Just hearing the name of the group caused Josh to tense up, LGBT Survivors of Domestic Abuse. It meant, it defined, some part of his life that he wanted to avoid. He didn’t want to feel anything about that. He wanted it to be over. His body healed. He had moved out. He was starting over. And yet it ran through him deep like a sword had been cut down through his body, seeing the sign made him feel from his brain down to his gut. If he went inside he would be... it would define...
He wanted to run away. He wanted to find comfort some other place and yet he stopped himself because of his friend, his roommate, who was standing only a few feet away ready to go into his own meeting, LGBT Partners of Survivors of Domestic Abuse. Even though he wasn’t actually his partner, he had volunteered to go.
They would part ways, listen, maybe even talk, and then it would be over and they could walk away together, go out to dinner, but most likely go home. God he wanted to go home. They had taken to marathons of Queer as Folk and eating ice cream just about every other weekday evening. It had become some bonding time and it was nice to be with another man, intimate but not sexual or physical, just to have someone there.
He took a deep breath, wiped his hands on his jeans, and entered the room. Simon watched him as if he were sending a child off to school before he went to his own door, his own room where he thought about the lies he might have to tell, but it wasn’t difficult imagining being in a relationship with Josh. Sometimes he imagined going on vacation, sometimes being in bed in the morning.
Josh found a chair in the circle where people had already begun to sit. Some talked to each other, some got coffee or a cup of water. He thought get himself something to drink but his feet wouldn’t move. They were stuck to the floor, his knees were locked, so he let himself be as everyone else found their place and then the group leader began. He zoned out as the man began to talk, introduction, expectation, group dynamics, retraumatization, and PTSD. He logged everything somewhere in his brain for use later until the circle was opened for discussion.
He shifted on his seat. He put his hands in his pockets. And he waited. It wasn’t long for someone to speak up but as soon as the person started talking he felt unable to concentrate. His courage left him and he was struggling to breath. He closed his eyes. He was in a room with people and it felt like his skin was being ripped away. He felt vulnerable and raw. If someone touched him he thought he was going to cry, at least flinch and run away. He wanted to leave but their judgement stopped him. He inhaled deeply and held it.
Release, then do it again, he told himself. Eventually he felt himself relaxing. His heart slowed, his pulse slowed, one after the other until he could open his eyes and look around at the other people, most of whom avoided eye contact, only a few smiled back at him. He felt relaxed as he thought of Simon in the other room probably going through the same thing. He thought about being with Simon afterwards and sharing.
Just like that he felt better and he slipped his hands from his pockets and laid them on his thighs. Time slowed as more people spoke. It wasn’t boring. It was significant. They shared their thoughts and feelings. They shared their stories. And just when he thought about speaking and introducing himself it was over.
The group leader announced the end of the meeting. Everyone began to move their chair to the wall and he did the same but after he had placed it there he moved to avoid anyone else until he was in the hallway and then he was looking for Simon who was emerging from his own room. They moved to each other.
“Hey, are you okay?” Simon asked.
“Fine,” Josh said. “Why?”
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Simon said.
“Really? No, I feel okay. Really, I do. I’m fine.”
“Did you want to go out or go home?”
“Go home,” Josh said.
“I’ll order when we’re close. I’m starved. How about you?”
“Desperately,” Josh said.
The drive back was easy. Simon parked in his usual spot and they walked back to his apartment without speaking. Inside Josh spotted the clock on the wall. It had only been an hour and half of his time and yet it felt like something else. He laughed to himself and shook his head.
How could something so brief feel so immense when he didn't really do anything?
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