Working Out West - Lila Rose Page 0,28

We will make you clean” came Mom’s voice. I hadn’t heard her approach. She moved beside me as she placed a tray on the bench.

“Mom, no, what are you talking about? Please, please stop this.” My voice cracked, tears welling.

I wasn’t wrong.

I wasn’t a sin.

My actions weren’t sins.

I just wanted to be accepted. I wanted a happy life—one filled with love.

I was normal. I was.

“Stop, please. There’s nothing wrong with me. There isn’t.” A sob tore out of me. I thumped the ground with the chains. “I’m normal. I am!”

My heart cracked. It dripped blood from an old wound. One my parents had inflicted. One I had healed by being away from them, but it was the same one they were opening again. They were breaking me.

“You will be clean. You will be after we’re done with you,” Mom stated.

I glanced up to a mother who never loved me—a mother who only saw faults.

“Don’t do this, please, Mom. Please.”

Her upper lip raised in a silent snarl as she watched my tears flow down my cheeks. “You’re dirty, boy. God won’t have you the way you are.”

“He will!” I yelled. I believed it. I may not be devoted, but I trusted God existed. “He will have me. He will shine down on me. He will love me for who I am. But can you really say this is what God would want you to do to your own son? Doesn’t what you’re doing go against God and his ways?”

She shook her head and glanced over me. “God doesn’t shine on those who sin.”

“What you’re doing is a sin!” I shouted.

“You’re wrong. God trusted in us to take care of our problem. I am doing God’s work, and you will repent. Hold him.”

My head was forced back with a hand in my hair and one under my chin. I shook my head over and over, moved, wiggled. Dad gripped my hair harder, nearly ripping it from my scalp.

“Still,” he ordered.

Mom turned back from the bench with a jug in her hand. “Vinegar is a good tool to cleanse with.”

Vinegar.

She didn’t. She couldn’t want to pour that down my throat.

“Open,” she said.

I shook my head, clamping my lips closed. More tears fell. My whimpers came thick and fast as I pulled on the chains, skin scraping against the cold metal.

Dad shook my head violently by my hair. “Do what she says.”

Still, I fought. I pulled, tried to slide my legs back to kick him, but he stepped down on my feet. I sobbed, cried. Pain raced through me—so much pain over my body.

Mom reached forward with one hand and pinched my cheeks together while Dad dropped his grip on my throat to pinch my nose. My eyes widened, a dull whine rasping out of my tender throat.

I needed to breathe. I needed air.

The crack in my heart grew wider as I opened my mouth wide and gasped for oxygen. In an instant, the liquid, acidic and raw, gushed down my throat. I choked, coughed, and fought for another breath, but they wouldn’t stop. It kept coming.

It burned. My throat lit with a flame I’d never felt.

My eyes welled for a different reason.

Their hands dropped away, and I fell forward, choking, coughing, spitting, gasping, crying. My stomach rebelled and I vomited. More burning followed.

It hurt.

It hurt so much.

I didn’t deserve this. I didn’t. I hadn’t done anything other than want to be myself and want love like my friends had.

I wasn’t a bad person.

Through a shuddering breath, I rasped, “You’ll pay.” The words stabbed my fiery throat, but it was worth it for the look of shock on my mother’s face.

She blanked her features and shook her head. “Lies are a sin, boy. You know this. We taught you this. Do you see?” she screamed. “Do you see how the time away from us has corrupted you?”

I chuckled, pushing aside the hurt. “Always been gay,” I managed to get out.

“Force him to stay down.” Mom walked back over to the bench.

I could take whatever they delivered to live another day, to find what I wanted in life. I could survive this and get back to the people who knew me, who loved me.

Dad’s grip on me fell away. I tried to roll to the side, but he kicked me in the ribs. Another dry cough raked over me as agony burst to life.

He stopped in front of me, kneeling where my hands were tied. He pulled the chains taut. I tugged back on them,