*CONTENT WARNING* This chapter and the next one take place in the hospital and discuss sexual assault and self-harm/suicide. 

I woke up in an unfamiliar white room. I could hear an incessant, steady beeping sound from somewhere around me, but I didn't quite have the strength to look around yet. I looked around as much as I could without moving and saw my parents, sitting in two chairs against the wall. They were both asleep, Mom was resting her head on Dad's shoulder, who sat with his arms crossed, and his head leaning on hers. As my eyes explored the room, I noticed medical posters on the wall and realized I was in the hospital. Then it clicked that the beeping sound was a heart rate monitor, and the beeping began to get faster and faster as I regained more awareness. Flashbacks of Adam attacking me raced through my head and I relived the moments that led me here.

"No!" I shouted out involuntarily as I saw a flashback of my head hitting the headboard. I felt a pressure on my hand that caused me to jump and pull my hand back. I looked to my left to see Trent, sleep still in his eyes in a chair by my bedside.

"Oh, thank god, I was so worried," he cried as he tried to reach for my hand again. I pulled it further away and he frowned a little but pulled his hand away from me. "How do you feel?" He asked.

"C-confused," I whispered.

"You texted me that Adam broke into your room, I immediately left for your house, and I called the police on my way. When I got there you were unconscious, and he was... he was undressing you, I fought him off you and then an ambulance came and the police arrested him." Tears were streaming down my face, both out of relief and from anger. I was relieved he didn't get to finish what he started, glad that Trent was able to save me, but so angry that this happened, that I let this happen.

"Th-thank you," I said, and then I looked to my parents, they managed to stay asleep through my outburst. I was thankful, as I wasn't ready to face them yet. The pain they must be feeling, the betrayal, the anger, at who I didn't know.

"Do you want me to wake them" Trent asked, nodding toward my sleeping folks. I shook my head and he nodded. "Gray, there's something else," Trent's expression fell, becoming more serious if that was possible. Confusion crossed my face as my heartrate increased again. "The doctors found some... some cuts, on your arms." I choked on my breath as I began to sob, the weight of the whole situation, and the world, crashing down on me once the words left Trent's mouth. I felt like I was 10 years old again, like all of this was happening for the first time, and I was waking up alone in my bed, my whole body in pain unable to move.

"I... I-I uh..." I struggled to find words to explain myself, to explain away what I had done to myself. Trent wasn't dumb though; he couldn't be fooled into thinking I hadn't done those to myself on purpose.

"Sh," Trent cooed. "It's okay baby." The calming, gentle tone to his usually raspy voice comforted me, and helped me get my breathing under control. "I understand, you've been carrying around a huge secret and a lot of pain. I just... I want you to know that I care so deeply about you. I am so lucky to call you my boyfriend." More tears fell at Trent's compliments. I smiled through them and was about to speak when I heard my parents stirring in their chairs.

"Oh my god, Grayson!" Mom shouted as she shot across the hospital room. Trent stood up and backed away from the bed.

"I'm going to go for some air, I'll let the nurses know he's awake," We all know that was code for Trent going out for a smoke. I wished he didn't leave me alone with my parents, but I know that that's what they would want, and he was in no position to defy them. At least he would save me a little by getting a nurse, who arrived shortly after he left my room.

"Well, look who's finally up!" The nurse, whose nametag read Jenn, said as she walked into my room. She was rather cheerful, for looking after a sexual assault victim, but I'm sure on most patients that worked. I, on the other hand, would rather her be as doom and gloom as I was. "How are you feeling Grayson?" She asked as she read the monitors I was hooked up to, jotting down notes on my chart.

"My h-head hurts a b-bit," I stuttered.

"Do you always stutter, hon?"

"W-when I'm uncomfortable, yeah." She nodded and jotted more notes.

"Where does your head hurt?" I touched the back of my head, the point of impact with my headboard. She nodded knowingly, again taking down more notes. "That's totally normal for head trauma, you probably have a concussion, so we're going to need to keep you overnight."

My eyes widened. "W-why?" I asked.

"It's standard protocol with concussions, there's a slight chance you could fall into a coma if you show more serious symptoms." My eyes widened even more if possible, and my brows pulled together in worry. "Oh, don't worry, sweetie you're doing great so far and have nothing to worry about, we just need to keep you just in case." Does she even realize who she's telling not to worry?

"Can we stay with him?" Mom asked as Jenn took more notes.

"He can have one guest spend the night being as he is a minor."

"Trent!" I shouted. Mom turned to me, disappointment and betrayal in her face.

"I think your father or I should stay with you, dear." Mom insisted.

"No."

"Honey, this is not up for debate."

"Y-you're right. It's not. I want T-Trent to stay with me, I'll feel safer," I admitted. I could tell it broke my parents' hearts to say that, but it was the truth. They let me down, they let the man who hurt me into our home, and Trent was there for me.

"In situations like these, we really do recommend respecting the child's wishes. Making sure Grayson is safe and comfortable is important right now." Jenn interjected before my parents could protest again.

"Fine." Mom said, turning away from me, counting every floor tile and looking at every painting and poster on the wall rather than at me. Jenn asked my parents to leave the room so she could ask me some questions, and I knew what was coming. She was going to ask about my cuts.

"So, Grayson, I'm just going to be flat out with these questions, okay? You seem like a no-nonsense kind of guy." I nodded, grateful that she wasn't going to sugarcoat things, and dance around the subject. "How long have you been self-harming?"

"Like, f-five years," I admitted.

"When was the last time you did it?"

"L-last night."

"What was your goal, what were you trying to do?"

"I'm n-not suicidal, if that's w-what you're asking."

"So you weren't trying to kill yourself?" I shook my head no. "Do you currently want to hurt yourself?" Jenn asked. I shrugged. "What does that mean, Grayson?"

"I want to c-cut, but I don't want to die," I told her.

"I understand, you've been through a lot. Have you ever had those kinds of thoughts?" I shook my head no again. "Have you ever made a plan to?" I shook my head again. Jenn nodded and circled some boxes on a form she had on the clipboard with my file. "I'm sorry for the questions, but we just have to make sure you're safe. I don't think you're a danger to yourself, but I am concerned that you could really hurt yourself self-harming honey. We have a psychiatrist that we refer kids too all the time. I'm going to give your parents her card, okay?" I nodded, I assumed this would happen. "How else are you feeling?"

"Numb, s-scared, violated,"

"These are all normal feelings. I just want to warn you, police are going to be coming to question you soon, they tend to ask awful and invasive questions."

"Great," I whispered, mostly to myself. Jenn gave me a sympathetic look before leaving my room, I turned, which made me a little dizzy, and could see her in the hall talking to my parents. She handed them a card, I assumed the one for the psychiatrist, and I could just see my parents nod, Mom wipes her eyes occasionally. I want to feel bad for my parents, but I can't help but feel resentment. They had no idea, for 6 years that any of this happened before, and they brought this man into our house, and then he attacks me again. They should have protected me, they should have seen what was going on, they should have been there.

My parents and I have always been close, they were all I had other than Nat. They were my heroes when I was a kid, I wanted to be just like them. My mom was kind and gentle, she cared too much about everyone and was fiercely loyal. My dad was strong, he was incredibly intelligent, hardworking, he shared the same fierce loyalty my mom had. They tried to instill these things in me from a young age, some stuck, and some just fell flat. I would never be a physically fit person, I was doomed to be a lanky, skinny, awkward guy forever. But I like to think I'm pretty smart, I work hard, I care too much about everything, well except myself. I try to be kind and gentle like my mom, I've never fought back against anyone who has hurt me, I couldn't even hurt a fly. But I don't have my parent's loyalty, because I saw first-hand how it made them so naïve to what the people in their lives were capable of. They couldn't even see that their best friend was a rapist.

Before Adam, we were like any normal family. I remember countless trips to Disney World with Nat's family, or my aunts and uncles and cousins. I played on sports teams, horribly, and we were always going on weekend trips into the city to go to a museum or see a play. We were an incredibly close family, the picture of suburban perfection. Then I turned 10, and Adam started abusing me, and I lost interest in everything that I once loved, and so we just stopped. Mom and Dad took me to therapists to try and help me, but I refused to admit that anything was wrong, and so they eventually just stopped taking me. But that never stopped their worry. They would always try to talk about how I was feeling or what was going on with me. Every time I would tell them I was okay, eventually I tried to pass it off as teenage hormones.

When I was 14, I came out to them, I was sick of them pestering me and thought that this would be the perfect thing to shut them up. If I was lucky, they would feel too uncomfortable to talk about it. Instead they practically threw me a coming out party. I think they thought that my depression was because of my sexuality, because I was being bullied for it or felt scared about it. So they took me back to therapy, and I did actually talk this time. I had a lot of trouble accepting that I was gay initially. Now I'm queer as a three-dollar bill and damn proud of that. But back then, after what Adam did to me, I thought that maybe that was why I was like this. So, without saying to my therapist that I was assaulted, I brought up the belief that it could turn someone gay. She showed me all kinds of research, positive representations of queer people who lived nothing but happy lives from the time they were children to the time they were adults. She connected me to online forums and places I could go for resources. I realized that there were signs I was gay all along. I loved playing dress up and painting my nails as a kid, I loved show tunes, like way too much. If it weren't for what happened to me, I definitely would have been a theatre gay.

I gained back a little bit of confidence after that, but the secret that I was keeping inside still weighed me down. I was afraid of close relationships with anyone, but things went back to normal at home, sort of. Other than my nightmares it looked like I was a well-adjusted teenage boy. But now my parents knew the truth, they knew what happened to me, they knew the secret I was carrying around for years. Now that the truth is out there, I can't help but feel resentment toward my parents. My favorite people, my idols, have become the people that have let me down and broken my trust.

"How are you feeling, kiddo?" Dad asked as he and Mom entered the room again. I couldn't bring myself to meet their gazes.

"Fine."

"Gray, we're so sorry he did this to you," Mom said as she walked to my bed side to take my hand. I recoiled at her touch, something I had never done before. "I wish we had seen some kind of signs that he would do this, he was our best friend."

"It's okay," I whispered. "You c-couldn't have known." I began to wonder if they realized that this had happened before. Did they think this was an isolated incident? Well, they were going to find out soon enough when the police got here.

There was a knock at the door before Trent came in, the smell of cigarettes fresh on his clothes. He walked into the room awkwardly, passing my parents before coming around to my bed side, taking the seat he was in before. I smiled weakly at him and he did the same. "How are you feeling baby?"

"Better n-now that you're here." He smiled again. He was about to say something else when there was another knock on the door, and two men in uniform entered the room. I froze up instantly.

"Son, I'm Detective Andrews, this is Detective Lin, we're here to ask you some questions about what happened tonight, okay?" I nodded, the weight on my chest increasing.

"Are you his parents?" Detective Lin asked, turning to my mom and dad.

"Yes sir," Dad replied.

"And you?" He turned to Trent.

"His boyfriend," Trent answered.

"I'm sorry son, but we're going to have to ask you to leave while we conduct our interview."

"C-can he please s-stay?" I pleaded. The detectives turned to each other, sighed, and then nodded. They dragged some chairs a little closer to my bed and took out little notepads to write down every word I say.

"Alright, it's Grayson, right? Grayson Daniels?" Detective Andrews asked. I nodded. "Tell us what happened, in your own words."