By J P Barnaby
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That thought sickened and scared me. If I was gay, had my attacker known that? Could he see it? Did he think I wanted what he did to me? Or… possibly even worse… did he make me gay? I have never voiced this to anyone or even contemplated it too closely because I don’t want to know. At eight, I was too young to be thinking about my sexuality, so I had no frame of reference prior to my abduction. But really, here in the confines of my journal, maybe I should ask. What makes someone gay? Are they born that way?
I spent the first several weeks alone in the room they were having me use. I don’t know what had changed, but the need to be screaming had subsided. Instead, I switched to meditation, trying to focus my mind. Sitting on the floor, trying to find my chakra didn’t really help either. It could also have been the authors of the books Stephen had forced upon me. As a licensed psychologist and tenured professor at my Alma matter, I considered him a relative expert on the subject. Unfortunately, my psychological problems weren’t exactly text book in nature.
She asked, now stroking my upper back. It felt nice, soothing. It reminded me of something I had most likely buried, but I had pushed that thought away because my feelings were so raw that they tore at my insides. I wasn’t used to feeling my emotions this strongly. My stomach churned in a tight little ball and there were knots along my spine and shoulders. The stress and the tension were a physical manifestation and I ached both inside and out. I had successfully pushed everything down and felt numb for so long.
A House of Cards: Deconstructing Ethan (The Forbidden Room) by J P Barnaby