Humor Me
Disclaimer: This is a story about a romantic relationship between two teenage males. If that kind of story offends you, then please do not read the following story. Also, if you are under the legal age to read stories of this type, then don't. Please do not reproduce this story without permission, since that is a copyright infringement.
Thanks to David for proofreading again!
Again, I ask you to bear with me. :) Also, with the Holiday Season coming up, I've fallen a bit behind, as I'm still on Chapter 9, but 'm doing well with it. The next chapter probably won't appear til after Christmas. But for now, enjoy. :)
Comments go to dreamer@shell.monmouth.com. Feedback is always very much appreciated.
-Chapter 8-
I saw a single point of light, a puncture through the darkness upon darkness that made up my entire world. I looked at that light, treasured it, and smiled on it like a benevolent deity. And in response, the light grew, like a flower bud opening to the first true sunlight of spring, or the iris in a camera.
I felt so tired, as the light continued to bloom. I wanted to sleep and forget.
Forget what?
I didn't remember, I said to that voice, even if I didn't hear my own. I didn't remember, but something was wrong. Something didn't make sense, right after it all made sense.
A part of me wanted to start to cry. It hurt to think, but I had to, because something was wrong. Thinking was not supposed to hurt, and I didn't like the taste in my mouth. It tasted like Biology Class, and everything felt wrong.
The light widened, slowly at first, then quickening in a growing explosion of radiance. I could see a chorus of shapes in the light, still blurry, and a single word penetrating the barrier.
"Jonas?"
Jonas. The word itself seemed to solidify the world around me as I started to regain my sight, my language, and my wits.
My name is Jonas.
I'm carrying the wheel.
No! That's not it!
Memories started rushing back, speeding up as time moved forward. It was like jumping off a diving board: you're falling, and you know you will eventually hit the water, but the water takes forever to arrive.
The light subsided, not hurting my eyes anymore, as the world expanded, taking shape. It was dim, but there was light, and not just the eternal darkness.
A yawn burst up from my stomach, the force of it arching my back as I stretched. Well, almost stretched. In trying to move my arms, I found them immobile, and a prickly feeling along the skin of my wrists. My hands cupped into themselves, trying to find the source of that discomfort.
Rope.
My hands were tied together, crossed over the back of the wooden chair I was sitting on.
In another rush, my last memories ran forward screaming into the front of my brain.
Oh, shit.
I scanned the room first, shifting my shoulders to see if I could slip out of the knots around my wrists. There was a little movement, but not enough, and I didn't have the strength to pull apart the rope without slicing my wrists to ribbons in the process.
I was in a basement. That much I could tell by the way the windows were placed, as the night sky glimmered through the glass. A good half of the unfinished area was piled with old cardboard boxes, obviously for storage for God knows what. The other half, where I was, was carpeted, with a couch to the side of where I sat. Past said couch, towards the stairs leading up, stood a washer and dryer set alongside a workbench, with different tools hanging off the pegboard on the wall behind that.
"You're awake."
The voice came from someone seated on the couch, half hidden in the shadows. Oh, dear God...
Dan Cohen leaned forward, his face set in a casual smile, with not a care in the world. It was the face you'd see in the hall, saying hi as you passed him between classes. It wasn't the face of someone who looked like they drugged you, took you home and had you tied up in their basement. "Hi," he said, as a host would say to a friendly guest.
I just stared at him, owlishly. Maybe I had finally lost it, my years of being around the other kids at Weathering finally snapping my mind. Cohen...looked normal. He fucking kidnapped me, and he looked normal. No weird look in his eyes, no evil chuckle, no moustache-twirling. My heart started to beat behind my eyes, as my breath heaved and rattled in my chest. God, don't let this be real. Don't let this happen to me. Please?
I squeezed my eyes shut, begging silently as I heard a shuffle of feet beside me, and a warm hand on my shoulder. "Don't be scared, Jo."
"Don't touch me!" I screamed, twisting my head to the side, my eyes wide with the tension. Dan took a step back, removing his hand, but otherwise his expression didn't change as my voice echoed off the stone walls, to be swallowed by the rest of the world. "Don't touch me," I repeated, my voice broken.
"I'm not going to hurt you."
Oh, what a /relief./ Sarcasm aside, I felt a lump start to grow in my voice box. "You knocked me out and have me tied up in your fucking house," I said, "and you expect me to believe you don't want to hurt me?"
Dan looked hurt. What the hell is going on? "I just wanted to talk."
"I /have/ e-mail," I growled.
"Couldn't." was his response with a shrug. "Other people might have seen it."
I blinked. "You could have talked to me anytime," I said. My right foot started twitching, as I felt like I was supposed to know something, but didn't.
"People would have heard us."
Oh. Christ. I still didn't have a damn clue what was up, but Cohen was fucking paranoid. "No, Dan," I answered, trying to calm down without bursting into tears at the same time. "All you had to do was say the word, and I'd have done what I could so no one would listen."
"But they would have," Dan said, his eyes pleading. "This was the only way I could make sure.
I tasted French fries in my mouth as my stomach readied them for a return trip. It was still the same day. I couldn't see my watch, so I had no idea when 'now' was. Was anyone worried about me? Mike? Mom? Shane?
A small, long-forgotten part of my brain clicked on. No one is going to save you, Jonas. Most likely, no one even knows where you are, or that you're even missing.
No! I screamed inside myself. Everyone always said they'd be there for me! I need them there for me now! Help. Oh, God, please...
Jonas, said another voice, and it sounded strangely like Mike. You're loved, and you can count on those that love you. But, sometimes, you need to stand up on your own. Be your own person. Find a way.
I took comfort in hearing Mike's voice; even if I just imagined it, even if it would be the last time. But I'm scared...
"All right," I said, trying to catch my breath. "You're not going to hurt me?"
Dan nodded. It's the last thing I'd ever dream of doing." I tried to force an inner stillness. It was like he didn't even realize what he'd done. Add delusional to the list.
I turned to him and smiled. "So...untie me?" I asked. Please, Dan, untie me. Let me tell you why I'm really at Weathering. The IQ was fucking secondary.
I was sick and tired of denial. Hell, I loved Weathering. Just the right place for a fucked-up kid like me, around all the other rejects. I'll tell you, Daniel, how long it's been since I had to defend myself. The peace since then, man, it's been beautiful. But there's that little part we lock away, that we hide, that we use when we're cornered.
My wrists started shifting, up and down, quietly.
"Let's talk," Dan said, as if I hadn't asked the question. He dropped back down on the couch, ever-so-casual. "I think I hate you, Jonas."
For a moment, my hands stopped, out of his sight. Was it just me, or did my hands feel looser? Not as loose as Cohen's screws, but it was a start. "Really," I said dryly. "I'd have never guessed."
Dan laughed at that, and closed his own eyes as his shoulders shook with mirth. I felt sweat sprout up on the back of my neck as I worked my wrists furiously, while he wasn't looking. "You're so funny, Jonas," he said. "You always had a great sense of humor."
I tried to pull my hands apart again. I felt the open air on the insides of my wrists, and a dull pain started there as flesh rubbed raw was exposed. But, the rope was still holding me firm as my mind wheeled. Something was very, very wrong, and I didn't know what it was. I tried to speak a few times, but my sense of self-preservation prevailed before I said anything that could set him off.
"But you hate me." I tried not to get him to notice I was making an attempt to break free.
"I think I do. I've been pissed off all the time, lately."
Don't be sick, Jonas. You can't afford to, right now.
"All right," I said, and tried to break it down, from the top. "Do you know why?"
"Why what?"
"Why you're angry all the time." I leaned forward. Being angry...I knew what that was like. And if someone holds it in for too long, they can do things that are irrational at best. At worst...don't ask.
But why Cohen? I always believed there were signs when someone was going to snap. And, have no doubt, it was pretty obvious he had snapped. This shit never happened without a reason, though.
"I hate it." Dan stopped laughing, just as quickly as he had started. "I just wake up in the morning, hating all of it. I've heard you talking, Jo," he said. "We see the same things. Like, how people make up problems for attention. Name an issue, and someone around us will have it. It's so...it's so fucking fake."
I swore I felt part of the rope slip a bit. The bottom half of my body started to get a case of pins-and-needles. How long had I been down here? I tried not to comment on what he said. Nothing sarcastic, anyway. This wasn't Catcher in the Rye, this was Kid Tied Up in a Fucking Basement.
"Sometimes," I said. "You're right. Some people are like that."
"Right." Dark green eyes flashed as Cohen's entire expression went dark. I felt like I was channel surfing, his moods were changing that fast. "Some people, but never you. Good little Jonas. Perfect little Jonas, who stands above everyone else and their problems."
My jaw dropped all on its own. "I never-"
"Fucking bullshit," Cohen spat. "I heard you, especially when you're around Dani. The good little confidant to everyone's face, but behind their backs you're just as fake as the rest of them."
I didn't know what kept my thoughts to myself: the fact that the wrong word would mean I was dead, or the sick feeling in my chest as I knew somehow, somewhere, he was right. My wrists were a little looser, and a wet, warm, sticky substance ran along the palms of my hands. I attempted to block that sensation from my mind as Cohen was busy driving my karma over my foot-ma.
And just as quickly, he chuckled, as if at some private joke he had. I'd been with Mike long enough to know that chuckle like the back of my hand. You know, the part of my hand that wasn't letting blood dry on it at the moment. "And the kicker. All of a sudden, you walk into school, and it's all 'I'm gay, and I'm fucking the new kid!' And there you were, telling everybody and flaunting it, how different /you/ were." He shook his head at me, face seething with disgust. "You're so fake."
Was I really flaunting it? Were Cohen and Sandy right? If it turned out that Sandy was right about anything, my mind would have imploded from the shock. "I-I'm not perfect, Dan. I needed time to see-"
"Ha," Cohen snorted. "You met Mike, what, like two weeks before? Two weeks, and suddenly you're deep-seated homosexual feelings are awakened? By him? His voice rose an octave at that last word.
I kicked certain songs by Bonnie Tyler out of my head as my heart rate picked up. Spots swam in my vision, and it was getting hard to concentrate.
"You," I started, then closed my eyes and breathed, trying to put reality back together bit by bit. The ropes loosened a little more, and I could feel my past curling around in my stomach, snake-like. "You're upset with Mike?" Oh, shit. I'm a pawn. Or a prize. I'm expendable. Oh, fuck.
"Why is he so great?" he asked. "He just saunters in, like he's the Man. Always telling jokes, always getting the attention, and he /never/ takes anything seriously. He smokes, he drinks, he probably does drugs, and everyone just /adores/ him. Especially you." He looked down at the floor, then back to me. His expression was sad. Whatever else, he was hurting, bad. "What makes him so special?"
"He's cool to be around," I said. I curled my fingers against my hands, forcing them into the space between my wrists. I wasn't sure it would work, but I was willing to try anything. "He's not perfect, Dan. He'll be the first one to tell you that." I smiled, taking comfort, and used it to calm myself as the rope slid over the backs of my hands. "It's like, when he's around, even if he doesn't say it out loud, he's always cheering you on." At least, that's what I always thought he was doing. I hoped it was what he was doing. I sure as hell hoped he was doing it now.
"He keeps calling you 'peasant,'" Dan replied.
"It's an in-joke. I call him the same thing."
"I don't get it," he said, protesting. He put his elbows on his knees, and clasped his hands together. "Two weeks, and you went head-over-heels..." He averted his eyes, as if it bothered him to look at me. His hands clenched tight, as his lips curled back from his teeth, shaking. I witnessed this battle for control in silence, my head throbbing again. "And for two years, Jonas, there was someone right there, and you never saw..."
Oh, no.
Oh, nonononono.
I remembered I was intelligent, and put it together from there. This wasn't a jealousy thing. This wasn't an anger management difficulty thing. This was a Grade-A, full-on, teddy-bear-in-the-cooking-pot Fatal Attraction thing. The shock ran up my body as a lot of my bodily fluids seemed to drop down into my feet.
"Daniel," I began.
"I always wanted you to call me that."
Oh, crap.
"Daniel," I repeated, and I saw his smile light up the world. "I never knew. I mean, I /really/ never knew. I sighed, the hemp rope slipping more. "You never said anything to me.
"I didn't," he admitted. "Because I was scared."
"But people talk to me all the time."
"And I knew how you felt about people who have problems. Like I said, I heard you."
At that moment, I decided I wanted to get away just so I could crawl into the nearest sewer and die.
"But..."
"and now you're like the others," he interrupted, eyes shining.
"I chuckled. "I don't think I was ever different. I...it's hard to explain. I never liked standing out. I didn't like being special."
"But you are." Dan smiled, and the look in his eyes was pure innocence, with no trace of anger, or hate, or hurt. "You were always special to me. Smart, funny, and...just beautiful. I was so scared to tell you. I thought of you all the time, when you first came to the school. I thought I'd go crazy if you didn't return that love."
He /thought?/
"You ever feel that way, Jonas? Like, you have all these feelings inside, and it just twists, right in there? When you know what would make you happy, and you think it's just out of your reach, and it makes you want to get away from everyone and hide and cry because it hurts so much?"
My heart hid behind my stomach. "Yeah," I nodded. "Why...didn't you tell someone? Your folks?"
"Mom and Dad are busy all the time," Cohen growled. "Besides, I know what they think. Say a gay kid gets killed, and it was all on the news, and all they had to say was 'Hmph, one less of /those/ to deal with.' That's to a total stranger. Imagine what they'd do to me."
I tried rationale. For him and myself, as the snake inside me stretched, waking up from a long sleep. I was getting closer. "What about the school? Gay centers?"
"I couldn't," Dan said, weakly. "I wanted to, and I couldn't."
"But you need help. You're...really hurt inside. You.shit, you drugged me, Dan. This is /kidnapping,/ Dan! This isn't rational."
"I need you."
"You need-"
"Don't tell me what I need," he snapped. "I can make my own decisions on what I want, or what I need to get better. And it's you, Jonas." His next words were a whisper. "I love you."
"Daniel," I said, trying to bring him around. "A person can't make everything better. I know it seems like it will, I do. I've been there. They can /help/ you, sure, but it has to be you that does it. Only you."
A tear wandered down his cheek. "I don't' want to do it alone," he said, his voice shattered. "I don't think I can. I'm..tired. I'm tired of doing it all alone."
"You don't have to be." This was my fault. I had to try and fix what I could. "People, the right ones, will help you. I'll help too. But..you have to understand. I can help, but I can't be what you want me to be."
"Why not?" He stifled a sob as he rose, moving to the front of my chair. "You can be whatever you want."
I sighed, and looked up at him. My right hand slid sideways, and I felt the rope slide over my thumb. "Because I have someone," I said. "Someone I love very much. And he loves me, and we're exclusive..." Another sigh escaped my lips. "I'm taken. Very much so."
"But I love you," he pleaded, close to tears again. "Why doesn't that count? Why do your feelings count, and not mine?" Why...why don't I count?"
"You do," I said, and chose my words very carefully. I needed to let him down easy, and get him to understand there's life after rejection. He had based everything on me. Without that, he'd have nothing to lose, and I tried not to think of what would happen. And, then, what if I had nothing to lose? "Every person counts, Dan. Every one of them. You need help and support, more than just a lover."
I knew I was dealing with Hateful Dan again as he leaned down, his breath warm against my face. "Not the way you treat them," he said, his voice dangerously soft. "Pick and chose who you want, and who cares how other people feel. You don't even know when someone loves you."
My hand slipped, and all I could hear was the thunk of rope hitting the ground as my hands were freed. I leaned back, trying to pull my face away from his.
"I do," I said. "I do know what love is. Took me a while, but I think I got it down. But this /isn't/ love, Dan. Knocking someone out isn't love. Tying them up...well, okay, I really don't regard that as love, though your mileage may vary." I sighed again. I was doing a lot of that tonight. "I'm scared, Dan. I'm afraid of you right now, and it hurts. Hurting people, that's not love either. It's...sickness. Dan, you're sick. You're hurting inside, and it's bad. It's making you do things I know you don't want to do."
I decided, if I lived, to start being more aware of the world around me. Maybe when I live this part of my life over again, I'll see Cohen's fist coming. This time, I didn't, and I got clouted on the right side of my head. My ears started ringing, and I barely heard him.
"Don't tell me what I do and don't want."
He didn't see me bring my arm around and swing. Nor did he see my right foot connect with his shin.
Once upon a time, there was a little boy who used to get his ass kicked every day. And it would hurt like hell, every day. And they would keep coming, no matter how many detentions and suspensions and parent phone calls.
Then one day, when the little boy was thirteen, he started to fight back, and did so in the way a rat did when backed into a corner: no holds barred, anything goes, and the only goal is to survive.
One day, the little boy went too far and he was sent to Weathering, and to counseling to deal with a whole shitload of repressed anger. And he had gotten much better in three years, as he matured and his temper cooled.
Then the mature young man was cornered, one dark day, and his survival instincts took hold.
But it only hit the two times; a right fist to the side of Cohen's head, and my foot smacking into his shin. When he stepped back, yelling in pain and off-balance, I stood up and bolted. Get upstairs! Get a phone! Call the police and get away!
I staggered to the stairs, trying to regain my footing, when a hand on my shoulder spun me around. Tears ran freely down Cohen's cheeks as he whimpered. "Jonas, don't go. Don't leave me." His other shoulder lifted, and this time I saw the blow coming. I threw up my right arm, to block the swing.
I never did find out where he had the crowbar stashed, but since we were close to the workbench in his basement, I could see where he could have grabbed it.
The hunk of iron met my forearm, and my universe bloomed into nothing but the sensation of pain, with a wet, sickening crack instead of a Big Bang as its beginning.
All pain, then numbness on my right side as I started to fall backward. I heard booming sounds, like something being banged, and I was hearing voices again, inside and outside my head before I hit the floor.
My world was light; white, blinding, and a wretched sob like that of a newborn child. "Don't go, Jonas. Don't leave. Don't go..."
The darkness settled in gently, swallowing me whole.
Michael.
Michael, I love you. I'm so sorry...
-End Chapter 8-