The Truth Is Revealed

Sometimes it hard to tell the truth. But as the years go by, it only makes it harder to share.

James sit there, paralyze in fear, as his world crumbles to the ground. Over and over, he mumbles under his breath, "Sam saw... Sam saw it all..." James collapse backward, feeling his scar rubbing against the thin sheet covering the mattress below. Lying there motionless, he has no idea what’s going to happen or what he should do now.

Sam can't help but stare with his wide eyes frozen on James. What did I just.... Where did that mark come from? He wonders. He tries to sit up on his knees, but finds it extremely difficult with his body resisting the simplest of commands. He trembles, with panic rushing through his veins and liquid leaking down his cheeks. He is not aware that his body is slowly breaking down from the fear and utter disbelief at what he'd just seen. He feels each one of his muscles shutting off from his brain and senses his mind slowly dissipating as it goes blank. Sweat pouring from his brow, creating a pool of salty water on the black and white tile floor. He tries to push his head from side to side, but to his surprise finds it unusually exhausting with just a simple task. He tries his best to get a hold of himself, yet with all his effort, his body still refuses to budge. Pain, Sam thought. My body will move if it feels some form of pain. Sam breath in slowly, keeping his focus on wiggling his fingers, he senses his muscles beginning to twitch as he continues to concentrate on moving his hand. He groans as he struggles to lift up his palm and dangled his numb finger against the tile floor. Breathing in, he keeps his hazy mind focus on bringing his hand near his trembling lips. Sam opens his mouth, showing his pearly whites. Then, he chomps down with all his might, sinking his teeth into his wrist, filling his mouth with salty fluids, dripping down his chin. After gnawing at his flesh, he feels his muscles beginning to twitch with the sensation of pain. Wiggling his toes, he enjoys the freedom of being able to control his body again. He spits out the flesh of his arm. He did not care about the blood and saliva coating the bite mark. The thing running through Sam’s mind is getting to James’s side as fast as possible.  Stumbling to his feet, he wobbles slightly with his first few steps forward, sluggishly dragging his feet towards the bed. As he walks closer, he trips on his shoelaces, whacking his own forehead against the metal bed frame. Groaning loudly, he clutches his head in pain and notice that James didn't even budge once during all the ruckus. Sighing before gripping the sheets and tugging with all his might. He forces his sore body up and manage to scramble on the edge of the bed, placing one of his sweaty palms on James's trembling shoulder.

 James shrugs it off as he rolls to his side. He did not want to see another person he loves crying because of him. Sam lay down on the empty side of the bed and cautiously press his back against the young boy's scars. James's muscles tense up as Sam's back brush against his own. James softly sniffles under his breath, slowly breathing in small gasps, not allowing any sobs to escape. Breathing out, he allows his fresh salty tears to overflow down his cheeks and soaking through his thin pillowcase. He sobs in his head; The scars are not allowed to be seen or known about by any stranger or banished family member, but here is Sam, my lover, crying by my side. How is anyone supposed to keep silent when it is causing so much heartache? James groans, not able to think of any way of getting out of this situation. It was inevitable. He has to make a choice, either betray his family's trust or deny the boy he loves with all his heart the truth.

"You don't have to tell. It must be painful. But I am here if you want to talk," Sam offers. "Sorry for trying to push you earlier." Tossing the slightly stained shirt over to his friend, he whispers, "I know you'll be more comfortable wearing this."

"Thank you," James whispers, slipping the white fabric over his shoulders, past his back, once again hiding his family's truth from anyone else. “I have to tell,” he whispers silently to himself before laying back down.

Silence fills the air as tension grows between the two teenage boys. Squeezing his eyes shut, James prepares himself for something he may regret. After taking in a deep breath, he gathers up all of his thoughts and decide what he is going to tell and what he is not going to share. He, then, breath out slowly, steadying his quivering breath.

"It happened the day I drew my first breath," he whispers, clearing away his tears.

Sam jumps up out of shock and almost tumble off the edge of the bed. He did not expect James to speak. He usually keeps everything inside, like a broken mirror. He can see all of his faults in his reflection, but no one else can see them, not even the tiniest of ones. Turning his head, he notices that James's eyes are close tightly with thin lines of salty debris covering his puffy red cheeks. Sam frown, wishing with all his might that he can erase those horrifying marks.

"It seemed to be an insignificant discoloration on the left side of my hip. The doctors said, 'No need to worry. It is just a harmless little birthmark. But my family knew better. They knew it wasn't just a simple birthmark. You can't get it removed; it goes deeper, beyond the surface of the skin, and stains the bone. This little mark was something far worse than any doctor could imagine. This mark meant I would live an unfortunate life," James explains.

Sam gasps, mumbling under his breath, "It means you..." He stops himself from finishing his sentence, too afraid of the thought of James suffering for the rest of his life. Staring at the young teen by his side, Sam tries his hardest to hold back the tears stinging in the back of his eyes. Sighing, he knows this conversation is uncomfortable for the both of them, but it must be incredibly more unpleasant for James to talk about.

"It was... it was the curse mark, passed down from generation to generation. That's what they were trying to explain to me when I was four. I didn't quite understand why my dad was crying or why my grandparents looked at me with sorrow in their eyes. My aunt, she was crying as she hugged me tightly and screamed, 'They can't! They can't mark my nephew. He is the only tolerable one of all the kids. I didn't understand back then and I still don't. All I know is this supposedly deadly mark grows longer each year. It burns the top layer of my flesh as it digs deeper along my back. It doesn't hurt now. I feel no pain, but to others, it's gross," James whispers with a bit of sorrow in his tone as he remembered Sam's exact words from earlier today.

Sam wants to look away; it is too painful for him to see James suffering like this, not just physically, but mentally too. But he can't bring himself to do so.

"What does the curse mean exactly?" Sam whispers sheepishly.

"Misfortune for me and anyone who is close to me. All the kids..." James falls silent.

Sam's eyes widen with terror as he watches his lover's body tremble in pain when he mentioned those kids. Fresh tears slipping down James's cheeks. Unable to control his sobbing, James wraps one of his arms around his broken body, trying to keep everything together. Sam looks away, unable to look at James break down from all of his bottled up emotions he'd keep deep inside. Sam growls under his breath, tick off by the fact that someone can cause this young man to suffer like this.

"All the kids in my old school hated me because of this mark. They screamed at me, laughed at me, and shunned me from the whole student body. They didn't care that I was a regular kid; they just saw a kid with an ugly mark and nothing else. They didn't care how kind I was or how funny I was. Their laughter and screams grew louder as my mark grew thicker and longer each year. My dad never gave me an explanation as to why the curse mark grew at all. The first time I asked him, he just got on his knees, stared straight into my eyes and said, 'Son, I can't tell you. You're too young to know the truth.' Why didn't he tell me?" James whimpers with tears falling from his chin.

Sam feels a small boulder slamming hard into his gut, forcing all the air out of his lungs. He gasps for air before looking down at an orange head press against his stomach. Two trembling arms clutching around his waist. He feels water droplets coating the top of his pants, bleeding through the thick fabric.

Shaking his head uncontrollably, James shouts sorry as he smudges a thick line of copper red liquid along his thighs. Sam hesitates for a second or two before placing a steady hand over the messy teen's head, he rubs it gently and sings a familiar tune. It was the only song, his brother used to hum to him. Whenever he would cry or get hurt, his brother would sit Sam on his knee, stroke his back, and hum. James moans weakly with another wave of pain traveling up and down his nerves. He grips the sheets until his knuckles turn white. Sam picks up the weeping teen and cradles his sore body. Rocking him back and forth, he ignores the pain sliding down his trembling arms.

"Jamey, it's going to be okay," he softly whispers, placing a small kiss upon his shivering, bruised cheek, wishing he can make all the pain go away.

"Mr. Hitchjack, is everything okay?" the nurse and Mrs. Hungcut asks in unison, as they walk through the office door without bothering to knock. They spot Sam on top of the bed, cradling James's wounded limbs in his arms. As he tries his best to soothe the teen with a gentle melody, while allowing him to bawl his eyes out on his chest.

"Mr. Hitchjack, what do you think you are doing with Mr. Misluck?" Mrs. Hungcut gasps in shock. Sam turns his head away from the crying teen. Looking rather angry, he answers, "What do you think? I am comforting my lover. Do you have a problem?"

"This behavior is not…

"What? Appropriate for school? What will you do if your husband is dying in your arms, emotionally and physically? What will you do? Tell me you won't want to kiss him," he screams with tears dripping down his cheeks. "Tell me you won't want to cradle his broken body in your arms, as he cries out all the pain he feels deep inside. Well, I am not sorry. I care for my boyfriend more than some stupid school rules. If you have a problem, give me detention. I don't care at the moment. If you don't leave now and leave us alone, I won't hesitate to kick you out myself."

"Mr. Hitchjack!" Mrs. Hungcut exhales sharply, stuns by Sam's sudden and unusual outburst.

Sam clicks his tongue, feeling his head ready to explode from anger. "Didn't I just say leave? I meant now," he growls under his quivering breath. "Get out!"

Mrs. Hungcut just stands there, not knowing whether to move or not, until she feels a strong hand grip her shoulder. "I am afraid you must leave now. You are making the patients uncomfortable," the nurse say to her in a serious tone. She guides Mrs. Hungcut out of her office before gently shutting the door. She also makes sure to close the blinds, which provide extra privacy for James's and Sam from the prying eyes of the students. She sighs under her breath, before turning her gaze back to Sam, who is trying his best to comfort James. With a gentle smile, she says, "Sorry for Mrs. Hungcut's behavior. She will be punished for her actions."

Sam nods, grinning like a fool. Then, he lowers his gaze, smiling as James snuggles deeper in his lap, lightly snoring in his sleep.

"Wait, no!" Sam's smile drops, with his heart feeling like it might burst. He reaches forward, ready to yank James from his peaceful slumber. But the nurse quickly grabs his arm before he manages to shake the sleeping teen awake. Shaking her head, she stares into Sam's eyes, advising him not to. Tilting his head to the side, he remembers what the health teacher had said.

***

Sam remembered walking to health class every Tuesday and Thursday with James by his side. They were usually joking or gossiping about the latest issue of the Sticker Man comic. They frowned as they got closer to the big wooden door that read 45 in big black letters. A feeling of uneasiness filled the pit of Sam's stomach because he was not comfortable with the subjects they usually discussed. The only bearable part about health class was he could go through this embarrassing experience with his one and only best friend. Staring at the door nervously, Sam knew that he did not want to walk in or learn about this week's subject of first aid. Blood made his stomach ache, and he was not good at helping injured people. Even with all the time he had to pick up or support James's limp body, it didn't make him an expert. He was still a beginner in the art of healing. Reaching his trembling fingers forward, he clutched the silver knob in his sweaty palms, turning it to the right, knowing very well he couldn't leave without James by his side. Sam sighed with relief as the door seemed to be stuck. He looks back at James with a small smile. James frowned, not letting Sam get his way so easily.

He shrugged his shoulders and shouted Stickler's name as he banged his fists on the wooden door.

"No! Don't come in. There's been a horrible accident," a voice yelled, warning them to stay away.

"Are you okay? Can we help in any way?" both Sam and James shouted in unison.

Jumping back, he almost tripped over James when he heard a loud bang and softly shuffles from inside the classroom.

"Um, yes, you two would be perfect. The rest of the class is already here. You can join them," the voice snickered.

As Sam fearfully stepped back quickly, not wanting to see what he had planned, he slipped on his untied shoelaces, landing in James's arms.

"Are you okay, Sammy?" James asked with concern in his voice.

Sam gulped with a slight nod. He shivered as he listened to a small clicking noise ringing in his bright red ears.

"Welcome," Mr. Stickler greeted both boys, yanking the door wide open, revealing the class bully lying on the ground, not moving. James looked up at Mr. Stickler with confusion in his eyes as he pointed at Billy, wondering why or how he had ended up this way. Even if Billy had tormented Sam and James since elementary school, it didn't mean James wanted to see him seriously hurt or killed. By his dad's logic, he was a good boy deep inside.

"Is he dead?" Sam questioned in a whimpering voice.

Mr. Stickler looked back at the unconscious boy lying on the ground and shrugged his shoulders.

"Are you going to try to save him?" Sam pleaded with fear in his sapphire blue eyes. He was on the brink of crying. "Why... why are you not doing anything?" he asked, with tears in his eyes. James shook his head, placing a hand on his trembling shoulder.

"Sammy," he softly whispers as he looks down at the shorter teen. He gives him a comforting smile. "He is not dead, dude."

Sam quickly looked down, hiding the blush crawling across his pale skin. He mumbled "sorry" under his breath as he walked to his seat. The class started giggling at Sam's humiliation. But they instantly fell silent as soon as James walked through the open door, a couple feet behind him. James could feel his ears twitching as every one of them faintly chuckled at his name. Each of their laughs stabbing into his fatigued heart, sucking him into the pit of darkness and threatening to break and mangle his precious soul.

 "James," a soft and innocent voice whispered in his ear, breaking through the darkness. Showing a speck of light through his clouded mind. James looked up and found a smiling Sam staring up at him with glimmering blue eyes. James couldn't help but smile at the only person who could break through the darkness and save his heart. Reaching down, James ruffled Sam's dusty blond hair as he took the seat next to him. He did not acknowledge the class's dumb gossip as he didn't need to. He was able to forget it all when Sam was by his side. He distracted him from the cruel words and names they flung at him, every second they got.

Bang! The whole class jumped as Mr. Stickler suddenly slammed the classroom door shut. He walked closer to the class bully, circling around his body, clicking his tongue as he stared up at the class and explained, "Your classmate Billy Bob took a nasty blow to the head. He was enjoying a warm spring day, playing outside with his buds, but then he tripped over a branch. His head slammed hard into an oak tree, knocking him down, but to his friends, he seemed okay. What would any of you do if you found him lying on the grass, passed out? Even if you could manage to get him to wake up, do you keep him awake or do you let him sleep it off? Listen up, class, when someone has a concussion, you need to keep them awake. I must emphasize the words keep awake. If you don't, poor little Billy will not wake up for another breakfast," he warned.

***

"Why he has a concussion," Sam protest. "I learned in health class last year that you're supposed to 'keep them awake.' Mr. Stickler told us that, and he had us repeat those words," Sam explains.

"Yes, he does have a concussion, but are you aware of him still breathing? Listen carefully. His breaths are even and steady. If there is any sign of him struggling to breathe, that is your sign to shake him awake. He is not suffering from the several bruises scattered along his body or the several sprained bones. If you ask me, James looks quite peaceful right now. Probably because he's in your lap." She winks with a smile.

Sam blushes bright red, unable to find the right words to say. The nurse shakes her head, reassuring him that he didn't need to say anything; she understands. Sam relaxes slightly while still rocking James's wounded body back and forth.

"Um, can we get James fix up now, please?" he asks innocently.

"We will, and we're also going to patch your arm up, and don't let me forget about that small scrape on your forehead," the nurse says, acknowledging Sam's forgotten wounds.

Sam freezes, astonish with how easily he can forget about something so visible. Feeling lightheaded as he continues to stare at the teeth marks,embedded into his flesh. Oozing out buckets of blood, coating his palm red. Forcing his head toward the nurse, he opens his mouth in an attempt to say something. But he immediately closes it because he is unsure of what he needs or want to say. Sighing, Sam tells himself that she needs to stay focus on James, not him. But he knew from experience, it is just best to keep his words to himself. He chuckles under his breath because he knows James will do the same thing for him, if he ever ends up in this position.