Page 37 of Captivated

“Now, Nathaniel,” Dr. Keller continued. “We’re going to fix you. We’re going to remind you of what’s natural. What’s right. This is the only way to save you from yourself.” He stood, his shadow looming over Nate like a dark cloud. He walked to the small table in the corner of the room and picked up a set of photographs. Then he returned to the desk and spread them out carefully. Each one showed a girl, smiling, laughing, all of them wearing dresses or skirts.

“Look at these,” Dr. Keller instructed. “What do you see?”

Nate’s stomach turned. He didn’t want to look. He didn’t want to play this game anymore, but he knew what would happen if he refused.

His body would be punished.

His mind would be broken.

So he looked.

The faces of the girls in the pictures were all smiling, all happy, all carefree. Their lives seemed so simple, so full of what he could never have. He didn’t want to admit it, but he felt something stir inside him, an emotion he couldn’t name, a longing that terrified him.

“No,” he whispered to himself, shaking his head. “I’m not like them. I’m not.”

Dr. Keller slammed his hand down hard on the table, yanking Nate out of his thoughts, making him flinch. “That’s the problem, Nathaniel,” he said with a sneer. “Youarelike them—you just don’t want to admit it. But we’re going to fix that. If it takes every single day, every single hour, we will do this until you understand.” His gaze locked onto Nate’s. “Tell me you’re broken.”

Nate shook his head.

I’m not. I’m not.

“Speak,” Dr. Keller barked. “Tell me you’re broken. Tell me you want to be fixed.”

Once more Nate shook his head, but the dream wouldn’t let him resist. Invisible hands pushed him forward, dragging the words from his mouth like knives.

The words he knew Dr. Keller wanted to hear. The words heexpectedto hear.

“I’m… wrong. I’m disgusting.”

The shame burned hotter than any fever. It stuck to his skin, soaked into his bones.

The next few hours were a blur of drills, forced readings, and endless, suffocating shame. Nate’s chest was tight with the weight of it all, the pressure to conform, to be normal, to be something he wasn’t. By the time the session was over,he was shaking uncontrollably, his mind a fractured puzzle of conflicting thoughts. He’d said the right things. He’d tried. But the truth was, every time he looked in the mirror, he couldn’t escape what he felt. The person he was, the one they wanted to cure, would never go away.

That’s who I am.

And then the dream shifted.

He was in the group room now. Rows of boys with hollow eyes stared blankly ahead. Mr. Carroll lectured from the front, his voice a dull monotone, like a church service with all the warmth stripped away.

“You must reject temptation. You must deny your nature.”

The boy next to him shook with silent sobs. Nate’s own legs refused to move, glued to the hard metal chair.

He was drowning.

Trapped.

Then came the worst part. Thespiritual cleansing. And it was Nate’s turn. He tried to run, but the dream dragged him deeper, like barbed wire around his ankles. Hands grabbed his arms, and he screamed, but no sound came out.

“I don’t want this,” Nate tried to say. “I want to go home.”

Except there was no home. Not anymore. Only here. Only this.

Panic clawed its way up his throat. Somewhere, deep inside, a part of him realized he was still dreaming, but the walls wouldn’t melt, the floor wouldn’t give way to wakefulness. He banged his fists against the constraints of the nightmare, trying to punch a hole through them, to breathe.

Wake up, Nate, wake up!

He squeezed his eyes shut, his heart thundering so loud it hurt. Sweat poured off his forehead. His body was a furnace of terror.

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