Page 72 of The Prodigal Son

Twenty-One

Isaac

Resting on Jensen’s chest, I stare at his face as he takes a deep breath, clearly trying to garner the courage to do this. Whatever it is, I know my feelings for him won’t change. They’re too strong, ingrained in who I am, even after only a few weeks. He’s become a part of me.

What I fear is learning something horrible about him and knowing what he’s gone through. The idea of him hurting already sounds unbearable to me.

He stares up at the ceiling, an arm resting on the top of his forehead. “I’ve never come out to my parents or any of my friends. I’m forty years old, for fuck’s sake.”

“Why not?” I ask.

“Because I grew up thinking I could be changed, Isaac. I was taught that I was born with a defect. Brainwashed.”

My brow furrows as I move to my elbow and stare at him. “Your parents taught you that?” And I thought Truett was bad. The worst he did was call me a sinner, which, okay, now that I think about it, is bad too. But a defect? What the fuck?

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “My parents never spoke about it. Deep down, they knew, but it wasn’t them who told me that.”

“Then who did?”

“It was a program called Eternal Harmony. They masked their practices by calling it a youth church group. My mother encouraged me to try it without telling me what it was. And at first, it was fine. They selected specific kids and made us feel special—like we were destined for greatness.

“First, they made us feel like we were a part of something virtuous. We were a community. I made my best friendships there. We met nearly every day after school and sometimes did trips out of town. They preached about family values and God’s will.”

He pauses, staring blankly in the distance as if he’s lost in a memory. My heart aches, seeing the pain in his eyes. I already hate where this is going.

“As the years went by, I almost missed how subtle they were with their brainwashing. It took me nearly three years to realize they were targeting queer kids specifically. They built a hierarchy within the dynamics of the group, so before long, it was like they had tasked us with brainwashing each other.”

Tears prick behind my eyes when I imagine the damage this place has done, not only to him but to so many others. It’s not fucking fair. I want to beat the shit out of every single one of them.

“There was a specific pastor. His name was Derek, and he was young. He created these…mantras for us to use whenever something tempted us. Like little codes for our brains that never fucking go away. ‘With God, change is possible. I don’t have to be broken anymore. Together, we can be healed.’”

“Fuck,” I mutter as my nostrils flare. I hate this. I hate it so fucking much.

“When I got older, Derek had these…tests.”

I press my face into Jensen’s chest. It’s too much. I can’t hear anymore.

“I failed them every time,” he whispers with a quivering voice, and I don’t have to look up to see that he’s crying.

“He’d push me to drink with him. Ask me to kiss him. Ask me to touch him. So I did. Then, a day later…he’d punish me for it.”

“Jesus, Jensen,” I cry into his chest. The courage in his voice nearly kills me. My hands grip him so tightly, I’m sure it hurts, but he doesn’t stop me.

Deep down, part of me knows…

If I hadn’t run away, is this what my dad would have done to me? Would he have sent me away to a place like this? Hoping to “cure” me?

“Around the time I turned twenty-one, I had reached almost the highest rank within the program. I had so many kids under me. I even helped recruit them. I knew…” He takes a break to swallow and wipe his eyes. “I knew what we were doing.”

His voice breaks as he sobs. Covering his face with his hands, he cries. There is anger in those tears and I feel it, too. How does he not just live his life with rage every day? How is he not fuming with hatred every moment of his life?

“It’s not your fault,” I whisper, pressing my lips to his cheek. “You were the victim, Jensen. You were just a kid.”

He sobs a little longer, nodding along with my words but unable to show his face. When his tears subside, he wipes them away.

“I always knew it was bullshit,” he says. “Deep down, I knew it was lies. But the longer I was there, the deeper I fell into their hole. I couldn’t get out. They controlled everything in my life. My dating. My job. My family.”

He lets out a fresh exhale.

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