[Author's Note: Thanks to all who wrote to me with such glowing words after my not-so-brief hiatus. I posted the fourth chapter, and the very next day I had about ten e-mails of people showering me in much undeserved praise. Thank you. - smile - I'm glad you guys read this stuff... it's good to know I'm not pouring out my heart to nothingness. ;o) Thanks, also, for your continued presence, and I hope I can continue to not dissapoint. Just to let you know, chapters should be coming more frequently now; there was a spell recently in my personal life that did not let me have any time to myself, which accounted for the silence here on Nifty. And, also, much thanks to the Nifty Staff!! Take care, and I hope you enjoy this chapter.... I'm just a sucker for cliffhangers... - sticks out tongue and grins - E-mail me with any criticisms! - a gentle kiss for Armand - - T]
"Shae!!"
The sound of my name shoots like an arrow through the early winter chill, peircing through the shrouding, mind-numbing layers of mist that coat the campus buildings. It pays no heed to the cloud-like presence of trees and snow, and it gives me no chance to escape as it shatters through my mental walls. It stops me thouroughly in the middle of the path, takes my body into its grip and wrenches me around, making me face the caller. I don't want to do this -- every nerve in my body rebells, but the voice sounds again, leaving me no other option. Had it been any other voice than the one I recognized, I would have found the ability to keep walking, but Brendan's voice has that certain sound to it like I imagine Jesus' must of had... a very certain, melodic sound that knows no boundaries or doubt of recognition and response.
"Shae..!"
I stare sullenly at him as he approaches, feeling nothing but mild disgust for the bouncing bright orange dreadlocks that extend from his head like an over-eager dusting instrument and usually have me in a fit of hysterics. Today their hillarity just isn't funny at all.
"Christ, man! You've lead me on quite a chase for the past couple days. Who would of thought you wouldn't show up for any of your classes all week?"
I shrug blankly at him, and then fall back into my monotone pace as he falls into stride with me. He stares at me for a while, measuring up my silence and obviously lacking appearance. Then, with his usual tact, he says "You look like shit, man."
"Thanks." I mutter flatly, flashing him a brooding glance.
He sighs impatiently at me and shakes his head, his long hands coming up to hook in the straps of the backpack that hangs haphazardly off his skinny back. I can hear his unimpressed breathing, and I roll my eyes, feeling unexplainable fury mounting. Kicking at the asphalt underfoot, I scowl at it, not having any patience whatsoever for anything today. Everything has been pissing me off lately... including trees, fingernails, doorknobs... anything and everything. Life just feels so... off.
"You never miss any classes, Sheldon. What the hell's going on?"
I twitch at the use of the name, but can't be bothered to say anything on it right now. He notices the twitch, I am sure, and I am quite sure I can feel his covert grin, so I don't stay anything. I'll just sit in this rut and rot, thanks. He keeps walking beside me, listening for an answer, but as I pick up pace and let my hair fall into my eyes, he prods me in the side, painfully.
"You alive in there, prick?"
Growling, I knock his hand away and face him with flashing eyes. He grins peacefully at me.
"Don't call me that." I say through clenched teeth, and begin to walk away again.
He catches up to me, all seriousness now. "Well, I can't help it if you are being a prick, Shae. Like.. what gives? I haven't seen you all week, and this is all I get? The least you could do, you know, is tell me what is going on."
I glance over. His sandy eyes watch me hawkishly.
"Miah hasn't said anything?" I ask him in a very immature tone. Mentally, I kick myself for it.
"No," he replies in the same tone, his mouth a stern line of ridgidity. "He hasn't."
"Why?" I counter. "You haven't been poking your nose into his business, then? Only I get the pleasure?"
A sharp snap of a sigh, and I wince slightly, biting my lip, knowing I've overdone it. As always. His words, when they come, are laced with liquid arsenic.
"Fuck you, Shae. I skip class to try and find you, in the middle of exam prep, I might add, to try and find out what's been making you and your best friend so goddamned MISERABLE, and this is what I get. Jesus. You know... this is useless. Fuck you. This is why this shit keeps happening to you, you know that? You're too goddamned proud and self-fucking-reliant. You don't let anyone try and help."
And with that, he wheels around on one foot and takes off, darting back into the winter mist. I stare dumbly after him for a second, feeling my pride sink into my blood and rush to my face. Sighing bitterly, I dash after him, grabbing his coat sleeve and yanking him to a stop. He does stop after a moment, and stands there, chest heaving, glaring brightly at me. I look at him with reproachful eyes, and then sigh.
"Sorry," I mumble, tugging on his sleeve, and motioning with my head back the way we were heading.
Still staring at me warily, he complies, and we resume walking. I let go of his coat and jam my hands into my jeans pockets. Breathing the heavy, frozen air, I begin to talk, my gaze carefully stuck on the ground, my voice guarded and monotone.
"We had some trouble the other day," I begin, not sure how to elaborate.
"Yeah, I figured," Brendan says, filling my silence, his voice still hurt. "Last week when we got drunk."
I nod. "Yeah."
He regards me quietly with raised, expectant eyebrows. "So? What happened?"
I exhale slowly, imagining myself to be the cloud of vapour rising and wishing like hell I could evaporate away into nothingness too.
"I fucked up."
He is silent for a while, the both of us walking in companiable quiet until he speaks again.
"Well... what kind of 'fucked up'? The said-something-wrong-kind, or the did-something-wrong-kind?"
I inahle. "The did-something-wrong-kind," I then say, as softly as I can, not knowing if I can bear to hear myself make acknowledgence of it.
I can feel the climate change instantly, and I recoil from it painfully. His gait becomes more measured and careful, as if his body somehow knows that this is delicate terrain upon which we walk, and his hands drop from their perch in his backpack straps. I keep my gaze on the ground, but I start to feel very light-headed, and I know I am flushing furiously out of shame and recall.
Silence, and then: "Ah."
I nod bitterly.
"Well," he says musingly, "I'm sorry for calling you a prick."
I glance over at him in surprise, not expecting that. He looks up at me too, and grins slightly, a silly, desperate grin that makes me smile as well. Sighing softly, I fling an arm around his shoulders and draw him near. He leans into me and shakes his head knowingly. I nod and roll my eyes at him.
"Yeah, yeah. I know. I'm an idiot."
He laughs softly, and shakes his head. "No, you're not. You're just... stupid."
I blink and chuckle helplessly. "They're not the same thing?"
"No. Being an idiot means that you have no conception of what is stupid and what isn't. But being stupid... well that means you're just a fool who's been exceptionally foolish."
I laugh and cast my gaze to the sky, feeling my heart lift despite all the doom and gloom residing within.
"Then I guess I was a horny fool."
"Ah."
"Yeah."
"Did you pin him on the bed or something?"
"No-o-o-o... not quite like that."
He gazes at me questioningly. Slowly, I tell him, feeling my chest constrict as the words force back memories that I have been trying to bury since the morning after.
"I came into his room... he'd gone in there to change or something. I happened to stumble in when he had his shirt off."
A very observant, knowing "Ah".
"Yeah. So you can guess what that did to me, especially being inebriated. Him going topless leaves me feeling very single-minded at the best of times."
"Oh, yes, I know. Thank God you've been sitting down or been close to a chair most of those times, hey? That dick of yours is pretty lethal when you get around him."
I grin weakly, letting the crude remark pass.
"Yeah... well this time, no such luck. I ended up lying on his bed, too tired to move.. and of course he doesn't tell me to leave... just turns out the lights and lets me stay."
"Of course."
"Mmmm. His room's freezing cold... so I end up shivering my ass off... I ask him if he's under the covers... he is, but he lets me under anyway. Of course."
"Of course."
"Right. This 'nice-guy' quality of his is really an inconvienience at times. But anyway... he insists on hugging me until I warm up... which sends my brain flying off to Tahiti or something. I've got absolutely no reservations at this point. And the alchohol in me tells him I was sorry for the shit that happened in the truck... me freaking out at him for no apparent reason."
"What.. you mean you weren't sorry? The alchohol made you say it?"
"Well, yeah. To the last part. Normally I wouldn't have said anything... I would have been content knowing that he had let it slide. But that night I had to apologize, I felt so bad. He doesn't say much... and so I end up telling him that I love him. And... I don't know... something in me broke when I said it... everything else just went away and all I became was this... entity existing purely to love him, to want him. That's how strong I felt. And my heart guided my hands. I was touching him and he wasn't stopping me... he wasn't even breathing. And I don't think I was either at first... I was so scared. He kept moving closer to me or maybe it was me moving closer to him, I don't know. I just knew that in the next moment, he was centimeters from my face. And.. so.. I kissed him."
The words spill out of me like a junk fountain, and when I finally fall silent, I feel less sickened, less polluted. But the feelings of the memory don't leave me completely; the feeling of Miah's lips on mine persists, sweet like meadow grass, soft as water. Flinching, I wait for Brendan's response with uneasy anticipation, glancing at his introspective features every once and a while.
"Hmmm."
I sigh impatiently, delivering him an indignant look.
"'Hmmm'?? That's all you can say?"
He looks up at me and offers me a sympathetic smile, shrugging slowly.
"I don't know what to say to that, Shae. I think it's a bloody awful reason to miss all your classes for, though."
I snort softly and shake my head firmly, eyes locked on the path ahead of us.
"I can't look him in the eyes, Bren. I can't even stand being in the dorm, knowing that he's in the next room. Class would be horrible... even worse. I wouldn't be able to hide."
"That's no excuse to miss your other classes, though."
I sag slightly, delivering him a defeated expression.
"It's going to sound stupid, but I can't concentrate on them. They don't... interest me. I try to pay attention, but its like my brain is off in la-la land... always going back to the same spot... to the same memory."
Brendan is quiet, and then: "You're pining."
I blink, and retort. "I am not. I'm just... feeling generally screwed up."
"No, you are pining. It's a culmination of all the years of pining.. all coming to a head."
I stare out into the trees. "No... its a culmination of damned repitition, is what it is. Being seventeen all over again."
"Yeah, except this time, it's you who's avoiding him, not the other way around."
I frown at him, staring at him through strands of hair. His eyes, earth-toned and serious, regard me gravely.
"You're breaking his heart, Shae. You've avoided him for a week straight. He's turned into a shade. You hated being seventeen.... well, so did he. And not for the reasons you might think. Don't you understand? Did he not tell you? The kiss isn't what hurt him. It was the distance... the rift full of fire and ice. He hated that more than anything you might have done wrong, or better put, anything you think you did wrong. And now you're doing it again."
I stop walking and stare at him, eyes wide. "Of course I'm doing it again... Brendan... you didn't.. see... the rage in his eyes... when I did it the first time. I do NOT want to see that again, ever. And a week ago, I just might had if I had stuck around."
Brendan stops too, and shrugs expansively, flinging his arms out into the air.
"You're right, I wasn't there. But he still was there for you after you came back to him, wasn't he? Rage or not... he still came in for you again. What makes you think that this time will be any different?"
I close my eyes and whisper softly.
"Because I did it again. Once maybe he can deal with. Twice... I think I'm screwed."
"So how come you don't find out?"
I open my eyes a crack and laugh humourlessly at him. "Because I don't need to. I know I'm right."
"Oh. Okay."
I suck in some air sharply, annoyance rising. "Don't be condescending, Brendan."
"Then YOU quit being condescending! You're acting like everything I say to you is impossible. Like everything is wrong except what you believe. Well, I'd like to remind you... didn't people used to think that the world was flat? That the sun revolved around the earth?"
I nod stupidly, my eyebrows furrowed.
"Right, then."
Staring at me pointedly for a moment, he shrugs again and turns, leaving me alone in the mist.
I breathe a sigh of relief as I see Shae slip through the door of our classroom. But then I carefully lower my eyes as he approaches his seat, my only vision of him is the top of his boots as he walks past me to sit down. I watch the lightly frayed bottoms of his jeans sweep the top of his Doc Martens as he passes, see his shapeless bag hit the floor, and finally, his slender, muscled arm reaching into the depths of it to pull out his books. I watch this for a moment before looking away, depositing my burning gaze back to my notebook, where the words "I hope, I hope, I hope" are scrawled in scratchy blue ink across the virgin paper.
I wonder, as the prof begins to launch into the lesson without his usual preamble, what brought Shae back. He still hasn't spoken to me... and it's been over a week. It's hard enough for me to look at him, much less get up the courage to talk to him, else I would have approached him by now. I know he feels bad... I know exactly what is going on with him.. I just don't know if I could manage to come up to him with a smile and tell him that what had meant so much to me and obviously didn't mean anything to him was okay. I wish, in my heart of hearts, that he didn't feel bad simply because he went out of line. I wish it was something more... I wish it had meant what I wanted it to. But it didn't.. and I guess I have to deal with that.
Sighing, I flip the page in my notebook and begin to take down notes from the lecture, my mind half on the words, half on the fuzzy, peripheral image of Shae in my eyesight. I can just barely see him sitting there listlessly, his chin supported on his poetic hands, his expression fully and completely bored. His eyes are closed, I can tell, and he looks totally asleep. If I didn't know him better, I'd swear he was. But I know that mind of his, all wheels, electricity and endless storage. I know every word Professor Alec says is going straight into his head and being filed away for later recall, usually during a test which he will complete, finishing at the head of the class. His jacket still hangs around his body, and I shudder slightly at the sight of it, remembering it covering me in his truck.. hiding his hands from me as they moved across my skin..
"Sheldon."
I blink, and focus on the prof, who has steel grey locked unimpressedly upon Shae's seemingly slumbering visage. Shae's eyes slowly open, a movement so languid and uncaring that it makes a few people snicker in delighted encouragement, and me to helplessly grin. That's my Shae. He stares at Alec silently, his eyes hooded and his posture completely at ease.
"Yep."
I can practically feel Alec twitch.
"Mr. McDairmuid... if you wish to sleep, perhaps you should leave the room and go back to your dorm. I don't enjoy wasting my time teaching halfwits." Magnified, impassive eyes flash behind circular glasses dangerously.
Shae slowly sits up, complying of course, but doing so in a way that seems completely of his own volition, not like Alec asked him at all. I shake my head wryly.
"I wasn't sleeping," he informs Alec quietly, his calm voice surging through the room in a beautiful tide.
Alec sighs and tilts his head impatiently, glaring at Shae.
"Then keep your eyes open, please. Show some ettiquette. If your classmates can find the will within them to keep their eyes open, then surely you can as well."
Shae nods, and snaps off a mock salute. I bury my face in my sleeve, trying not to snort at the look of complete outrage speading like a cancer across Alec's wooden face.
"Someone who dains to skip their classes for a week should perhaps not be so flippant, Sheldon. Now please, get out a notebook and start copying some of this down. You might find it useful to you come exams."
Red in the face despite all my worry for Shae, I look away and down, trying not to giggle as Shae sighs loudly. Some others don't fare as well as I do, and laugh snickeringly. Alec surveys the room severely, and waits for Shae to put his book and pen down on the table. Then, with a venomous stare at him, Alec continues his lesson, ignoring the muffled sounds of laughter throughout the class.
"Christ," I hear Shae mutter, and I grin helplessly at my paper.
Throughout the rest of the class, I copy down notes, and watch Shae scribble doodles in his book, trying not to piss myself as I see him start to construct a picture of Alec's wild, angry face, the words "I NEED TO GET LAID" in loud letters scrawled next to the caricature brazenly. But when the class ends, my secret time is up, and sighingly I put my books into my bag, slinging it over my shoulder. Standing, I begin to walk out when I hear a quickened pace behind me, and a feel a hand on my arm. Closing my eyes for a half a second before I turn around, I take a deep breath. Stopping, I turn to find Shae, who finds my gaze and holds it burningly. I stare at him for a moment, feeling a complete emptiness and sadness welling up inside. The blue-flecked irises of his eyes probe mine deeply for a moment, their sky-like intensity seeming to find every stray thought I've ever had and bring it all to light. Eyelashes of gold hover around those eyes in perfect frame, all locked in a face so sweetly masculine and feminine that it again steals my breath away. In some distant part of my mind, I think of the Elf, Legolas, from Lord of the Rings and feel myself swoon.
"Hello," I say, my voice surprising me with its calmness.
"Hey," he returns softly, unsaid words burning in his eyes. I have to look away.
"Just wanted to tell you that I've got a dance recital tonight and won't be back til really late." His voice is strangled.
I nod wordlessly.
He is silent then, and I stare at his feet, feeling the room empty around us.
"Okay," I say in a tiny voice. I already knew about the recital.
I can feel him staring at me. His tall and slender presence pains me deeply. He doesn't know how much I just want to pull him into my arms, sob out all my frustrations and fears onto that strong, sturdy chest..
"Okay then," he says roughly, and taking a moment to compose himself, weaves his way around me and is gone. I stand there with my head still bowed, my brows furrowed painfully, my heart feeling like it has come apart and the peices are now pooling in the tips of my fingers. I hear the door shut behind him, and the sound of it seems to render my lungs inoperative. I gasp for breath as futility sweeps over me, gripping the back of my chair tightly.
"Fuck," I whisper softly, ignoring Alec's sudden gaze as he prepares to leave. Standing there for a moment longer, I stare at his chair before leaving, wondering if our friendship can ever be the same again.
'You are the blood on the street
And it's all that I need...'
A silver pen flashes as it moves across black paper, held in a notebook which rests heavily against my propped up knees. The blankets of my bed pool around me in a temporary cucoon of almost blistering warmth, but I can't bring myself to push them aside. Leaning against my headboard, I stare out into the darkness surrounding my bed, the shadows held at bay only by the candles sitting on my nightable. I watch their solitary lights dance out into the void beyond my bed, watch them reach out in an attempt to find something to land on and come back empty-handed, doomed to keep trying until they find something or until they die.
"I know how it feels," I whisper to them in a charcoal voice, my gaze fixated on the shadows.
Dropping my gaze back to the paper in front of me, I hunch my shoulders depressedly as the lines that I've written glitter silver on the otherwise empty page. Music fills my surroundings, but it is not coming out of my stereo. It's pouring through the walls with punishing heaviness, making my head throb. I can almost see the drum lines, making my bookshelves shudder and my carpet to slither and slide. I can also almost see Shae through the wall, sitting on his bed, staring out into the same darkness, making his ears bleed with the volume of music pouring in a torrent out of his speakers like the wrath of God. I stare into his eyes silently, familiarizing myself with their every facet and nuance, not letting him close them until I am ready for him to.
"All we are
Is all so far..." I tell him, feeling my hands clench and the pen to pop out of my grip and land unheeded on the floor.
But his eyes close anyway, and so do mine. All I am left with is the darkness and the wall that I know lies beyond it. So I grab another pen, this one just a plain navy blue, and write again, the dark ink lost on the black paper. How fitting, I tell myself with a humourless smile. I keep writing the same lyrics over and over again, the same ones that assail me through the walls, the same ones I know Shae is repeating over and over in his head.
"This is so stupid," I say softly, ignoring the urge to break down into tears. "Losing him because of something so fucking stupid..."
I sigh and stare at the candle flames, listening as the music begins to die down and I hear sounds of movement in the next room; Shae getting ready for his recital. For about twenty minutes I lie there, the notebook falling to the floor and the wax of the candles starting to swallow the feeble flames. As my room plunges into darkness, Shae turns off his music and I hear his door open. I listen to him move through the living room, and then the front door opens and slams shut. My eyes close.
But his music still floats around in my head, and as I fall asleep, it is to the uneasy vision of a teenage Shae singing the words, his lips cut and bleeding by their sharpness, his eyes as empty as I am sure mine must look to him. Blood on his shirt, slender, scrawny arms shaking, a shadow of his uncle behind him... and the gap between us filled with ice and fangs.
i remember losing hope
i remember feeling low
i remember all the feelings
and the day
they stopped
The darkness of the stage is like a breath of clean, pure air after breathing in mustard gas. I step out into its unpredictable embrace slowly, feeling it pour over me like a lover, welcoming me back to its most forbidden secret places. I can barely see the people in the wings, my dance coach and the rest of the dance team. A single light flickers on with a snapping hum, centered perfectly in the middle of the worn floor, assailing the room like a beacon of faith straight from the elusive heavens. A voice floats out in ghostly faintness, calling my name.
"Shae.. we've only got one more try at this, because the recital is going to have be cut short tonight due to the drama crew needing to do rehersal."
I step into the light and nod, squeezing my eyes shut as the light stabs into them. We've been here for about two hours now, most of it being me working with the team. But now it's time for my semi-solo dance, the one that I am going to have to do in front of about six hundred people come the actual presentation. The whole story is done by dance to a massively diverse selection of music, all ending up somehow pertaining to the plot which is about a drug addict going through a bad overdose, the climax being him finding himself amongst all the wreckage and making himself live through it. It's a very moving story, and with the team we have, it is beautifully illustrated. The only part I am nervous about is, of course, my own part, which happens to be the most pivotal and moving part of the whole thing. I have to play his spirit at the end, giving him the will to live, to let Life pull him through it again. It's done to the song 'Made of Steel' by a Canadian band called Our Lady Peace.
As the song starts, my counterpart takes his place, kneeling in the middle of the light, struggling to keep himself up. The intro is very fast and heavy, and instantly I have to start, whirling around him. The light follows me, turning to a strange pale yellow as he begins to follow me with his eyes, pleading with me to help him, to take his hand and pull him out of this. I kneel before him and stare into his eyes, our contrasting figures the only thing on stage.
"I be anything you want me to be
A punching bag
A peice of string
That reminds you not to think.."
He looks down, shaking, and I touch a hand to his face and make him look up.
"They found the note down in your car
It's not your fault things get this hard.."
He begins to weep, and I pull him to his feet. The harness around my waist begins to constrict, and suddenly I am in the air, twirling in complicated spirals above him, and he has his arms outstretched after me, gazing up at me in wonder.
"Hold your head high
Don't look down
I'm by your side
I won't back down."
I smile down at him and am bathed in red as the backround screen explodes in fire and flickering fear, my figure silhoetted against the bluescreen.
"You wanted a hero tonight
But i'm not made of steel
I'm not made of steel
I'm not made of steel
But your secret's safe with me.."
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the auditorium door open, a sudden shaft of light in the darkness. But I can't afford to wonder as the harness pulls me away again. Pushing myself through the air, I begin to do flips and spirals, my arms outstretched to the ceiling. At this point in the song I am always reminded of Miah, and I pour my whole spirit into the dance, moving as quickly and strongly as I can, making a moving orchestra in the air, paying no attention to my counterpart.
"I can be anything you want me to be
A holy cross
Aome sympathy
That reminds you not to bleed
They found the note down in your car
You climbed up here to fall apart...
Fall apart..
Hold your head high
Don't look down
I'm by your side
I won't back down"
I can feel myself falling apart as I see his eyes, the way he stood in the classroom as I caught up with him. He stood like he had rocks in his pockets, like every move I made lacerated his heart and soul. I wanted to sing this to him, I wanted him to understand that my soul is his, and he has the ability to shred it to peices or make it whole. I wanted him to hear me tell him that not to look down... that I was there, that I would always be there, even though I wasn't made of steel. He would have to forgive that... but I would always try to be what he wanted me to be. His love, his beauty, his perfection... it doesn't allow me to be implaccable, be made of rock and metal. But his secret would be safe with me... the secret of what I did, the shame I inflicted on him. And if anyone ever tried to belittle him or bring him down because of me like they have in the past... I would pick him up.. and shut them up..
"You wanted a hero tonight
Well, I'm not made of steel
I'm not made of steel
But your secret's safe with me...
They knock you down
I'll PICK YOU UP
They laugh at you
I'll SHUT THEM UP
But I'm not made of steel...
God, I'm not made of steel...
But your secret's safe with me..."
I'm flying through the air, and now my counterpart is too, and the lights are dancing around us, I know in a distant part of my mind that we both have the audience down below caught in a thrall, but none of this matters now. I grip the hands of my counterpart, and as the song ends, I have him in my arms, pretending for all the world that he is Miah, holding him as tenderly as I can, not wanting to let him fall, not allowing myself to let it happen again.
"You okay, Shae?" I hear, my counterpart turning worried eyes onto mine as we plummet back down to the stage. "You're crying.."
But I shake my head and close my eyes, not knowing how to reassure him. So he shuts up and falls back into role, hanging limply in my arms as we land. I deposit him lightly on the floor and smooth down his hair, run my fingers over his weary face. Then, bending low, I kiss his forehead gently, and fade back up into the air as the song ends. With the last notes, the stage plummets into light, and I watch my counterpart as he jerks into wakefulness, the others on the team milling around him, trying to rouse him. He stands, and stares out into the audience for about ten seconds and then the stage is back in darkness again. I suppose in words it sounds lame, but watching it and actually acting it out is a much different story. Through the rest of the play, my counterpart is a exhausted shell of himself, assailed by all sorts of demons and hells in the middle of his drug trip, and in the ending, he finally comes back to himself. It never fails to make me smile.
I hear the clapping of our coach, and I know we've finally gotten it right. So I hang stupidly in the air, waiting for myself to get lowered, furiously wiping away the tears I didn't know I had been crying. The lights come back on, and I look down into the smiling face of my coach. I grin weakly at her, and she begins to pull on the corresponding rope attached on my harness to lower me down.
"Good job, Shae. This should be perfected by next week, I'm positive. We just need to work with you on the ropes... I notice you have a bit of difficulty making it turn corners."
I nod wordlessly at her and lift my eyes to stare out into the empty seats. I look out at them and sigh, wishing that I could see the single solitary figure that has always been sitting in the back row until today. I wish I could see him flash a thumbs-up, or his middle finger, depending on what kind of mood strikes his fancy. But there's nothing there today. As my feet touch the stage again, I disjointedly wonder if there will ever be again. Shrugging out of the harness, I rub my aching ribs absently and head backstage, seeing again the door of the auditorium suddenly open and close. Pausing only a moment to wonder, I am dragged back to reality as my coach grabs my arm and begins steering me back to the dressing rooms, talking animatedly about the rope sequences.
I stare in wonder at the palms of my hands, wonderingly examining the half-moon cuts that throb painfully in the middle of them, caused by my now-bloody fingernails. My fingers ache from the memory of strain, and vaguely I remember clenching my hands tight as I watched Shae dance. I lean, trying to catch my breath, against the doors of the auditorium, half-listening to the sounds of the drama crew set up their equipment. My body feels like a leaf; I can feel it shake uncontrollably against the solidness of the door, and suddenly it feels like I haven't slept in weeks. My mind is caught in a hyptnotic daze as visions of his golden-haired body flies through the air high above the stage, using his arms to propell himself through complicated patterns and flips in perfect synch with the music.
"Beautiful, wasn't it?"
Jumping, I turn to find Brendan, leaning against the wall opposite me, made brilliant under a hallway light. His dark gaze regards me quietly, and I nod.
"Yeah," I say thickly, trying to clear my throat.
Brendan sighs and pushes himself off the wall, smiling wistfully at me as he approaches.
"That boy of yours certainly knows how to move."
I laugh a quick, bitter chuckle, and rub my palms painfully.
"He's not mine."
Brendan cocks his head to the side, his dredlocks flopping around his face. His shrewd gaze peirces me, and I look away in irritation.
"Yes, he is," Brendan says in a precise tone of voice, shaking his head at me impatiently.
"No," I say, flashing a now angry gaze at my friend. "He's NOT. If he was, we wouldn't be in this goddamned predicament."
Brendan takes my arm and begins to steer me out of the building, hanging on my arm lightly.
"No... that's where you've got it wrong. If you dumb shits could tell each other how you feel, you wouldn't be in this 'goddamned predicament'. He's still yours no matter the situation."
I frown and turn a bewildered, wary gaze onto him.
"What do you mean by that?" I ask. "You know damn well I can't tell him. And as for me telling me anything.. well.. what the hell could he possibly have to say?"
"I don't know," Brendan retorts in a snapping voice. "Why don't you ask him instead of running off everytime he shows up or hiding in your room?"
I sigh.
"'Cause I don't want to have to hear him tell me that what happened meant nothing."
Brendan lets go of my arm slowly, his skinny hands disolving into his coat pockets again.
"How do you know that's what he'll say?"
I frown at him.
"Do you even know what happened?" I ask, raising my eyebrows at him.
He rolls his eyes at me and flails his arms heavenward.
"Of course I do. You don't think I'd let my best friends sit around like depressed idiots without finding out somehow what went wrong?"
I kick at a stray rock on the path irritably.
"So how did you find out, then? You asked him?"
Brendan nods after a moment.
"Yeah," he says slowly. "I asked him, but I found out most of it from Jamie first."
I blink, and turn a shocked gaze onto him.
"How the hell did Jamie know??"
"You know Jamie, Jere," he says wryly, shrugging. "You could sneeze in a locked room in the middle of your basement with all the windows closed and covered, and the next day that guy would ask you how your cold was."
I sigh angrily and frown, drawing my arms up to my chest.
"Great," I growl. "So now the whole goddamned campus knows by now."
Brendan grins sympathetically. "Well, I wouldn't say the whole campus. Besides, what's so wrong with that?"
I gape at his cheerful visage.
"Do you want me to list the reasons off, Brendan?"
Brendan delivers me a stern glare. "Yeah, actually. I fail to see what is wrong with the situation. Two guys that love each other off kissed. Whoop. Who cares."
I run my fingers through my hair and grin frozenly out into the air before us.
"You seem to be really fixiated on this idea, Brendan. Shae gave up on me a long time ago, remember?"
"Yes, I remember," Brendan says quietly. "I remember it how you remember it. But how do you know that he did give up?"
I laugh. "I refused him over and over. Got a girlfriend. He still was crazy over me, and I knew it.. but I acted like I didn't. So he found himself someone else, and that's the end of that story."
Brendan stops me walking, and forces me to look at him.
"You know the Law of Uniformity?"
I nod, not understanding.
"What happens to one thing, must surely happen to another. Scientific law."
"So?" I say, watching him.
"So, it means that if you can hide your feelings, so can he. And admirably, I must say."
I stare at him, feeling like a two-year-old. "What are you saying?
Brendan sighs, and puts his hands on my shoulders, regarding me earnestly.
"What if I were to tell you that he kissed you out of years of withheld passion? That he couldn't stand it anymore and it broke through? All the lies, all the denial came crashing down?"
I stare glassily at him.
"What would you do if I told you that all the boyfriends he's ever had were simply like methadone to heroin addict? That he used them to try and forget about you? That he saw your face when he fucked them? What would you say to that?"
An uncomfortable burning begins to spread throughout my whole body and I stare at him light-headedly.
"I.... I don't know what I would say," I say clumsily, my eyes feeling strange and full of static. "I'd tell you to stop doing whatever drugs it is you're doing and get back to reality."
Brendan laughs softly, but without mirth, his eyes twin pools of empathy and powerful drive.
"Of course you wouldn't. You couldn't possibly believe something like that, could you? You're just like every other human, Jere. Expecting the worst all the time, and when something beautiful manages to break through your wall, you crucify it because it's...'too good to be true'. And so it dies, cast out by a belief, when all it was doing was responding to the deepest desire and crying of your soul. You wouldn't believe me if I showed you the countless stanzas he's written in your name, all the erotic pictures he's painted, all the times he's lifted his voice in song because he's been inspired by love. If I showed you all the tear-stains on his poetry, you'd ignore them, hell, I don't even think you'd allow your eyes to even see them!"
I stare at him, trying to connect his voice with his face, his words feeling like a cancer devouring my soul. I struggle to keep standing, the hands on my shoulders the only thing holding upright. The darkness of his gaze burns me deeply, and I can feel it searching for my soul, trying to capture it and change it.
"Don't fuck with me, Brendan," I say shakily, my body trembling uncontrollably.
He stares at me with blank eyes for a moment, then starts to laugh. Letting go of me, he doesn't seem to notice as my knees almost give out.
"See?!? This is exactly what I MEAN! So go! Go back to your goddamned room and start the process of weeding out all the words I've just said. Commit yourself to your own fucking stupidity!"
I stare at him as he begins to back away, shock rendering me speechless. I've never seen Brendan so angry before...
"Never underestimate the power of denial!" He says, laughing hysterically. Then, flashing me a smouldering, angry gaze so furious that it leaves me trembling, he stalks back the way we came.
It's late when I get back to the dorm, and my hand sits leaden on the doorknob as I try to turn it, my mind screaming with pain at all the thoughts I've forced through it since my talk with Brendan just hours earlier. Quietly I enter, trying to be as careful as I can with the door in an attempt not to disturb Shae. I feel like a zombie, and my heart hurts as I walk in, the same thoughts in my head unanswered. All the hopes brought to searing light by Brendan's words and all my darkest fears drawing them back down again. The door closes behind me with a soft click, and I shrug out of my jacket in a daze, tossing it onto the couch without another glance. Trudging over to the kitchen, I reach up for a glass out of the cabinet, turn on the cold water tap and let it run to get cool. Leaning on the counter, I stare in exhaustion at my glass, not really registering its presence, my thoughts elsewhere. When the water gets cold enough, I stick the glass under the stream to catch it, and when it is full, I turn the water tap off and start to head to my room, drinking some of the cool liquid in an attempt to clear my head.
Shae's door is open a crack, and I stare into the darkness of it as I pass it by, yearningly seeking for some vision of him in the shadows. Anything to give my heart a momentary break. As I look and see nothing, I am about to continue towards my room when a soft sound, almost like a sigh, stops me in my tracks. Is he awake, I wonder? So I look back into the steady darkness of his room silently, my eyes getting used to the shadows as I hear the sound again. Frowning, I find his faint figure in the darkness and watch for a moment of any sign of alertness.
It looks like he's dreaming... I can see the arm closest to me move across the bed and grip the sheets tightly, the shadowed contours of his face caught in an expression of what looks to me to be pain. I am caught as I stare, ferverently wanting to go in there and wake him out of it, but the other side of me shrinking away in fear of rejection. So I just keep watching helplessly, my glass gripped in one heedless hand, trying to figure out what is going on. And then I hear something.. something so faint that I cannot be sure it is indeed what I heard, but nonetheless makes me feel like the ground beneath my feet has turned to rubber and my soul shattered to disbelieving peices.
"Miah..."
The voice is so soft.. so tiny.. I cannot be sure.. but the tones are exact repititions of the ones I heard just weeks ago.. just before he kissed me, before he sent me spiralling towards exctasy. Tones of desire and of need... sinking into the darkness of the room like a alien lover into distant seas. My throat constricts and my knuckles grow white.
"... forgive..."
Another moan, this time louder, and he moves, his face suddenly visable to me through the shaft of light from the door. I drop my glass then, and don't hear it as it hits the carpet with a dull thud, or the water as it splashes onto the wall. His lips are parted slightly, and his forehead is damp with perspiration, his hair fanning out in a golden stream on the pillow around his head. But it is what the rest of the light illuminates that leaves me gasping and trembling at the doorway, combined with the damningly sexual sounds of his whimpering sighs. His chest is bare, exposing his pale skin and perfectly crafted muscle structure, the rest of his body covered by a thin blanket which starts at the elegant tapering of his waist and hips and pools around his feet. One arm, the one closest to me, extends out on the bed, still gripping the undersheet tightly, but the other one is what captures my attention fully and completely.
The golden haired limb is under the blanket, moving like a snake under the light constraint, my eyes burning as I stare at his bicep, watching it surge as he moves his arm. My teeth grip my lower lip hard in attempt to withold the gasp that explodes in my throat. I can see his hand, the blanket falling in between the gaps of his fingers, moving slowly downwards, over his abdomen, his gasps getting more intense the lower his hand goes. My fingers grip the doorframe hard, my erection beginning to throb against the wall. He whimpers my name again, or what I think is my name... what I pray is my name, and then cries out softly as his hand connects with its desintation. I feel myself begin to sag as his back arches, and his face aqquires such an expression of orgasmatic pain that my whole body shakes.
I watch, whimpering, as his hand slowly starts to move, his fingers wrapped tightly around the stiffness of his penis which the blanket drapes maddeningly, but giving me a veiw that I've longed to see for so long. I can't believe it as I stare, seeing his hand slide down, leaving the tip of his cock to hold up the blanket, leaving my mouth dryer than a dead tree and my tongue longing to taste it. I see him bite his lip, and a frown of intensity takes over his face, his moans and cries shaking my core. His other hand, like mine, grips what it holds like a vice, straining to relieve himself of the need to obtain release, and nothing looks more sexy to me in this moment than his hand and his face, epitomes of desire.
I can feel my own hard on pushing against the wall and the inside of my pants, painful need shrieking at me desperately. I keep myself pressed tightly against the wall, though, too scared to do what my body demands, what my fingers ache to do.
"I want you," I whisper to his thrusting figure, over and over again, watching his hips rise and fall, watch as the blanket gets slowly pulled lower and lower, my cock aching for it go faster, my eyes wild with the need. His cries are getting louder, tennor sounds that seem to rip open my pants and shiver down my cock, sounds so sexy that they stagger me completely. Never have I heard anything so erotic...
"Miah..."
Again the whisper, and with it brings my body's complete overthrow of my mind's authority. My fingers descend and begin to rub against the bulge in my pants insistantly, quickening as Shae's hand begins to pump harder and harder, his whole body shaking with the power of it. I ache to go in there, to tear off that blanket and my clothes, cover him with my body and make him use me.
But I can't bring myself to do it, so I just stand there, my fingers working me into a frenzy as he begins to come, his hand a breathtaking blur under the blanket. Sweat shimmers like distilled starlight on his chest as he struggles for breath, and his moans begin to ascend into soft animalistic cries and yelps. The blanket keeps moving, faster now with the pace of his hand, and in a daze of drugged lust, I watch as it exposes the beginnings of his pubic hair, silken looking sparcity of gold that captures the light and reflects it. It's slightly darker than his hair, I realize distantly, as an orgasm begins to shudder in the depths of my prostate and shoots out the tip of my engorged cock.
And as my hand grinds into my groin, his own hand tightens for a moment, his body almost completely lifts off the bed, and he explodes. I see the fabric covering the tip of his cock become instantly darker, his semen spreading into its thiness quickly, his softly-uttered cries sounds of pure divinity and want. After a shuddering moment, his body begins to settle back down onto the bed, his hand still pumping slowly, his whole frame shaking and quivvering. His body is bathed in sweat, his lips moist and parted, his face caught up in a look of delerium.
I watch him with my mouth hanging open for a moment, and as the fire trails of my own orgasm fade away I am slowly brought to myself again. Weakly, I realize what exactly it is I am doing, and jerk away from the door. Jesus Christ... I just watched my best friend get himself off... maybe Brendan was right... I thought I heard my name...
Stumbling into my room, I close the door and stand, trembling in the darkness, feeling the wetness spreading in my pants, a testament to what had just happened. No dream, I tell myself over and over, shaking with tears and shock. Falling onto my bed, I stare into the darkness, feeling myself grow hard again as I relive it, seeing him again and again in the throes of orgasm. So it is with despairing, shameful tears that I give myself over to it, my hand slipping into my boxers, sliding through the semen that covers my shaft, using it to lose myself in those burning memories.
The sound of Miah's alarm clock wakes me instantly. The sound of it is alien to me, sinking into my dreams and reminding me that all they are is dreams, and now the real world wants in. I blink my eyes open, and stare out the blindingly bright window for a moment before I roll over to look for the time. We have to be at class in twenty minutes. Sighing, I shake off my fatigue as I struggle to a sitting position, running my hands through my sleep-mussed hair, letting the warmth of the sun sink into the bare skin of my back. Blinking for a while, I convince myself to get out bed. But as I do, something on the bed catches my sleepy eyes.
I stare at it for a moment, not understanding what it is. On the sheets caught around my waist is a strange, chalk-white stain, vibrant and glaring against the navy blue fabric. Slowly I reach out a hand to touch it, and as my fingers graze its stiff texture, I realize what it is and jerk my hand away in sudden disgust. I stare at it, trying to understand how it got there, recoiling from it in strange hatred. I don't usually do this kind of thing.. was it a wet dream?
And then I remember. I feel my jaw descend slowly as the memories of my dreams come back, strong and unavoidable in their intensity. It was Miah... hitting me... screaming at me... beating the hell out of me.. and then collapsing on me, crying... and then I did so many things... trying to stop him crying... and it worked. I don't remember why he was so angry... I just remember his sigh of surrender as I drew him up on his hands and knees...
Blinking, I shudder away from the thought, ignoring the heat that begins to boil in my crotch. Blushing brightly, I crumple up the sheets in my hands, tossing them into the bottom of my laundry basket. Grabbing some clean clothes out of my dresser, I step into them quickly, still unable to comphrehend my reaction to the dream. God.. it's been so long since its been that bad... but whenever it is that bad, the dreams have always been about him, never failing.
Reaching my door, I push it open, half-assedly wondering why it is ajar, but thinking nothing more on it. Glancing around the living room, I see it is empty. Sighing, I step into the bathroom and turn on the shower, stripping again. Folding the clothes to sit on the counter, I step into the torrent of scalding water without preamble, anxious to scrub the dirty, sinful feeling away from my skin... wanting to have my feeling of self-loathing be burned away.
It isn't long before the memories come back, ignoring my desire for them not to. Sighing into the water, I try to think about something else, feeling the soap and shampoo slide down my body in slippery waves. It doesn't work very well, and by the end of the shower, I've managed to work myself into a depressed futility. Not to mention arousal. I am about to towel myself dry when I hear a knock on the door. It is a soft, hesitant sound, and I can practically see Miah leaning on the doorframe, his head bowed, his hand held timidly at the door surface.
Swallowing, I wrap the towel around my waist and soaking wet, I head to the door, opening it, pushing my dripping hair up out of my eyes. I come face to face with him again, and the steam inside the room rushes out around me, leaving the cold air of the living room to assail my skin with goosebumps. His oceanic eyes gaze at me for a moment, his face frozen in a half-smile, the distance between us still very painfully evident in his eyes. But then I see his eyes move down, away from my face. It seems like his eyes take forever in looking me over, and by the time he looks back up again, I'm blushing furiously, unable to shake the last vestiges of the dream away.
"Hey," he says in a strange voice.
I try to smile. "Hey..." I echo stupidly, still seeing his dream-eyes crazed with lust, locked on my own.... I shake my head and take a step back, inwardly swearing at myself.
He hangs just outside the door. "Five.. minutes til class... I.. just wanted to brush my teeth... but I can... wait til you're done.."
I begin to walk back to my clothes, shaking my head.
"No, it's okay. Come in... you don't have time to wait. Sorry I took so long.."
He hangs there a moment more, and then takes a few slow steps inside, his eyes locked almost shyly upon mine. I overcome the urge to shake: those sweet, disturbingly beautiful eyes looking at me with such a shy, trusting expression.... Jesus. Sweet damn Jesus.
"It's okay," he says softly, turning his attention to the sink, where he begins to spread toothpaste onto his toothbrush. "There's been enough times you've had to wait on me."
I don't anything to that except to smile at him as he lifts his gaze to the mirror to find mine. He smiles back slightly and then looks away, beginning to brush his teeth. I walk away, and grab my boxers. Letting the towel fall to the wet floor by the shower door, I step into the boxers, pulling them up quickly. And I wish I could say that I feel Miah's eyes on me, but I don't. So I grab my jeans and slip into them, only turning around once I've done up the fly and button. He has his eyes locked on the sink, washing his mouth out with water from the tap. Slipping on my shirt, I begin to towel dry my hair. Once that's done, I walk up to the sink where he is and grab my brush, beginning to untangle the awful, unruly mess as best I can.
I watch him covertly as he starts to shave, and I smile at the practiced ease with which he moves the razor, never stopping once. He finishes and begins to wipe his face off, and I wrestle with a tangle in my hair. Cursing at it after a moment, I try yanking the brush through it, which only brings a sting of tears to my eyes.
"Fuck," I mutter, blinking them away and trying again. He looks quickly over at me, his gaze questioning.
I yank the brush in emphasis, and flush slightly at his sudden chuckle. I am about to give up on it when he stops what he is doing and walks over, taking the brush out of my agitated fingers easily.
"Tearing it out won't work, Shae," he admonishes in his measured, gentle voice.
I shrug non-commitally, but feel my body tense as he moves to slowly untangle it, the nearness of his body driving me crazy. His hands move softly through my hair, slowly wrestling the brush through the knot. The pain makes me twitch, and he glances at me with concerned green eyes.
"Sorry... but its the only way it'll come out..."
I nod and close my eyes, unable to keep his gaze. But I can still feel their brightness sinking through the menial skin of my eyelids, so I drop my head slightly. I can smell his aftershave, spicily sweet, and the cleanliness of his fingers sliding though the strands of my hair. Eventually he does work out the knot, and his soft laugh makes me aware of the fact. Reluctantly I open my eyes, knowing that this means his closeness will be eradicated, and am about to thank him when the expression locked in his eyes stops me. It is only there for a fleeting moment, a yearning that I can't quite understand, and then it is gone.
"Thanks," I whisper, without knowing why I pitch my voice so low.
He nods and smiles gently. As he does, I notice a small patch of shaving cream left on the side of his face, a small sliver of white on his softly tanned skin.
"You've... still got some on your face..." I whisper, pointing to it awkwardly.
He tries to follow my gaze and then laughs, lifting a hand to the general area.
"Here?"
"No," I tell him, and without realizing what I am doing, I wrap my fingers around his and press his index finger to the spot. "There."
Our gazes keep contact as I move his finger through it, the shaving cream smearing off his face and onto his fingertip. He doesn't move at all, lets me move for him, and when I am done, he still doesn't make an attempt at moving, and so neither do I. He is so close... the aura of his face brushes my skin... the scent of him envelopes me entirely. I'm so sorry, I want to tell him... wanting to erase the kisses that I know still sit on his lips and at the same time I want to add to them.. with such force that it'll make him fall backward onto the floor, with me on top of him.
"We're going to be late," I say in a dusty voice, dazedly losing myself in his eyes.
"We already are," he replies, in the same sort of tone.
"We are?" I ask stupidly, taking a half-step closer to him.
"Yeah.." he says after a moment, the hand that I am holding pulling backwards, pulling me closer. "We are."
"What time is it?"
He doesn't take his eyes off mine. I think I can feel him shivering...
"About three minutes after nine..."
And then, stupidly, horribly, something makes me let go of his hand. I let go and step away, feeling my breath shake my chest as I head to the door.
"Well, we'd better get going then," I say shakily, heading to the front door and grabbing our jackets. I wait for him to appear, and he does, a few seconds later. Wordlessly I hand him his jacket, and it is in silence that we head to class.
My last class has just finished and I'm on my way back to the dorm, lost inside my own head. Today has been a hellish introspective nightmare, constant thoughts and memories of Shae assailing me from every front, never giving me rest. I saw him only in our first class together, and that was all. He didn't show up to lunch again, leaving my by myself to dream. Hot, steamy memories of Shae last night keep creeping up on me, making me stop in my writing or taking notes to squeeze my eyes shut and desperately tell myself to think about something else. Everything I see becomes a phallic symbol.. or rather, Shae's phallus. Pencils, desks, buildings.. trees... everything. It really isn't healthy.
This morning I wanted to talk to him... wanted to ask him what Brendan told me to ask.. but nothing worked out right. Seeing him half naked when he opened the door was the first bad move. And then him dropping his towel to change.. it took all my will power not to look. And then that stupid knot in his hair... the way he looked at me when he opened his eyes... I sigh. Crap. But at least he's sort of talking to me now... which I guess I can't bitch about. It's better than nothing. I told Brendan some of what happened last night.. not all, but enough. I asked him if thinking that I heard my name was completely off the wall, and he just sighed at me. Said I never pay attention to him, neither of us did, and why did he bother. That's all I recieved on that, which was no bloody help at all. I know he's convinced that Shae still... loves me.. in that way.. but I wish he'd understand how hard that is for me to believe it. How hard Shae makes it to believe.
Lifting my gaze to the twilight sky, I am suddenly reminded of that night I went walking with Shae, and he, bathed in starlight and moonsong, said 'If only we could tell everyone how we really feel'. It seemed strange to me then, but it doesn't now. I think he knows how I feel.. and I think he wants me to back off... just doesn't know how. Sighing again, I drop my gaze and concentrate on the dirt path before me. I don't hear the footsteps behind me until I see shadows extend from behind me. Blinking, I look over my shoulder.
"Hey, Sheperdson," I hear, and suddenly the shadows give birth to two figures that I distantly recognise. I stop and squint at them, trying to put names to the faces.
One is tall and lanky, dark black hair tied back in a tail, the underside shaved off. His eyes are like chips of night, and tonight they glitter darkly, eerily. The other is shorter and stouter, the same sort of hairstyle on him, but just looking stupid. His eyes are blank, beady, seeking only what they want to see, nothing more. As I stare, and as they smile in greeting, I remember their names.
"Hey Derek, Marc," I say, offering them a polite smile, my hands stuffing themselves into my pockets.
They watch me with shark-like smiles for a moment, and then Derek detaches himself and begins to walk towards me deliberately, his gait very sure and confidant. I frown slightly but keep my ground.
"You know that friend of yours?" he asks, his rough voice scraping my senses painfully.
I nod warily. "Yeah, what about him?" I ask, keeping my gaze locked on his dark one.
"That fag friend?" He continues, still aproaching.
I feel my face become stone. "What about him?" I ask evenly, ignoring Marc's stupid laugh.
"What's his name? Fairy McDairmuid?"
I try not to hiss. "Shae, actually," I say, forcing a brittle smile, fighting the desire to jump on him and punch that stupid smile into nothingness.
Derek nods casually, his gaze anything but. "Right. Right. Shae. Sorry about that. All these fags seem the same, y'know what I mean?"
I don't say anything at all, feeling my fingernails start to dig into my palms.
"Well," he continues slowly, and Marc begins to come up behind him. I watch them like a hawk, ready to move if I have to. "I like you, Sheperdson. Me and Marc both do. You're not a fucking cocksucker like the rest of those dickless wonders."
I wonder if my eyes have started to melt with contained fury. I start to see red.
"But, man, we've heard some rumours about you that maybe we don't like so much," Derek says conversationally, and I eye him darkly.
"What kind of rumours?" I ask quietly.
"Fag rumours. From that queer Jamie. The only reason we like him is because he sells good weed. Or else we'd have nothing to do with him."
Marc nods stupidly. I am almost sick with seeing them together.
"I still don't know what you mean," I lie, already crucifying Jamie.
"I think you do, Sheperdson," Derek says softly, stopping inches from my face.
I say nothing, just keeping eye contact.
"We heard you and your fag friend is maybe more than friends. We heard you guys got drunk and had some kissy kissy time." He makes smacking noises with his lips, and I try not to reel in disgust. "We thought you were straight, man. You were dating that hot peice of ass for a while... what happened to that? Did queer boy take advantage of you?"
Marc starts to giggle stupidly, Derek never takes his eyes off me.
"No," I say levelly. "Sometimes relationships don't work out, hot peice of ass or not."
Derek stares at me for a bit, and then finally nods. "So these rumours, they ain't true?"
I have no problem lying to these phobic assholes. "No," I say firmly, shrugging. "They're not. You know people... they'll make a rumour out of anything if they're bored enough."
Derek laughs slightly and then nods, clapping me on the back in a friendly, warning manner. I don't miss the poignancy.
"Well, cool then. Just as long as you aint one of them. Their ranks grow everyday... someone's got to keep them at bay."
Seething, I offer him a polite smile, and wait til they are long gone down the path before I slam my fist into a nearby tree, reeling as the shock and pain reverberates up my arm and through my body. Swearing as blood begins to pour down my arm, I curse as I punch the tree again, lovingly replacing the bark with Derek's sneering face. I am about to punch it again when someone grabs my arm and wrenches it back. Yelling, I try to kick out at whoever it is, but then Brendan's voice stops me.
"Holy fuck, man! RELAX. It's just me, man. Just me."
I stop and stare at him, struggling for breath, and yank my arm out of his grip, wincing as my lacerated knuckles move through the air. Brendan stares at me for a second and then looks down at my hand.
"Jesus, Jere. I know they're assholes, but you shouldn't let them get to you so bad."
I blink as he kneels down to rummage in his bag for something to stanch the bleeding.
"You saw?" I sputter, cradling my hand and watching the blood drip onto the dirt road.
"Yeah, I saw. You handled it very well."
I roll my eyes and speak through clenched teeth, feeling as though all the bones in my arm have chosen, at this exact moment, to disolve.
"Where the hell do people like that get off? AND WHERE THE FUCK IS JAMIE??"
Brendan inhales as he stands and lays a hand on my shoulder, shaking his head warningly.
"Beating the shit out of Jamie isn't going to get you anywhere, Jere. Just chillax. I'm sure Shae's heard about his flapping mouth and has dealt with it in his own special way."
"Yeah well, I want to deal with it in my own special way too," I seethe, trying not to yelp as Brendan wraps a scarf around my hand.
Brendan grins and puts an arm around my shoulder as we head back towards the dorms, me furiously trying to ignore the pain and his reasonable, logical voice.
"With your hand like that? Keep dreaming, bro. And as for where he is, the last place I saw him was at your place. Shae was speaking with him."
"Having words?" I ask dangerously, wringing my scarf-covered hand.
Brendan laughs a hearty laugh, and I have to grin in spite of myself.
"Yes, Jere. Having words. And when we get back, you can have words too. But that's all. Just words. Jamie, even though he's a tactless fucker, doesn't deserve to have his pretty face punched in."
"Pah," I spit, glaring at nothing in paticular. "Yes, he damn well does. It's not that pretty anyway."
Brendan chuckles, a soft sound of sunshine in the dark.
"We're going to get you back to your place, wash that hand out, let you have your words, and then we're going to the hospital to get that taken care of."
I shrug and say nothing the rest of the way back. When we finally get in, I close the door quietly behind us. Brendan drags me over to the kitchen sink and turns on the water, motioning for me to stick my hand under.
"Where is he?" I ask impatiently, looking around.
"Probably in Shae's room," Brendan says just as impatiently, sticking my hand under the tap.
I stand there for a moment, feeling the pain stab through my arm. And then I remember the reason of having this awful pain, and tear my hand away, heading for Shae's room. Brendan sighs irritably but doesn't come after me, merely flopping on the couch in waiting. I come up to the door and am about to push it open when I see it is ajar. Something in me makes me stop and look through the crack, and for days afterwards, I thank myself for being cautious.
For as I look in, I see Shae and Jamie lying on Shae's bed. But they're not just lying there, talking. Shae's not playing guitar, and Jamie isn't looking through Playgirl. Shae, shirtless, is straddling Jamie, has his hands pinned down above his head, and their lips are locked tightly. I stare like a simpleton, wondering in the back of my mind if anything else could possibly go wrong from here on in. The rage doesn't even set in yet as I watch them, I can only stare in blank, horrified facination as Jamie pushes his hips up against Shae, and Shae groans softly, transferring his lips from Jamie's lips to his throat, where he sucks lightly. Jamie moans and thrusts up again, making Shae move from his position to lie directly on top of him, which makes Jamie cry out softly.
I watch as Shae lets go of Jamie's hands and begins to slide his hands up under Jamie's shirt, pulling it off slowly, watching him intently the entire time. Jamie shrugs out of his shirt quickly, letting it fall to the floor, and then pushes Shae under him, where he begins to kiss a trail down Shae's jerking chest, leaving Shae to close his eyes in helpless desire. I've closed my eyes the same way, I think to myself, as I watch Jamie guilelessly flicker his tongue just below Shae's bellybutton and grin as Shae groans and thrusts his hips upwards. I stare dully at Shae's erection pushing through the denim of his jeans, and only turn away when Jamie lowers his lips to it, dragging his tongue along the pulsating, fabric covered shaft.
I must have looked really awful when I turned around, because Brendan takes one look at me and jumps up.
"Jere?" He asks quietly, his eyes wide with concern.
"Just look in the door," I say, surprising myself with the calmness of the voice. "But don't go in. Okay? Don't go in. And tell me if I'm supposed to believe all your fucking bullshit."
Brendan's eyes narrow questioningly, warily, and he stares at me for a moment before he moves past me to look in the room. I just stand there, my back to the door, shaking and feeling highly nauseous.
"Oh... Jesus.... Jere..."
I hear Brendan whisper softly, and with that, the rage comes crashing through. Unable to open my mouth for fear of screaming the roof to peices, I head out the front door as quickly as I can, running into the darkness, heading for the woods.