I sit on the edge of the bed, fists clenched, staring at the floor. The TV's on downstairs, but I can barely hear it over the noise in my head. It's coming back again—the memories, the flashbacks I thought I'd buried. No matter how hard I try to shove them down, they crawl back, dragging me to that place I've spent years trying to forget.I never told anyone about the camp. Not even Isiah. The one person I should be able to tell anything to. But how do you explain something like that? How do you admit the things they did, the things they made me do, all under the cause of making me "man up?" God, I hate that phrase.At night, when the rest of the camp was asleep, they'd come for me. The shadows always came first, and then the whispers. Quiet laughs. The kind that make your skin crawl. I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing my fingers to my temples like I can force the images out of my head. But it's useless. I can still feel their hands on me, telling me it was "for my own good," calling me a "good boy" for staying quiet. I hate how powerless I was. How powerless I still feel.A knock at the door pulls me out of it. I wipe my eyes quickly, even though I didn't realize I'd been crying."Harrison?" It's Isiah. Of course, it's Isiah. He always knows when something's wrong."Yeah?" I try to sound normal, but my voice cracks. Damn it.The door creaks open, and Isiah steps in. He looks concerned, eyebrows pulled together like they always do when he's worried about me. He doesn't say anything at first, just walks over and sits down next to me on the bed."You alright, man? You've been up here for a while," he finally says.I force a smile, but it feels fake. "Yeah, just... thinking."Isiah nods, but he doesn't push. He never does. He just sits there, letting me know he's here. Usually, that's enough.But today, it's not."I've been thinking about back then," I say quietly. "The camp."Isiah's eyes widen a bit, but he doesn't say anything. He just listens, like he always does."They told me I wasn't normal. That what I felt was wrong. And I believed them." I swallow hard. "Every night, they'd come to my room, and I'd let them... I didn't fight back. I couldn't."Isiah puts a hand on my shoulder, his touch grounding me. "You were a kid, Harrison. It wasn't your fault."I look down, my fists clenching again. "I know that. But... I can't stop thinking about it. About how it still messes me up. And I hate that. I hate that they still have power over me."Isiah stays quiet for a moment, then says softly, "They don't have power over you anymore. Not now. You've got people who love you, who care about you. I care about you."Hearing that from him—it hits me harder than I expect. Isiah has always been there for me, but he doesn't know how deep it goes. The things I carry. The things I can't talk about, even to him."I'm scared," I admit, my voice trembling. "I'm scared that one day, I'll break. That it'll all be too much.""You won't," Isiah says, his voice steady, like he believes it completely. "Because you're not alone. You've got me, and you've got Travis We're in this together."Travis. Just hearing his name twists something in my chest. He's the light in all this darkness. And I can't let him see me like this—broken."I don't want him to see me like this," I whisper. "I don't want him to see me fall apart.""You're not broken," Isiah says, his voice firm. "You're healing. And healing isn't always pretty. But you're doing it, step by step."I nod, but the truth is, I'm not sure I believe him. I want to, more than anything, but the scars run so deep. The past feels too heavy to escape sometimes.After a few moments, Isiah's expression shifts, and he says with a small smile, "Remember that sleepover we had in off season? When we tried on my mom's makeup?"I can't help but laugh, just a little. "Yeah, I remember. You dared me to wear lipstick.""And you rocked it," Isiah says, grinning wide."I call it 'manning up,'" I mutter, shaking my head. "Pretty ironic now."Isiah laughs, too, his smile growing. "Yeah, but you were being yourself. That's what matters."I sigh, feeling the tightness in my chest loosen just a little. Being myself—that's the hard part. But maybe with Isiah by my side, I can start to believe that I'm not broken. That I can heal.And maybe, just maybe, one day the flashbacks will stop.But for now, I have Isiah. And right now, that's enough.
