This story is a work of FICTION. The events described are my own invention. Any similarities to actual events or persons are strictly coincidental. The author retains the copyright, and any other rights, to this original story. You may not publish it or any part of it without my explicit authorization.
This story contains depictions of consensual sexual acts between teenage males. It is intended for mature audiences only. If you find this type of material offensive or if you are under the legal age to read said material; please proceed no further.
Comments are always welcome at: hailcaesar2011@hotmail.com
The Peace Within
Chapter 9
Monday was ok, I was still feeling upbeat about my plan and that helped me face the daunting task of another day at school. I had soccer practice that day, our schedule was resuming and we had a game Thursday, in Milton. Soccer proved to be a good distraction, I'm the goal keeper and I had to keep my eye on the ball, I really had my head in the game, so to speak, and had a lot of fun at practice. After I showered and changed into street clothes, I got in the car and drove over to Dr. Kitridge's office.
"You seem a little more upbeat this week; I know that's not thanks to me," Dr. Kitridge smiled, "what's new?"
"I met someone new, a friend who had a similar experience," I explained.
"Great, what's his/her name?" asked Dr. Kitridge.
"Peter," I replied, I didn't give his last name, I had to remind myself that Peter may not be famous but he was a known commodity and I didn't want to say something and risk hurting my friend.
"And Peter lost someone too?"
"Yes, he had a boyfriend who drowned," I explained, "then he tried to kill himself."
"Do you think about killing yourself?" asked Dr. Kitridge.
Peter's words rang in my mind, "be honest and upfront with your therapist."
"I'd be lying if I said it never crossed my mind," I admitted.
"When was the last time you thought about it?" asked the doctor.
"I don't think that's important."
"No?" said Dr. Kitridge.
"What I think is important, is that I didn't do it, I can't," I replied.
"Why not?" said Dr. Kitridge, making notes on his pad.
"Every time I thought about it, I was feeling really low, but the thing that always drives it out of my mind is my family. My parents already lost one son, Patrick only has one big brother left, I've seen how hard Patton's death has been on them and I couldn't make it worse," I explained.
"That's a good way to think about things, your family loves you very much and it would hurt them to lose you, in time you'll come to see that you have a lot more to live for," said Dr. Kitridge.
"I want to make it clear, I'm not suicidal, it crossed my mind a handful of times, that's all," I stated firmly.
"Noted," said Dr. Kitridge, "what have you been doing this past week?"
"I've been trying to do the things that Patton would want me to do, I went and saw my grandpa at the rest home, watched a baseball game with Patrick, etc..."
"How did that make you feel?"
"Watching the game with Patrick was good, we snuggled and had a little heart to heart about Patton, we both cried but it was kind of cleansing," I explained.
"And your visit to the rest home?" asked Dr. Kitridge.
"That was harder, grandpa has Alzheimer's and I had to tell him that Patton was dead, again, it hurt."
"That hurt is going to linger, he was your twin brother, that bond is very special," the doctor explained.
"Yeah, I understand that, and that's ok, I think it sorta needs to hurt for a while, if that makes sense," I explained.
"The wound is still fresh, like all things, it needs time to heal," the doctor stated, "good session, Parker, keep up the good work and I'll see you next week."
Dinner was ready when I got home, mom made spaghetti, which is one of my favorite dishes, so I ate a lot more then I had been eating lately. It was still light out, when we finished eating, so Patrick and I went out to the yard to work on his pop flies. It's not really hard, hell, if I can do it, anyone can, but he's still a little guy and in need of some coaching.
School was going ok, the awkward stares were starting to subside a little and I was able to slink back into comfortable anonymity, for the most part. I'm glad Carter and Warner are dead, at first I was angry, I wanted them to be punished and then die, but as things stood, none of us would be subjected to the grueling torment of a trial, I don't think I could take that. I was glad to be back on the soccer field and on Thursday, I was happy to board the bus with my team mates and drive to Milton.
I wish I'd been more selective in my choice of underwear that morning. Normally I wear boxer-briefs, but I'm not incredibly picky so when I pulled a pair of tighty whities out of the drawer that morning, I didn't think anything of it. You're probably wondering what my undies have to do with my soccer game, be patient, I'm getting there.
It was a good game, we were leading 2 goals to 1 and that 1 goal only just snuck by me. We were playing at Milton High School and when the fire alarm started ringing, the announcer quickly informed us that it was just routine testing. The game continued but I totally lost my concentration, the alarm sounded just like the alarm at Shelton High, the alarm that rang in the background of my call from Patton.
I fought the urge to crawl into the fetal position and start rocking back and forth, my standard panic attack modus operandi. I was breathing deep and trying to maintain control, when the whistle blew, announcing the Milton team had scored another goal and tied the game. I'm the goal keeper and I didn't even move when the ball came near. I was getting hot, I could feel sweat under my arms and dripping down my forehead, I felt like I was melting. I stood there, tugging at my collar trying to get some air but it wasn't enough, I ended up just taking my jersey off and throwing it aside.
I was still too hot, I figured that if taking off my shirt wasn't enough, my shorts had to go. I pushed my soccer shorts down my legs and kicked them off my feet but I was burning up. I hooked my thumbs in the waistband of my underwear and I was about to take them off, when a hand grabbed my wrist.
"Westergaard, what the hell are you doing?" asked Coach Riley.
"It's hot out here, Coach, I'm burning up," I replied.
"Parker, it's 65 degrees," the Coach informed me.
"But I'm sweating like a pig," I panted.
"You're bone dry," said the coach, sadly.
"I'm so hot," I repeated, then tried to take my underwear off again, but he still had my wrist.
"Come on son, I think it's time to hit the bench," he put his coat around me, picked up my discarded clothes and walked me over to the sidelines.
Cory Stevens took my place at the goal, the whistle blew and the game resumed. Some people in the crowd were laughing and wolf whistling at me but my team was dead quiet, they knew something was very wrong for me to do what I'd done. The Coach was trying to get me to put my clothes back on but I protested, I was so hot, then the fire alarm stopped. I instantly started to shiver, it was like someone flipped a switch. I realized I was nearly naked in front of 200 people and I seized my clothes out of Coach Riley's hand.
I dressed as quickly as I could, then sat on the bench and hid my face in my hands. I was embarrassed that I'd had a panic attack in front of all these people, that I couldn't control my own body and that I'd damn near exposed myself. Someone put a blanket around my shoulders and then wrapped an arm around me, I looked up and was horrified to see Marshall Davis, the last thing I wanted to hear were any of his so called jokes. But Marshall didn't try to make me laugh, he didn't even say anything inappropriate.
"Are you ok buddy?" he asked.
"I don't know what's wrong with me," I sniffled.
"Don't worry about what happened, no one cares," said Marshall.
"Oh yeah, I'm sure they all got a cheap thrill out of my skinny ass," I griped.
"I don't know, it's a pretty cute ass," Marshall winked, "now just try and relax a little, the games almost over, we'll be home soon."
I'd never seen this side of Marshall before, I always regarded him as more of an acquaintance then a friend, do in large part to his big mouth. He was being so tender, he bundled me up in that blanket, he held me and rubbed my back, he didn't even complain when I rested my head against his shoulder. When the game was over, Marshall got me on the bus and sat with me, the rest of the team seemed concerned. Even though we'd managed to pull out a win, thanks to a last minute goal by Sean Winters, no one was in a celebratory mood.
When we got back to campus, I skipped the showers and headed straight for my locker, I wanted to get out of there as quickly as I could. I changed into my street clothes and made a b-line for the door, but Coach Riley's strong hand came down on my shoulder.
"Not so fast Westergaard."
"What is it Coach, my mom's expecting me for dinner and..." I replied, trying to sound as normal as possible.
"I already called your mom, I think it's best if I give you a ride home," said Coach Riley.
"But my car..." I objected.
"Don't worry about it, it'll be here when you come to get it, I just don't want you behind the wheel right now," coach explained.
"Sir, I'm ok," I stated.
"Maybe so Parker but you were completely out of it on that soccer field and you're my responsibility right now," said Coach, authoritatively, then he softened his tone, "you're a good kid, I don't wanna see you get hurt."
Coach pulled me into his office and sat me in a chair, while we waited for the other boys to finish showering. I made eye contact with Marshall while he was dressing. I'd never noticed it before but he's kind of cute, he's got blond hair and big green eyes, he's...wow, these thoughts are a little out of left field. Marshall shot me a wink and then left. When everyone was gone, Coach put me in his Jeep and drove me home.
"It was just a panic attack," I all but whispered.
"I know," said Coach Riley.
"You do?"
"I've seen a few of them since all this crap started, I know the signs," said coach.
I forgot that Coach Riley wasn't just my soccer coach, he also taught AP Biology and a course in psychology.
"So you don't think I'm crazy?" I asked, his opinion was important to me.
"Nah," coach laughed, "but I can't have you taking your clothes off on the field again, you almost gave some old lady a heart attack."
That actually made me laugh, and I wasn't feeling so bad when we got to my house.
"Thank you for bringing him home Coach," said mom, when we walked in the door.
"He's alright, just a stressful day," Coach smiled.
"Take care of yourself, Parker, I need you against New Haven South, next week," Coach smiled, then nodded to mom, "ma'am."
Coach left and I turned to go up to my room but mom wasn't having any of that.
"Not so fast, Parker, we need to talk about this," she said.
"There's nothing to talk about, it was just a panic attack."
"Just a panic attack, you were naked on the soccer field," mom exclaimed.
"Yeah, I know, I was there," I replied, sarcastically.
"Parker, I'm trying very hard to be understanding and to help you but I can't if you won't open up to me a little," said mom.
"I told you, it was just a panic attack, I can't control them, I'm seeing the shrink you want me to see, he says it's a process, what else am I supposed to do?" I demanded.
"Alright, don't get upset," said mom.
"Stop telling me not to get upset, everyone keeps saying that, what if I want to be upset, what if I need to be upset for a little while, why can't people just leave me alone?" I complained, I noticed my voice going up so I ran to my room, I didn't want to yell at mom. I heard her crying when I reached my door.
I admit I could have handled that better but I meant what I said. You don't know how frustrating it is to have everyone tell you it's alright or it's ok, well, it's not ok! Patton is dead, he didn't go off to camp, he's not out getting a burger, he's dead, GONE! That's forever, he was the other part of my soul, why can't people let me grieve for him? I realize that what I'm going through isn't all about grief but it has to be part of it, I just need time to find myself. Still, I felt bad for shouting at mom and when she called us down for dinner, I kissed her on the cheek and said I was sorry, before taking my seat.
We talked about the panic attack but mom and dad know I can't control them, they just encouraged me, in the future, to get off the field at the first sign of trouble. I think Coach Riley knows that too, I am willing to bet that if a fire alarm ever goes off at another game, he'll call time out, long before I moon the spectators. I expected people to giggle at me, when they saw me at school the next day, or point and laugh, but no one said anything. I should have had more faith in my team mates, while I wasn't the friendliest person in the world, I was still "one of their own," so to speak, they were genuinely concerned about me and none of them said a word to anyone outside the team.
"Hey, how's it going?" said Marshall, I ran into him outside my English class.
"Good thanks, listen, about yesterday..." I began.
"Don't sweat it, you had a panic attack, right?" he asked.
"Yeah," I sighed.
"Don't worry about it, Mrs. Thornton had one in Trig the other day, everyone's stressed out about all this stuff and you've got a better reason than anyone else," Marshall reasoned.
"I'm going to go out on a limb here and say Mrs. Thornton didn't take her clothes off," I replied.
"Thank God," Marshall smiled, "her ass isn't near as nice as yours."
"You, uh, think it's..." I began, but Henry showed up and ruined the moment.
"This guy bugging you?" asked Henry, gesturing at Marshall.
"Henry, Marshall's my friend, leave him alone, ok?" I asked.
"No problem, I was just making sure," said Henry.
"I really was an asshole that day, I'm sorry about that, you know I didn't mean anything, right?" asked Marshall.
"It's ok, I know you've got a big mouth, I mean how else would you be able to stick your foot in it so easily?" I asked.
Marshall looked hurt but grinned when he saw I was smiling at him. He really does have a nice smile, it's very warm and friendly. Anyway, the bell rang and we all had to go to class, but I did see Marshall at lunch. Normally he just nods a friendly hello but that day, he crossed the cafeteria and sat with me, Henry and Lee. I don't usually have much to say at lunch, and I didn't say much that afternoon, I just sat back and watched Marshall and Henry argue about the Red Sox and the Yankee's. I've known Marshall for a long time, in elementary and middle school, he was like me, shy and kind of quiet, it's only when high school started that he got so obnoxious. I sometimes wonder if his crass jokes and big mouth aren't just a defense mechanism. After the comments about my ass, I wonder if maybe he's hiding the same thing I've been wrestling with.
When I got home from school that day, there was a message from Peter in my inbox. He reminded me that we were supposed to meet at the Coffee Bean the next day and asked if I would mind if he brought his boyfriend. I liked talking to Peter, one on one, but I was curious to meet his boyfriend so I told him I wouldn't mind. Dinner was uneventful that night, I went to bed kind of early and slept in late. Peter actually beat me to the Bean this time.
They made a cute couple, Peter and his boyfriend, Tyler. When I walked in they were giggling about something, Peter was wearing khaki shorts and a navy polo along with his Warby-Parker glasses and Tyler was dressed about the same, only his polo was pink and set off his big brown eyes. Peter kissed Tyler on the cheek and when Tyler blushed, his cheeks matched his shirt.
"Hi," I greeted them.
"Hey Parker," Peter smiled, then hugged me, "this is my boyfriend, Tyler."
"Hi," I waved.
"Nice to meet you," said Tyler, then he hugged me too.
"How have you been?" asked Peter.
"Pretty good, I've been doing the things we talked about, you know, trying to figure out what my nightmares were telling me and trying to deal with them," I explained.
"How's that working out?" asked Peter.
"I've figured a few things out, I went and read to my grandpa in the rest home and I've been coaching my little brother with his baseball," I replied.
"That's what you got from your nightmares?" asked Peter, a puzzled look on his face.
"Not exactly, it's complicated," I blushed.
"Ok, well, is it working?" asked Peter.
"I'm still having the nightmares, but I'm hopeful that I'm on the right track," I stated.
"That's great Parker," said Peter, "isn't it Tyler?"
"Great," said Tyler, he flashed me a big smile.
"Um, there was one incident this week," I blushed.
"Oh, what happened?" asked Peter.
"Well, uh, I had a panic attack at my soccer game on Thursday," I stated.
"Uh-oh, what happened?" said Peter.
I proceeded to tell them the story and by the time I finished, they were both laughing.
"It's not funny," I grumbled.
"Awww, come on Parker, you have to look at it from a different perspective," Peter giggled, "I mean wouldn't you laugh if some other boy was on the field in his cleats and glasses?"
"I wasn't wearing them, my glasses were in my backpack," I explained, that just drew more laughter.
"What a bummer, no one ever stripped on my soccer team," said Tyler.
"Babe, you didn't play soccer," Peter reminded him.
"But, but, I went to all those games," Tyler professed.
"Yeah, ogling the soccer boys doesn't make you a member of the team," Peter giggled.
"Oh well, I guess I can take that off my Facebook profile," Tyler laughed.
"So overall, it sounds like things are going good," said Peter.
"Yeah, um, there's something else," I blushed.
"What's up?" said Peter.
"Um, well, after my panic attack, my friend Marshall, he uh put his arm around me and I rested my head on his shoulder and well, he's been hanging around with me a lot since then," I was really blushing now.
"Awwwww Parker, you like this boy?" asked Peter.
"I don't know, but, well, the other day, he was having lunch with us and he kept bumping me with his knee and um, well, I uh, had to adjust my pants, if you know what I mean," I stated.
"Wow, you got a boner!?" said Peter.
"Uh huh."
"Has that ever happened before?" asked Peter.
"Well, no not really, I mean, duh, I've had them before, just never..."
"Never from a boy?" said Peter.
"Or a girl really," I admitted.
"Um, so what usually gets you hard?" asked a puzzled Peter.
"I'm 16, usually a stiff breeze will do it," I explained, "I've just never really been into girls and I never really thought about boys."
"Ok, that's different but so what, more importantly, do you like this boy?" said Peter.
"Yeah, I mean, he's really nice."
"Cute?" asked Peter.
"Well, he's got blond hair and big green eyes, and a really nice smile," I said, dreamily.
"Sounds sorta like this one," said Peter, patting Tyler on the thigh.
"Yeah, he's pretty cute."
"Awww, he thinks I'm cute," Tyler smiled.
"No, I mean, yes, you are, but I was talking about..." I spluttered.
"Relax, I knew what you meant," Tyler winked.
"So what are you going to do about it?" asked Peter.
"I don't know, I was hoping you might have some advice," I replied.
"Hmmm, has this boy done anything that makes you think he might be into you?" asked Tyler.
"Well, he's caught me staring at him a few times and he winks and smiles, he touches me a lot, like when he talks, he's always putting his hand on my shoulder and stuff," I stated.
"Ok, so what I would do, if I were you, is ask him if he's interested," said Peter.
"Just like that?" I exclaimed.
"No, that would be a little blunt," Peter giggled, "just tell him you think he's a really nice guy and that you wonder lately if he might be interested in more than friendship."
"You think that would be ok?" I asked.
"Sure, it's sorta vague, if he says yes, you can tell him that you like him, if he says no, you can brush it off," said Peter, "more importantly, is this what you want, would you like to date him?"
"I'd like to see what it's like, I think," I replied.
"Then give it a try, this is 2013, we're in Connecticut, I think you're safe," Peter smiled.
"Yeah, maybe I will," I smiled back.
We talked a little longer, then Tyler and Peter excused themselves. They were a little vague and a lot giggly, I think they were going back to Peter's place for some lovin. It's funny, thinking about the two of them together didn't gross me out or anything, it gave me a warm feeling, they were cute together.
The next day, I went back to the rest home and though I had to remind grandpa that Patton was dead, my reading went a little better. I left The Cone Gatherers and brought a collection of Robert Burns poems that I'd picked up at a bookstore after I left Peter and Tyler.
Is there for honesty poverty
That hings his head, an' a' that;
The coward slave - we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a' that!
For a' that, an' a' that,
Our toils obscure an' a' that,
The rank is but the guinea's stamp,
The man's the gowd for a' that.
What though on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin grey, an' a' that?
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,
A man's a man for a' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
Their tinsel show, an' a' that,
The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor,
Is king o' men for a' that.
Ye see yon birkie ca'd a lord,
Wha struts, an' stares, an' a' that;
Tho' hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a coof for a' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
His ribband, star, an' a' that,
The man o' independent mind
He looks an' laughs at a' that.
A price can mak a belted knight,
A marquise, duke, an' a' that;
But an honest man's aboon his might,
Gude faith, he maunna fa' that!
For a' that, an' a' that,
Their dignities an' a' that,
The pith o' sense, an' pride o' worth,
Are higher rank than a' that.
Then let us pray that come it may,
(As come it will for a' that,)
That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth,
Shall bear the gree, an' a' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
That man to man, the world o'er,
Shall brithers be for a' that.
I read a bunch of poems like that, I even found myself slipping in and out of a Scottish accent, but the old folks loved it.
"Not bad Sunny Jim, not bad at all," grandpa clapped, when I was finished.
"I'm glad you liked it," I smiled.
"You're accent needs a bit a work, but it'll do," said grandpa.
"Thanks."
"Now then, when am I going to see one of your ball games, laddie, you know I like to watch you pitch," said grandpa.
"No grandpa, I play soccer, remember?" I reminded him.
"That's right, that's right, when's my pally boy goin to pitch?" said grandpa.
"Never grandpa, Patton died, remember, I told you when I got here?" I stated.
"Aye, I do recall, but he'll play next season, right?" said grandpa.
"Maybe, we'll see," I replied, I was tired of repeating that part of our conversation, "anyway, I have to get home."
"Alright, alright, you've stayed your hour, that's a good lad," said grandpa.
When I got to my car, I perched over the steering wheel and sobbed. I missed Patton so much, try as I might to put this behind me, I still felt so guilty, if I'd just been nice to Derek that night, if I'd just gone to school, Patton would be visiting the rest home and talking about pitching. I missed him so much, why does it have to hurt so bad?