Page 159 of Forgotten Prejudice
“Oh, Ashton,” he sighed, amusement written on his tired face. “You’re still as naive as always.”
“What do you mean?” I frowned.
“Nothing,” he chuckled. “You’re just sinfully cute.”
Despite being confused, I decided to let it slide and move on.
“You promised to tell me everything,” I said, eyes locked on him.
“I did…” He rubbed his jaw and then placed his hands back on the desk. “Where do I start?”
“How about at the beginning?”
“That’s going to be a pain,” he joked, but I nudged his shoulder. “Okay, okay,” he laughed.
I loved the sound of his low laugh. It was so rough and raspy, reminding me of the hours we spent in bed together, just talking about life, joking with one another.
“So, let’s see.” Soren averted his eyes from me, his focus now up front. “To make a long story short, between the ages of eight and twelve, I was molested by my father’s friend.”
I did not expect that, and my stomach turned with his words. Shocked, I stared at him with my eyes open and lips slightly parted.
“Oh, Soren.” I placed my hand on him, my thumb softly caressing his skin. “I-I don’t know what to say.”
He stayed silent, a sad smile coating his lips.
“Did that man get what he deserved?” The need to find out more nipped at me.
“No, because until recently, I’d never told anyone. In fact, the only people I’ve told are you and Shay-Lee.”
My brows pulled close before realization sank in. “You told Shay-Lee because… because he went through the same—”
“Yes.”
“Oh my God,” I gasped and leaned back in my chair. Shock and horror didn’t even begin to describe the storm of emotions that just took over every inch of my body. “Was it his father?”
“Yes.”
I felt sick to my stomach and had to shake my head to get out of it. That poor boy. And if I hadn’t already regretted the day I turned my back on them, now I felt even worse. But before I allowed guilt to divert my attention, I focused back on Soren.
“So you never told anyone?”
“I was too ashamed, Ashton. Still am.”
“You have nothing to be ashamed of, Soren. You did nothing wrong,” I urged, leaning closer to him.
He kept quiet, so I went on. “You were so open about your OCD when we’d just met and about your sexuality. You’ve never shied away from any tough matter, and you shouldn’t with this either. Especially this.”
“It’s not that simple,” he cut in, voice tight. “Being gay or having OCD are things that are out of my control.” He slumped his shoulders while shaking his head. “That… that thing wasn’t. I mean, I could have done something instead of just letting it happen over and over for four years.”
What he was telling me crushed my heart, and my throat tightened with the emotion I was trying to hold back. I didn’t want to burst into tears and take the attention away from him, but it was difficult to keep them inside.
“What that man did to you was not your fault. Even if you never told anyone. Even if you were too afraid to cry, it still doesn’t make it your fault.”
“But it is.” His brows pulled into a frown, and his jaw tensed. “My silence was my sin.” He took another deep breath and closed his eyes, a crease forming between his pinched brows. “I kept telling myself that it happened because I was out of control, and to make it stop, I just had to control everything else. So I started with the small stuff. What clothes to wear, what books to read, and what color to paint the walls in my rooms. Before I knew it, my obsession with details grew even bigger. I tried to control everything, every passing second in my day. When it didn’t work, it drove me insane, and I began repeating the same action until things felt right. After some time, my parents noticed the change. They sent me to a psychiatrist, then a few more, and all of them diagnosed me with OCD.” He then took a small break and brushed his hand over his jaw. “I easily accepted my diagnosis and even liked it. I liked knowing that what made me tick wasn’t that man who bent me over his lap and told me I was a good boy but some sort of a mental illness.”
Good boy.
No wonder he was scared to tell me this until now.
