Acceptance | Gay MxM |

14. To Make Things Right

I had to help him.

Finally, I was able to stand up. I returned to the kitchen and stopped to stare at the bloodied towels on the table, and then at the knife on the floor. I walked to it and crouched down to take it, but when my fingers reached the cold blade, I pulled my hand back like it was on fire. The memories of my own nightmare tried to resurface, and I had to sit down.

As I sat there on the floor, staring at the knife, I felt nauseated. We'd both nearly lost our lives because of hate. These were the times I had to fight to remember there still was good in this world. I had to remember I was stronger now, much stronger than when I got stabbed, both physically and mentally. I was able to defend myself and protect those who needed it.

But at that very moment, I didn't feel strong enough to pick up the knife in front of me. The idea of what could've happened if I hadn't followed my instincts made me sick. I was making myself sick.

Because I'd caused this. He nearly lost his life because I pushed him.

I nearly threw up.

The knife looked like it was mocking me. I scolded myself for being such a scaredy-cat as I drew in a deep breath. It was just a kitchen knife. Finally, I was able to take it and put it away. I turned my back on it almost immediately, trying not to remember Randall holding it, ready to...

I shook my head and turned around to see the bedroom door. It was open, and I could hear Randall tossing and turning in his bed. I had the feeling neither of us would get any sleep tonight. It was still very early, too.

I got myself a glass of water and drank it in one go, still listening to every sound the poor man made while trying to fall asleep. I put the glass away and tiptoed to the door and peered in. Randall was still in his bed, his back turned on me. He was moving restlessly...

I hated myself so much at that moment. He was in great distress because of me and my selfish actions. I could only hope he'd let me make things right.

I retreated from the door and went to turn off most of the lights, and sat back down on the couch.

The way he'd cried against my shoulder... There was so much pain in him it hurt.

"He called me a sissy. Fag. Pig. Whore... The list goes on. For years, I had to watch my every word, do exactly as he said... I failed so many times I got used to the pain."

How much torture he'd had to go through? I'd noticed several scars on his body. Were they all caused by that sick fuck? Most likely. He did say the one on his forehead was the first of many.

No wonder he reacted the way he did... He'd been through some really fucked up trauma. Because of what? Because he was gay? And it had lasted for years. Years of horrible abuse. Years! He got used to being in pain!

I stood up in anger, but there was nothing I could do. There was no one I could unleash all that anger on.

At least I could keep him safe, and help him the best I could. He really needed to start seeing a good psychologist, preferably Vaughn, the man who'd helped me. I'd find out what happened to his so-called father. If he was still alive... He wouldn't be for too long.

Again, I tried my best to calm down. I couldn't sit down yet, so I walked around the living room, stopping by the kitchen every now and then, but seeing the knife made me continue my way. I looked around, noticing a lot of things. A lot of things that weren't there.

No curtains. No carpets. Only a couch and a small stand for an older TV. No pictures, no plants, nothing personal, nothing that showed what kind of person he was. Had he moved in just recently? But still, there should've been... more. I checked the kitchen too and saw only the most basic things one would need for cooking.

So empty... It was almost cold.

I returned to his bedroom door. Randall had stopped moving now, but I couldn't tell if he was asleep. The bedroom had only the bed and a wardrobe in it. The sheets were black, just like most of his clothes.

I retreated back to the couch and lay down on it. There were no pillows or blankets anywhere, but I didn't really need them. I used the armrest as my pillow and pulled my jacket over me, knowing I wouldn't get any sleep anyway. I just listened to the sounds in the apartment. Randall was probably asleep now, since I couldn't hear him move in a long while.

How I wished I could take back time and not push him past his limits... I just... I'd stupidly assumed... Fuck...

But I'd make things right. I'd call my psychologist first thing in the morning. I'd find someone else to cover my shifts and stay with Randall for as long as he needed. I'd do anything to make things right. I'd do anything to help him, no matter what.

He came to me, after all. He came to my bar that one night and told me he wasn't doing well at all. He chose to trust me.

And now I could only hope I hadn't ruined that trust.