Jonathan's Hope (7 page)

She had a kind face and looked lost. He descended upon her like a vulture on a piece of dead meat. She fell immediately for his strong features, the grey eyes, his pale skin. He looked so fragile, so lost. She made it her task to rescue the man, to take care of him, nurture him, shelter him.

They dated briefly, him being the perfect gentleman, never once going too far, never once kissing her on the lips when they parted at night. No, just a peck on her cheek. Never once did he suggest going up to her apartment, never once invite her to his. After six months, he proposed. They got engaged and were married one year later.

The first time he hit her was on their wedding night when she tried to kiss him, daring to allow her tongue to venture to his lips. He took her after that, from behind, brutally. He kept his eyes closed, not looking at her. The only thing he could see was the fateful night all those years ago. That fateful night at the frat house.

Three months later, she lost her first baby in the bathtub of their new house.

DAN CRIED.
Tears flowed freely down his cheeks. He couldn’t remember when it had started, but the pain of Jonathan’s story was too much, even for him. When Jonathan lifted the shirt and showed him the latest wounds, infected after two weeks without fresh dressing, and not healing due to the lack of sustenance, Dan jumped up. He moved over to the couch and hugged Jonathan.

Then he fetched his first aid kit and forced Jonathan to take off the shirt so that he could clean the two cuts. He redressed the wounds using a special salve that he’d used ever since his own college days. He knew from experience it would heal the small cuts. For a while, he even considered bandaging Jonathan’s entire torso, but had given up on the notion. The cuts weren’t that large any more, after having healed nicely up to the day when Jonathan was abandoned in the forest.

Jonathan was grateful, and allowed Dan to administer the treatment in silence, his heart beating slightly faster, feeling the beat all the way up in his throat, as he felt the touch from Dan’s hands on his body. Dan’s hands were slightly cool, yet the sensation pleasant. He’d never been touched like that by a man before, and although there was no sexual intention to Dan’s ministrations, Jonathan could feel his erection rising. Luckily, Dan didn’t notice.

Afterwards, they just sat there. Dan held Jonathan’s hand as Jonathan continued his story, all the way to the arrival to the house the night before. When he was finished, Dan had made up his mind.

“You are welcome to stay here for as long as you want. I will do whatever I can to help you, okay? I know you probably don’t trust anyone right now, but I promise you, I will never hurt you. I will never hit you, I swear!” Dan looked so completely earnest, so completely honest, his eyes still reddened from the tears, and his cheeks puffy, that Jonathan couldn’t bear to look at him. He simply hugged him, literally throwing his arms around him, whispering the words, “thank you,” into Dan’s shoulder, barely audible.

After sharing that moment, enjoying the closeness, savoring the sensation of another body so close to their own, they eventually broke the embrace and Dan asked Jonathan if he was hungry. “I thought you’d never ask...” Jonathan chuckled, his second real smile since arriving at the house. “I’m starving!”

That was all Dan needed to hear to get up and move over to the kitchen, starting dinner. Dan was not a huge eater, but he enjoyed food and loved cooking. That night, he cooked double portions of everything, making sure that there would be plenty of food for Jonathan. He even opened a bottle of wine, but had second thoughts about whether Jonathan would like wine. “I’ve never tried alcohol,” the boy replied, sending shivers down Dan’s spine.
Seventeen years old and never even tasted alcohol. What kind of life had he lived?

They ate their dinner in silence. So much had been said, so much that needed processing. Dan tried to fathom what Jonathan had been through in his life and Jonathan tried to accept that he’d found secure ground under his feet. It was hard for him to believe that he was safe. Safe from the cold. Safe from the humidity. Safe from his father, the abuse, the pain.

After dinner, Dan needed to take Rascal out for a walk, inviting Jonathan along, but the boy declined. It was too early to get out yet. He was still unconsciously afraid that he might not be able to return, and no matter how much Dan tried to assure him it was only a walk, Jonathan couldn’t, wouldn’t budge. Eventually, Dan left. Rascal was grateful for getting any attention that day, forgiving Dan the minute the door to the house closed behind him and he started chasing snowflakes.

When they returned to the house after forty-five minutes, Jonathan was nowhere to be seen. He wasn’t in the kitchen nor in the living room. For a split second, Dan was afraid that he had left. But when he went to check in the bedroom, he found him asleep in bed, on Dan’s side of the bed, again.

Dan smiled. He quite liked seeing the boy lying there. The man, he corrected his thought process. Given what Jonathan had been through, how he had survived the past two weeks, the past eighteen years, he’d gathered more life experience than most adults do in a lifetime. He may be young, but he certainly was mature. Dan wondered how long it might take for Jonathan to heal. Would he ever? Oddly, Dan was surprised when he felt that he indeed hoped that Jonathan would heal, quickly. And for the first time since he met him the night before, that thought didn’t scare him.

Dan returned to the living room, leaving the bedroom door open, just in case Jonathan had another nightmare. He went back to work, suddenly inspired to research child abuse, and maybe find a clue about Jonathan’s life. Maybe even a note about his disappearance.

He couldn’t find anything though, at least not about Jonathan. The papers did not mention anything about a young man’s disappearance. There was nothing, which Dan found slightly worrying.

On the other hand, he found plenty of research on the subject of child abuse, the physical consequences, the psychological consequences, various factors that could lead to child abuse. He particularly found one article linking oppressed homosexuality noteworthy, and how that often led to extreme homophobia. He found it interesting enough that he printed the article. Dan wanted to have that in case Jonathan started asking questions. He obviously didn’t know if Jonathan’s father was a closet case or if there were other reasons. Jonathan hadn’t mentioned anything to that effect. If anything, he’d seemed at a loss as to the reasons for the beatings.

The journalist in Dan was in full-blown research mode, browsing through psychological articles at various libraries, trying to assess the potential damage to Jonathan’s psyche, and what he could do as a layman to help. He quickly realized that Jonathan would need professional help. Dan was a journalist, not a shrink.
But how can I convince him to go to a shrink? And how will he pay for it? Once he’s an adult, the state won’t cover any treatment. We’ll have to drive back into the city. I wonder how he’ll react to that? I’ll need to go grocery shopping tomorrow. Will he join me?

Dozens of questions raced through his mind but he couldn’t really answer them, not without learning more about Jonathan. A lot more. He would have to move slowly, he didn’t dare risk losing his trust. That fragile trust that they’d started to build. And fragile it was, given Jonathan’s reaction to joining him on the walk with Rascal...

Dan got up from his desk and stretched his body. He was tired. It was way past midnight. He turned off the lights and moved to his bedroom, where Rascal had taken up the space he’d normally sleep in, on Sean’s side of the bed, next to Jonathan.
My side
, Dan mused,
seems it’s my side now...

He brushed his teeth, making a mental note to buy some toiletries for Jonathan,
he’ll want to shave, too
, before moving back into the bedroom. He whispered to Rascal to get off the bed, and climbed in, on Sean’s side.
No, his side
. He lay on his back for a while, listening to Jonathan’s even breathing, and he fell asleep that way, content that he had been able to help that day, even if it was only a beginning.

Sleep always came quickly to Dan. He could fall quickly into a deep sleep that would last for an hour or two before he would experience his first REM-stage for the night. Sleeping so deeply, he never noticed that he had turned around, moving his body closer to Jonathan, locking his right arm around him, snuggling against his body.

When they woke up the next morning, he found his own morning wood poking at Jonathan’s ass cheeks, while holding him tightly.
This was not what I had in mind...

BACK IN THE
city, Jonathan’s mother had survived a second night of beatings. It hadn’t been so bad, they were worse in her memories. It was Monday morning and Jonathan’s father would be back to work.

She wondered a little bit, as she lay awake next to her husband, how they’d explain Jonathan’s disappearance. School was not yet out for Christmas, there were still a few weeks to go, and it would be difficult to explain that he had suddenly disappeared. Or so she thought. She hoped that her son had made it somehow. That he had miraculously been rescued, and was okay, alive and well. She also wished that somehow, some day, the same might happen to her, too. That she’d escape from her nightmares. Truth be told, she wasn’t so sure, but you know what they say, hope is the last thing we hold on to.

After her husband left the house that day, she went about her usual routine. She made the beds, did some laundry, and cleaned the house. She also had to run to the store to buy some groceries. She had to at least try to make her husband’s life as comfortable as possible, to not tease him, not offend him, not give him any cause to lash out at her. She had to be the perfect wife. She had to at least try.

At the store, she ran into Mary, of course, who asked about Jonathan.
What am I going to say to her? I’m not very good at lying.
She was about to open her mouth and mumble something when Mary’s mother walked into the aisle. She greeted her coldly and pulled her daughter away. It had been a close call, but she was grateful for the fact that Mary’s mother despised her enough to have saved her from answering a question to which she had no good answer. She was grateful that Mary’s mother was still angry about Jonathan’s attempt to seduce her daughter, however lame that attempt had been. She’d make sure that Mary never saw that boy again, if it was the last thing she did.

She didn’t realize all that, of course. She assumed Mary’s mother hated her because she was such a lousy mother. A mother unable to protect her son, but for this one instant, Jonathan’s mother was happy that she’d gotten off the hook so easily. She did, however, text her husband about the incident, asking him to make sure the school didn’t ask questions. She wasn’t sure she could handle a call from Jonathan’s principal or any of his teachers asking for his whereabouts. Lying was just not something she did very well.

His response was simple enough. “Taken care of already. See you tonight!” No explanation, no reasoning given, but she knew. She felt the rage in those few words and knew she’d hurt again tonight. No matter how squeaky clean the house would be, no matter how delicious the food, no matter how well dressed she’d be, tonight was going to be painful.

She gathered her groceries and left the store, her mind preoccupied with the physical and verbal abuse that would be unleashed upon her in just a couple of hours. She never saw it coming. By the time the car hit her, the screeching of the brakes, the sound of her breaking bones, the cracking of her skull, must’ve been the last thing to register in her brain. Jonathan’s mother was finally safe. She would never hurt again.

When Jonathan’s father received the phone call, he wasn’t sure how to react. Just last week he’d “killed” his son, abandoning him in the large forest, and now the police had called to inform him that his wife had been hit by a car, killed on impact.

In eight days, his entire family had been wiped out, and he knew he was the one to blame. Not that he knew exactly what his wife had been thinking when she walked into the street without noticing the traffic, but he felt it had been his fault. He was right.

He left the office to go down to the morgue to identify his wife, her face badly bruised by the impact on the street. The car literally mauled her, scraping wounds covered her body. She looked terrible, yet peaceful. Her mouth was curved up slightly in a smile and her closed eyes looked oddly calm, as if she was sleeping. He started crying at the look of her, never really having seen her, how petite she was, how fragile. He had never once looked at his wife the way a man would look at a woman. He had never really seen her small breasts, her nice figure. He had never really noticed her beautiful face, her long, thick, brown hair. He didn’t, because he couldn’t. To him, she was merely a tool. A way to make partner at the law firm. A tool to procreate and start a family. A prop so to speak, his personal Potemkin village. A prop to make him appear straight, normal, decent. His wife had been a prop, along with the house, the cabin in the woods, and their limited social life. It had all been designed to create an image of normalcy, of heterosexuality. It had worked. She played her part well, so had Jonathan, at least for a while.

Over the next days, Jonathan’s father busied himself with the arrangements for her funeral, using her one last time as a tool to help him set the stage for his next performance. He was now the grieving widower, who, at the age of 48, would never look at another woman again. The widower who would forever idolize the memory of his irreplaceable wife. He played his part well, for now, and no one dared to question why his son, Jonathan, didn’t attend his mother’s funeral.

Oh, there was gossip all right. There was talk at the firm, people wondering about him, whispering. Why he would suddenly start crying in his office, then close the door. Neighbors and friends wondered quietly why Jonathan’s new boarding school, to which he had been sent after he’d apparently assaulted a young girl from school, wouldn’t allow him to attend his mother’s funeral. It was cruel and heartless, but they accepted the official explanation, that the school was very strict about attendance and that it was only Jonathan’s second week there, so they wouldn’t excuse him. There was chatter, of course, but people knew better than to approach, to confront him.

At some point, a paralegal at the office even thought he acted weird.
Like he’s gay or something.
But he was hushed, quickly silenced, although quite a few of the secretaries agreed with him. There was something amiss with Jonathan’s father, but no one could quite put their finger on it.

After the funeral, he took a short leave of absence to travel back west to see his parents. He needed to get away, and so he joined them for the holidays. His mother insisted on it, her poor boy, having lost his wife so tragically, and the boy was off to a boarding school, and could not come home for the holidays.
It was all so horrible
, she had said.