Chapter 283 Garrett
Chapter 283 Garrett
Garrett
The moment the prosecutor said my name, every thought disappeared from my head.
I had known this was coming. I had spent days preparing for it, hours answering the same questions in private rooms until Olivia and the prosecutors were certain I could get through them. But none of that mattered when I had to stand and walk toward the place Aslan had just left.
He passed me halfway there.
For one brief second, his fingers closed around mine. “I’m right here, babe.”
Then he had to let go.
I watched him take his seat before I continued. My legs trembled so badly that I wasn’t sure how they carried me the rest of the way. Every face in the courtroom followed me, but Aslan was the only one I allowed myself to see.
He was here now. He had been so brave for me, so fucking incredible. It didn’t matter who else was waiting to judge me or attack me. I didn’t have to look at Graves. Whenever I felt myself slipping, I could find my lion.
I sat on the witness stand and pressed my shaking hands together. God, I don’t know if I believe in You the way my mother wanted me to, but I do believe in my own way. You got me out so now, please… just let me tell the truth.
After I was sworn in and asked the typical routine questions, the prosecutor approached me slowly. “Mr. Williams, when did you first meet Dr. Graves?”
“I was ten.”
“When did he begin treating you regularly?”
“When I was twelve.”
“What were you being treated for?”
I swallowed. “My mother said I was becoming disobedient. That I questioned her too much and didn’t respect authority.”
“Before you entered Spring Creek, had you ever been expelled from school?”
“No.”
“Suspended?”
“No.”
“Arrested or charged with an offense?”
“No. Never.”
He showed the jury copies of records covering every year I had attended school. Grades, teacher evaluations, awards. An entire childhood reduced to paper.
“How would you describe your academic performance?”
“Good. Mostly excellent.”
“Were you considered violent or dangerous by any of your teachers?”
“No.”
“Then why were you removed from school and sent to Spring Creek at fourteen?”
The answer climbed into my throat and stopped there.
I found Aslan again. He was leaning forward, his eyes fixed on me as if he could hold me upright from across the room.
“Because I wasn’t straight.”
A murmur swept through the courtroom. Someone behind the prosecution table gasped, and several reporters began writing at once.
The judge called for silence before the prosecutor continued. “What do you mean by that?”
“I’m bisexual.” Saying it in front of all those people made my heart pound, but Aslan didn’t look away. “My mother found me kissing another boy. James Moore. We had known each other since we were kids.”
“What happened after she discovered you together?”
“She forbade me from seeing him, or even talking to him. But we were class mates, so when I couldn't do that, she took me out of school and sent me to Spring Creek.”
“Did she tell you why?”
“She said what I felt was sinful. Rebellion. She said I had allowed myself to become an abomination and Dr. Graves would correct me.”
My eyes moved toward my parents before I could stop them. My father sat frozen beside my mother. Helena remained perfectly still, staring forward as though none of this concerned her.
“What kind of facility did you believe Spring Creek was?”
“It was a conversion center.” The murmurs started again, but I kept speaking. “They didn’t call it that. They called it behavioral correction, reorientation, resistance therapy… anything except what it was. But the behavior they wanted to correct was my attraction to boys.”
“What happened during your first stay?”
My fingers tightened around each other. “They showed me pictures of men and monitored my reactions. If I looked too long or my body reacted, they shocked me. Sometimes they used deafening sounds or lights so bright they hurt. They strapped me to a chair and connected me to a polygraph. Every answer, every movement, even the way I breathed could be wrong.”
“What happened when you gave a wrong answer?”
“Isolation. Freezing baths. No sleep. Group sessions where we were forced to humiliate one another. More shocks. More questions.”
“How long were you there?”
“Almost a year.”
“Did the treatment change your sexual orientation?”
“No.” My voice broke, but I forced myself to continue. “It taught me not to react. Not to look at anyone. Not to touch anyone or let anyone touch me. Eventually, I stopped reacting to almost everything because every feeling could be used against me.”
“How were you different when you returned home?”
“I was scared of everyone.” A tear slipped down my face. I wiped it away quickly. “So I learned to be louder than the fear. I acted like I owned every room I entered. I made people afraid of me before they could find out I was afraid of them.”
My eyes found Aitor, Halt, James, and Trisha. People I had hurt while desperately trying to make sure no one could hurt me.
“Did your contact with Dr. Graves end after you left Spring Creek?”
“No. I continued seeing him. I had to write journals for him and answer questions about every person I spoke to, every thought I had, and anyone I found attractive. Sometimes he connected me to the polygraph again.”
“What happened if he believed you had relapsed?”
“He threatened to send me back.”
“Did there eventually come a time when he believed you had?”
“Yes.”
“What changed?”
“Aslan came to Crownwell.”
My lion’s eyes filled with tears.
“How did you initially treat Mr. Rivers?”
“I bullied him.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted him.” Shame burned through me even after everything we had survived. “The moment I felt attracted to him, every warning Graves had ever put inside my head came back. I knew what they would do if anyone found out. Hurting Aslan felt easier than admitting that I couldn’t stop thinking about him.”
“Did you attempt to pursue a relationship with anyone else?”
“Yes. Trisha.”
“Why?”
“Because being seen with a girl made my family treat me like I was normal again. Graves approved of it. I thought if I tried hard enough, maybe I could want what they wanted me to want.”
“Did you?”
“No. It wasn’t about girls or boys by then. I didn’t want somebody else.” I looked at Aslan. “I wanted him.”
The room around us disappeared for a heartbeat. Aslan pressed his fist against his mouth, fighting to hold himself together.
“How did Dr. Graves discover your feelings?”
“During one of our sessions. He connected me to the polygraph and asked whether I was physically attracted to Aslan. I tried to deny it, but he knew I was lying.”
“What happened afterward?”
“I was sent back to Spring Creek for a refresher weekend. I was injured from a riding accident and still using crutches, but that didn’t matter.”
“What was the purpose of that weekend?”
“To get Aslan out of my head.”
“How?”
“They showed me photographs and videos of him. They played recordings of his voice. Every image came with shocks, noise, pain, or humiliation. Graves wanted me to feel afraid whenever I saw or heard him.”
“Did it work?”
“For a while.” The tears came faster now. “When I returned, Aslan’s voice could make me panic. His touch made my body expect pain. But I still loved him. They could make me afraid of him, but they couldn’t make me stop loving him.”
“What did Dr. Graves do when the other techniques failed?”
My entire body went cold.
The prosecutor waited. Nobody rushed me, but the walls were moving closer. Graves’s voice whispered through my memories, calm and patient, telling me to breathe.
I looked at Aslan.
“He used stimulation therapy.”
Several jurors shifted. They had heard the term before from Lance’s mother, from former patients, and from the recovered records. Until now, nobody had explained it.
The prosecutor’s voice softened. “What was stimulation therapy, Garrett?”
My mouth opened, but nothing came out. The shame was still there. Graves had planted it too deeply to disappear just because I was telling the truth.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
A sob escaped me. I lowered my face, struggling to breathe until Aslan came back into focus.
“What did Dr. Graves do to you?”
“He raped me.”
The room reacted with a collective gasp and then went completely silent.
My father covered his mouth. His face crumpled as he stared at Graves, then at my mother, as if he no longer recognized either of them.
“What did Dr. Graves tell you the treatment was supposed to accomplish?”
“He said my body needed to learn what my mind refused to accept. He wanted being touched by another man to mean pain, shame, and disgust. He used pictures and recordings of Aslan while he did it so I would associate those things with him too.”
“Did stimulation therapy happen only once?”
“No.”
“Who performed it?”
For the first time since taking the stand, I looked directly at Graves.
He watched me with the same expression he used during our private sessions. Calm. Patient. Almost tender. But I wasn’t twelve anymore, and we weren’t alone.
“Dr. Graves,” I said. “He did it over and over again.”