Aftermath
I have never been to Bournemouth in all my life. But today, I find myself here, standing by a bus stop in the pouring rain on a Sunday afternoon. It is a hell of a long way from my home In London. Well, my former home; I don’t know if I can ever call that place home again after the abuse that I experienced there. My phone vibrates in my pocket; frowning, I take it out to see who it is, and instantly, upon seeing the number, my stomach coils in disgust. It is my mother. I deleted her from my contacts a while back, but I still remember her number. I texted her, and my father, and told them not to contact me, but my mother seems to be insistent on not giving up. It has been three days since I left; 54 calls later, and I think that it is time to block her number.
I honestly feel sick to my stomach when I think of what they did to me, or rather, what they allowed to happen to me. They sent me to a reformatory school known for carrying out abusive, illegal acts. Acts that ended in me contracting HIV from a “punishment” session. Their excuse? They thought that he was negative. The most fucked up part is that my mother had him fuck her in the ass, and she didn’t contract it. But I did.
Even if I forgive them one day, I will never allow them to get close to me again, for the sake of my own mental health. So it is without hesitation that I go into my phone, and block my mother, and my father. It should have been the first thing that I did.
When I look up again, I see that the bus is approaching me, and I release a sigh of relief.
Fucking finally. It feels as if I have been waiting forever, and when the doors open, I step onto the bus, but trip and fall in on the top step. I am caught by two strong arms, and I look up into the eyes of a handsome young man. The type of man that I would have fancied before they broke me. Now, I don’t fancy anyone anymore.
“Hello, beautiful,” he says, and even though I don’t fancy him, it is still enough to make me blush. That, and the embarrassment from almost falling on my face.
“Hello,” I respond with a slight smile. “Thank you,” I say to him, as the bus moves off. Again, I almost fall over, it he catches me once more.
“Uh, thanks again,” I say.
“No problem.” I manage to grip onto the pole nearest to me, and he grips onto one of the hand rails above.
“So you headed anywhere special?” he asks me.
“No, just looking for a motel to crash at.” I have some money that I have been saving from an online job as a call centre worker, and a prescription for my HIV medication, along with my birth certificate, driver’s license, and passport.
“Same here,” he says with a smile.
“Why?” I ask, curious now.
“I ran away from home,” he tells me. “My parents weren’t exactly thrilled that I am bisexual. My name is Troy, by the way.”
“I’m Jan,” I tell him. “It isn’t short for anything, just Jan. I… ran away, too,” I admit. How odd it is that I fall into the arms of someone in such a similar situation as myself.
“Well, isn’t it odd for us to meet here, right now? Perhaps it is fate.”
I haven ever really been one to believe in things like fate. I keep that thought to myself, though.
“You want to shack up?” he asks me, looking hopeful. He probably wants to fuck me. Or, he might think that shacking up will cost less money. Maybe both.
“I am asexual,” I inform him, “so if we do it, I’m not gonna fuck you.”
“That’s fine,” he tells me. “I wasn’t planning on it.”
For some reason, I trust him. I believe him. And for the first time in a while, I feel as if luck has fallen into my lap.
*
My phone keeps blowing up with unknown numbers, all of which I ignore. I know that it is my mother, more than likely, so one of my first priorities when I go to the mall next week will be to change my number. My friends keep in contact with me, but don’t know my exact location. I cannot risk my parents finding out. One of my friends told me that my mother begged her to let her (Mum) call from her (the friend’s) number, but she (my friend) refused.
As for him… well, he hasn’t come on to me sexually, which I am grateful for. I have been here with him in this dingy motel for almost one month, and while he knows most of my story, he does not know of my condition. I hide my medication, and I don’t know how much longer I can hide it from him, since my supply is running low.
“I don’t want a pizza, I want a wrap,” the woman on the other end of the call complains. I want to sign deeply in frustration, but I keep it in.
“Tati’s doesn’t sell wraps anymore,” I say as patiently as I can.
She hangs up on me, and this time, I let out the sigh.
“Some people just have no manners,” Troy says from beside me. He has started fucking a girl who works at the bakery across the street. Her name is Megan, and she seems to be really sweet, but from what I know, their relationship is entirely sexual. Troy and I have become extremely close, to the point where I consider him to be one of my closest friends. One of my other friends, Gigi, has come to visit me. My parents know where I am, so now, I don’t have to be concerned about them finding out something that they already know.
“Yeah, I know,” I respond.
Now, I know his story, too. He was beaten by his parents after they found out that he was bi. It is almost as if the world wanted us to end up as friends.
After My shift ends, I am playing Minecraft on my computer, with him on the bed beside me, when there is a knock on the door. I guess that it is the manager from downstairs, and I open it, only to see my parents on the other side. My mother looks like she has been to hell and back. Her hair is unkempt, she has lost weight, and her red rimmed eyes are brimming with tears. A part of me enjoys her pain, but no matter what, I am the one with the lifelong disease, not her, and that thought flairs anger inside of me. As for my father, he looks unhappy, too.
Good.
I am on the verge of slamming the door in their faces, when she says something that gives me pause.
“I wish it was me who caught HIV,” she says, some of her tears spilling over. As for me? I have had time to come to terms with my condition. However, I am still bitter about it. Angry. Resentful. The people at the reformatory who abused me are now in prison, and my parents could have been, too, but something in me didn’t want to put them there.
“So do I,” I say. “I’m glad that we agree on that.”
Then, my mother’s eyes move to something behind me, only noticing the presence of another person. Now, she probably fucked this relationship up for me, too. Who knows what he will think of me now that he knows that I have HIV.
“Is this your boyfriend?” she asks me sheepishly. I laugh cynically.
“I’m incapable of fancying people like that anymore. That place that you sent me to? They broke me.” At that she bursts into tears, and I roll my eyes as my father consoles her.
“Get the fuck away from us,” I hear a voice say from just behind me. I jump from the venom in his voice.
“Sweetie… Jan… I… we just wanted to help you,” she says, but that just pisses me off more.
“Shut the fuck up,” I snarl. “Both of you. Just get the fuck away from me. How did you even find me? Actually, don’t even answer me. I don’t give a fuck. Just stay away from me unless you want me to reconsider sending the both of you sickos to prison.”
“Well maybe it’s what we deserve!” she cries.
It is in that moment that I realise that even though a part of me still loves them, if they died tomorrow, I would probably be more relieved than anything else. Relieved to be rid of them.
“Don’t tempt me,” I say, but before I can say anything else, she gives me her handbag.
“Here,” she says, and when I look into it, as it is unzipped, I see that it is full of money. “We also wired money to your account, and we are leaving a car downstairs for you. The silver Corolla with the blue bow on the dashboard.”
“Whenever… if you ever forgive us, we will be here,” my father says, “waiting for you. Until then, we wish you the best.”
“Uh, thanks, I guess,” I say to them, before closing the door on them. Now, I am stuck alone with him. We face each other, and I wait on him to say something, but when he doesn’t, I sigh.
“I get it if you don’t want to shack up with me anymore.”
He frowns.
“Why?” he asks, “because you have HIV?” I nod. “I still want to shack up with you. But I do care about you,” he tells me, coming closer to me, cupping my face in his hands. “I want to stay with you, even if you never fancy me. That’s fine. Being without you… is not.”
I smile at him. To have a new person in my life who has grown to care about me is refreshing. And I care about him, too. As I stand there with him, with his hands on my face, for the first time in a long time, I feel as if I might be getting towards being almost okay. I don’t think that I will ever fully heal from the experiences that I have endured, and maybe I will be fine just learning to live with being a little bit broken. And maybe, that it show it is meant to be.
