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He might have been able to focus on the words before him were it not for the switch in his father’s hand. “Come now, Wylan. It isn’t difficult.” He breathed deeply, trying to make the shapes on the paper look like words, to look like anything other than jumbled shapes and lines. He was 15 years old, and Wylan was holding a children’s book, one he knew from the art style was meant for 3 year olds, and he couldn’t make sense of the words.
“Ghezen and his works,” his father sighed, stepping closer. “Read a single sentence, Wylan, I beg of you.” But he couldn’t. Wylan simply didn’t see words on the paper, though he knew they were there. “I… I can’t.” Smack! The switch swatted against Wylan’s back, making him yelp. “Read, Wylan.” “Father, I-” Smack! Another hit, this one on his arm. When he failed to read, or tried to guess at what the words were based on the images, the hits increased.
Then his father began hitting his hands, his palms. “We’ll see how well you play that damned flute now,” his father said, and Wylan let out a whimper. He soon realized that was a mistake, as seven swats from the switch rained down on him in rapid succession. “Worthless. Ghezen, if my father could see you, an invalid idiot. I should have drowned you in the canal when you were born.” Smack, smack, smack!
“Wylan, wake up. Honey, wake up for me.” Wylan sucked in a breath as his eyes flew open, startling away from the presence at his side. “Hey, hey. It’s me, baby. It’s just me.” Wylan blinked, rubbing his eyes, seeing that his hands were uninjured. “J-Jesper?” “Yeah baby,” the Zemini said, cautiously moving closer. “It’s me. Are you alright? You were moaning in your sleep.”
Jesper could easily have made a joke there, but he knew that now wasn’t the time, not when Wylan was shaking like that, his eyes flitting nervously around the room. “Y-yeah,” Wylan stammered. “Just a bad dream.” Jesper inched closer again, a soft frown on his face. “Baby, you’re shaking like a tree in a windstorm, I think it was more than a bad dream.” He opened his arms, and Wylan let out a sob, practically flinging himself into his boyfriend’s arms.
“Woah, hey, hey, Wy. I’ve got you, I’m right here.” Jesper scooted backwards so he was leaning against the headboard and shifted Wylan so he was comfortably seated in his lap. “Let it all out, my love. I’m right here. You’re safe, honey, you’re safe. Wylan let Jesper’s embrace and words calm him, and a few minutes later, he was ready to speak.
“It was my father,” Wylan began, resting his head on Jesper’s shoulder. “He was trying to get me to read. But when I couldn’t, he would beat me. He…” Wylan broke off, and Jesper rubbed his arm soothingly. “It’s alright, baby,” he said. “Take your time.” Wylan took a deep breath and pushed on. “He would hit my hands with a switch so I couldn’t play my flute. He would take away the one thing that made me happy.”
Jesper cursed under his breath, holding Wylan a bit tighter. “Wylan, honey, I’m so sorry. But he can never hurt you ever again. Your bastard of a father will rot in Hellgate for the rest of his life while we live in his house and spend his money. How do you think pious Jan Van Eck would feel about his son sleeping with a man, a man who looks like me no less, under his roof?”
Wylan let out a little laugh at that, and Jesper smiled. “He’d hate it.” “Exactly. Which is exactly why I love it. And you know I don’t give a rat’s ass about you not being able to read, I love you exactly as you are.” “I love you too, Jes. It’s just… when I have these dreams, it’s like I can’t escape him, like he’s still here. My father’s in prison, yet I can’t escape the fear he instilled in me. The feeling that I’m not enough, that I’ll never be enough.”
“You know that’s not true, baby. Wylan, you are perfect exactly as you are, and it’s a pity that your father couldn’t see that. So you can’t read, that’s just one part of you. And there are so many other parts of you, and I love all of them. I love you, Wylan Van Eck, and trust me when I say that if your father ever sees the light of day again, I’ll be first in line to beat his ass.”
“I think you’ll have to get in line,” Wylan said, pressing a kiss to Jesper’s cheek. “There are a lot of people angry with him after our little scheme at the auction.” “Then I’ll cut the line. And I’ll get back in line and cut the line again. No one gets to hurt my baby and get away with it.” Wylan’s heart was racing, but not from the nightmare; from Jesper’s sweet words and declarations.
“I love you,” he said, snuggling into Jesper’s chest. “I love you so much, Jesper. Thank you.” “You don’t have to thank me, merchling,” Jesper replied,kissing his unruly locks. “Do you think you can go back to sleep?” The vision of his father beating him was still fresh, and Wylan felt as if someone had poured freezing water over his head, and he shivered.
“Not yet,” he said, and Jesper nodded. “Want me to read to you?” he asked, pulling the blankets, warm from their bodies, over Wylan’s form. The mercher nodded, a smile crossing his face. “I’d love that.” It was only after Jesper began reading to him that Wylan discovered his love of books. They no longer held the anxiety and fear they once had; now, they were escape, entertainment. And that fact that his boyfriend had a lovely voice was a definite bonus.
Jesper flicked on the lamp and retrieved the novel they were working their way through, this one about a young boy who discovered his magical powers and went off to school, far away from his wretched aunt and uncle. Jesper opened the book and began to read, his voice soothing Wylan and quickly putting him to sleep. Jesper knew he’d have to reread this chapter when Wylan would remember it, but he didn’t mind, he just kept reading until he was sure his boyfriend was out.