Where There is Desire

Just Because it Burns Doesn't Mean Your Gonna Die

Josh didn't know why, 6 years after everything with Ronan started, 5 years after Ronan left, at 18 years old, he finally told the story, the full story, for the first time. He'd joked about it, trying to make himself feel better. He'd told pieces, the things that other people knew. The things that didn't hurt so much. The things that didn't burn. But he'd found a therapist, Katy, and he trusted her, felt like he could tell her, and that it would be okay, and he would get the help he needed. It felt really freeing, to finally have someone who knew the full truth. He actually let out an elated laugh, having finished the full story. "I'm glad you told me Josh. I know that was really hard for you to say. Especially since you'd already told me pieces. And I want you to know that I'm very proud of you and you've already come a very long way."

"Really?" She nodded. "In our second session you said some boys hurt you. After that you told me a time and a few more specifics. But now as you were telling the full story, you said his name." He laughed as she realized she was right. "Talking about it will help you feel less of that shame that you were talking about. It's important to remember that nothing that he did, any of them did, was your fault. What Ronan did, was a process called grooming." The name, it was relieving. "So, when he did those things, when I felt jealous, it was because I had been being groomed?" She nodded. He chuckled and wiped the tears from his eyes. After years, he finally felt that relief that he had so been longing for. "I want to continue to talk about this with you. The more you talk about it, the easier it will be. And the more you'll be able to process it outside of the nightmares, and hopefully it will help you stop having them." He nodded because it felt good. A weight was lifted from his chest. Talking about everything that had happened to him, out loud, for the first time, had been hard. But if it felt this good, the thought he could do it again. "I want to keep going because it is important before you can truly begin to heal that you don't feel shame or guilt anymore, I want to feel angry." He nodded. "I actually already feel less of the shame that I've carried for so long." She smiled at him. "Then we're already getting somewhere."

Asher was the next person he told. It made since, after everything they'd been through together, to tell his best friend. And at the moment, kind of his only friend. Then he told his parents. Not particularly by choice. He'd had a flashback in the Costco, after a nightmare the night before. Charlotte had touched his leg and he'd screamed at Ronan to let him go until he realized it wasn't Ronan, it was Charlotte. He'd told his parents that night. And they were supportive, and upset that he hadn't felt comfortable coming forward then. But having the important people, the ones that he thought should know, know everything, it felt right. It felt good. And he was starting to heal. The nightmares started to stop. His relationship with sleep began to repair, as well as his relationship with himself. And for the first time in a long time, he felt good about his 7th grade year.

Josh loved his creative writing class. It was one of the things that made school bearable as a senior. He really loved his teacher too. Mr. Harold reminded him a bit of Mr. Beck, just less old. There were of course a lot of differences, but the feeling of being in his classroom was lighthearted, silly, and freeing. Sometimes he would start singing 'don't worry, be happy' in his head because of it. He loved seeing what silly tie his teacher was wearing that day and what kind of insight he would bring, a new perspective to something. He loved every bit of it. At least, until he heard they were starting non-fiction. He hated non-fiction. It felt restricting and boring. He loved being able to write whatever fantastical and outlandish idea he could come up with. But he didn't really have any fantastical ideas that morning, so he chose to hear out what prompt the teacher had for his students. Every day they had a ten-minute writing exercise. He wouldn't always write what he was told, but he didn't have any better ideas. "If you get stuck, write something you know. Don't make it exact, but you can use a situation you know. You can genderbend yourself or change your name or physical features, but don't write it exactly." He explained. "Now I want you to write about the worst day ever." He wrote it on the board with expo marker in his sloppy handwriting and kind of looped together and made N's not look like an n. Josh's mind immediately turned to one day. He figured most of his classmates would turn to something like in 'Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day', but not him. It turned to Ronan. He remembered what his therapist had told him, that talking about it, not hiding it, would make it feel less shameful. That nothing that had happened had been his fault. Ronan's actions were his own, not Josh's. Part of him wanted to try a different idea, maybe about the time he and his sister had chased each other around the house with knives, but he decided to do it anyway. He put in his headphones, turned on some music. He came up with a name, a girl, to put in the story, instead of himself. He'd figure out what to call Ronan later, but he began his story. Brooklyn took a deep breath as she stepped off the bus. It was her first day of 7th grade and she was determined to make this year a good one.

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AN: if you've read thus far despite how heavy this story is, I just want to say thank you. This was really hard for me to write, so I hope even if you didn't like it that it made you feel something, and that it drew your attention to a large issue. If you have experienced sexual assault or anything shown in this story, I encourage you to seek help from a professional. If you need help finding one, the sexual assaults hotline number is 800-656-4673. 

Recovery is possible, and nothing was your fault. You are amazing and strong. You're all awesome. Thanks again.