Ruben liked him all the more for it.
“When he was done, he took the condom with him. Then he slapped my face, punched me in the gut, kicked me a few times. There was more but… the memory’s distorted. Too much pain to see through clearly. When he went away, I heard him ransack the house downstairs. Later I learned he had stolen some of Rose’s jewelry and a couple of antiques. After that he left.” Ruben sighed. It had been a long time since he had last recounted this real-life horror story. As usual, he felt drained of energy, of the will to live, of light within. But, somehow, he also felt better for it, lighter, and he knew it was because he was telling this to Duncan. The man seemed to understand and empathize—and still care.
Duncan did care, didn’t he? Ruben shivered at the alternative.
“I heard the door slam shut, but I couldn’t get up for a long time. I guess I was in shock. Plus the injuries, of course. When Rose came home….” The lump in Ruben’s throat felt awfully big to breathe past. “I lied to her. I told her a stranger had surprised me in bed, asleep, and raped and beaten me, and then robbed the place.”
“That was true,” Duncan cut in, his voice rationalizing.
“Maybe. From a certain point of view.” Ruben glanced at one of the familiar pictures on the mantelpiece, where Rose was smiling happily, her slender arm around a grinning kid. There were times when Ruben couldn’t recognize himself from the photos. They spoke of a happier past he could scarcely recall. “I told her and the police I couldn’t identify the… the intruder, that I hadn’t seen his face.”
Duncan leaned forward, his expression strained, his gaze intense. “You mean, he’s still out there somewhere?”
“No. No.” Ruben shook his head. “About a month later, he tried to break into another house, this time in Silverdale, but the owner surprised him with a shotgun. A hunter. The man who raped me… he was shot and killed. I saw his picture in the paper and recognized him right away. There had been a thirteen-year-old boy in the house then. If he had….” A sob escaped him. “It would have been my fault.”
All of a sudden, Duncan was there, sitting next to Ruben, his warm, strong arm around his shoulders, comforting him. “No, Ruben. You can’t think like that. What-if’s never serve a useful purpose, only drive you insane.”
“But I am sort of mad, aren’t I?” Ruben leaned into the touch, his cheek resting gently on Duncan’s sweater-covered chest, the scent of deodorant, coffee, and male musk surrounding him. This was the closest he had been to a man, and he was shocked at how good it felt to just be held. “I can’t leave this house, even though it happened right here. I feel trapped here, and yet this is the only place where I feel safe, calm, and free. I know it sounds stupid.”
“No, Ruben, it doesn’t.” Duncan’s voice was soft and kind, as if he understood all the darkness Ruben carried inside. “We all have our own ways of coping with loss and tragedy. No one has the right to say that one way is better than another.”
“Y-you don’t think I’m a… a freak?”
“Absolutely not. I would never think that.” Duncan’s breath wafted over Ruben’s hair, shifting it around, and then Ruben thought he felt Duncan kiss the top of his head, but couldn’t be sure. “What kind of agoraphobia do you have? I read about it a little but….”
“I can’t go outside. When Rose was still here, I could go out to the porch sometimes with her, you know, and drink coffee there.” He sniffled, hoping he didn’t get any snot on Duncan’s clothes. “But not anymore. If I try… I can’t breathe, my head starts spinning, and my heart hurts.”
“Panic attack,” Duncan said, obviously more to himself than to Ruben. “Does anything help?”
“At first there were shrinks and meds. I have anxiety medication now too, but I mostly use relaxation techniques to control the
“When he was done, he took the condom with him. Then he slapped my face, punched me in the gut, kicked me a few times. There was more but… the memory’s distorted. Too much pain to see through clearly. When he went away, I heard him ransack the house downstairs. Later I learned he had stolen some of Rose’s jewelry and a couple of antiques. After that he left.” Ruben sighed. It had been a long time since he had last recounted this real-life horror story. As usual, he felt drained of energy, of the will to live, of light within. But, somehow, he also felt better for it, lighter, and he knew it was because he was telling this to Duncan. The man seemed to understand and empathize—and still care.
Duncan did care, didn’t he? Ruben shivered at the alternative.
“I heard the door slam shut, but I couldn’t get up for a long time. I guess I was in shock. Plus the injuries, of course. When Rose came home….” The lump in Ruben’s throat felt awfully big to breathe past. “I lied to her. I told her a stranger had surprised me in bed, asleep, and raped and beaten me, and then robbed the place.”
“That was true,” Duncan cut in, his voice rationalizing.
“Maybe. From a certain point of view.” Ruben glanced at one of the familiar pictures on the mantelpiece, where Rose was smiling happily, her slender arm around a grinning kid. There were times when Ruben couldn’t recognize himself from the photos. They spoke of a happier past he could scarcely recall. “I told her and the police I couldn’t identify the… the intruder, that I hadn’t seen his face.”
Duncan leaned forward, his expression strained, his gaze intense. “You mean, he’s still out there somewhere?”
“No. No.” Ruben shook his head. “About a month later, he tried to break into another house, this time in Silverdale, but the owner surprised him with a shotgun. A hunter. The man who raped me… he was shot and killed. I saw his picture in the paper and recognized him right away. There had been a thirteen-year-old boy in the house then. If he had….” A sob escaped him. “It would have been my fault.”
All of a sudden, Duncan was there, sitting next to Ruben, his warm, strong arm around his shoulders, comforting him. “No, Ruben. You can’t think like that. What-if’s never serve a useful purpose, only drive you insane.”
“But I am sort of mad, aren’t I?” Ruben leaned into the touch, his cheek resting gently on Duncan’s sweater-covered chest, the scent of deodorant, coffee, and male musk surrounding him. This was the closest he had been to a man, and he was shocked at how good it felt to just be held. “I can’t leave this house, even though it happened right here. I feel trapped here, and yet this is the only place where I feel safe, calm, and free. I know it sounds stupid.”
“No, Ruben, it doesn’t.” Duncan’s voice was soft and kind, as if he understood all the darkness Ruben carried inside. “We all have our own ways of coping with loss and tragedy. No one has the right to say that one way is better than another.”
“Y-you don’t think I’m a… a freak?”
“Absolutely not. I would never think that.” Duncan’s breath wafted over Ruben’s hair, shifting it around, and then Ruben thought he felt Duncan kiss the top of his head, but couldn’t be sure. “What kind of agoraphobia do you have? I read about it a little but….”
“I can’t go outside. When Rose was still here, I could go out to the porch sometimes with her, you know, and drink coffee there.” He sniffled, hoping he didn’t get any snot on Duncan’s clothes. “But not anymore. If I try… I can’t breathe, my head starts spinning, and my heart hurts.”
“Panic attack,” Duncan said, obviously more to himself than to Ruben. “Does anything help?”
“At first there were shrinks and meds. I have anxiety medication now too, but I mostly use relaxation techniques to control the
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