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Great story! I really loved how you built the characters! Amazing piece of art!

 

And you won’t believe but I was at the precipice of writing a story on the theme of Christmas Eve service, with a 16 y/o boy as the protagonist. Tell me, have you acquired the power to read my mind?  :blink:

 

Anyways, fantastic work! I hope we all get to read more of your stories! 

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Great story! I really loved how you built the characters! Amazing piece of art!

 

And you won’t believe but I was at the precipice of writing a story on the theme of Christmas Eve service, with a 16 y/o boy as the protagonist. Tell me, have you acquired the power to read my mind?  :blink:

 

Anyways, fantastic work! I hope we all get to read more of your stories! 

Lol! No mind reading. Just the season :happy:  People write stories about wetting in costumes around Halloween, so it makes sense that wetting in a church service would be a theme around Christmas!

 

This is great!

Thank you!

 

Ahh you're back! I'm so glad that you've written another story. This is both heartbreaking and beautiful — is this going to be a series?

Thank you so much! I don't think I can bear making this one into a series. All I can think of are prequel stories, and that would just involve more abuse from the Colonel. I still have other ideas (a few female scenarios, oddly enough) that I'll probably get posted after New Years.

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That was so good ^__^ Keep up the good work

Thank you!

 

Aw, okay! I would have loved to see how Grayson recovers from the abuse but I love how you left the readers wondering! <3

Hmmmm, now you've got me thinking...I have some ideas that will involve a bit of retcon. I can't make any promises that I'll be able to get the next chapter written over the holidays, but I'll definitely have some time after New Years.

 

Aww I loved this! You always write so beautifully, definitely a pleasure to read

Thanks, Rebel! It really means a lot to know that people still enjoy my writing :)

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  • 4 weeks later...

Since Bazinga got me thinking, I couldn't stop revisiting this story. So really, it's all Bazinga's fault that this will now have multiple chapters. I know these circumstances contradict a few statements in the original story, so I hope you'll forgive a bit of discontinuity :) Happy New Year!

 

*****************

 

            Christmas day was a quiet affair at Carl and Tiffany’s. Carl had called his father, the Colonel’s oldest son, to let him know what had happened and that they wouldn’t be joining the family for the day’s celebrations. He and Tiffany had agreed it was best to let Grayson relax as they all tried to figure out what steps needed to be taken.

 

            Grayson remained mostly quiet. After the terrified adrenaline rush of the night before had ebbed, he’d fallen into an exhausted sleep. Now, in the cold light of day, Grayson was wary of this new situation. His mind was a tangled mix of emotions – gratitude toward Carl and Tiffany for saving him from the Colonel, shame over what they’d seen him do, hope that they would truly be able to end his months of horror, and fear that they wouldn’t.

 

            Carl and Tiffany didn’t push. Carl knew enough of his grandfather’s “discipline” from hearing his own father’s stories, and Tiffany, who worked as a nurse in a juvenile psychiatric facility, had enough experience with traumatized teens, that both of them wanted to focus on making Grayson feel comfortable and safe before really diving into doing the work necessary to help him overcome the past 10 months.

 

            That night, after a fairly untraditional Christmas dinner of grilled cheese and tomato soup, Carl carefully breeched the topic of logistics with Grayson.

 

            “You don’t have to make any decisions right now,” Carl began, “but Tiff and I were serious when we said you could stay with us.”

 

            Grayson’s gaze flickered up from its focus on his plate, showing the smallest flash of hope before returning downward. Carl took this as a sign to continue.

 

            “Obviously, there’s a lot to think about. Taking you was one thing, but getting your stuff from Martin and Regina’s won’t be quite as easy. I have some friends on the police force, and we can probably get a court order pretty quickly, but…” Carl hesitated. “But you’ll probably have to make a statement.”

 

            Grayson raised his eyes more slowly this time, trying to mask the sudden fear he felt with bland obedience. “A statement?”

 

            Reaching her hand across the table, Tiffany chimed in. “Legally, honey, we want to make sure we’re on solid ground. If we want to get all your things from the Colonel’s house with minimal obstruction, we need a legal order that he has no right to you or your belongings anymore. And to get that,” she did her best to keep her voice calm and non-coercive, “the court needs a reason that you can’t be there anymore.”

 

            Grayson’s heart was beating wildly, but he tried to keep his breathing slow and even. Showing fear was unacceptable.

 

            “OK,” he said after a pause that felt a lot longer than it was. “What do I need to do?”

 

            Carl’s chest heaved in relief with his cousin’s cooperation. “We’ll wait until Monday. Whatever judge we get might be more amenable if we don’t disturb him or her on the weekend after Christmas.”

 

            Nodding, Grayson picked at the remaining half of his grilled cheese.

 

            “Dad brought over some of Gary’s old clothes, so you’ll have stuff to wear until then.” Carl continued. Gary, Carl’s youngest brother, was much closer in size to Grayson than Carl was.

 

            “And I’ll run to the store tomorrow to buy you some necessities,” Tiffany added, thankfully not saying “underwear” and acknowledging that Grayson had been going commando all day.

 

            Pasting a small smile on his face, Grayson thanked them both, though his insides still writhed with discomfort and apprehension. He wanted to trust his cousins, he wanted to believe that everything was finally going to be OK, but the past few years of uncertainty, first with his mom’s cancer and then with the Colonels’ reign of terror, had wounded him too deeply for such an immediate turnaround.

 

            The weekend itself was a blur. Tiffany showed Grayson how to work the TV and where the books were kept, so Grayson spent most of his days in the guest room, reading. He wanted to help, somehow – cleaning the house or doing dishes or something – but he wasn’t familiar enough with the house to trust himself not to be in the way. And being in the way was awful.

 

            On Sunday night, Carl caught Grayson before he escaped back to the guest room after dinner.

 

            “I talked to one of my buddies in the police station,” he told Grayson, “and we’re gonna go down and talk to them tomorrow morning. It shouldn’t take long. Once they have an official statement, he’ll contact Judge Reiner, who will give the order for the Colonel to release your things.”

 

            Grayson’s stomach roiled, but he just nodded.

 

            “You don’t have to come collect you things, obviously,” Carl reassured him. “I’ll handle that. All you have to do is talk to someone at the station.”

 

            Grayson desperately wanted to look more excited, or at least more grateful for the effort that Carl was putting in for him, but it was all he could do to keep tears from building in his eyes. He nodded again, squeaking out a quick “yeah” to Carl, before turning away to head upstairs.

 

            In the comparative safety of the guest room, Grayson slid to the floor, hugging his knees into his chest. What exactly would this “statement” do? Would it become public? Would he have to give all the details?

 

            Grayson’s whole body quivered. Carl and Tiffany were being so kind; he didn’t want them to know just how much trouble he really was.

 

            Weariness descended on Grayson like a parachute fluttering back to the ground after being aloft too long. He dully climbed into bed, sleep overtaking his anxiety in minutes.

 

***

 

            “Grayson?” Tiffany shook the teen’s shoulders gently. “Honey, it’s time to get up.”

 

            Inhaling deeply, Grayson dragged his mind from the unease confines of unconsciousness. Tiffany stood next to his bed, her hand still on his shoulder.

 

            “Good morning,” she smiled, keeping her voice soft. “I would’ve let you sleep more, but Captain Mediano is expecting you and Carl at the station in about an hour.”

 

            Grayson bobbed his head in acknowledgement of her words, but his mind was still slowly climbing into awareness. The unfamiliarity of being awoken by this young woman, combined with the awareness of what he had to do today, combined with the cool wetness around his legs…

 

            Grayson froze. Oh God, no. Not today. Not here, not in this room, not in this house.

 

            “Grayson?” The teen’s sudden tension startled Tiffany. “Honey, are you OK?”

 

            Biting his lip to keep it from trembling, Grayson sat up slowly. His mind shifted to autopilot. He knew what to do in this situation. There was no hiding.

 

            Robotically, Grayson peeled back the covers and stood up. Barely acknowledging Tiffany’s presence, he turned and started pulling the case off his pillow.

 

            “Oh!” Tiffany gasped, seeing the darkness in Grayson’s sweatpants clinging to his legs. “Oh, sweetie, it’s-“

 

            “Here,” Grayson cut her off, pushing the pillowcase into her hands.

 

            “I – “ Tiffany grabbed at the pillowcase, confused. “Yes, of course, honey, I can do this while you-“

 

            “Where do you keep the soap?” Grayson’s voice was entirely monotonous.

 

            “The…” the boy’s lack of affect chilled Tiffany. “The laundry detergent, you mean?”

 

            “The bars of soap,” Carl’s deep voice trembled with barely-concealed rage. Tiffany turned to see her husband standing in the doorway, his face lined with anger and sadness. “Is that right, Grayson?”

 

            Grayson averted his eyes at the sight of this new witness. “Yes, sir.”

 

            Tiffany turned her head back and forth, staring between her husband and his young cousin. She still didn’t understand what Grayson was asking for, though Carl certainly seemed to.

 

            Carl slowly walked into the room, not wanting to scare Grayson. He took the pillowcase from the teen, slowly crumpling it in his large hands.

 

            “Grayson?” he started quietly. Grayson flinched reflexively at the sound of his name. Nothing good ever came from hearing his name after he’d wet the bed.

 

            Carl sighed deeply. “Kid, listen to me. No one in this house is ever going to do that to you, OK? Not for anything, and certainly not for having an accident. Do you understand?”

 

            Grayson’s lip was shaking. He’d stopped biting it at some point. “Yes, sir.”

 

            Carl wanted to hug the boy, or at least put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, but he knew that touch probably wasn’t the best move at this point. “You don’t have to call me ‘sir,’ kid. You’re not in trouble. Grayson?” he said a bit louder, trying to break through the teen’s cloud of fear and conditioning. “I promise, you’re not in trouble, not even a little bit. Just go take a shower. Tiff and I will clean up.”

 

            Wordlessly, Grayson walked to the bathroom, leaving Carl and Tiffany in a tense vacuum of silence.

 

            “Carl?” Tiffany finally asked. “What just happened?”

 

            Carl grimaced and rubbed his temples. “Soap,” he grumbled. “It’s a horrible, old military thing. If a recruit did something wrong, his peers or his superiors would put bars of soap in a pillowcase and beat him with it.”

 

            Tiffany’s eyes were wide as she stared at her husband. “So the Colonel…and Grayson…did you?”

 

            Carl nodded in response to the first part of the stammer, then shook his head. “My CO wouldn’t put up with that shit, but it was more common in Martin’s time. It looks like he applied that particular bit of discipline to Grayson.”

 

            Tiffany slumped against Carl, who put his arm around her. “Based on his reaction, I’m sure this isn’t the first time the kid wet his sheets,” Carl said dejectedly. Tiffany nodded in agreement. “This statement is going to be way worse than we thought.”

 

            The hot shower went a long way in waking Grayson from his fearful haze, but his stomach was still in knots. Even if Carl and Tiffany wouldn’t punish him for peeing the bed, surely they were rethinking taking in such damaged goods.

 

            Carl and Tiffany were no longer in his room, but Grayson dressed quickly. At the very least, he didn’t want to make them late for their appointment at the police station.

 

            His cousins were waiting for him downstairs, looking serious and concerned. Grayson braced himself for the inevitable “We weren’t prepared for this” speech.

 

            “Grayson,” Tiffany began, drawing on her nursing experience. “Honey, we’re so sorry.”

 

            Well…that’s not exactly what he’d expected. Grayson raised his eyes, perplexed.

 

            “We had no idea how bad things were for you with the Colonel,” Tiffany continued, her eyes glistening. “We would have – should have – taken you much sooner.”

 

            Grayson blinked. He wasn’t quite sure he was following the conversation correctly.

 

            “We knew Thursday night that we couldn’t let you stay with Martin,” Carl added. “But now, we know that you need a lot more than just a different place to live.”

 

            There it is, thought Grayson. Now, they’re going to say they can’t provide me with what I “need.”

 

            “So while you and I go down to the precinct,” Carl went on. “If you’re feeling OK with it, of course! Tiff will make some calls and get you an appointment with a therapist who specializes in child abuse.”

 

            Next to Carl, Tiffany nodded ardently. “The doctors I work with are wonderful, but we want to make sure you have the best support possible,” she added.

 

            Dazed, Grayson opened his mouth to speak. “A…a therapist?”

 

            Tiffany smiled sadly. “Honey, we’d love to believe that everything will be just fine and that we can make everything better just by keeping you here. But now that we know – or know part of, anyway – what the Colonel did to you, we want to make make sure you have the proper tools to deal with that.”

 

            “We can tell you it’s not your fault,” Carl interjected. “Because it’s not, it’s definitely not your fault, and I think you know that. But abuse, trauma like that…it gets inside a person. And we want to make sure you’re not carrying that around with you.”

 

            “You’re…” Grayson mumbled, still trying to wrap his head around what they were saying. “You’re…keeping me here?”

 

            “If you want us to,” Carl said with an earnestness that seemed incongruous coming from such a large, broad-shouldered man.

           

            Looking up, Grayson gazed into the kind, anxious eyes of Carl and Tiffany. Maybe they really were willing to keep him. Maybe he was really safe this time. Maybe thing really would get better.

 

            The corners of Grayson’s mouth turned up ever so slightly. “Yes, please.”   

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            Grayson’s palms were sweating as he sat in the faded chair in the police station. It wasn’t an interrogation room, like he’d seen on TV, just a small, office-like space. Grayson supposed they wanted to make him feel less intimidated.

           

            “Grayson, this is Selena Chavez, from Child Protective Services,” Captain Mediano was saying. “She’s here as your advocate, to make sure no one is leading or coercing you.”

 

            “It’s nice to meet you, Grayson,” Ms. Chavez said kindly. Grayon’s attempt at a smile in response ended up as a grimace.

 

            “Now, I’m not allowed to be in here, kid,” Carl eyed Grayson, concerned. “But I’ll be right outside. Cap will take your statement, and Selena will make her recommendation to the judge, so you can stay with us and I can go get your stuff from Martin.”

 

            Grayson could only nod. He was glad Carl wouldn’t have to hear him talk about what the Colonel had done, but the whole situation still made him nervous.

 

            “OK, Grayson,” Captain Mediano pulled out the recorder and pressed “play.” “We’re here to talk about Colonel Martin Buford’s fitness as a legal guardian. It is my understanding that you wish to have his guardianship revoked. Is that accurate?”

 

            “Yes.” Grayson tried to keep his voice from shaking.

 

            “Why is that?” The Captain’s voice was steady and impartial, to avoid any semblance of persuasion.

 

            Squeezing his hands into fists at his sides, Grayson drew in a deep breath. “He hit me.”

 

            “I see,” Mediano hated this part of his job, but he had to get enough facts out of Grayson to warrant a removal from the home. “And how often did he hit you?”

 

            “A few times a week.” Grayson clenched his fists tighter. He really didn’t want to go into details.

 

            Selena spoke up. “Grayson, I know this is uncomfortable, but can you describe a little more? Tell us what would happen.”

 

            Grayson closed his eyes for a moment. Then, with well-honed control, he closed off his own desire – in this case, the desire not to talk about what had gone on in the Buford house – and did what he was told.

 

            “The Colonel had a lot of rules that I didn’t learn fast enough. When I broke the rules, he would hit me.” Grayson inhaled quickly, before Selena could interrupt to ask for more detail. “He would punch or slap my arms or legs or stomach or ribs. Sometimes, if I did something really wrong, he would use a belt. Or he would throw things at me, like pans in the kitchen or gardening tools when we were outside.”

 

            Selena had a lot of practice in keeping her face neutral, but even she couldn’t stop a sympathetic sigh at Grayson’s robotic recitation. With this kind of psychological reaction, she knew that the Colonel had done more than just “hit” the teen, but it wasn’t her job to get every horrifying detail.  She glanced at Mediano, nodding to signal that she had enough to make her recommendation to the judge.

 

            But Mediano was shaking his head reluctantly. The way Grayson phrased his description made it clear that the abuse was pretty constant, and that called for criminal charges.

 

            “Grayson,” the Captain’s voice was gentle. “Did Martin ever hit you hard enough to leave marks?”

 

            For the first time, Grayson raised his eyes to meet the Captain’s. The teen’s gaze was mostly blank, but Mediano could see the hint of fear and shame.

 

            “OK,” Mediano continued softly. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but we want to make sure Mr. Buford is punished for what he did to you, so…can you show us?”

 

            Slowly, Grayson rose from his chair, never taking his eyes off the Captain. With an eerie emptiness, he pulled up his hoodie, exposing his abdomen and chest.

 

            Mediano let out a low growl and Selena frowned at the all-too-familiar sight.

 

            Grayson’s torso was covered in ugly, misshapen bruises and abrasions. The bruises ranged from darkest purple to hideously faded yellow. A particularly nasty-looking one of the left side convinced Mediano that Grayson had suffered at least one broken rib at some point.

 

            Shaking his head in disgust, Mediano grabbed the camera to document the injuries. He snapped a few quick pictures, then nodded to Selena.

 

            “Thank you, Grayson,” Chavez said softly. “That’s all we need.”

 

            Grayson released his hoodie and slumped back into his chair, staring at the ground.

 

            “I want you to know, I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you never have to go back to Mr. Buford,” Selena promised earnestly. “I’ll take my recommendation over to Judge Hansborough personally.” 

 

            “And I’ll go write up an arrest warrant now,” Mediano added.

 

            It all felt like an awful lot of trouble to Grayson. “Can I go now?” he asked, flatly but not rudely.

 

            Sighing, Mediano rose and opened the door, signaling for Carl to come in. Carl looked anxiously from his friend to his seemingly emotionless cousin.

 

            “We should have no problems,” the Captain explained. “We have more than enough not only to get Grayson out of Buford’s custody, but to arrest the guy.”

 

            Carl’s eyebrows shot up, but, for Grayson’s sake, he tried to remain calm. “So I can take him home?”

 

            Mediano nodded. “I’ll give you a call when we head over to Buford’s. We’ll let you get Grayson’s things after we take the old man in.”

 

            Carl shook the Captain’s hand firmly. “Thanks, Rob. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.” He turned toward Grayson. “Ready to go?”

 

            The ride home was nearly wordless. Carl didn’t want to say anything to make the situation worse; Grayson was gradually losing his armor of indifference to a mire of shame. He was convinced that the Colonel’s arrest would only end up causing more trouble for Carl and Tiffany.

 

            Tiffany was on the phone when they walked in the door. “Oh, great,” she said to the person on the other end of the line. “That’ll be perfect. We’ll see you then.”

 

            She hung up and kissed Carl on the cheek. Grayson stood uncomfortably to the side; he just wanted to disappear in his room, but he was pretty sure Carl and Tiffany would want to talk to him.

 

            Sure enough, Tiffany turned toward him with an encouraging look. “That was Doctor Teri Harden,” she explained. “She’s a child psychologist, specializing in trauma. I don’t know her personally, but a lot of the doctors I work with do, and they can’t speak more highly of her.”

 

            Grayson just blinked. He knew he should probably respond, but he couldn’t bring himself to talk.

 

            “Anyway,” Tiffany went on, a bit nervously. “She can fit us in tomorrow afternoon at 1:30. Her office is downtown, so we’ll leave by 1. OK?”

 

            “OK,” Grayson mumbled, then immediately felt impolite. He tried to force his face into a more gracious expression. “Thank you, Tiffany.”

 

            Carl squeezed his wife’s hand. “Kid, why don’t you go watch TV or read?” he suggested gently. “I’ll go get the rest of your things as soon as Captain Mediano calls, so you can hopefully be a bit more comfortable by tonight.”

 

            Grayson exhaled quietly, relieved to be excused. He unsuccessfully attempted another smile before trudging off to his room.

 

            Carl let out a long, tired breath. In hushed tones, he told Tiffany what Mediano had told him.

 

            “Arrest?” Tiffany asked worriedly. “So it was even worse than we thought?”

 

            “Exactly,” Carl sighed. “Rob didn’t tell me the details, but I’m sure that kid’s been through worse than hell.” He wrapped his arms around Tiffany’s shoulders. “I hope this therapist is as good as advertised.”

 

***

 

            Dr. Teri Harden stared at the young man sitting across from her. Every patient was different, obviously, but teenage boys could be especially resistant to therapy. Trauma had such terrible implications for the culturally-imposed definitions of masculinity.

 

            “Now, Grayson,” she explained. “One of the first things I usually do with clients is decide on goals for our time together. So what are some of the things you hope to get out of this?”

 

            Grayson gazed back at the professional, unassuming-looking woman and shrugged uncertainly. “Tiffany thought it would be a good idea?” His voice ticked up, making the statement into a question. Dr. Harden waited, patient but not demanding. “I just…” Grayson so desperately wanted to give the right answer. “I want to do what they think is best.”

 

            Dr. Harden nodded, making Grayson think that he’d given an appropriate response.

 

            “That’s a good place to start,” Teri replied, understanding that Grayson would need a lot of positive reinforcement. “Can I tell you what one of my goals for you is?”

 

            “Sure,” Grayson agreed. Really, since Carl and Tiffany wouldn’t usually be in the therapy room, he was grateful that Dr. Harden would be telling him what he needed to do.

 

            “My goal,” Dr. Harden held Grayson’s gaze, making sure he was listening. “Is for you to be learn to identify and share you feelings and needs.”

 

            “My…” Grayson looked imploringly at Dr. Harden, unsure.

 

            Teri smiled encouragingly. “What you want,” she emphasized.

 

            “I want…” Grayson trailed off again. Hadn’t he just said this? “What Carl and Tiffany think is best?”

 

            Teri’s gaze never wavered. “It’s great that you’re willing to cooperate with Carl and Tiffany,” she praised. “And I know they’re grateful. But I think that living with the Colonel for so long has made you believe that your own needs and desires aren’t important. So we’re going to work on getting you to understand what your body and mind need to be healthy and happy, OK?”

 

            “I…OK,” Grayson murmured uncertainly. All he wanted was not to be any trouble…

 

            “Very good,” Dr. Harden said reassuringly. “Now that we have our goals, we’re going to start the hard work, OK?”

 

            Grayson shifted in his seat, but nodded.

 

            “You’re here because of what you went through at the hands of the Colonel,” Grayson tensed, guessing where this was going. Dr. Harden continued, “And if we’re going to correct the unhealthy beliefs and reactions that you developed, we’re going to have to address the nature of the trauma itself. So why don’t you tell me about what would go on?”

 

            Grayson squirmed some more, not sure of what she wanted to hear. “Like…like what, exactly?”

 

            Dr. Harden nodded as if Grayson had asked a very insightful question. “Well, in your intake file, Tiffany explained that the Colonel would hit you with a pillowcase filled with bars of soap. Why don’t you start there?”

 

            Straightening his shoulders, Grayson drew in a breath. The doctor seemed like she would wait forever, so Grayson chose to once more push down his emotions and share some of the events of the past 10 months.

 

            Keeping his voice quiet, but not entirely flat, Grayson began. “He got the soap after I…after I wet the bed the second time. The first time, he just yelled a lot, calling me useless and weak and stupid. But when it happened again, he got really mad. He said I needed some military discipline…that, when recruits took too long to learn how they should act, it was the responsibility of everyone to make sure they fall in line…and…and he said the best way to make sure recruits learn what’s right is by showing them what happens when they do it wrong…”

 

            Grayson’s voice faded, so Dr. Harden prompted him gently. “And what did that look like for you, Grayson?”

 

            Grayson’s eyes slid out of focus as he slid into the memory. “When the soap in the pillowcase didn’t work, and I wet the bed for the third time, he…the Colonel decided that I needed more…military training. So he dragged me outside…”

 

            Grayson kept talking, but he wasn’t so much telling the story as he was reliving it. The biting cold of the late-March morning, the sticky, drenched material of his pajamas pants clinging to his legs, the Colonel’s face, scarlet with rage as he screamed at Grayson…

 

            “You stupid, fucking worm!” The Colonel’s voice rang through the chilly morning as he shoved Grayson into the back yard. “I shouldn’t be surprised that your worthless whore of a mother couldn’t even manage to toilet train you!”

 

            Grayson sniffled, choking back sobs. He’d still been asleep when the Colonel had stormed into his room and pulled back the covers, erupting in fury when he’d seen the wet patch on the bed.

 

            “I will not have such weakness in my house!” Martin shouted. “You will learn to be a man! I will work every last bit of frailty out of that pathetic body of yours! Now get to work!”

 

            Stammering, but unable to form any actual words, Grayson’s eyes flickered toward Martin’s face, trying to figure out exactly what kind of ‘work’ he was meant to do.

 

            “Don’t just stand there like an idiot, boy! Jumping jacks until I tell you to stop!!” Spittle coated the Colonel’s lips, his eyes wild.

 

            Already breathing hard, Grayson immediately started jumping. “Get those arms straight, maggot! You can’t even do the most basic exercise in the world!”

 

            It went on for hours. Grayson’s filthy, drying pants chafed against his legs as Martin directed him through seemingly endless jumping jacks, sprints, pushups, and burpees.

 

            As the sun rose higher over the rural property, Grayson started to feel faint. Obviously, he hadn’t eaten breakfast, and hadn’t been to the bathroom. He was tired, scared, and he had no idea how long the Colonel intended to keep him out there.

 

            Shaking from fatigue, Grayson slipped in the middle of a sprint, crashing to the ground.

 

            “Get up, you fucking rat!” Martin shrieked. “What is the matter with you??”

 

            Grayson struggled to his feet, panting and sweating. His vision blurred.

 

            “Don’t slump your shoulders, boy! You stand at attention like a man!”

 

            Grayson wasn’t 100% sure what “at attention” meant, but he stood up straighter, pinning his arms to his sides. His legs trembled beneath him.

 

            “I have never in my life seen such a fragile boy of your age!” the Colonel’s voice had not faltered once, despite yelling almost nonstop since he’d yanked Grayson out of bed. “I will not stand for it! You will learn to obey, or you will suffer the consequences!”

 

            Black spots encroached on the edges of Grayson’s vision. He tried to pay attention, but found that he couldn’t focus on the Colonel’s voice. He couldn’t focus on anything other than trying to keep from falling over.

 

            His head swimming, Grayson became vaguely aware of warmth spreading down his legs.

 

            “WHAT IS THIS???” Even the Colonel’s enraged howl couldn’t fully break the fog that was slowly enveloping Grayson’s consciousness. Irate, the Colonel stared at the wet stain growing down Grayson’s already-soiled pajamas.

 

            Head wobbling on his neck, Grayson blearily gazed at the hazy form of the man in front of him. He saw the Colonel draw back his arm and thrust his fist toward Grayson’s face, and then everything went black…

 

            “Grayson…Grayson…” Grayson blinked, as if waking from a dream. The kind, impartial face of Dr. Harden stared back at him.

 

            “I…” he didn’t know what he was trying to say, but his voice was scratchy. Grayson realized his face was damp. He must’ve been crying as he told the story.

 

            “You’re safe here, Grayson,” came Dr. Harden’s calming voice. “I want you to know that you’re completely safe in this office, and with Carl and Tiffany.”

 

            Grayson hunched and released his shoulders, trying to bring his thoughts back to the present.

 

            “What the Colonel did to you was wrong. Nothing you did called for that kind of behavior, and nothing ever could.” Dr. Harden’s voice was calm yet firm. “What happened was not your fault. It wasn’t your fault then, and this isn’t your fault now.”

 

            Something in her phrasing and voice made Grayson look up. Dr. Harden briefly glanced down toward Grayson’s lap.

 

            Grayson followed her gaze and was greeted with the sight of a large stretch of wetness across his jeans. At the same moment, he became aware of the heavy dampness pressing down on his thighs.

 

            Grayson’s throat tightened dangerously. His breaths turned to wheezes as he curled his arms into his chest.

 

            “Grayson…Grayson, listen to me, please,” Dr. Harden pleaded. “This is not your fault. This is your body’s reaction to the trauma that Mr. Buford put you through. Do you understand? This is not your fault.”

 

            Grayson pressed his lips together, trying not to fall apart. He felt horrible.

 

            “Grayson, I know this is hard, but this where you need to practice, OK?” Dr. Harden raised her eyebrows encouragingly. “What do you want right now? What would make you feel safe?”

 

            “I…I…” Grayson could barely think. He didn’t know what he wanted. He knew that he didn’t want to get in trouble. He wanted…”I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

 

            Dr. Harden nodded sympathetically. “I know you are, Grayson. I understand.”

 

            “I’m…I’m sorry,” Grayson repeated, even more softly. He didn’t know what else to do.

 

            “OK, Grayson. You were very brave today, and I know we’re going to be able to do good work here, but I think it’s best for us to finish for today. I’m going to bring in Carl and Tiffany, OK?”

 

            Knowing there was no way to hide his latest transgression from his cousins, Grayson didn’t protest.

 

            Slightly concerned at being called in early – the session had only lasted 20 minutes – Carl and Tiffany entered the room apprehensively. Upon seeing the young man huddled and crying on the couch, Tiffany strode over and sat next to him, wrapping him in her arms.

 

            Grayson tensed for only a second before melting into Tiffany’s embrace. Tiffany let out a relieved sigh as the teen slumped against her. It was only then that she noticed the telltale stain on Grayson’s pants.

 

            Carl shared a look with his wife, then turned to Dr. Harden. “What can we do?” he asked simply.

 

            Dr. Harden smiled slightly, pleased to see their earnestness. “Grayson endured more than any child ever should,” she began. “We’re only just starting to discover the breadth of Mr. Buford’s behavior.”

 

            “We want to make sure Grayson is safe,” Tiffany interjected. “We know that recovery will be a long process, but what should we look out for to protect him?”

 

            “As you can see,” Teri replied smoothly, trying not to humiliate Grayson any further, “Grayson had a physiological reaction to memories of abuse. I suspect this will happen more than once.”

 

            Grayson cringed, but Carl simply nodded.

 

            “There are likely to be certain things – triggers, we call them – that bring up painful memories for Grayson,” Teri continued. “Sometimes, these triggers might result in the same reaction. Because we’re just starting, we don’t yet know how many triggers there will be, or how severe they are. It’s far more likely that they will be brought up in the confines of therapy, but it really could be anything. Words, images, sounds.”

 

            Grayson shuddered in Tiffany’s arms, horrified at the thought that any old sight or sound could make him pee his pants.

 

            Tiffany tightened her hug in response. “What do you recommend, Doctor?”

 

            “Well, Grayson and I will certainly work on addressing these triggers and developing healthy coping mechanisms,” Teri assured them. “Until then, it’s really up to Grayson what you do to perhaps…prepare for such events.”

 

            Pushing himself out of Tiffany’s arms, Grayson folded his arms in defeat, knowing full well what Dr. Harden was referring to.

 

            “Prepare?” Carl asked, oblivious. “So we can prevent…this kind of thing?”

 

            “Not prevent entirely,” Dr. Harden said carefully. “But if Grayson would like to avoid-“

 

            “You mean protective garments,” Tiffany interrupted tactfully. Dr. Harden nodded.

 

            A tear slipped down Grayson’s cheek, and it did not go unnoticed by Dr. Harden. “Grayson?” she turned back to the teen. “Remember what we’re working on? This is your choice. You don’t have to wear anything if you don’t want to, I promise.”

 

            Carl and Tiffany both nodded in agreement. “We’re fine either way, honey, I swear,” Tiffany promised.

 

            Grayson looked up, his eyes darting nervously between the doctor and his cousins. “You promise?” he asked softly. “You won’t…you won’t get mad if I…if I…”

 

            “Never, kid,” Carl gripped Grayson’s shoulder bracingly. “We will deal with whatever we have to.”

 

            “But…” Grayson’s eyes dropped again. He couldn’t bring himself to believe them. “But I’ll make a mess…”

 

            “Then we’ll clean it,” Tiffany assured him. “No big deal.”

 

            Grayson didn’t tell them yet that the Colonel had forced him into diapers as punishment. That the idea of being put into “protective garments” again made him feel like he was being castigated.

 

            He just looked up at the three adults in the room, all promising him the kind of security he hadn’t experienced for too long.

 

            “It’s OK, Grayson,” Dr. Harden said. “It’s your choice.”

 

            “N-…” Grayson inhaled, then tried again. “No, thank you. I don’t want that.”

 

            Carl squeezed his shoulder lightly, comfortingly. “OK, kid.”

 

            Tiffany put her hand on Grayson’s elbow and helped him to his feet. “Thank you, Dr. Harden,” she shook Teri’s hand. “We’ll call to start scheduling regular appointments.”

 

            Grayson shrugged on his coat. His wet pants weighed down from his hips. He was grateful for the calm reaction to his accident, and he desperately wanted to get better before he could cause any more trouble for Carl and Tiffany.

 

            Carl put his arm around the teen’s shoulder. “Come on, kid. Let’s go get you changed.”

 

            Grayson flushed, but nodded. It had only been a half hour since they’d arrived at the clinic, but he felt like he’d just completed an Ironman. He was too tired to think too much, but knew he had a lot of work ahead of him. 

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Thank you all so much! I'm so glad you're enjoying the story. These chapters keep coming out a bit longer than I plan on, so thanks for sticking with me :) This chapter, I pictured as kind of a montage, which doesn't exactly translate to words. I have two more chapters planned after this one. 

 

**************

            Sensing the potentially debilitating nature of Grayson’s situation, Dr. Harden made time in her schedule to see him twice a week. Grayson proved a willing client, agreeing to all of her suggestions, though Teri knew that such acquiescence was as much a product of his ingrained habit of submitting to authority as it was a desire to further his own rehabilitation.

 

            After his second therapy session was also cut short in the same manner as the first, Grayson started making a habit of going to the bathroom immediately before each visit. Emptying his bladder prior to sitting in Dr. Harden’s office didn’t make the flashbacks any less traumatic, but it did make him feel better about not making such a mess. On the rare occasion that he did have an accident during therapy, it would only result in a small wet patch.

 

            True to Dr. Harden’s prediction, however, Grayson’s accidents weren’t confined to her clinic. In addition to near-nighty bed wettings, Carl and Tiffany inadvertently discovered a few other triggering cues.

 

            The first was so innocuous that it took Grayson hours afterwards to figure out what had gone wrong. Two days after Dr. Harden’s first warning, Grayson was in the car with Carl and Tiffany when Carl started scanning through radio stations.

 

            Seemingly all of a sudden, Tiffany heard a whimper from the backseat. She turned to see Grayson pale and clutching his arms around himself, a stain already spreading across his lap.

 

            Luckily, they were close to home, and Carl was pulling into the garage within minutes. Tiffany slid into the back seat next to Grayson, rubbing his arm and murmuring.

 

            “Grayson. Grayson, you’re safe. It’s OK, sweetie. You’re safe here.”

 

            Tiffany’s voice was the only sound in the quiet car, and it didn’t take long for Grayson to return from the flashback. He blushed copiously when he realized what happened.

 

            “Ready to go inside?” Tiffany rubbed his arm encouragingly.

 

            Grayson barely nodded as he opened the door. Tiffany kept a hand on his back as they walked inside.

 

            “Are you OK, kid?” Carl asked cautiously when they entered the kitchen. “Do you know what happened?”

 

            Grayson shook his head, a bit frantically. “I…I don’t know. I’m sorry…”

 

            “That’s alright,” Tiffany reassured him. “We’ll figure it out.  Just go get changed, honey, it’s OK.”

 

            Grayson didn’t need to be told twice. In the warmth of the shower, he finally realized what had set him off.

 

            “It was the radio,” he explained, abashed, when he got back to the kitchen.

 

            “You don’t like listening to the radio?” Carl interpreted, confused.

 

            “No, it was…” Grayson hesitated. He knew Carl and Tiffany both wanted to know exactly what his triggers were, but he was still reluctant to share the details of his time with the Colonel. Unsurprisingly, the pull to do what he thought his cousins wanted won out.

 

            “When you were flipping through the radio stations,” Grayson continued softly, gazing down at the floor. “One of the stations you flipped past was that religious talk show. I recognized the guy’s voice. It’s what the Colonel would make me listen to when…” he stopped, unable to finish his description of how, as punishment, Martin would make Grayson stand for hours, listening to fire-and-brimstone preachers on the radio ranting about sin and repentance.

 

            “Oooh, I remember that guy,” Carl laughed slightly, trying to diffuse the tension. “Yeah, he’s horrible.”

 

            Tiffany wrapped Grayson in a hug. “We can definitely avoid that station,” she promised. “Thanks for telling us.”

 

            The second trigger was quite a bit more obvious. While watching a movie together one night, Carl went into the kitchen to get popcorn. Through a predictable yet ridiculous series of events, he ended up dropping the bowl and stubbing his toe, which, naturally, elicited a loud string of curses.

 

            In the living room, Tiffany cringed sympathetically, but Grayson, in the blink of an eye, was on his feet, standing ramrod straight. Breathing hard, he desperately blinked back tears while urine spread down the front of his pants.

 

            “Hey! Oh, honey,” Tiffany paused for a moment, glancing toward the kitchen where her husband was still muttering, annoyed. But she knew Carl could take care of himself, so pulled Grayson into a hug, rubbing his back.

 

            Grayson twitched at Tiffany’s touch, whining softly. He turned to look down at his cousin, then, after just a second, leaned down to rest his head on her shoulder. It was this tableau that greeted Carl when he walked back into the living room.

 

            “What the…” but before he could even finish the sentence, Carl realized what had happened. Putting down the popcorn, Carl enveloped his wife and cousin in a big hug. “I’m so sorry, Grayson,” he apologized sincerely. “That was my fault.”

 

            “It’s…it’s not…” Grayson sniffled, embarrassed. He buried his head into Tiffany’s haired and mumbled, almost unintelligibly, “You sound like him.”

 

            Carl sighed heavily and held them tighter.

 

***

 

            In Dr. Harden’s office after the incident in the living room, Grayson spoke up abruptly. “Why?”

 

            Dr. Harden paused. Grayson virtually never spoke unless spoken to, but she wanted to encourage he active participation. “Why what, Grayson?”

 

            Grayson exhaled sharply, annoyed not at Dr. Harden’s question, but at the fact that he was in a position to ask this question in the first place. “Why…why does it have to be…” he clenched his fists, trying to force himself to verbalize what he hated. “Why is…that…what happens? Why do I react that way?”

 

            “That’s a great question, Grayson,” Dr. Harden began, calm as always. “First, I want you to know that it’s not as uncommon as you might think. Temporary loss of bladder control is a natural reaction to fear.”

 

            Grayson snorted derisively. “But there’s nothing to be scared of,” he sneered, frustrated. “You and Carl and Tiffany keep telling me how safe I am.”

 

            Dr. Harden nodded. “That’s where the trauma comes in,” she explained. “Your brain – not necessarily the rational part of your brain, but the deeper, emotional part – spent a long time learning to associate your triggers with fear and pain. It’s going to take more than just a couple of weeks to overcome those associations.”

            Grayson drew his foot up onto the couch, hugging his knee.

 

            “That’s why we’re working on identifying your wants and needs,” Dr. Harden continued after a moment, realizing that Grayson didn’t have anything to say. “You know better than we do what’s going to make you feel safe, what’s going to make you feel better.”

            “I know what’s going to make me feel better!” Grayson spit out angrily. “Everyone keeps asking what I want, like you can just buy me something or let me do something and everything’s going to be fixed.” Annoyed, he blinked tears out of his eyes. “I just want…” he drew in a breath and hung his head to avoid Dr. Harden’s penetrating gaze. “I want to be good.

 

            Dr. Harden didn’t respond. She just waited for Grayson to continue.

 

            “I want to be good,” Grayson repeated softly. “Tiffany and Carl are being so nice to me and so helpful, and I want to …I don’t want to be any trouble for them,” he finished in a whisper. He raised his eyes shyly, looking at Dr. Harden to see if his outburst had made her mad.

 

            “That’s a fine goal, Grayson,” Dr. Harden said kindly. “So what will that look like? Not being any trouble?”

 

            Grayson’s eyes flashed, irritated. “Not wetting myself all the damn time!” he snapped, then almost immediately recoiled, ashamed of his outburst.

 

            But Dr. Harden only nodded, like she always did. She gave Grayson a moment to recover before she started talking again. “Grayson, just like you said a minute ago, there’s no single thing that can magically ‘fix’ everything. I know it might seem counterintuitive to you, but what’s going to help you stop having accidents is teaching your brain and your body that you are safe and taken care of. And in order to do that, we’re going to need you,” she put gentle emphasis on the word, “to tell us what you need when things go wrong. OK?”

 

            Grayson shook his head stubbornly, arms still curled around his knee.  

 

            “I know it’s hard, Grayson,” Dr. Harden acknowledged. “But just think for me. When you have a flashback, is there anything that makes you feel safe…less awful?” she amended, seeing Grayson’s disgusted look at the word “safe.”

 

            The seconds dragged on in silence, but Dr. Harden’s question had sparked something in Grayson. There was something…

 

            “When…” Grayson’s voiced came out strained, and he cleared his throat. “When Tiffany hugs me,” he whispered, finally.

 

            Dr. Harden’s face split into a grin. “Yeah?”

 

            Grayson kept  his eyes down. “She…my mom was really huggy,” he said. “And…and the Colonel never did. He…” Grayson’s voice cracked, and he paused. “I missed it,” he finished, shrugging.

 

            “That’s great that you recognize that, Grayson,” Dr. Harden praised. “Do you think we can tell Tiffany that’s something that helps?”

 

            Grayson thought for a moment. He was so uncomfortable with asking for things, but he supposed that Tiffany already gave him hugs on her own, so maybe it wasn’t something that would bother her.

 

            “…OK,” he mumbled.

 

            “Wonderful, Grayson,” Dr. Harden beamed, as if he’d discovered a cure for the common cold. “I’m very proud of your progress. Keep working, all right? Every time you have a flashback, I want you to be able to ask for what you need, what would help you.”

 

            Grayson shuddered, but agreed.

 

***

 

            Though Grayson’s health and security was obviously the priority, Carl and Tiffany knew they had to make arrangements for the 16-year-old to go to school. They lived a few districts away from the Colonel, so Carl made use of all his local contacts to arrange for Grayson’s transfer to the local high school.

 

            Carl didn’t want to rush Grayson back into things, but Grayson started asking after only 2 weeks.

 

            “I like school,” Grayson swore. “I was always good at it, and it was the best part of living with the Colonel.”

 

            Carl raised an eyebrow. Grayson was still having flashbacks, and Carl and Tiffany didn’t want to add any stress.

 

            “I promise,” Grayson insisted. “School…school was safe,” his voice dropped a bit as he inadvertently said the magic word. “He couldn’t hurt me at school, so there won’t be any triggers there, I’m sure.”

 

            Carl and Tiffany eventually gave in, pleased that Grayson seemed to be taking an interest in his own decisions. So the following Monday, just two weeks after New Years, Tiffany walked Grayson into the front office of the local high school to pick up his schedule.

 

            They were met by a frazzled but pleasant-looking secretary and a cheerful redhead.

 

            “Welcome to Jefferson Central, Mr. Buford!” the secretary looked disproportionately delighted to be greeting a new high school student. “I’m Mrs. Hawthorne, and I’ll be able to help you with any scheduling or administrative issues. This,” she indicated the redheaded girl, “is Ruby. She has a very similar schedule to yours, so she’ll be your guide until you learn the ropes around here!”

 

            Ruby’s smile seemed genuine as she stuck out her hand. “Nice to meet you!” she chirped as Grayson hesitantly shook her hand.

 

            Unfazed by Grayson’s hesitance, Ruby continued. “We’re in different homeroom classes, but they’re right next door, so I can take you there. Then I’ll meet you to take you to pre-calc. We have lunch fourth period.”

 

            Grayson glanced at Tiffany, who nodded comfortingly. “S-sounds good,” Grayson stammered. “Thank you.”

 

            The first bell rang, signaling ten minutes until homeroom. “Come on,” Ruby reached for Grayson. “I’ll take you to your locker, then show you to your homeroom.”

 

            Tiffany patted Grayson on the shoulder, then pulled him in for a hug. “Have fun, sweetie. Call me if you need anything.”

 

            Grayson tried to smile reassuringly at Tiffany, showing her he’d be fine, then turned to follow Ruby down the hall.

 

            Making his way through the crowded hallways, Grayson felt his palms sweating. He hadn’t been lying; school really had been the best part of his time with the Colonel. Still, the idea of entering a whole new high school with an entirely new cast of teenagers made him nervous for obvious reasons. He did want to get back to school, back to a feeling of normalcy, but he also really wanted to give Carl and Tiffany a break from babysitting him. They’d both taken a lot of time off since Christmas Eve, and Grayson wanted to let them get back to their lives and jobs. He hadn’t told them that, of course.

 

            Fortunately, the part of Grayson that enjoyed school settled in fairly quickly. Most high schools were the same, anyway, so it’s not like he had to teach himself to act any differently. His glossed over backstory (he’d moved from another state) wasn’t exotic enough to invite too any intrusive questions, so he was able to assimilate into his class within days.

 

            The second week of class, Grayson was laughing with Ruby as they walked down the hall to lunch. Though he knew his way around, he enjoyed Ruby’s company. She was telling a great story about her little brother when they turned the corner toward the cafeteria.

 

            “Ooof!” Grayson gasped as he ran into someone coming the opposite direction.

 

            “So sorry!” came a male voice, slightly older-sounding, and when Grayson looked up and registered the speaker, his heart stopped.

 

            He’d run into a young-ish man in full military uniform. The soldier was still apologizing. “Are you OK? I didn’t see you there!”

 

            Grayson was breathing hard, desperately trying to hold it together. He just managed to choke out a “Yeah” before stumbling forward.

 

            The soldier looked concernedly after him, but Ruby followed. “Grayson? Grayson, what’s going on?”

 

            “Hhhhh…” Grayson wheezed, slipping further into a panic. “Hide…”

 

            Ruby grabbed him by the hand and pulled him through a door to their left, shutting it behind her.

 

            Grayson wrapped his hands around the back of his neck, burying his head into his arms as he slid down the wall. He tried to breathe deeply, but he couldn’t stop his heart from pounding wildly. He felt urine pool beneath him.

 

            It was a strange, disconcerting feeling. Grayson wasn’t lost in a memory this time, but he couldn’t stop freaking out. It was almost as if he’d floated out of his body and could do nothing to control his heart or his bladder. He knew that the soldier wasn’t the Colonel, but the shock of seeing a military uniform unexpectedly had been too much. He knew that the soldier wouldn’t hurt him, but he was still shaking on the floor.

 

            As Grayson tried to calm himself by taking stock of his surroundings, he realized that Ruby was holding his hand, gently stroking his skin with her thumb. Surprised, Grayson stared down at their entwined fingers.

 

            The combination of the sight of Ruby’s thumb moving back and forth across the back of his hand coupled with the rhythmic sensation served as an almost meditative stimulus for Grayson. After a few minutes, he felt his mind sync back up with his body.

 

            Of course, now he was left sitting in a puddle of his own making in a high school classroom. Grayson tensed slightly, trying not to cry.

 

            “What do you want? What would make you feel safe?” He heard Dr. Harden’s voice in his head, and he knew the answer to her oft-repeated question.

 

            Slowly, Grayson reached into pocket and pulled out his phone.

 

            “Grayson? Are you OK?” Tiffany’s voice was calm but urgent when she answered.

 

            “Ca-“ Grayson’s voice caught. “Can you come get me?”

 

            “Of course, sweetheart,” Tiffany was already gesturing to her shift supervisor, who nodded, granting silent permission for her to leave. “Are you OK? Can you tell me what happened?” She wanted to keep Grayson talking, at least until she was sure he wasn’t hurt.

 

            Grayson bit his lip. “There was a soldier…a guy in military dress. I ran into him on the way to lunch. I…he surprised me.”

 

            On the other end of the phone, Tiffany clenched her jaw. What was a soldier doing at the high school? She’d have to call Carl. “OK, honey, I see. It’s not your fault. Where are you now? Is anyone with you?”

 

            “Yeah, I’m…” Grayson looked around. “I’m in the band room. Ruby’s with me.”

 

            “Good, good,” Tiffany replied. She inhaled, preparing for the next question. “Do you need me to bring you a change of clothes?”

 

            Grayson flushed, even though Tiffany couldn’t see him and Ruby couldn’t hear the question. “Yes, please,” he murmured.

 

            “I’ll stop by the house,” Tiffany said gently. “I’ll be there in about 20 minutes.”

 

            “Thank you,” Grayson whispered and hung up.

 

            Ruby hadn’t let go of his hand. They sat like that for another few minutes before Grayson finally spoke.

 

            “Thanks,” he said softly.

 

            “You’re welcome,” Ruby replied. “Are you OK?”

 

            Grayson nodded. “I…” he didn’t know how to explain. “I just…”

 

            Ruby shook her head. “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to,” she declared firmly but kindly.

 

            Grayson looked up at her, bemused. Ruby met his gaze and smiled. “It’s none of my business, Gray. I just want to make sure you’re OK.”

 

            Grayson’s face softened. He could barely register his gratitude, but he managed to mumbled another “Thanks.”

 

            Ruby squeezed his hand one final time before letting go. She stood up and walked purposefully over to the closet, returning with a roll of paper towels.

 

            Grayson colored deeply as Ruby walked back toward him. He reached up to grab the paper towels from her. Thankfully, Ruby didn’t protest, and Grayson set to wiping up his mess.

 

            When Grayson didn’t move to stand and throw away the soiled towels, Ruby sat down next to him again. They stayed silent for another few minutes, and Grayson was grateful for her presence.

 

            “Is there anything else I can do?” Ruby queried, breaking the silence. She sounded sincere, not like she was asking permission to leave, but Grayson still cringed.

 

            “No,” he said, then amended his answer. “I don’t think so.”

 

            Ruby listened to his soft response, but didn’t believe it. “Why don’t I go to the front office and wait for your cousin?” she suggested. “That way, she’ll know where to find you.”

 

            Grayson nodded gratefully. “Yeah. That’s a good idea.” He caught Ruby’s eye and repeated, more earnestly this time, “Thanks, Ruby.”

 

            Ruby stood, leveraging herself on Grayson’s shoulder. “Anytime.”

 

            Ruby shut the door behind her, and Grayson sighed, resting his head against the cool, cinderblock wall. Alone, he started to tremble. How could he have let this happen? He was making Tiffany leave work, he was going to miss his afternoon classes, and Ruby must think he was so pathetic. No matter how kind she’d been, there’s no way she didn’t pity him or think of him as some sort of mental patient.

 

            Grayson blinked back tears. He was such a problem. He couldn’t do anything right, couldn’t take care of himself anywhere.

 

            Drawing in a breath, Grayson rubbed at his eyes. He knew he had to pull himself together before Ruby got back with Tiffany. The last thing he wanted after wetting himself in school and making Tiffany come get him was to make her think that he needed coddling.

 

            Soon enough, Grayson heard the band room door open, and Tiffany followed Ruby inside, carrying a bag that she handed to Grayson.

 

            Grayson hauled himself to his feet, forcefully keeping his voice steady as he thanked Tiffany. He looked around for a second, then decided to go change in the closet to avoid risking walking through the halls to the bathroom. He gathered the wet paper towels as his stood, dropping them in the trashcan. 

 

            Tiffany and Ruby didn’t speak while Grayson changed, wary of saying anything he could hear and misinterpret.

 

            When Grayson emerged, he deliberately refused to hang his head. He didn’t want to give Tiffany any indication that she needed to comfort him.

 

            The bell rang at that moment, and Ruby looking at the clock. “See you tomorrow?” she gazed at Grayson.

 

            Grayson attempted a smile. “You bet,” he replied softly. He didn’t thank her again. He hoped she already knew.

 

            Tiffany stood with Grayson for a few minutes until the noise in the hall died down. “All set, honey?”

 

            Clearing his throat, Grayson nodded and followed her out the door.

 

            In the car, Tiffany sighed. “I’m so sorry, Grayson,” she began. Grayson clenched his hand, not sure how to respond. Why was she apologizing? “I called Carl to see if he knew anything, and it turns out the Army sends young, enlisted men to area high schools for recruitment. It’s not Carl’s department, but he’s sorry he didn’t think of it to warn you.”

 

            Grayson looked out the window. It wasn’t Carl’s fault, obviously. It was his own damn fault that he couldn’t even see a soldier without having a fucking breakdown. “It’s fine,” he insisted, somewhat dully. “Ruby was there. I was safe.”

 

            Tiffany rubbed his shoulder affectionately. “I’m proud of you, honey. You did such a good job handling the situation and calling me.”

 

            Grayson grimaced, which Tiffany mistook for a grin. “We’ll be home soon,” Tiffany continued. “You have an appointment with Dr. Harden this afternoon, and I know she’ll be so pleased to hear about your progress.”

 

            Grayson didn’t respond. He knew Tiffany probably genuinely considered the events of the day “progress.” The whole idea was disgusting to Grayson. He really was nothing but a burden. 

Edited by Sapphire3619 (see edit history)
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