(( I worked on this for like 4 days and it's still a bit confusing and a bit too long but just bear with me we'll get back to the main story soon. ))

Oliver sighed, "It was Ileanna who came and saw me first after it happened."

They were back to sitting on the couches opposite each other. Oliver had apologised for scaring Scott, explaining that he had just wanted to re-create how it felt that night. Scott had - of course - forgiven him, asking if he was okay.

"No," Oliver had replied. "Not in the slightest."

But he'd insisted on telling the rest of his story, and so here they were.

Oliver began to talk again, "Ileanna sat on the end of my bed and said to me, 'Usted es el niño sin nombre, ¿verdad?' You're the little boy with no name, right? I looked up at her through tear-filled eyes and nodded.

'Well,' She said. 'That just won't do. Listen here, nameless boy, I have a name for you. Can you guess what it is?'

I stopped crying. I blinked at her, 'Alejandro?'

She laughed, 'No, my nameless boy. Not Alejandro.'

I was quiet for a while. I guessed again, 'Joseph?'

'No, my nameless boy. Not Joseph.'

There was no apology for what had happened. No pity, no remorse, no comfort. Ileanna didn't tell me it would be alright. She would have been lying. Instead, she began a little game that we played between each other.

I was very sore, covered in bruises from where Senor Santillan's hands had been, and I cried a lot while I worked. It was hard to work without being in excruciating pain, but I did it anyway, because I knew Senor Santillan was the one who set me free, and I had to earn my keep.

Every time I felt like I couldn't take the pain anymore, I'd call out in a shaky voice, still high-pitched like a child's, 'Ileanna! Is my name Jesús?!'

All would be silent for a while, and then I'd hear her clear, song-like voice calling back, 'No, my nameless boy! Not Jesús!'

That night, Senor Santillan came to my bed once more. Again, I screamed. Again I shrieked for help. Again, nobody came. In the morning, Ileanna came in and sat on the end of my bed. This time she said, 'Buenos dias, my nameless boy. Do you know what day it is?'

'What day is it?' I asked through sobs.

'Today's your birthday, nameless boy. The 23rd of November.'

I stopped crying.

She taught me how to write down my birthday like they do in America. 11/23. After she taught me, she asked, 'Do you know what your name is, yet?'

I thought. 'Alonso?'

She laughed, 'No, my nameless boy. Not Alonso.'

And so life became more bearable for me. Every day I would work hard and ignore the pain in my body. Every night, Senor Santillan would visit me, and I would never be strong enough to push him away. Every morning, Ileanna would come and help me piece together an image of who I was. She taught me how to spell, and how to add together. I was no longer nobody. I was the nameless boy, born on the 23rd of November, under Sagittarius. And so this continued for a year, until, on the 23rd of November, I celebrated my 13th birthday.

'Buenos dias, Ileanna,' I said. I was crying. I cried every morning after Senor visited me.

'Buenos dias, nameless boy. Do you know what day it is?'

'No, Ileanna. I don't.'

'Today is the 23rd of November again. You're thirteen now. A teenager.'

I stopped crying. 'What does that mean, Ileanna?'

And so she explained to me about how birthdays work, how ages work and how being a teen works." Oliver paused to laugh. "I knew about child abuse, non-consensual sex and slavery, but I didn't even know what a birthday was. Sad, isn't it?"

"It's terrible..." Scott breathed.

"Mmm. I hope I'm not confusing you with all this story, but I just need to get it off my chest, you know?" Ollie asked, looking at Scott.

"No, it's fine. Go on. I want to hear about how you came to be in America. How did you escape?" Scott asked, sounding like he was reading a good page-turner rather than a friend's personal life.

Oliver laughed, "Okay then. So, Ileanna. She said to me, 'My nameless boy, I have no birthday present for you. But instead, I would like to promise you something. One day, we will escape this place together, and I will be your Mama. Would you like that?'

'You're already my Mama, Ileanna,' I said, but I grinned. 'I would love that.'

'Good,' she said. 'Then you have to keep working, and I have to ask you something difficult. You have to give Senor Santillan what he wants every night from now on, so he will trust you enough that we can escape. Can you do that for me?'

At first, I was silent. The thought of willingly giving my body to Senor was terrifying. But if it got me closer to escape, then I'd do whatever it took. I agreed, and so the next year passed.

I paid off my debt to Senor Santillan by working hard at the day, and being his sex slave at night. He loved it when I stopped fighting back. He... He thought he'd finally broken me. It wasn't true. I wasn't broken. While what Senor Santillan did to me every night never became easier to bear, I had begun to learn to hide what I felt. I... the hatred and hurt slowly built inside me. It nested and grew, turning my heart black, while I served him with a smile, like the good slave I was. I acted like I was broken, but he never knew that on the inside, I was stronger than ever.

Then Ileanna came once more to my room.

'Next week,' was all she said. Those two words.

I became excited. I became... too excited. In hushed whispers at the dinner table, or when we passed each other in the hall, I would beg her, 'Please, Mama, sooner than next week. Let's go this week, Mama, please!'

She must have felt sorry for me, because in the end she agreed. She seemed nervous as she explained the plan. She told me it wasn't fully in place yet, so trying to escape before next week was very risky. I didn't care. I said, 'Please, Mama, save me from Senor, and let's go live together like a real mother and son.'" Oliver jolted suddenly when he felt Scott's arms around him - he'd been so deep in his flashbacks he'd been completely out of the real world. He realised all of a sudden that he was crying and shaking, and felt himself flush. He hated crying in front of people.

"It's alright, Oliver..." Scott whispered to him, pulling him closer into a hug. "It's okay..."

Oliver whimpered, "It's not- It's not okay... He... He found us, Scott. Senor Santillan found us trying t-to escape... He... He p-put his hands around her neck... I stopped running and I looked back... I could have killed him... I sh-should have killed him... but... she... she looked at me a-and..." Oliver took a deep, shuddering gasp of air. "With her dying b-breath, she said, 'For God's sake, Oliver, my nameless boy, run'. A-and... and... I did." 

Oliver fell into tears, sobbing uncontrollably into Scott, who pulled him close and hugged him tight, soothing him.

"It's alright, Ollie. It's not your fault..." Scott reassured him while he cried, letting all the hurt and pain he'd held inside him for almost ten years out.

"I-If I h-hadn't been so impatient, she would s-still be alive," Oliver choked out.

"It's okay... It'll be okay..." Scott cooed, holding him close until Oliver broke away from the hug all of a sudden.

He was blushing furiously as he wiped his eyes, "Sorry... I'm acting like a child. I hate crying. I'm sorry you had to see that."

"Don't worry about it. Are you okay?" Scott asked, his voice filled with concern.

Oliver shrugged, looking away. "I'm fine, amigo. I just... miss her. I can't help feeling like if I'd just put up with Senor for another few days, we both could have lived..."

"It's not your fault for wanting to get away from him sooner," Scott reassured him. "You were just 14. You can't be blamed for acting rationally."

Oliver laughed, "You say it like I didn't cause a beautiful woman to die." He sighed. "Anyway. So now I knew who I was. Oliver. I ran and ran and ran from Senor Santillan. I ran for miles. I hurt all over and I got a stitch, but I kept running until I collapsed. When I woke, I found myself in the back of an alley, and the realisation of what I'd done crashed down on me. I realised Ileanna was gone, and so was my house, my food. I had no money, and no skills to get a job. Except... there was one thing that I knew I could do, and that people used me for..." Oliver looked away again, his shoulders slumping, "I'm not proud of what I did. I hate myself for it. I hated every moment of it, but I didn't know what else to do. I... I went into prostitution..."

"At fourteen?" Scott asked. "Who-Who would hire a 14-year-old prostitute? It's disgusting!"

Oliver laughed, "There are plenty of people disgusting enough. I went into an underworld of prostitutes, a kind of network. They used to force me to smoke heroin so I wouldn't freak out, so that I'd act like I was enjoying myself even if I wasn't. People liked the idea of taking a young child's innocence. I'd get girls and guys as customers, which is probably why I'm bisexual. I was paid hardly anything. A few coins here and there..." Ollie shook his head. "I sold my soul to the devil, and I realised during that time what I was. A sex toy. That's what I was born as. What I was sold to be. What I was destined to be. I'm sure there's a throne in Hell with my name on it."

"Don't say that!" Scott said. "Don't be ridiculous. There's no way someone as wonderful as you deserves to go to Hell."

Oliver smiled, "Is that so? Then I wonder why God chose the life for me that He did. I think He knew I wasn't worth anything, too."

"Ollie-" Scott started, but Oliver cut him off.

"Anyway, all that doesn't matter. I worked until I was 18 doing what I did. I lost track of the days, but it must have been mid-July or so when I saw her. I was in the markets using my pesos from my latest job to buy something for me to eat, when I heard a sound from behind me. I turned around to see one of the maids from Senor Santillan's mansion.

"Nameless slave?" She asked me. "What are you doing here? We thought you died with Ileanna!"

"Died? No, I escaped. What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be with Senor?"

"He kicked us out after Ileanna died," she explained. "She was engaged to him, after all, and he blamed us for her death."

She took me in. She looked after me, fed me up, gave me proper clothes. When she realised what I'd been doing to get money, she took me to the doctors, where they ran blood tests. By some miracle, I hadn't contracted any diseases, but I wasn't in a good state. All my insides were damaged from constant abuse. I didn't have enough money for medicine or for an operation, though, so... I just had to put up with the pain from then on. Then she explained to me that there was a group who were planning to make a break for America later that year, and that if I wanted to survive, I should take her place. She promised me she'd be fine in Mexico. I was probably selfish, but I took the opportunity and... here we are."

All was silent for a while.

"How are you feeling?" Scott asked at last.

Oliver shrugged, looking down. "Better, I guess. Kind of better. Kind of worse." He looked over to Scott and then smiled, pulling him into a hug. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

((Every Oliver needs a Scott. Thanks for being mine. ))