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fellowshippers2005-05-08 09:50 pm
marialayne.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2005-05-08 09:50 pm
Dancing With The Daffodils chapter 12/18
Title: Dancing with the Daffodils 12/18
Author: Maria Layne
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando (and others)
Rating: NC-17 ( for m/m sex)
Please see the warnings in chapter 1
Disclaimer: This is a fictional story with certain actors cast in the main roles. I am not claiming anything about their real life sexuality or making any money from this. I wish.
I'd love to hear what you think of the story.
Thank you to my most wonderful beta![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bluespirit_star who deserves heaps of praise for her dedication to this story.
Previous chapters are here:
chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6, chapter 7, chapter 8, chapter 9, chapter 10, chapter 11
and the new chapter is here:
Chapter 12
I didn't go into school the next day, and I let the answering machine get the messages from Anna and Kent. It crossed my mind that I should phone them, tell them I was all right. Well I wasn’t all right. I was in a country where I had no family, knew next to nobody, I had been accused of something awful that I hadn’t done, and yet I was guilty as hell in my mind. I was in love with Orlando - I knew that. And wasn’t what I wanted to do with him exactly what I had been accused of? I tried to phone Karl, but he had his voice mail on. I didn’t leave a message. I tried to read, to watch television, to answer some emails, but I couldn’t concentrate. I started an email to Sean several times, but I couldn’t think of what to say or how to say it. How do you tell your best friend that you’ve been accused of what amounts to child molesting?
It wasn’t that – but that’s what people would think, isn’t it? What would this do to my career if it got out? What was “it” anyway? Was it that one of the girls had complained to her mother about the innuendo in class, and some religiously fanatical parent had decided to put a stop to it? What if some other teacher had seen me put my arm around some child’s shoulder to comfort or encourage them? It wasn’t fair that I couldn’t know what it was I was being accused of. It wasn’t fair that I couldn’t know who had made the complaint. If I knew, maybe I could sort it out, explain, find witnesses for my side. I slammed the lid of my laptop down in disgust and anger.
It was almost with a sense of relief that the answering machine took the next call and it was Martin. I listened to part of the message he was leaving and then picked up.
"Hello, Viggo. I am so sorry to bother you, but Anna says you are off school this week. I hope you’re not sick. Anna didn’t seem to think you were. It’s just that the hospital called and said that Orlando’s doctor says he’s fine to go home tomorrow morning. But I haven’t got a car and anyway, there’s a funeral tomorrow morning. Anna’s at work but she suggested you...." I grabbed the phone quickly. Of course I was going to pick him up. How could I not do that?
"Hello, Martin."
"Oh! Hello, Viggo. I hope you don’t mind me asking. It’s just..."
"No. It’s fine. I’ll bring him home." I’ll bring him home. I wished that I could really do that, the way I wanted to. How did I ever get myself into this mess? So much for not being a child molester, I thought, as I imagined Orlando sharing my home and my bed.
I imagined how it would be if he could live here with me. What brightness his smiles could bring to my life, how I would care for his inexperience, take everything slowly, how carefully I would teach him how to love. The idea of teaching stopped my fantasies short. What did I think I was doing? There was no way this was going to happen.
Anyway, the next day saw me helping Orlando into the car, carrying all his things. He asked me what I was doing still off work. I told him how I couldn’t face what was happening. Orlando put his hand on my leg as I drove. My whole world narrowed to the few inches of skin that his hand covered. I felt the tingling of gathering blood as the light touch affected my groin. My stomach clenched with apprehension, anticipation, agony.
"It’ll be okay, Viggo." I didn’t move his hand. "Have you talked to anyone about it?"
"Anna knows. And you."
"You haven’t spoken to Karl?"
"Why should I?" Orlando was silent, then, and just stroked my leg a little. I felt the warmth of his hand, the warmth of his concern, seeping through the tight denim. My groin tightened further. Slowly, regretfully, I put my hand over his and moved his hand to the seat.
"Sorry Viggo."
"Don’t be."
"I just wanted to show you I cared."
"Thanks."
"Thanks but you didn’t like it?" I could hear the teasing fun in his voice. The little bastard didn’t give up. I shook my head in wry amusement.
"You..." Words failed me. I looked at him and he grinned back. He knew. He stroked my leg again, and I let him do it. Fuck the guilt.
But somehow, when Orlando arrived home and his mother was still in bed and his father was out, and there was only his dog to greet him, I felt less guilty. Wasn’t there anyone but me to love this boy?
"You want to come in?" I was considering it, when Sonia appeared in a floral robe, crooked at the front, an error of revelation. "Mum! You shouldn’t answer the door. You know what Dad would say..." and he half shut the door so I couldn’t see inside. "Sorry, Viggo. I have to go. I’ll see you next Tuesday at school."
I didn’t know whether I was more relieved or angry.
The next few days were tense and frustrating. I wanted to see Orlando, but realized how stupid that would be. I didn’t go to work. Karl was out of town at a physiotherapy conference. I finally got up the courage to email Sean. His reply was one of total support, how there had to be some fucking mistake, and it would be all sorted, and not to worry – and “You didn’t actually tell anyone you wanted to fuck that kid, did you?” Well, only Karl. But I was certain it wasn’t Karl who had reported me. It couldn’t have been him, could it? But the seeds of doubt were scattered everywhere. Let’s face it, it could have been anyone. I didn’t trust anyone. Hell, I didn’t even trust myself.
I missed the rehearsals, assuming, though not checking, that Anna would run them without me. But I couldn’t miss the special stage combat rehearsal I had scheduled - even though Orlando would not be there, the others still needed to practise. I checked the cupboard on the way in, surprised to see that it was already open and the swords were gone. I was angry - this was against all the rules I had laid down for the use of the swords. The scene that faced me as I strode towards the stage was enough to ignite the smouldering anger. And it didn’t take much these days. Colin had a sword raised above the neck of a kneeling Kevin while all the others stood around.
"There can be only one!" He called out, as he began to lower it. The others were laughing, but I soon put a stop to that.
"Put those away! What have I told you about respect for the weapons?" I was furious, unable to calm down. "Right! The practice is cancelled." Immediately they started to apologise, but today I was in no mood for compromise. "No! If you can’t be trusted to do the right thing, you can go home. I haven’t the time or the patience to deal with a lot of little kids playing silly buggers." I stood there, pointing to the door, collecting their foils as they trooped out, muttering. I know I heard Colin, under his breath, say "fucking poofter." I knew that at that moment it might look like I had won, but I hadn’t. Colin’s glare of fury and arrogant disdain spoke volumes about his feelings towards me. I had taken his friend from him, was probably how he saw it, and that made him dangerous.
I didn’t feel like jogging that weekend in case I saw anyone from school. I didn’t feel like going out anywhere, even though Karl rang several times. There was still that tiny doubt that it might have been him that said something. But in that case, why was the bastard bugging me like this? I told myself to get over it, to try to see things clearly. In the end, I agreed to meet him just to stop him annoying me. We were going to run the length of the bike track down the coast, and the day was perfect for it. I promised myself I would immerse myself in the exercise and refuse to think about the lead weight that was burdening my guts.
But I did the wrong thing. I arrived early, and what I saw added to the anxiety I was already carrying with me. There, in the distance I saw Orlando with his dog. He was talking to Karl and I watched as Karl slid his arm around him. I stopped and observed. Orlando leaned into Karl’s embrace, then shook it off, obviously laughing. Karl kissed his forehead as they said goodbye, and Orlando put his hand on Karl’s arm. I was standing at the top of the hill, and there was no way that Orlando could avoid seeing me as he turned to say something to Karl. He saw me, waved, but didn’t wait. He gathered his dog’s lead and walked away. My depression, which had been lightening up, returned in a sickening flood, and I could hardly face my smiling friend as he ran up.
"Guess who I just saw!" His eyebrows waggled lewdly.
"I know who you saw."
"Don’t you want to know what he said?"
"I’m sure I can imagine."
Karl sensed that I was in no mood for banter. He just shrugged his shoulders and started jogging. For a moment I considered turning around and going home, but I realised how petulant that would look. To give Karl his due, he let me stew for a while and then tried again.
"What is it?"
"Nothing." I wanted to talk to someone, but I didn’t want to admit to Karl what a fucking failure I was.
"Why are you doing this to him?" Karl tried a different tack.
"Doing what?"
"You know what. He loves you. You love him back if I’m not very much mistaken. Now you’ve got a choice. Either tell him to fuck off, or give him the love he deserves. Because if you don’t you can be sure someone else will."
"And that someone would be you, right?" The little tight knot in my stomach clenched tighter at the thought of them together.
"Not necessarily. But that’s beside the point. Do you know how strong he’s having to be to keep loving you when you’re telling him ‘no’ with your mouth and yet every instinct he has is telling him you really mean ‘yes’? Do you know what he’s going to go through at school when he goes back on Tuesday? There’s been plenty of time by now for that juicy little story to go round, and believe me, school is not a happy place for people like us. I never had guts enough to come out at school. And he’s willing to face it. He’s braver than both of us, don’t you see?"
I did see. Orlando’s strength was overwhelming. And would I be brave enough to be there for him? I doubted it. I justified my cowardice by telling myself that I couldn’t do anything for him, anyway. My being there wouldn’t change anything. I jogged beside Karl in silence as I thought this one through. Orlando was going to have to face the music alone whether I was there or not. So what had he been talking to Karl about? And why didn’t he stay to talk to me?
"So what did he say?" Karl laughed at me. I was being transparent and we both knew it.
"He said to tell you he had to be home, but to give you his love. Said he’d see you at rehearsals on Tuesday."
"And he couldn’t tell me that himself?"
"You’re jealous! You, Viggo Mortensen, are in love with Orlando - no, don’t deny it - and you are jealous." His friendly whack across my back as we ran seemed to jolt me out of my mood. I smiled at him, relieved eventually to admit it to someone. The grin spread across both our faces as I finally said,
"So what if I am?"
Admitting my feelings to someone, on the one hand seemed to be a step in a direction I wanted to take, but on the other, it could be venturing onto the path that led to destruction. The vacillation between acceptance and rejection felt like a mighty seesaw - or a giant roller coaster. I went to training on Monday night, but didn’t join in. I found enormous solace in hitting the punching bag over and over again. I jabbed repeatedly with closed fists, totally oblivious to the world around me, feeling the tingling of the skin breaking and the sharp pain of flayed knuckles, spurred on by the scent of blood. The world was reduced to the red leather of the bag and my bleeding hands.
"What has it done to deserve that?" The voice I didn’t want to hear, and yet longed for most in the world broke through my attempt at self flagellation.
"What are you doing here?"
"Watching you kill a bag." I didn’t know what to say to him, how to answer. He noted my hesitation and made the decision for me. "Come on, let’s go for a walk."
We sat on the wall beside the Youth Club, Orlando in a loose shirt over his sling and worn jeans which were almost white, almost threadbare, looking confident and casual and just lovely, and me in my white gi, stained now with streaks of blood where I had wiped my torn hands. I wondered as I stared at the stains if they would ever come out, or if they would always be there to remind me of my guilt. We were silent for ages, before he said,
"Talk to me."
"I’m just so fucking restless. I can’t stay still, can’t train, can’t eat, can’t talk to anyone..."
"Hey," he said gently, grabbing my hand and gently touching the ruined knuckles, making them sting even more, "you can talk to me." He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed the knuckle that was bleeding the most. The gentlest touch of his fingers drew electricity to the surface of my skin. The jolt surged from hand to throat and groin in an instant, constricting both. And then he whispered,
"Let me kiss it better for you." He watched my eyes.
I was mesmerised by the sheer eroticism of his tongue sweeping over my bloodied hands. He trusted me so implicitly. He was telling me that if there were danger there, he knew I would tell him, wouldn’t let him hurt himself. I pulled them away, gently but firmly.
"You don’t want me to do that." He sighed, resignedly.
"No, it’s not that." I whispered my truth to him. "I want it too much." His laugh was so joyous, he was so innocently happy with my admission that I didn’t dare add any supplementary ‘howevers.’ I didn’t regret that, either.
"Will you be at rehearsal tomorrow?" He asked. I nodded. "Yeah," he said, "back to school for me, too."
But I wasn’t able to face the classroom again. I drove to the school fully intending to try, but I didn’t get past the car park. I waited there until after the bell, then decided that I should at least see Kent before I left - find out if he had heard any more about the enquiry that was supposed to be happening. I tried to be calm, but I know I wasn’t. And I know it wasn’t his fault, but his office stank of bureaucracy and his tone was patronising, and I wasn’t in the mood for that.
"Why haven’t I heard anything?"
"Calm down, Viggo, these things take time." Patronising.
"They’ve had enough bloody time. What are they doing? Tell them to pull their bloody fingers out." I clenched my fist, and the sharp sting reminded me of the healing knuckles, the sweep of Orlando’s tongue.
“Look Viggo, I understand..." Fucking patronising. I left.
The next few weeks I saw Orlando only at rehearsals and training. I spent the days running and lazing about. I took my camera around the area, captured the light at interesting times of the day – on the beaches, in the rainforests, on the mountains. I even bought a canvas and some paints, started to use the inspiration of my hidden love to create once again. Sean was thrilled when he heard about it. I hadn’t painted since David got sick. If I felt guilty about not thinking about David every moment of the day, I dismissed it. I told myself that I had to learn to live without him. There were times when the despair would sweep over me once again, but it wasn’t all the time. It wasn’t even every day. And that box still sat in my wardrobe. I couldn’t let that go just yet.
I had accepted that I loved Orlando, but that we could only be friends. Or that’s what I told myself. I didn’t want to intrude too much on his life. He had to study for his trial exams. He asked me once, at Tae Kwon Do, if I “felt like giving him a hand with his study.” In spite of the ball of fear which grew inside me, I felt obligated enough to feel I may have to say yes. That was until I caught the glint in his eye and realized what he was really asking. I grinned at him, told him that if he came over, I didn’t think we’d get much studying done. That answer made him happy. His grin made me happy. It was a comfortable time for me. How was I to know the pain he was going through?
One day, as the play approached, I tried once more to return to the classroom. The panic I felt as I climbed the stairs to the staffroom told me that I was in no way ready for this yet. I wondered vaguely if I would ever be able to teach again. Was it me? Was it just this school? Would it go after the hearing? And I still didn’t know when that would be. For the first time I wondered if I might need counselling. Then I dismissed the idea. If I could get over the things that had happened in my life so far without it, I could get through this.
I spent the day, instead, helping Anna sort through the costumes in the drama store, label each one and write down what was needed to complete each outfit. The students were supposed to take their costume home with a list of whatever else they needed. After school, they all gathered in the dressing rooms, excitedly trying things on, while Anna and I rushed bits and pieces between the various rooms as we discovered what did and did not fit. The boys had long ago forgotten the anger of that combat rehearsal in the anticipation of the approaching play and the excitement of the costumes, but there was still what seemed to be a coolness when I was around. I noticed that none of them were talking to Orlando. He followed me into the store room.
"Do you need help trying things on?" I meant to imply that his arm might be hindering him, but he smirked to himself and shook his head.
"I’m fine - they’ll all fit and it’ll be off by the night!" He held up his cast. "I’ll even have a few day’s practice without it before Friday!” After all the rehearsals and all the agony, was the opening night really so close? “I could do with a hand with this, though," he finally admitted, as he struggled with a cape. I held it for him.
"How are you doing?" he asked, quietly.
"I’m coping."
"You were in school today. I saw you earlier. Have you heard anything?”
"I was here all day, going through these costumes, and no. It’s the waiting that’s really getting to me."
Oliver came into the store room at that point with a pair of tights.
"I was told to give these to Orlando. They ought to suit him from all I’ve heard." Orlando blanked his face and concentrated on smoothing the folds of the velvet cape.
"You’ll be wearing tights, too, Oliver." I had to protect Orlando somehow. Oliver shot Orlando a look as if he had been the one to speak.
"Poofter!" He growled, under his breath.
"You wish!" Orlando smiled at him.
"Fuck you!"
"Is that an invitation?" Orlando turned away with a sad, ironic laugh. Oliver slammed the door behind him as he left. I opened it again, carefully aware not to be alone in a room with Orlando behind closed doors. Not at school, anyway.
"What’s happening, Orlando?" I shouldn’t have been surprised at the cruelty, but I was.
"You can hear that for yourself. I am the new scapegoat for all the pent-up homophobia and self doubt in the school. At least I don’t have to put up with it for very long. Exams are soon, and I’m only coming in for assessment tasks until then."
I hadn’t known. My lovely boy was suffering and he hadn’t even told me. Why hadn’t he said anything? Why hadn’t Anna said anything? Had I lost some of her respect because I couldn’t cope with the classroom? Probably. I realized I was thinking about myself again, when I should have been thinking about Orlando. He was bearing all this on his own. I wanted to hug him, say that he should have told me, that I would have been there for him, would still be there for him. But was it the truth, or would I offer it and then run away again? The moment had passed, but I still had to say something. Something neutral.
"How do your parents feel about that?"
"My parents?” Bitterness and pain coloured his words. “You must be joking. I’m not even going to tell them. They have this idea, and Auntie Anna encouraged it, that it’s normal to spend time at home – or in the library – studying at this time of year. Auntie Anna fixed the attendance thing for me, and to tell the truth, I think old Kent is pleased not to see me. Saves him having to deal with any complaints about harassment I might be tempted to make." He was so strong, so brave. He had done all this on his own. And I wanted to hold him, to show him that he had my unqualified support and gratitude, but all I could manage came out sounding like a self-righteous lament,
"Fuck the world! Why does it have to be so hard?" And it was Orlando whose firm hand on my shoulder gave me strength. The small pat I gave his hand seemed hardly recompense enough for his resolute grip, a grip that spoke of his unwavering support and love.
Author: Maria Layne
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando (and others)
Rating: NC-17 ( for m/m sex)
Please see the warnings in chapter 1
Disclaimer: This is a fictional story with certain actors cast in the main roles. I am not claiming anything about their real life sexuality or making any money from this. I wish.
I'd love to hear what you think of the story.
Thank you to my most wonderful beta
bluespirit_star who deserves heaps of praise for her dedication to this story.Previous chapters are here:
chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6, chapter 7, chapter 8, chapter 9, chapter 10, chapter 11
and the new chapter is here:
Chapter 12
I didn't go into school the next day, and I let the answering machine get the messages from Anna and Kent. It crossed my mind that I should phone them, tell them I was all right. Well I wasn’t all right. I was in a country where I had no family, knew next to nobody, I had been accused of something awful that I hadn’t done, and yet I was guilty as hell in my mind. I was in love with Orlando - I knew that. And wasn’t what I wanted to do with him exactly what I had been accused of? I tried to phone Karl, but he had his voice mail on. I didn’t leave a message. I tried to read, to watch television, to answer some emails, but I couldn’t concentrate. I started an email to Sean several times, but I couldn’t think of what to say or how to say it. How do you tell your best friend that you’ve been accused of what amounts to child molesting?
It wasn’t that – but that’s what people would think, isn’t it? What would this do to my career if it got out? What was “it” anyway? Was it that one of the girls had complained to her mother about the innuendo in class, and some religiously fanatical parent had decided to put a stop to it? What if some other teacher had seen me put my arm around some child’s shoulder to comfort or encourage them? It wasn’t fair that I couldn’t know what it was I was being accused of. It wasn’t fair that I couldn’t know who had made the complaint. If I knew, maybe I could sort it out, explain, find witnesses for my side. I slammed the lid of my laptop down in disgust and anger.
It was almost with a sense of relief that the answering machine took the next call and it was Martin. I listened to part of the message he was leaving and then picked up.
"Hello, Viggo. I am so sorry to bother you, but Anna says you are off school this week. I hope you’re not sick. Anna didn’t seem to think you were. It’s just that the hospital called and said that Orlando’s doctor says he’s fine to go home tomorrow morning. But I haven’t got a car and anyway, there’s a funeral tomorrow morning. Anna’s at work but she suggested you...." I grabbed the phone quickly. Of course I was going to pick him up. How could I not do that?
"Hello, Martin."
"Oh! Hello, Viggo. I hope you don’t mind me asking. It’s just..."
"No. It’s fine. I’ll bring him home." I’ll bring him home. I wished that I could really do that, the way I wanted to. How did I ever get myself into this mess? So much for not being a child molester, I thought, as I imagined Orlando sharing my home and my bed.
I imagined how it would be if he could live here with me. What brightness his smiles could bring to my life, how I would care for his inexperience, take everything slowly, how carefully I would teach him how to love. The idea of teaching stopped my fantasies short. What did I think I was doing? There was no way this was going to happen.
Anyway, the next day saw me helping Orlando into the car, carrying all his things. He asked me what I was doing still off work. I told him how I couldn’t face what was happening. Orlando put his hand on my leg as I drove. My whole world narrowed to the few inches of skin that his hand covered. I felt the tingling of gathering blood as the light touch affected my groin. My stomach clenched with apprehension, anticipation, agony.
"It’ll be okay, Viggo." I didn’t move his hand. "Have you talked to anyone about it?"
"Anna knows. And you."
"You haven’t spoken to Karl?"
"Why should I?" Orlando was silent, then, and just stroked my leg a little. I felt the warmth of his hand, the warmth of his concern, seeping through the tight denim. My groin tightened further. Slowly, regretfully, I put my hand over his and moved his hand to the seat.
"Sorry Viggo."
"Don’t be."
"I just wanted to show you I cared."
"Thanks."
"Thanks but you didn’t like it?" I could hear the teasing fun in his voice. The little bastard didn’t give up. I shook my head in wry amusement.
"You..." Words failed me. I looked at him and he grinned back. He knew. He stroked my leg again, and I let him do it. Fuck the guilt.
But somehow, when Orlando arrived home and his mother was still in bed and his father was out, and there was only his dog to greet him, I felt less guilty. Wasn’t there anyone but me to love this boy?
"You want to come in?" I was considering it, when Sonia appeared in a floral robe, crooked at the front, an error of revelation. "Mum! You shouldn’t answer the door. You know what Dad would say..." and he half shut the door so I couldn’t see inside. "Sorry, Viggo. I have to go. I’ll see you next Tuesday at school."
I didn’t know whether I was more relieved or angry.
The next few days were tense and frustrating. I wanted to see Orlando, but realized how stupid that would be. I didn’t go to work. Karl was out of town at a physiotherapy conference. I finally got up the courage to email Sean. His reply was one of total support, how there had to be some fucking mistake, and it would be all sorted, and not to worry – and “You didn’t actually tell anyone you wanted to fuck that kid, did you?” Well, only Karl. But I was certain it wasn’t Karl who had reported me. It couldn’t have been him, could it? But the seeds of doubt were scattered everywhere. Let’s face it, it could have been anyone. I didn’t trust anyone. Hell, I didn’t even trust myself.
I missed the rehearsals, assuming, though not checking, that Anna would run them without me. But I couldn’t miss the special stage combat rehearsal I had scheduled - even though Orlando would not be there, the others still needed to practise. I checked the cupboard on the way in, surprised to see that it was already open and the swords were gone. I was angry - this was against all the rules I had laid down for the use of the swords. The scene that faced me as I strode towards the stage was enough to ignite the smouldering anger. And it didn’t take much these days. Colin had a sword raised above the neck of a kneeling Kevin while all the others stood around.
"There can be only one!" He called out, as he began to lower it. The others were laughing, but I soon put a stop to that.
"Put those away! What have I told you about respect for the weapons?" I was furious, unable to calm down. "Right! The practice is cancelled." Immediately they started to apologise, but today I was in no mood for compromise. "No! If you can’t be trusted to do the right thing, you can go home. I haven’t the time or the patience to deal with a lot of little kids playing silly buggers." I stood there, pointing to the door, collecting their foils as they trooped out, muttering. I know I heard Colin, under his breath, say "fucking poofter." I knew that at that moment it might look like I had won, but I hadn’t. Colin’s glare of fury and arrogant disdain spoke volumes about his feelings towards me. I had taken his friend from him, was probably how he saw it, and that made him dangerous.
I didn’t feel like jogging that weekend in case I saw anyone from school. I didn’t feel like going out anywhere, even though Karl rang several times. There was still that tiny doubt that it might have been him that said something. But in that case, why was the bastard bugging me like this? I told myself to get over it, to try to see things clearly. In the end, I agreed to meet him just to stop him annoying me. We were going to run the length of the bike track down the coast, and the day was perfect for it. I promised myself I would immerse myself in the exercise and refuse to think about the lead weight that was burdening my guts.
But I did the wrong thing. I arrived early, and what I saw added to the anxiety I was already carrying with me. There, in the distance I saw Orlando with his dog. He was talking to Karl and I watched as Karl slid his arm around him. I stopped and observed. Orlando leaned into Karl’s embrace, then shook it off, obviously laughing. Karl kissed his forehead as they said goodbye, and Orlando put his hand on Karl’s arm. I was standing at the top of the hill, and there was no way that Orlando could avoid seeing me as he turned to say something to Karl. He saw me, waved, but didn’t wait. He gathered his dog’s lead and walked away. My depression, which had been lightening up, returned in a sickening flood, and I could hardly face my smiling friend as he ran up.
"Guess who I just saw!" His eyebrows waggled lewdly.
"I know who you saw."
"Don’t you want to know what he said?"
"I’m sure I can imagine."
Karl sensed that I was in no mood for banter. He just shrugged his shoulders and started jogging. For a moment I considered turning around and going home, but I realised how petulant that would look. To give Karl his due, he let me stew for a while and then tried again.
"What is it?"
"Nothing." I wanted to talk to someone, but I didn’t want to admit to Karl what a fucking failure I was.
"Why are you doing this to him?" Karl tried a different tack.
"Doing what?"
"You know what. He loves you. You love him back if I’m not very much mistaken. Now you’ve got a choice. Either tell him to fuck off, or give him the love he deserves. Because if you don’t you can be sure someone else will."
"And that someone would be you, right?" The little tight knot in my stomach clenched tighter at the thought of them together.
"Not necessarily. But that’s beside the point. Do you know how strong he’s having to be to keep loving you when you’re telling him ‘no’ with your mouth and yet every instinct he has is telling him you really mean ‘yes’? Do you know what he’s going to go through at school when he goes back on Tuesday? There’s been plenty of time by now for that juicy little story to go round, and believe me, school is not a happy place for people like us. I never had guts enough to come out at school. And he’s willing to face it. He’s braver than both of us, don’t you see?"
I did see. Orlando’s strength was overwhelming. And would I be brave enough to be there for him? I doubted it. I justified my cowardice by telling myself that I couldn’t do anything for him, anyway. My being there wouldn’t change anything. I jogged beside Karl in silence as I thought this one through. Orlando was going to have to face the music alone whether I was there or not. So what had he been talking to Karl about? And why didn’t he stay to talk to me?
"So what did he say?" Karl laughed at me. I was being transparent and we both knew it.
"He said to tell you he had to be home, but to give you his love. Said he’d see you at rehearsals on Tuesday."
"And he couldn’t tell me that himself?"
"You’re jealous! You, Viggo Mortensen, are in love with Orlando - no, don’t deny it - and you are jealous." His friendly whack across my back as we ran seemed to jolt me out of my mood. I smiled at him, relieved eventually to admit it to someone. The grin spread across both our faces as I finally said,
"So what if I am?"
Admitting my feelings to someone, on the one hand seemed to be a step in a direction I wanted to take, but on the other, it could be venturing onto the path that led to destruction. The vacillation between acceptance and rejection felt like a mighty seesaw - or a giant roller coaster. I went to training on Monday night, but didn’t join in. I found enormous solace in hitting the punching bag over and over again. I jabbed repeatedly with closed fists, totally oblivious to the world around me, feeling the tingling of the skin breaking and the sharp pain of flayed knuckles, spurred on by the scent of blood. The world was reduced to the red leather of the bag and my bleeding hands.
"What has it done to deserve that?" The voice I didn’t want to hear, and yet longed for most in the world broke through my attempt at self flagellation.
"What are you doing here?"
"Watching you kill a bag." I didn’t know what to say to him, how to answer. He noted my hesitation and made the decision for me. "Come on, let’s go for a walk."
We sat on the wall beside the Youth Club, Orlando in a loose shirt over his sling and worn jeans which were almost white, almost threadbare, looking confident and casual and just lovely, and me in my white gi, stained now with streaks of blood where I had wiped my torn hands. I wondered as I stared at the stains if they would ever come out, or if they would always be there to remind me of my guilt. We were silent for ages, before he said,
"Talk to me."
"I’m just so fucking restless. I can’t stay still, can’t train, can’t eat, can’t talk to anyone..."
"Hey," he said gently, grabbing my hand and gently touching the ruined knuckles, making them sting even more, "you can talk to me." He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed the knuckle that was bleeding the most. The gentlest touch of his fingers drew electricity to the surface of my skin. The jolt surged from hand to throat and groin in an instant, constricting both. And then he whispered,
"Let me kiss it better for you." He watched my eyes.
I was mesmerised by the sheer eroticism of his tongue sweeping over my bloodied hands. He trusted me so implicitly. He was telling me that if there were danger there, he knew I would tell him, wouldn’t let him hurt himself. I pulled them away, gently but firmly.
"You don’t want me to do that." He sighed, resignedly.
"No, it’s not that." I whispered my truth to him. "I want it too much." His laugh was so joyous, he was so innocently happy with my admission that I didn’t dare add any supplementary ‘howevers.’ I didn’t regret that, either.
"Will you be at rehearsal tomorrow?" He asked. I nodded. "Yeah," he said, "back to school for me, too."
But I wasn’t able to face the classroom again. I drove to the school fully intending to try, but I didn’t get past the car park. I waited there until after the bell, then decided that I should at least see Kent before I left - find out if he had heard any more about the enquiry that was supposed to be happening. I tried to be calm, but I know I wasn’t. And I know it wasn’t his fault, but his office stank of bureaucracy and his tone was patronising, and I wasn’t in the mood for that.
"Why haven’t I heard anything?"
"Calm down, Viggo, these things take time." Patronising.
"They’ve had enough bloody time. What are they doing? Tell them to pull their bloody fingers out." I clenched my fist, and the sharp sting reminded me of the healing knuckles, the sweep of Orlando’s tongue.
“Look Viggo, I understand..." Fucking patronising. I left.
The next few weeks I saw Orlando only at rehearsals and training. I spent the days running and lazing about. I took my camera around the area, captured the light at interesting times of the day – on the beaches, in the rainforests, on the mountains. I even bought a canvas and some paints, started to use the inspiration of my hidden love to create once again. Sean was thrilled when he heard about it. I hadn’t painted since David got sick. If I felt guilty about not thinking about David every moment of the day, I dismissed it. I told myself that I had to learn to live without him. There were times when the despair would sweep over me once again, but it wasn’t all the time. It wasn’t even every day. And that box still sat in my wardrobe. I couldn’t let that go just yet.
I had accepted that I loved Orlando, but that we could only be friends. Or that’s what I told myself. I didn’t want to intrude too much on his life. He had to study for his trial exams. He asked me once, at Tae Kwon Do, if I “felt like giving him a hand with his study.” In spite of the ball of fear which grew inside me, I felt obligated enough to feel I may have to say yes. That was until I caught the glint in his eye and realized what he was really asking. I grinned at him, told him that if he came over, I didn’t think we’d get much studying done. That answer made him happy. His grin made me happy. It was a comfortable time for me. How was I to know the pain he was going through?
One day, as the play approached, I tried once more to return to the classroom. The panic I felt as I climbed the stairs to the staffroom told me that I was in no way ready for this yet. I wondered vaguely if I would ever be able to teach again. Was it me? Was it just this school? Would it go after the hearing? And I still didn’t know when that would be. For the first time I wondered if I might need counselling. Then I dismissed the idea. If I could get over the things that had happened in my life so far without it, I could get through this.
I spent the day, instead, helping Anna sort through the costumes in the drama store, label each one and write down what was needed to complete each outfit. The students were supposed to take their costume home with a list of whatever else they needed. After school, they all gathered in the dressing rooms, excitedly trying things on, while Anna and I rushed bits and pieces between the various rooms as we discovered what did and did not fit. The boys had long ago forgotten the anger of that combat rehearsal in the anticipation of the approaching play and the excitement of the costumes, but there was still what seemed to be a coolness when I was around. I noticed that none of them were talking to Orlando. He followed me into the store room.
"Do you need help trying things on?" I meant to imply that his arm might be hindering him, but he smirked to himself and shook his head.
"I’m fine - they’ll all fit and it’ll be off by the night!" He held up his cast. "I’ll even have a few day’s practice without it before Friday!” After all the rehearsals and all the agony, was the opening night really so close? “I could do with a hand with this, though," he finally admitted, as he struggled with a cape. I held it for him.
"How are you doing?" he asked, quietly.
"I’m coping."
"You were in school today. I saw you earlier. Have you heard anything?”
"I was here all day, going through these costumes, and no. It’s the waiting that’s really getting to me."
Oliver came into the store room at that point with a pair of tights.
"I was told to give these to Orlando. They ought to suit him from all I’ve heard." Orlando blanked his face and concentrated on smoothing the folds of the velvet cape.
"You’ll be wearing tights, too, Oliver." I had to protect Orlando somehow. Oliver shot Orlando a look as if he had been the one to speak.
"Poofter!" He growled, under his breath.
"You wish!" Orlando smiled at him.
"Fuck you!"
"Is that an invitation?" Orlando turned away with a sad, ironic laugh. Oliver slammed the door behind him as he left. I opened it again, carefully aware not to be alone in a room with Orlando behind closed doors. Not at school, anyway.
"What’s happening, Orlando?" I shouldn’t have been surprised at the cruelty, but I was.
"You can hear that for yourself. I am the new scapegoat for all the pent-up homophobia and self doubt in the school. At least I don’t have to put up with it for very long. Exams are soon, and I’m only coming in for assessment tasks until then."
I hadn’t known. My lovely boy was suffering and he hadn’t even told me. Why hadn’t he said anything? Why hadn’t Anna said anything? Had I lost some of her respect because I couldn’t cope with the classroom? Probably. I realized I was thinking about myself again, when I should have been thinking about Orlando. He was bearing all this on his own. I wanted to hug him, say that he should have told me, that I would have been there for him, would still be there for him. But was it the truth, or would I offer it and then run away again? The moment had passed, but I still had to say something. Something neutral.
"How do your parents feel about that?"
"My parents?” Bitterness and pain coloured his words. “You must be joking. I’m not even going to tell them. They have this idea, and Auntie Anna encouraged it, that it’s normal to spend time at home – or in the library – studying at this time of year. Auntie Anna fixed the attendance thing for me, and to tell the truth, I think old Kent is pleased not to see me. Saves him having to deal with any complaints about harassment I might be tempted to make." He was so strong, so brave. He had done all this on his own. And I wanted to hold him, to show him that he had my unqualified support and gratitude, but all I could manage came out sounding like a self-righteous lament,
"Fuck the world! Why does it have to be so hard?" And it was Orlando whose firm hand on my shoulder gave me strength. The small pat I gave his hand seemed hardly recompense enough for his resolute grip, a grip that spoke of his unwavering support and love.
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*twitches* the suspense is really getting to me now.
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Sometimes...This time being on of those times...
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