Page 106 of Unbound
"The university stepped up too," Andrew continued in his methodical way, checking off the list. "Emergency scholarship, deferred payment plan, and they hired Jesse at the legal aid clinic. Part-time, but it covers living expenses."
"Which means you're actually independent now," Diana said warmly, understanding the significance. "Really, truly independent."
She was right. For the first time in my life, I didn't owe my parents anything. The settlement felt like blood money—restitution for torture—but Andrew had helped me reframe it. "They owe you more than money," he'd said, "but money's a start. It's acknowledgment. Use it to build the life they tried to steal from you."
Phoenix clapped their hands together, breaking the contemplative moment. "And don't forget the political fallout! The '#JusticeForJesse' movement went viral and then went to Congress. Three states have passed versions of 'Jesse's Law,' banning conversion therapy for adults in coercive situations. Your name is literally attached to life-saving legislation, honey. It's iconic."
The idea was still overwhelming. My personal hell had become a political catalyst.
Rebecca, who had been listening quietly from her spot next to Elijah, spoke up. "I talked to Anthony last week," she said softly. "He's started classes at the community college back home. He said to tell you he's grateful every single day for what you did."
My throat tightened. "He's really okay?"
"He's getting there," Rebecca said. "But he's free. That's what matters."
"So," I said, looking around at this circle of friends, this family that had fought for me. "We won. In every way that matters."
Adrian squeezed my hand, his eyes shining with pride. "Yeah, Jesse. We won."
"Then we have something to celebrate," I said, a real smile spreading across my face. "Let's go to that festival."
The walk to campus took fifteen minutes, our group growing louder and more festive with each block. The air was warm, full of the promise of new beginnings. By the time we reached the quad, I could hear music and laughter echoing across the space.
The Pride event was in full swing. Rainbow flags fluttered from every surface, students moved between booths representing various organizations, and the makeshift stage featured a drag performer whose routine had the crowd roaring with laughter. The atmosphere was joyful, defiant, alive.
It was also familiar. I'd been here before, just on the other side.
"Jesse?" Adrian's voice pulled me from my memories.
I followed his gaze and felt my stomach drop. They were there, of course. A small cluster of protesters stood at the edge of the celebration, their signs as hateful as ever. "God Hates Fags." "Homosexuality is Sin." "Repent or Burn."
And there, in the centre of them, were my parents.
My mother looked older, more fragile and worn than I remembered. My father stood ramrod straight, his face set in familiar lines of righteous anger. They were so certain, so convinced of their truth. Looking at them now, I felt a strange mixture of pity and grief. They would never know me. They had chosen their ideology over their son.
"We can go," Adrian said quietly. "We don't have to—"
"No." The word came out stronger than I felt. "They don't get to drive me away or control what I do anymore."
Our friends had noticed the protesters too. I could feel their protective energy, the way they subtly arranged themselves around Adrian and me. But this wasn't their fight. It was mine.
I walked toward the edge of the celebration, close enough that my parents could see me clearly. My father's face went white, then red. My mother's hand flew to her mouth. They hadn't expected to see me here, in this place, so obviously healthy and whole.
"Jesse!" my mother called out, her voice carrying across the space. "Son, it's not too late! You can still be saved!"
Conversations around us faltered. People turned to watch, sensing drama. I felt Adrian tense beside me, ready to intervene if needed. But I didn't need protection anymore.
I looked at my father—this man who had raised me, taught me to ride a bike, helped with homework, and then tried to have me tortured back into compliance. I looked at my mother, who had sung me lullabies and baked my birthday cakes and signed the consent forms for my electroshock therapy.
And then I looked at Adrian. Beautiful, complicated, sweet, patient Adrian, who had seen something worth saving in a broken boy holding a hate sign. Who had waited for me to find my courage, who had held me through nightmares and celebrated every small victory, who loved me not despite my damage but as a whole person worthy of love.
The decision crystallized with perfect clarity.
I stepped forward, closing the distance between Adrian and me. I cupped his face in my hands, feeling the slight stubble along his jaw, the warmth of his skin. His eyes widened in surprise and something like pride.
"Jesse," he breathed. "You don't have to—"
I silenced him with my mouth, kissing him deeply and thoroughly in front of everyone. The crowd around us erupted—cheers from the celebration, gasps from onlookers, shouts of outrage from the protesters. I didn't care. This kiss was a declaration, a reclamation, a celebration of everything I'd fought to become.
