Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 9

was calm when he spoke. "You want to know how I spent Christmas, five days after my family found out I was gay? I spent it alone, on a friend's couch, nursing a broken rib, a concussion and lots and lots of bruises. You want to know how I got them?"
    Michael didn't want to know; didn't want to hear the horror he knew had been done to Cole. But he knew Cole needed to tell him, so he found himself running a soothing hand down his back and saying, "I'm here, baby. Tell me what happened."
    Cole took a deep breath and shuddered. "So, I had been home from college for a few days. I was out doing some last minute shopping, and when I came home, my dad says he needs to see me in the garage out back. I'm thinking, 'Oh shit, I failed a final or something', right. When I got to the garage, I noticed my brothers were already there, and I couldn't figure out why they needed to be there if it were my grades I was in trouble for. Next thing I know, I'm lying face down on the cement. My dad had punched me in the back of the head. I rolled over to face him, and he's holding the letter and pictures in his hand. 'Fucking faggot' he says to me. 'You think I wouldn't find out, you filthy cocksucker! I'll show you what happens to pansy-ass faggots in my house.' And then he beat the shit out of me and made my brothers join him."
    Cole's heart was racing so fast he was nearly hyperventilating. He'd never told this story to anyone and reliving it now, for the first time ever, was making his blood pump and adrenaline rush through his system. The words kept tumbling from his mouth.
    "And then I'm lying there, right. Bloody sobbing. I felt so lost and confused. And he says to me 'You're never to speak to any of us again. You're no longer my son. You understand me, faggot? Get up and get out of my house.' This can't be happening I think. This isn't real. What can I do to make this stop? Maybe if I beg. Maybe if I kiss his feet he'll take it back. I tell myself to get up. Get on my knees. Just lean forward and place my lips on his perfectly polished shoe and this could all be over. But I couldn't. I wouldn't do it! I forced myself to get up and walk out of there with my head held high."
    Michael hadn't realized he was holding his breath until it gushed out of him in one big release. He continued running his hand in a soothing pattern over Cole's back, unsure of his voice at that moment.
    Cole raised his head, propping his chin on the divot in Michael's chest. His eyes were red, and cheeks damp, but the relief on his face was obvious. "So," he says, "how's that for a Happy Thanksgiving story?"
    "Jesus Christ, Cole. I don't know what to say. You're so fucking amazing. I'm so proud of you." It might not have been the romantic moment he had been waiting for, but Michael knew he couldn't leave it unsaid any longer. "I love you, Cole."
    "Don't say that just because you feel sorry for me."
    "Cole, I'm in love with you. I don't feel sorry for you. You're the strongest person I know, and I love you."
    Cole actually giggled. "Good. Because I refuse to spend another holiday without the man I love ever again."
    Michael's smile was radiant. "So," he fished, "what you're saying is?"
    "What I'm saying is, I love you, too, asshole. I think I've loved you since the moment I laid eyes on those feet of yours."
    Michael felt like he'd been punched in the gut. "Jesus, Cole, is that why you do it? Why you enjoy feet? Because of what happened with your fucking father? God, Cole, do you think that's how you can make someone love you? He wouldn't have cared if you had done it, if you had kissed his feet, Cole. It wouldn't have changed anything." Michael felt sick with the thought he had let Cole degrade himself in that way.
    "No!" Cole practically yelled. "No, don't you see? That's just it. I couldn't do it for that man, the one who was supposed to love me unconditionally. I couldn't make myself grovel because I was stronger than that. I wasn't ashamed of being gay and I would never allow someone to make me feel that way; make me feel like I had to beg for their approval. I worship your feet because I choose to. Because it makes me happy. They remind me of my strength and courage."
    It took a while for the feelings of guilt and disgust to clear Michael's system. Once again Cole had surprised him with his sheer depth and perception. He looked down into those emerald green eyes and felt swallowed whole. He didn't think he could come up with words adequate enough to convey