me a few months back and is now threatening me with going to the police to charge me for raping her. Little help, please?"

  No, the world doesn't work that way. The media makes it so that male rape victims feel alone, they think being dominated by another man or a woman is the grandest shame on their masculinity, so they don't say anything. There's no support anywhere for them. People don't believe you if you say you were raped. They think you find the girl ugly and you didn't like the sex. That you only wanted to have a quick lay but she wanted more, and you didn't so you thought it was enough to charge her with rape.

  When a girl accuses a man of rape, half the time there's no investigation. They take the man into custody and hold the trial, and it's heavily one-sided, in favour of the girl. No one likes a rapist, and the media has led us to believe that only men are rapists and murderers and abusers; women are always the victims.

  Where the fuck is the equality in that? Where in the fucking hell was the help I needed when it would've made things right?

  She continued this until I was seventeen, until I broke. I'd been taken to the hospital for my latest attempt, and when she came in I screamed. The doctors had kept me sedated and I screamed at her to leave, to never come back and that I was tired of being her puppet. I told her I was tired of being her outlet, her sex slave, and I didn't want it. I didn't want the memory of that night to be relived every day of every week.

  They made the investigation, one thing led to another, and she did time in juvy. The jury almost called innocent, though, when she tried pretending that it was the other way around - but her friend, Helena, came to the stand and admitted to Sarah having approached her and explained to her the plan. They'd both known I wasn't ready for such a thing, but they went through with the plan anyways.

  Sarah went to juvy for that, and Helena did community service. None of my friends believed me, my family didn't know what to think - they tried therapists and psychiatrists, but I never spoke of that day, those years. They diagnosed me with anxiety, depression, and all sorts of things and gave me so many pills that I never took or took in overdose, being charged to the hospital many times.

  Finally, we left.

  But to this day, I still dream of that night and those years, the pain and the fear and the betrayal. To this day, I've refused to love another being, refused to trust them and refused to believe they won't do the same.

  Because no one understood and no one helped me.

  I'm crying openly, chest-heaving sobs that are part-pain, part-relief. Pain for the memories, relief for finally coming clean.

  "Please, Quinn, don't tell me I'm only saying she raped me because I didn't like it," I plea, my voice breaking in an embarrassing fashion, but I don't care. "I loved that girl until that day, I loved her and I thought she was perfect. Please don't be like everyone else. Don't tell me that I'm lying - I didn't ask for what she did to me!"

  He's been quiet the whole way through my story - I feel as if an eternity has passed, or at least an hour or two - but his breath would catch and falter, his hands would clench into fists and sometimes he stopped breathing altogether. Now, though, he pulls me flush against him and buries his face in my hair.

  "I don't know what kind of man would tell you that," he whispers, his voice hoarse and sounding rather unstable. "I've seen your scars, and it's as if I'm the only one in the fucking world who knows that the scars in here," he squeezes me a little, hands over my heart, "and here," and kisses my head, "are just as real as the ones I've seen on your wrists.

  "Seb, I've made a promise to protect you, not hurt you. Please don't think I'm like those monsters," he begs, voice wavering. I nod, my sobs not loud but impeding my breathing. "I'm not like them. I'm not like her. I promise you, and if it takes me a thousand years to make you believe me, I'll fight for a thousand years. You... you're important to me. Special, even. I'll die before I hurt you."

  I turn around in his embrace, finally facing the man who's never failed to calm me, who's made me feel safe and appreciated. I want to see his expression.

  It startles me. While the tears streaming down my face are to be expected, his weren't. His eyes are rimmed red and his cheeks glisten with the salty liquid, and his expression is of anger and pain, as if he knows he can't begin to imagine the pain, but the thought of my having gone through it gives him pain.

  Quinn cups my face in his hands, wiping the tears on my face away with his thumbs and pressing his forehead against mine. He's shaking, and through the turmoil of emotions he locks eyes with me, his near-green hazel eyes capturing the entirety of my attention and sparing none of it for anything else.

  Except maybe my quickly beating heart. And my somersaulting stomach.

  Those are just details, though.

  "I'm always here for you," he vows, and I find myself believing him. I nod, biting my lower lip. "I swear it on my own grave; I'm yours."

  At that my lips part, a silent exclamation of confusion, realization and surprise. He smiles a small smile at me, and I reach with a hand to wipe away the drying tears on his cheeks.

  "Quinn, I..."

  "It doesn't have to mean anything," he continues, his left hand lowering to rest on my hip instead of my cheek. He squeezes the protruding bone gently. "I'm just telling you the reason why I don't ever want to hurt you like that."

  "I just..."

  "I'm sorry," he sighs, breaking the gaze that was slowly forcing a creeping blush on my face. I frown, echoing his sigh and forcing his head back up.

  "Can I finish my sentence, or do I have to make you shut up - because God help me I will do it, Quinn Terry, and don't fucking think I won't," I warn, and he blinks owlishly. "Thank you, motor mouth. Now, as I was about to say, I understand."

  His expression does something funny; it shifts from curiosity to confusion in a fashion that almost makes me laugh - if it wasn't for the tense atmosphere.

  "I understand what you're saying," I whisper, looking down to my fingers pressed gently against his skin. They, of their own accord, travel to the hair behind his ears and play in the strands - it's in need of a wash, yes, but still so soft. "It's strange, but... I know you're not like her or anybody else. Somehow, I just know you're different. You're..." I sigh in defeat, unable to finish the phrase.

  His hand still cupping my cheek roams along my skin, trailing to my neck where the neckline of my suit - unzipped to my collarbones during the night so I can breathe a bit - meets my skin, at those very protruding bones. This time my sigh is of a whole different nature.

  Quinn's hazel eyes, always stunning me with their shifting hues, never leave mine as he leans in and plants a kiss to my Adam's apple, making me swallow thickly. My fingers tighten a bit in his hair.

  I whisper to him three little words.

  "So am I."

  He smiles against my skin, lingering.

  "Completely, Quinn. I don't know
how you did it and how you managed to do it so quickly, but you've completely broken me and my defenses," I admit breathlessly, his mouth trailing upwards in a searing fire that is both too much and not enough - too hot and too cold. When he reaches my face, scant inches shy of my lips and so tantalizingly slow that my breathing is completely scattered and my mind blank, I can still feel that smile as we lock eyes.

  "I like to think I'm fixing them instead," he admits softly, his voice deeper and hoarser than usual. My hands are scrambling for purchase on his shoulder blades, the left hand on my hip caressing smooth circles along my bone and the right on my neck tipping my head slightly. Making me meet him halfway, and I find I don't mind.

  "F-fixing how?" I stutter, and his eyes lower briefly, rising again to meet mine.

  No, Sarah definitely never looked at me like that. That look is intimate as fuck, and it makes my heart stop completely and my breath catch. When both organs start up again, it's erratic and completely uneven. Almost painful, really. In a good way.

  "In many different ways," he comments idly, still smiling. Neither of us seem to be willing to take that last step, dive that last inch, our lips hovering inches apart. As if waiting for permission, for the other to take the plunge and say it's okay to do this. To want this. "Emotionally is a goal of mine; psychologically, too, with time? And, if you'll ever let me... physically, too."

  "You... you've got a lot of work to do, then. How will you do that, pray tell?" I inquire, a smile forcing its way to my lips. How the hell did his ex-wife manage this on a daily basis - actually, I have my answer already. He's told me already he never loved her, so she never saw this side of him.

  This expression is mine, then... mine, and mine alone.

  "Seduce me, maybe?" I tease, and he arches an eyebrow. "Psychoanalyze me?"

  "Not even close," he chuckles, closing his eyes briefly as he smiles. When he opens them again, a moment later, they're full of honesty and devotion and honest-to-God admiration. So many more emotions, some embarrassing as shit, others embarrassing in different ways. Nowhere in those eyes is the look Sarah gave me. "With your permission, I'll love you every day of forever; I'll slowly undo the damage she's done to your mind, help you overcome that anxiety and bring out that happy, carefree man I fell for; and let you call all the shots, let you decide what we do, when, where and how. At your own pace, always."