Page 91 of Captivated
Nate barked out a bitter laugh. “They were doing that shit with kidswayyounger than that.” He forced calm back into his voice. “And it wasn’t just the ministers who talked about God—theyallbrought the Almighty into every session. Not that everything was about religion. Most of the time it was nothing but mind-control games.” His heartbeat quickened. “The so-called counselors were there to facilitate the sessionsandmeticulously document our reactions. They were watching our emotional and physical responses, any behavioral changes, looking for verbal cues, especially those that indicated denial, resistance, guilt, shame….” He grimaced. “They were really hot on those last two. And if they got a result, that helped them assess how effective the therapy had been.”
Zeeb sat so still beside him. “Okay, that sounds scary as fuck. What kinda games are you talking about?”
“Where do you want me to start?” Nate counted off on his fingers. “Shame-based group confession, aversive conditioning, gender role reinforcement exercises, purity tests, sexual fantasy interrogation, isolation and peer shunning… Not that they ever used these terms. I learned all this in my research. The fancy titles made what they did sound almost scientific.”
Nothing like the torturous abuse it really was.
“What the hell is aversive conditioning?” Zeeb looked haggard.
“I had to snap a rubber band on my wrist every time I had a thought they considered wrong. They’d show me pictures of guys with bare chests, bulges, and then they’d indulge in a little verbal humiliation. The idea was that I’d associate ‘same-sex attraction’ with discomfort or pain. They were attempting to ‘reprogram’ my desires.” He swallowed. “The first time I ever experienced gay porn was at that place. They forced me to watch it, and then—” His throat seized, and he swallowed hard. “They’d watch for flinching, distress, or even worse, a failure to react negatively enough, and use that to assess the strength of my attraction to a man.”
Zeeb leaped to his feet. “Forcing a kid to watch gay porn? How fucked-up is that? Okay, so kids these days probably go looking for it, but to use it topunishyou? Hurt you?” He faltered. “How bad did they hurt you?”
Nate barely heard him. In his head was the cool voice of Mr. Thomas, the minister who’d presided over the worst of Nate’s ‘treatments’.
The shock will stop those thoughts. It will erase the sin from your heart. This is how we heal. You’ll understand when it’s over.
And just like that, Nate was back there, thrust into a sterile, cold room, its walls bare, the floor scuffed with years of wear.
A single light bulb flickered overhead, casting harsh shadows. In the center of the room was a metal chair. The faint hum of an air vent was the only sound.
His hands were trembling, slick with sweat, though he tried to hide it by keeping them in his lap. He couldn’t remember how he got here, except that somehow his feet had led him into this room, where nothing good ever happened. The walls felt asthough they were closing in, and the cold air seemed to freeze the blood in his veins.
The room smelled like antiseptic, sterile and clinical, and completely at odds with the chaos spiraling inside his mind. He was aware of the small device on the table in front of him. It seemed harmless.
Nate knew it was anything but.
“You’ve had your chance to confess. You’ve had your chance to fight this, and you’ve failed.” Mr. Thomas’s cool, emotionless voice washed over him.
Nate’s breath caught. His mind raced, a swirl of panic and dread. His chest felt tight, as though all the air had been sucked out of the room.
Mr. Thomas’s tone grew colder.
“This is your last chance, Nathaniel. You will learn. You will obey. You will rid yourself of these sinful desires. And you will never,everfeel this way again.”
Nate wanted to say something, anything, but the words stuck in his throat. His mouth was dry, and his tongue felt thick and useless. He stared at the metal chair, an unforgiving seat of judgment, and then at the device again. The sight of it made his stomach churn.
“This will help you. This is for your own good. You’ll feel a little discomfort, but it’s nothing compared to the pain of your sin. Now get over here and sit down.” His voice was like ice.
Nate swallowed hard, his throat raw. His legs felt like lead, but somehow, he managed to stand. He stepped toward the chair, feeling the weight of his own fear crushing him with every step.
I don’t want this.
He didn’t want to be this way, but he couldn’t control what he felt. He couldn’t stop the thoughts that raced through his mind when he glimpsed Mark in the hall. But what he fearedmore than the thoughts was the punishment that would come if he didn’t comply.
“You’re here because you’ve failed. You’ve failed your family. You’ve failed our God. You’ve failed yourself. But we can fix that. You can be healed.”
Nate sat down in the chair with a mechanical motion, as though his body was doing it for him. The seat was hard beneath him, the back of the chair pressing uncomfortably into his spine. His hands trembled on the armrests.
Mr. Thomas leaned over the table.
“Nathaniel, I need you to look at me. This is the only way. You’ve been chosen for this. The Lord has chosen you to be cleansed. But you must accept it.”
Nate couldn’t meet his eyes. His gaze dropped to his lap, his fingers digging into the armrests. His pulse was erratic, his skin crawling with dread. He wanted to scream, to run out of the room and never look back, but he knew what would happen if he tried.
“You’ve seen the boys here,” Mr. Thomas whispered. “You’ve stared at them. You’ve wanted them. Haven’t you, Nathaniel? Think about it.”
Nate’s stomach twisted. He clenched his fists, the nails cutting into his palms as if that could stop the wave of nausea threatening to overtake him.
