Made To Be Broken

Prologue

His sobs intensifying, Patrick hugged him tighter. “It'll never be okay.” he cried. “Not ever.”

“Don't say that.” the boy whispered and kissed him again. “It will be. I promise. It'll be okay, I'll make it okay, somehow.”

“You can't.” Patrick choked. “Don't promise. Please don't.”

The boy started to speak again but Patrick silenced him with a kiss as his hands began to move all over his body, igniting emotions he'd only before read about, or heard about. His breath began to puff off his lips as his heart raced faster, harder and his body began to come alive in a way that both frightened and excited him.

He didn't know just when their clothes came off, but only registered their warm, bare skin touching. The boy startled himself by his own apparent skillfulness as he gently turned Patrick onto his stomach, used his own saliva to lubricate himself and Patrick's entrance, then hugged the kid in his arms as he very slowly began to enter his body.

Patrick sucked in a sharp breath laced with a whimpering cry. The boy kissed his shoulder, hesitated, then pushed in a little deeper. Patrick choked on a staggered cry and gripped the sheets. But when the boy paused, as if to withdraw, Patrick shook his head.

“No.” he shuddered, crying softly. “Don't...stop...please.”

The boy's eyes watered then tears were running down his face, dripping into Patrick's hair at the nape of his neck. His love for the kid exploded through him, rattling his heart in his chest. He'd always known he loved Patrick, even before he knew Patrick was gay. But it had never felt this overwhelming and consuming. He pressed his lips to the back of Patrick's head and cried as he shoved deeper inside the kid, his mind reeling, breath breaking and falling from his lips in shaky pieces.

“I love you.” The boy trembled, sobbing, hugging Patrick tighter in his arms, feeling the kid's heart beating wildly against his palm as his hands flattened against his chest. “I love you, Patrick...I love you so much...”

His face pressed into the boy's pillow, Patrick cried harder – but not from the boy entering him. His cries were pushing up out of him by force, in anguish. It frightened the boy and he held Patrick even tighter, as if his embrace could somehow protect the kid from what was hurting him.

“Please don't cry, Patrick.” The boy choked on his own sobs. “Please. It'll be okay. It will. I'll make it okay, I'll help you. I'll always be here for you.”

Patrick covered the boy's hands with his own and pressed his body back against the boy. His inner heat surrounded the boy's member, squeezed him, urged him to take full possession. He began to move against Patrick's tense but willing body. Patrick shuddered and whimpered but began to move with the boy until they were in perfect rhythm and everything around them seemed to disappear and turn to nothing. For a short while, everything was perfect...heavenly. He felt the tension in Patrick fade away, sensed the kid's despair and hatred for himself dissipate. For that moment, while the boy held him, made love to him...Patrick knew who he was, loved who he was, and embraced it without reservation or shame.

In some ways it seemed like they were making love for hours, and yet it ended way too soon. The boy and Patrick both felt their bodies tighten almost simultaneously. The boy clung to Patrick as their breaths exploded out of them on broken cries and whimpers and they released together, hard sobs bursting free, shattering the darkness. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the boy wondered if his parents could hear them. But their room was at the far end of the hall. He didn't think they could hear.

His body shuddered and trembled, his breath hot and ragged against Patrick's damp shoulder. “Stay with me, Patrick.” he whispered. “I promise it'll be okay.”

Patrick didn't answer as they shifted and the boy pulled him into his arms. They huddled beneath the blankets and he caressed Patrick's back with light fingertips as the kid laid his head on the boy's chest.

“Thank you.” he murmured as he began to sink into sleep. “Please don't...blame yourself...you loved me...when no one else did.”

The boy frowned and started to ask what he meant, but the kid was already asleep. He made a mental note to ask him in the morning, then closed his eyes, hugged Patrick closer and let himself succumb to the Sand Man's tempting.

. . . . . .

The boy woke with a start, as if shaken awake, but there was no one there.

No one.

“Patrick?” The boy sat forward and rubbed his eyes. Outside the bedroom window, the sky was overcast and raindrops ticked against the glass. Had he dreamed Patrick being there? He shifted beneath the blankets and felt the sheets slide against his naked body. It hadn't been a dream. But if not a dream, then where was...

He shoved back the blankets and left the bed, grabbing his underwear and tugging them on. He slipped into a pair of jeans then went to the window and looked out into the dreary day. Why had Patrick left? Where would he go? He'd said his parents didn't want him home until...

Until I'm not sick anymore.

The boy's face tightened, his eyes hardening. What the hell was wrong with his parents? The church? God? Did they all really see something awful when they looked at Patrick?

“Patrick.” The boy whispered, his throat tightening. His fingertips touched the cool glass as he watched the raindrops trickle across the surface like Patrick's tears from last night. “Where are you? Please come back.”

The sudden knock on his bedroom door made him jump. He turned as the door opened slowly and his dad stepped in. The man's face was pinched with tension, his eyes glossy with tears – and terror seized the boy's heart and mind.

“Dad...” He was already shaking and didn't know why. He hugged himself but couldn't stop the chills that were suddenly coursing through him. Tears welled up before he even knew why he was crying. “Dad...what's wrong?”

The man just looked at him, deep pain resonating in his eyes. His tears began to slip free and run down his cheeks as his jaw tightened, flexing the muscles in his face.

“Dad...what is it?” The boy cried.

“It's...” His dad bit his lip as his chin trembled hard. He approached the boy on shaky legs. “It's Patrick.”

The boy shook his head. He tried to back away but hit the window.

“He...” The man was crying openly. He grabbed the boy's hands. “He...killed himself...early this morning.”

“No...” The boy shook his head harder, his jaw clenching, tears streaming. “No! You're lying! You're lying! Stop fucking lying!”

The man grabbed him and pulled him into his arms. The boy fought him, screaming and crying, but his father refused to release him.

“No-oo!” he screamed, choking on his cries. He grabbed onto the man and clung to him, his strength abandoning him. His knees gave out and the man held him up in his arms, hugging him tight, sobbing,

“I'm so sorry, son.” he cried. “I'm so very sorry.”

The boy shook against his father's trembling body, his eyes squeezed shut, images from the night before snapping through his head, and Patrick's last words like a ghost whispering in his mind.

“Please don't blame yourself...you loved me...when no one else did.”