Page 50 of Collin: Episodes 1-3
And in return, he was offering things he would never give a boyfriend: obedience, submission, the right to restrain and train and to apply pain, and the right and responsibility to change him.
The turn almost escaped him. He dodged a woman with a poodle and made it across the street with the light.
Could he do this? Could he be like Damian, content to have his voice taken from him in front of another, to sit at another man’s feet?
Yes. Compared to the disrespect he’d suffered at the various jobs he’d held before, to know that he was giving someone pleasure, to know that there would be warmth and light in someone’s eyes when he sank to his knees, that was easy.
You have to trust him, trust him in a way you’ve never trusted anyone before. Collin swallowed hard and walked more quickly past a band of tourists following a guide with a white and green flag.
But I’ve trusted him since that night. Mr. Reevesworth had already seen Collin at his worst. And he hadn’t failed him. Hadn’t shamed him.
Maybe it’s all an elaborate facade? A laugh bubbled up from Collin’s belly. Cinderella is a story for little girls, not for big-town boys.
“Fuck it.” The words slipped out of his mouth out loud, startling him and a passing elderly gentleman. He ducked his head in apology and hurried onward. The park was just up ahead. He repeated the words in his head. For once, I’d rather be the hopeful fool than believe in a world like Andy’s.
He laughed out loud, entering the park. “I must be mad.”
I’d rather be mad than sane and walking away.
The memory of his father walking away for the last time passed in front of his mind’s eye. He watched it and let it go, like so many times before.
“Walking away is walking toward something. And I already know what the something would be.” Cold nights. Lonely hours. Desperation. Long hours of work with no guarantees. And perhaps, at some point, fumbling in the dark with someone else as inexperienced and hopeless as himself. They’d fuck and whisper half-hopeful promises, and maybe they’d meet again, or maybe they wouldn’t. Maybe they’d be able to cling to each other, and maybe they’d be torn apart by work schedules and the cost of housing and the need to move to the next job.
Mr. Reevesworth had the power to make what he wanted happen, at least when it came to Collin.
Collin sank down on a bench and put his head in his hands. The wind sailed through his hair, bringing cold to his scalp. The cold brought with it clarity. A certain stillness. For a moment, he stared at the quiet in his head, waiting for the frenzy that had always threatened him in this space. A shadow crossed his thoughts. Even if the world slid away and he was left laughing with the pain inside his chest, even if fear stole the strength to walk from his legs, for the first time since he was twelve, he believed someone would come.
Tears ran down his cheeks. What was his pride in the face of that? What was freedom worth if he couldn’t breathe?
No, he was more free trapped beneath the weight of Mr. Reevesworth’s body than he was walking the streets of the city with no visible ties. Beneath Mr. Reevesworth’s hands, he had the freedom to rest, the freedom to think.
The freedom to dream.
The tears came harder. He drew in a deep breath, trying to stop them.
“Collin.”
That voice. He swallowed, trying to wipe his face dry. But he was already looking up.
Mr. Reevesworth extended a handkerchief. He was dressed in a black coat, much like Collin’s but longer. There was a hat on his head, something that looked old-fashioned and still stylish, with a short brim and little dents on the side of the head section. It matched the coat.
Mr. Reevesworth stayed standing right in front of Collin, hiding him from the random passersby on the park path. “Are you ready to come home, Collin?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You forgot your hat.” He held out a soft cap with a hard visor in the front. It looked like something a newsboy would wear in an old movie. It was blue like Collin’s coat but with a thin tartan pattern in greens and yellows and reds.
“Thank you.”
Mr. Reevesworth held out his hand and drew Collin to his feet. “Do you need more time?”
“No, sir.”
“Something moved you.”
Collin frowned. He glanced at Mr. Reevesworth’s face. But there was nothing there but careful concern, half masked against any curious onlookers.
“No second thoughts, sir.”
