Page 77 of Lucky Boys
Wes met my eyes. “Diego, you can tell me whatever you’re comfortable with, but just understand nothing you say is going to change the way I feel about you.”
I managed not to scoff. He was being genuine, he just didn’t know what he was saying.
“My last placement, the parents, they were okay. Well, they were assholes that forced their foster kids to break into homes for them, but we were always fed and had decent clothes andwere mostly left alone as long as we did what we were told.” I swallowed and turned away. I couldn’t look at Wes when I finished this.
“They had a biological son. He was nineteen, older than all of us, but still lived at home. He had gang affiliations and used his influence to terrorize us. We were scared to say anything because he threatened to have his gang go after us, torture us, and then kill us if we did. Some of the kids, they still had families outside, other siblings, or even parents that just couldn’t care for them at the time. He would threaten their families too. We believed him.”
“Of course you did,” Wes agreed, his voice clam and soothing. Enough that I turned around to look, relieved to see nothing but empathy in his expression. “You were only a kid. Weren’t you only 12 when your parents took you in?”
“Yeah. I went to my last placement when I was 9. I—um, I was there for two months the first time their son came into my bedroom at night.”
Wes’s eyes darkened, but thank fuck he didn’t say anything else. I didn’t think I could deal. “He would, well, you get the idea. I never said anything.”
“His parents didn’t know?”
I shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t think they did. Whenever they saw him bullying us, they’d stop him. And neither of them ever touched us. Well, I guess they know now. After Mom and Dad took me in, they made sure that they couldn’t have any other foster kids again and that the rest of the kids got to good placements.”
“I’ve met your parents a few times. They’re good people.”
I smiled genuinely. “They really are.”
“So what happened then?”
“I tried to rob Mom and Dad’s house.” I laughed. God, I’d been so fucking scared when Dad had walked in on me. “My whole life changed after that.
“The touch aversion started then. Once I felt safe, once I realized that if I told them not to touch me, they’d listen, it became harder and harder for me to allow people near me. Hell, even Brooks, who was only seven and a cuddly, needy little shit even back then, was amazing at not touching me without consent. He took it so seriously once Mom explained it to him.
“Anyway, I did therapy and stuff, and it helped some. It got to the point where I could accept casual touches from my parents and Brooks. And then I ran into Blade,” I laughed harshly, “what a dumb fucking name. His real name was Sam, but he would punish any of us kids if we used it.” I paced the room, unable to stay still. “He got away when my parents went after the foster parents. No one knew where he was. I knew he’d kill me if he ever found me, but my parents had moved us far away after everything and it had beenyears. I wasn’t a scared little kid anymore. I was twenty.”
I stopped, trying desperately not to fold into myself. Wes stood up and came close, but not close enough to touch. “Diego, it’s okay to stop.”
“It’s not. You need to understand why I can’t leave. Why I don’t know if I ever could.”
“I don’t want you to force yourself. You can barely breathe.”
I tugged on my hair. “I gotta try. Wes, please let me try.”
His expression softened. “Of course, angel.”
So I told him. I told him how I’d rarely gone out, even then, but had decided to go to the movies with Brooks, who’d been fifteen at the time.
“I had left him in the theater to go to the bathroom and then I’d been jumped. Blade had found me. He’d had five of hisgang buddies with him. I still didn’t know how. After they’d kicked me to near unconsciousness, they’d dragged me out of the bathroom, in front of everyone who hadn’t stopped them, and outside to the back with the dumpsters. They’d gotten me naked, had started to touch me, to rape me, and that had been where Brooks had found me.”
“He realized something was wrong and ran out of the movies. He eventually got one of the witnesses to tell him where I was.” I smiled at the image of Brooks when he’d burst through the back door, knife in his hand and looking deadly as fuck. “He was a scrawny, little thing back then. Hadn’t gotten any muscle yet. But he didn’t give a flying fuck. He just launched on them, kicking them, stabbing their arms and legs. They were armed, but none of them had their guns out, and Brooks never gave them a chance to. He was all over the fucking place. Eventually, someone called 9-1-1, and they got there before one of us ended up dead or Brooks killed them. I’ve barely left the house since.”
I hadn’t told that story to anyone. Who would I have told? Brooks had been there, and I had pretty much gone mute for a week or two, so Brooks had been the one who’d told our parents and the cops. I’d talked through some details with my therapist, but never someone like Wes. I was terrified how he would react, but he only thanked me for telling me that story and assured me that it didn’t change anything. I was doubtful but eventually sat on the couch with him. I must have fallen asleep because when I woke up hours later, my head was in his lap and I had a blanket around me.
I panicked. Not because I was being touched, but because it was Wes. It felt so fucking intimate and it scared me. I ran to my office like a coward, but Wes followed me and crashed on the couch. That had been where he still was when Brooks called me that day. I had been successfully avoiding any discussions about that since then, and I had managed to sleep alone.
“Diego?” My head snapped to Wes. Holy fuck, I must’ve dissociated for ages.
“Sorry. I was, uh, thinking.”
He tilted his head, considering. Finally, he asked me, “Do you need to be watching those monitors constantly?”
“No. I have it programmed to send an alert to my phone if any keywords are said.”
“Good. Then do what you need to do to be able to walk away. I’ll be back in about an hour.”
