Throwaways
by SalientLane
Chapter 3
Jamie woke to unfamiliar warmth. For a second, panic seized him—where was he?—before reality slotted into place. Eli's arm was still draped across his chest, heavy and secure. Their legs tangled beneath the thin blanket. Sunlight streamed through the gap in the curtains, painting a bright stripe across their intertwined bodies. Jamie blinked, letting the feeling sink in: he'd slept better than he had in years.
Eli stirred beside him, his eyes fluttering open. For a moment, they just looked at each other, neither speaking. Jamie wondered if Eli would regret it in the harsh light of day—this new thing between them, still fragile and unnamed. But Eli's lips curved into a sleepy smile.
"Morning," he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep.
"Morning," Jamie echoed, relieved.
The center's morning bell rang, breaking the moment. Eli groaned but didn't move his arm from Jamie's chest.
"Five more minutes," he grumbled.
Jamie laughed. "Horlick will have our asses if we're late for breakfast again."
Horlick was the morning supervisor, a former marine with a buzz cut and surprisingly gentle eyes. He ran the center like boot camp, but beneath the drill sergeant routine was genuine concern. He'd never once looked at Jamie or Eli or any of the other kids like they were broken or wrong.
Eli sighed and reluctantly pulled his arm away. The loss of contact left Jamie cold, but then Eli's fingers brushed against his as they both sat up. A small touch, barely there, but deliberate. Jamie's heart stuttered.
They got ready in comfortable silence, grabbing their bathroom kits and heading to the communal showers. The center's routines were strict—shower times, meal times, class times, therapy times—but after months on the streets, the structure felt safe rather than confining.
Under the hot spray of the shower, with Eli just a couple of feet away from him, Jamie felt the last remnants of sleep wash away. He closed his eyes, letting the water cascade over his face. Last night had changed something fundamental between them. But what did that mean for today? For tomorrow?
In the cafeteria, they sat at their usual table with their usual trays of slightly rubbery eggs and decent toast. But there was nothing usual about the way Eli's knee pressed against Jamie's under the table, or how they stole glances at each other between bites.
"What's with you two?" asked Marcus, a lanky kid with a septum ring who'd been at the center for two months. "You look weird."
"Nothing," Eli said, too quickly.
Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Right."
Jamie concentrated on his eggs, feeling heat creep up his neck. He wasn't ashamed—not of Eli, never of Eli—but this thing between them felt too new, too precious to share just yet.
After breakfast, they headed to the east wing for group therapy. The room was Jamie's favorite in the whole center—walls of exposed brick, shelves crammed with hundreds of books, and a circle of mismatched chairs that had seen better days. Sunlight filtered through tall windows, illuminating dust motes that danced in the air.
Jamie and Eli took their usual spots next to each other. Around them, the other kids shuffled in, some still half-asleep, others jittery with nervous energy. There were eight of them total in this particular group, all between twelve and fifteen, all with stories that would break your heart if you let them.
Dr. Chen entered last, clipboard in hand. She was short, with a black bob and rectangular glasses, and Jamie liked her immediately when he'd first arrived. She never pushed too hard but never let them off easy either.
"Good morning, everyone," she said, settling into her chair. "Before we begin, I want to remind you that this is a safe space. What's said in this room stays in this room."
It was the same spiel she gave at the start of every session. Jamie had heard it so many times he could recite it by heart. But today, it hit different. Safe space. He glanced at Eli, who was already looking at him. Eli's knee nudged his, a silent message: I'm here.
"Let's start with check-ins," Dr. Chen continued. "Who wants to go first? How are we feeling today?"
A girl named Zoe raised her hand. She had short pink hair and more piercings than Jamie could count. "I'm okay. My case worker says my aunt might let me stay with her once I finish the program here."
"That's positive progress," Dr. Chen said with a smile. "Anyone else?"
"I'm fucking tired," Marcus announced. "And these eggs were trash."
Everyone laughed, the tension in the room easing.
Dr. Chen turned to Jamie and Eli. "How about you two?"
Jamie hesitated. "I'm... good," he said finally. "Really good."
It was the truth, he realized. Despite everything—the addiction that still clawed at him some days, the memories that haunted him, the uncertainty of his future—he felt good. Because of the boy sitting next to him.
"You look good," Zoe said, studying him. "I mean, you look happy. I don't think I've ever seen you look so... I dunno, peaceful?"
Jamie blinked, surprised. "I do?"
"Yeah," Marcus chimed in. "It's weird. You're usually all doom and gloom."
"I am not!" Jamie protested, but he was smiling.
"And you," Zoe said, pointing at Eli. "You're practically glowing. What gives?"
Eli shrugged, but Jamie could see a flush creeping up his neck. "Just slept well, I guess."
Zoe's eyes narrowed, darting between them. A slow smile spread across her face. "Oh," she said. "Oh."
"Oh what?" asked a younger boy named Danny.
"Nothing," Zoe said, but she was still grinning. "Just... it's about time, that's all."
Jamie felt heat rise to his cheeks. Was it that obvious? He risked a glance at Eli, who was studiously examining his shoes, the tips of his ears red.
Dr. Chen cleared her throat, reclaiming the group's attention. "Let's focus on today's topic. I was thinking we could discuss coping mechanisms for stress and—"
"Actually," Jamie interrupted, surprising himself. "I think I want to talk about something else."
The words had tumbled out before he could stop them. Everyone turned to look at him, including Eli, whose eyes widened slightly. Jamie rarely spoke up in group unless directly prompted.
Dr. Chen adjusted her glasses. "Of course, Jamie. What would you like to discuss?"
Jamie took a deep breath. He hadn't planned this. But sitting here, with Eli warm and solid beside him, with these other kids who'd been through their own versions of hell, he suddenly wanted—needed—to let it out. All of it.
"My dad," he said, his voice steadier than he expected. "I want to talk about my dad."
The room went quiet. Everyone knew bits and pieces of each other's stories—it was impossible not to after living together for months—but Jamie had always been vague about his past.
"He was religious," Jamie continued. "Like, seriously religious. Church three times a week, Bible study, the whole thing. He was an elder, respected by everyone. Nobody knew what he was like at home."
Eli's hand found Jamie's, their fingers intertwining. The touch grounded him.
"When I was eight, he caught me playing with one of my cousin's dolls. He beat me so bad I couldn't sit down for two days. Told me boys who play with dolls go to hell." Jamie's voice was flat, reciting facts rather than feeling the emotions behind them. It was easier that way. "I learned to hide things after that."
Dr. Chen nodded encouragingly but didn't interrupt. The other kids were silent, listening intently.
"When I was twelve, he found a magazine in my room. Just some stupid teen thing with a shirtless actor on the cover. Nothing even remotely explicit. But he knew. He looked at me, and he just... knew." Jamie swallowed hard. "He dragged me to the bathroom, filled the tub with cold water, and held me under. Said he was baptizing the sin out of me."
A sharp intake of breath from somewhere in the circle. Jamie didn't look up to see who it was.
"He kept saying, 'God hates faggots like you,' over and over while I was choking on water." Jamie's grip on Eli's hand tightened. "After that, it was like he was on a mission. He'd make me kneel on rice while reciting Bible verses. He'd wake me up at 3 a.m. to pray for forgiveness. Once, he locked me in the closet for two days without food, said maybe being in the closet would remind me where I belonged."
"Jesus," Marcus muttered.
Jamie laughed, a harsh sound with no humor. "Yeah, exactly. Jesus. All in the name of Jesus."
He finally looked up, meeting the eyes of his groupmates one by one. Some looked horrified, others nodded in grim recognition of their own similar stories.
"When I was twelve—right before I ran—I finally told him. Just said it outright: 'Dad, I'm gay.' It was like... I don't know, like I needed to say it before I could leave. Like I needed him to know exactly who he was rejecting." Jamie's voice caught. "He beat me unconscious. When I woke up, he was sitting in a chair by my bed, reading the Bible. He told me I was dead to him, that God had abandoned me, and so would he. He said I might as well be dead for real."
Eli's arm slipped around Jamie's shoulders, pulling him close. Jamie leaned into him, drawing strength from his presence.
"I believed him," Jamie continued. "I really did. I thought I was worthless, that I deserved to die. So when I ran away, I wasn't trying to find a better life. I was just looking for a way to disappear. The drugs... they were just the slowest form of suicide I could find."
The room was so quiet you could hear the ancient heating system creaking in the walls.
"I would be dead now if it wasn't for Eli," Jamie said, turning to look at the boy next to him. "He found me that first night on the streets. I was hiding behind a dumpster, hadn't eaten in two days. He shared his sandwich with me. Didn't even know me, but he shared his food."
Eli ducked his head, uncomfortable with the praise. "It was just a sandwich."
"It was everything," Jamie corrected him. "You were everything. Still are." He turned back to the group. "Every time I wanted to give up, every time I took too many pills or drank too much or put myself in danger, he was there. Pulling me back. Refusing to let me go."
Jamie's throat tightened with unshed tears. "My father wanted me dead because I'm gay. He used God as his excuse. But Eli... Eli saved my life. And if there is a God, then I think maybe he or she sent Eli to me. To show me that I deserved to live. That I was worthy of love, just as I am."
Dr. Chen leaned forward in her chair. "Jamie, thank you for sharing that with us. It took tremendous courage."
Zoe wiped at her eyes. "My mom kicked me out too. Said she couldn't have a dyke for a daughter, that it would embarrass her at church."
"My parents sent me to conversion therapy," Danny said quietly. "Three times."
One by one, the other kids shared similar stories of rejection, abuse, and abandonment, all in the name of religion. The session took on a life of its own, veering far from Dr. Chen's planned topic. But she let it happen, guiding the conversation with gentle questions when needed.
Throughout it all, Jamie and Eli remained connected—shoulders touching, hands clasped, bodies angled toward each other. Jamie had never felt so exposed and so protected at the same time.
"I don't understand it," Marcus said after everyone had shared. "How can they say God is love and then use Him to justify so much evil?"
No one had a good answer for that.
"What I do know," Dr. Chen said carefully, "is that none of you deserved what happened to you. None of you. Being LGBTQ+ is not a sin, a choice, or a flaw. It's simply part of who you are."
Jamie nodded, feeling something loosen in his chest. He'd heard these words before, from counselors and doctors and teachers at the center. But today, for the first time, he truly believed them.
"I have a future now," Jamie said, surprising himself again. "For a long time, I couldn't imagine living past sixteen. Couldn't see the point. But now..." he glanced at Eli. "Now I can see it. I want to see it."
Eli's eyes were bright with unshed tears, but he was smiling. "Me too," he said softly.
As the session wound down, Dr. Chen reminded them of the resources available—individual therapy sessions, the center's 24-hour counselors, support groups specifically for religious trauma.
"Remember," she said as they prepared to leave, "healing isn't linear. There will be good days and bad days. But you're not alone in this journey."
Jamie knew she was right about the non-linear part. He'd have cravings again. He'd have nights when his father's voice was louder than reason. But as the group dispersed, Eli's hand found his again, their fingers interlacing naturally, like they'd been doing this forever.
"You okay?" Eli asked quietly.
Jamie considered the question. He'd just exposed his deepest wounds to a roomful of people. He should feel drained, raw. But instead, he felt lighter, as if speaking the words had taken some of their power away.
"Yeah," he said. "I think I am."
Eli nodded, understanding. "Breakfast was shit though."
Jamie laughed, the sound bright and genuine. "Complete shit. But I hear lunch is pizza."
"Hey, I've got an idea," Eli said. "Let's push our beds together tonight. To make a larger one."
"Genius idea. I only wish we'd thought of it before."
They walked out of the therapy room together, still holding hands. Whatever came next—good days, bad days, all the days in between—they would face it together. Jamie had spent his life being told he was alone, abandoned by God and family. But here, with Eli's hand in his, he knew the truth: he had never been more found.
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