A/N: Here you go, my lovlies. Thanks for the reviews! They seriously mean so much to me. I'm open to constructive criticism as well, so don't hold back. :) If you like this, then let me know, and I'll make sure to keep doing what I'm doing. Thanks readers!
Chapter 4 — A Predator's Payback
"There is no hunting like the hunting of man, and those who have hunted men long enough and liked it, never care for anything else thereafter."
-Ernest Hemingway
.
.
Their parting on the lawn outside the chapel had not gone unseen, although the spectator wasn't close enough to catch the words that had been exchanged. The dark hair was now out of his eyes, cut at a length that would accommodate the school dress code. Still, it grew unnaturally fast and the dark boy noted with mild contempt that he would need to get it cut again.
Such a stupid inconvenience…
Roger still wore his school clothes, despite the late hour. He didn't require much sleep, not since the island where he learned to get by on so little of it. He sauntered closer, moving effortlessly with a hunter's stealth, making as little noise as possible. Little ever did escape his notice, though he only feigned ignorance of the excessive details that triggered his senses.
The air was crisp and cool, the secreted smell of frost now a dead giveaway that winter was quickly approaching. The dry grass crumpled like paper beneath his shoes. The autumn colored leaves flapped, flustered and unusually loud in the gentle breeze—their crumbling corpses now stiff and fragile as a long dead tabby's ribcage. He knew because he once had a tabby.
Dark, vigilant eyes shot towards the fair boy as he made his way back to the dormitory. Roger felt the familiar, seductive flow of intense fanaticism, blackening his insides at the sight of the breathing, living Ralph. His very existence irked his cold skin, caused his fingers to itch, yearning to feel slippery, warm blood once more.
He shouldn't be alive. His body should have long been decomposed, his sorry pile of bones being the only reminder that he ever existed on that island. And his blood… his blood… Roger thought all this beneath a face void of reaction. The only exception was the slight, increased oncoming of eager breath, a rush within his pulse. Just the thought of Ralph's heart continuing its relentless throb taunted him. It pulled at his sensetive nerves.
The blond's tread was unsteady, Roger's eyes calculated. Vulnerable. He allowed himself the tiniest of smiles at seeing him nearly stumble with exhaustion into the building's heavy doors before finally opening them, vanishing completely from his hunter's line of sight.
Someday. He soothed his heightened, provoked body before turning his once again impassive stare back towards Jack. The redhead continued to stand, frozen on the spot. Roger silently grumbled for not being close enough at the time to have eavesdropped on their conversation.
What exactly had gone on here…?
The last couple of years had been rather good to the hunters. Well… those that remained. All of the choristers were sent back to this school—their original one from before the island. Later, a number of them had either been pulled out by their parents before transferring elsewhere or were checked into the nearest mental institution. That was over the course of the two, almost three years that followed. Their numbers were fading fast. Now there was only him, Jack, Maurice, Bill... and Robert.
Roger's face tightened with revulsion upon thinking of Robert. He had been nothing but a useless, sniveling idiot since coming back. He became religious, always clutching a bible amidst his school books, mumbling prayers whenever he could, and staying within the chapel during his free time. He constantly sobbed about clemency and how nobody from Heaven probably refused to open their ears for him.
"The hollers of a black sinner," as the chorister put it. Roger always looked at Robert as if he were prattling in some unknown language whenever he said things like that. If he could place a wager on who would lose their head next, he would say Robert's name without a moment's hesitation.
On the contrary, Maurice and Bill became pleasant enough surprises. They ran in the opposite direction that Robert had chosen. They wallowed luxuriously in their knowledge. In their capabilities. The three of them were quick to resume their former habit of picking on the little kids from the neighboring academy: the precursor to this school. They enjoyed tormenting the older kids here as well and were close confidants for Roger whenever he needed their aid in focusing on new victims. Of course, he never did enough to be expelled nor was he stupid enough to get caught.
They weren't friends. Solitude was their companion whenever there was a lack of someone interesting to torment. To latch their wicked delight onto. They were simply united in their common desire to hurt, to drag out those sounds of torment from unwilling mouths. They were the bullies of the school—and Jack had been their leader… for a time. It was only until recently that he had been more to himself than anything.
Jack… Roger frowned as he halted in his advance. He observed the tall, redhead like a shameless voyeur as he continued to stand by the chapel, facing the direction that Ralph had left. Roger always felt a connection with the head chorister. He was an exceptional hunter on the island, something that Roger had assessed for himself with shrewd appraisal. He watched every movement, judged his reaction time, his aim, his ferocity. And while he wasn't perfect, as Roger thought that he could've been more brutal, a little more intelligent, and without the bi-polar tendencies; he found that the redhead's skill as a hunter could at times surpass his flaws. The dark boy was somewhat pleased that he had found someone like himself. Someone that reviled constraints… who harbored such similar cravings for control. United in their lust for blood.
Roger had been vigilant in keeping himself aligned with Jack, while remaining within general obscurity. The other hunters did likewise. While Jack resumed his position as the head chorister once they'd gotten back, he did not apply himself more than what was absolutely necessary of him within school. Roger still wasn't sure of how to take this slight change within their former leader. Aside from the savagery and cool collectiveness that still lingered, Jack's eyes tended to look more lost within the past few months, giving the impression that he might not take as long to crack as Roger had anticipated. Like the others.
Despite all this, Roger still trailed him, some of the time with Jack being oblivious, still feeling the ties of dark fixation and loyalty that he still possessed for his chief.
He approached Jack from behind with practiced furtiveness, pleased that he could still sneak up on him unawares. The curiosity of Jack's hidden expression got the better of him and Roger straightened his own features before calling out, "Chief."
It hadn't felt right to call him anything else, so he continued to use that title with him in private. Roger hid the growing amusement boiling within his chest as he watched him.
Jack's frame jumped, he half turned, his accusing blue eyes searching.
Roger smiled, satisfied.
When Jack's gaze found his, Roger delight faded behind a stoic guise. "Fancy seeing you here," He spoke in a clear, relaxed voice.
Jack paused; his eyes looking slightly conflicted before thinking up a response. He settled into a stance of mild exasperation. "How long have you been standing there?"
Roger shrugged and managed to look bored, despite the fact that he felt like laughing at Jack's obvious discomfort. "Not long…" He paused, pretending to think about his response a little longer before speaking again, his face the epitome of guiltless virtue. "Well… I guess long enough to see you talking to Medevane." He reverted to Ralph's second name.
Jack was alarmed, plain as day. He tended to wear his passion on his sleeve, Roger had noticed long ago. Almost as if they were too potent, too overwhelming to be stifled. Jack also seemed a bit restless upon seeing the dark boy's expression. A seemingly innocent look on Roger was a disturbing sight to the redhead. "What did you hear?" Jack's eyes narrowed in the slightest.
"Nothing," Roger said. He watched the alarm slowly leak from Jack's face in that instant and was even more madly curious of the unheard exchange. Jack was his calm self again as he glanced towards the boys' dormitory.
"What are you going to do to him?" Roger asked, trying to keep his excited imagination at bay.
"I don't know," Jack answered without pause. He sounded wary. "Does something need to be done?" He had meant to sound cynical, but his voice only managed to resemble the dead, empty air that surrounded them.
Roger sighed, faintly irritated. What the fuck was wrong with his chief? He was sure that the Jack from a few months ago would have jumped at the prospect. He suddenly began to wonder where exactly Jack had gone that summer... His shadowed eyes hardened in enigmatic thought.
"Of course something should be done." Roger snapped softly. Jack now began to look at him carefully, considering. Roger lost a little of his own coolness as hot ardor for the subject took control, his mask slipping slightly. "He's prey. And he will always be yours… nothing will change that fact." The dark boy's breathing quickened.
He held a principle that civilization would call abnormal—one of a hunter's dark ownership over his designated prey. It was a blood claim. A right. He parted his lips in a savage grin when he noticed that Jack appeared to be deliberating. He hadn't shrugged off his implications like he suspected he might… but genuinely seemed to absorb them.
On Jack's end, he couldn't help but to fall for, to immerse himself within the seduction of Roger's words, for his assumption of what Ralph was to him. Prey. His icy veins thawed. No matter what forces tried to take him away or say otherwise. Jack's gut thrilled at the thought. Growing up and since being back, Jack had never wanted for anything. His family was of the wealthiest. They were of old money on top of his father being in a partnership of a prominent business. Being the only child, he got everything he ever wanted and some. The idea of retaining something so scandalous, so magnificent stole his slightly rattled breathe for a moment. Jack caught himself before falling even deeper within the pit of thought. His eyes lost their gleam as he eyed Roger, the wariness rapidly trickling back, his arms casually folded.
"What are you doing out here, Irvine?" He resumed the question that had been sweltering within his mind since he saw him, reverting to Roger's surname in the process as he had done to Ralph.
Roger was unaffected. "I just happened to see you out here. Pure accident. I'm looking for Maurice and Bill. They were supposed to meet me here about now." He checked his watch. It was three in the morning. They were late. He growled softly. "I don't know what's keeping them."
Jack frowned. The three of them together usually meant that something bad was about to happen. "What are you up to...?"
"Hmm," Roger scanned the area for any movement, becoming increasingly bothered that the others weren't there. He was always on time. He was actually rather meticulous about such things. "The others can be such incompetent morons at times…" the dark boy mentally smoldered.
Jack only noticed his companion's growing irritation through the way that his hand tightened and relaxed before snaring itself deep within his pocket. He looked back at Jack, a startlingly delighted smile displayed, a flash of white teeth in the dark. "Why do you ask? Would you like to join us? It's been… long enough."
Jack stiffened. It had been three months, to be exact, since he had last been with them on their torment escapades.
A tight frown began to form upon Roger at the stifling silence that followed. He changed tactics. "Have you tried out your new ride yet?" He knew from Jack that his father had given him a motorcycle for his recently passed seventeenth birthday. It was beautiful—a classic. Jack's teeth grit painfully as he shook his head ever so slightly. His expression darkened. It wasn't a gift, but a peace offering. It had remained untouched from where it had first been coldly presented to him amidst the sea of his father's prized vehicles—a little hobby that the senior Merridew enjoyed. It had already been a week and there it continued to wait, stagnant and unloved.
"Hmph," Roger folded his arms across his chest, his cold eyes never leaving Jack. "Planning anymore events?" He asked next, nonchalantly. Seemingly stupid questions, but Roger watched his chief's every reaction with the calculating, calm stare. Jack had the best venue for it and it was something that the former hunters had started up about a year ago on the last weekend of each month, inviting nearly half the school. They usually had it at Jack's place, seeing as his parents were frequently gone and he always had a way of smuggling in a copious supply of alcohol.
Jack shrugged unenthusiastically, eyes staring at nothing. He wasn't exactly thrilled with the way the last one had ended.
As if reading his thoughts, Roger smirked. "Or are you still sore about Miss Cleeves?"
"Will you shut up about that already?" Jack promptly fumed, feeling the hatred that he felt for the girl putrefying the lining of his stomach. A moment of quietness fell upon them as Jack sorted his thoughts, allowing his anger to cool slightly before continuing. "I was plastered… I had no idea it was her until morning." And what a blooming headache that was… Jack thought bitterly.
Roger chortled quietly, genuinely amused. "So you'll take anything to your bed as long as it isn't her?"
"No," Jack countered, his even voice rivaled his deadpan expression. "I'll take anything that isn't so fucking annoying."
Roger's sounds of amusement began to fade and his unsmiling face took precedence. "Well you should think of something soon. Your events are always so… entertaining."
Meaning, that something out of the ordinary always takes place, Jack thought. A sardonic frown gilded the sharp contours of the redhead's face. The more he thought about it, the more he began to think that it wasn't such a bad idea. Something to break the monotony of the days. Something to distract him from the thing held currently his thoughts captive and now wrung his insides.
That's what he needed… a distraction. A glittering fragmented distraction… even if somewhat brief. Jack sighed, irritably rubbing the back of his neck.
The stillness that followed was pierced by a loud, terrified shriek accompanied by a chorus of maniacal laughter. Jack and Roger jumped at the audible intrusion, though quickly recovered. They surveyed the area, but couldn't see anything in the thick shadows as a cloud passed over the moon. Jack could only hear his own harsh breathing in their momentarily darkened world.
Out of the blue, the two heard a brief, albeit incoherent argument explode within the air followed by a young voice being muffled. Jack and Roger shuffled towards the noises and when the small cloud passed over, were greeted by the sight of Bill and Maurice struggling with a scrawny boy between the two of them. They each had a hold of his thin, pale arms and were trudging, half dragging their victim along. The boy's tear-streaked face had been silenced with a stained sock barely protruding from his mouth. He was a lot smaller than his captors, causing Jack to conclude that this was his first year here. Probably around eleven years old, though he still looked small, almost too frail to be even that many years.
The boy looked up at Jack and Roger; fresh invocation of fear illuminated his eyes when he realized that they made no movement to liberate him. He could only guess that they were also part of the bullies that had jumped him on his way back from the toilet to his room. Jack's own stare widened slightly when the image of the boy's face immediately invoked the memory of another boy years ago, deep within the wild tresses of the island. The boy's finely textured black hair was severely mused. His clear, pale skin shone with the sweat of struggle and his unsettling pale, bright eyes looked up at him. For a moment, Jack swore that the boy's gaze morphed from an expression of utter fear to that of haunting accusation.
Jack's lips parted, his jaw slackened slightly as his throat felt constricted with a sudden wad of gruesome sickness. Thought was momentarily lost and he felt something burning within his gut. It wasn't rage, exactly, but it felt awfully close to it.
"Stop!" Jack was shocked by the volume of his voice even more than the fact that he had said anything at all. Maurice and Bill looked dumbly at him, completely taken off guard.
"Who is that?" Jack seethed through his teeth. His fists clenched and unclenched, his whole body was now molten with how sick he suddenly felt, fervently wishing that he had something to drain the strange new emotion that now seeped dangerously through his body.
No one answered. Maurice and Bill's faces became white as sun-bleached bone.
"Who is he?" Jack suddenly turned on Roger, instantly grabbing fistfuls of his collared shirt, resisting the overwhelming urge to shake him. Roger's dark hands immediately went up to where Jack's held him, tightening over the redhead's fingers.
"I don't see what the—"Roger said, his voice and expression reflecting only composed inquisitiveness. It was an irritating contrast to the other's flaring reaction and Jack felt the frustration rise within him upon this answer.
"You tell me who that is. Tell me now!" Jack ordered him, a mild comeback of the old authority that he had once basked in. The thought hadn't even occurred to him to ask the boy directly.
"It's just Eckland… Peter Eckland." Roger spoke between short breaths, now starting to feel the uncomfortable tension at which Jack held him. Even the name... Jack felt a rush of blood upon hearing it. Roger chuckled suddenly, seeing the realization dawn upon his chief's face. "Who knew he had a little brother?" Roger continued with his speech, speaking as if they had just received an unexpected gift. "Just our luck."
Jack ignored him, glancing over at the pale face of Peter as he continued to stare at them. The tears on his face had dried, though his disconcerting silvery eyes continued to observe them with swelling apprehension. He was the spitting image of Simon. Even more so now that Peter was around the same age that his older brother had died. Jack couldn't help the noise of aversion that escaped his lungs as he chucked Roger to the ground. His shirt remained wrinkled where it had been fisted. Roger gaped at Jack, bloodcurdling resentment coursed through his veins at being pushed aside, though it was quickly stifled deep within. Pale cheeks flushed brightly. He was back on his feet by the time Jack drew closer to the others, ignoring the smudges of dirt over his trousers and shirt.
"Release him," Jack said. His voice had steadied somewhat after turning from Roger. Maurice and Bill didn't hesitate. Their grip on Peter had already been waning while watching the others' explosive exchange. They backed away from Peter as if he were about to mutate into something hideous. Peter immediately tore the sock from his mouth and pitched it somewhere amidst the shadows. He coughed, fighting the urge to vomit all over the lawn after having the taste of the filthy sock in his mouth for so long. He wanted to spit, but his mouth was parched. He brought his hesitant gaze back up to the redhead.
Jack almost felt like he was going to retch himself when he saw the look that Peter gave him.
He didn't want this. He hadn't really meant to spare him from his tormentors… He just couldn't… Jack turned from his thoughts, feeling progressively more ridiculous as he continued to just stand there. He looked at the boy, growing pale with loathing towards the look of gratitude that had crossed the boy's face.
"Don't," Jack spat under his breath. He gave the boy the hardest look that he could manage. It worked, giving him the desired effect. The boy's face looked a bit more uneasy in that moment than thankful. "I am not doing that again." The boy paused before giving him the slightest of nods while staring at the ground. He got the gist. Don't get caught.
"What are you still doing here? Go!" Jack voiced sharply, waving his hand somewhat, as if in irritated dismissal. The boy's eyes grew before he scampered off. His legs gained speed as he drew closer to the dormitories.
Jack was annoyed to find that the remaining choristers were staring at him as if he had grown a second head. Only Roger seemed exempt from the strange fascination. Instead, Roger still wore the cold vehemence over his face, eyeing Jack with a newfound disapproval.
"What the hell was that?" The dark boy said quietly, his voice low.
Jack turned on him. "How can you even stand to look at him?"
A tight frown formed over Roger's thin mouth. Bill and Maurice observed the ground; a touch of understanding moved their minds as they briefly regarded their chief.
"Find another victim," Jack said, massaging his temple. He was beginning to feel the slowness of fatigue catching up with him. Sleep never came easy, but whenever it did call, it was impossible to ignore.
The two hunters aside from Roger nodded their heads fervently. Roger glared at them, stopping their movement.
"Will do," Roger said. His lips twitched.
"I'm going to bed," Jack mumbled as he left their group. The others continued to stare at him, a mixture of confusion and wonder. Roger's hunter's gaze only noticed Jack's growing fatigue and how it slowed his movements. He was momentarily weak and it made Roger's hands contract within his pockets. His pulse rose slightly, but quickly turned his gaze from his chief, removing him from his treacherous sight.
"Well, what now?" Maurice broke the silence. He was unfulfilled… unsatisfied at the turn of events. His fingers continued to yearn for defenseless flesh to torment as much as Bill and Roger in that moment. The frustration over the fact that their fun had ended so quickly left a sour taste in their mouths. Roger turned to them, an intensity now lit within his eyes that caused fresh goosebumps to ripple up Bill's and Maurice's arms. He was going to stick with the chief's orders alright…
"Forget Eckland. We have bigger fish to catch."
...
P.E. was one of Ralph's favorite classes, even if he did share it with Jack and Roger. Of all the former hunters, he just had to be stuck with the both of them in one of his classes. He did his best to ignore them and so far they seemed to be doing the same to him.
It was all that he wanted, really. To be left in peace.
Aside from free time, it was the highlight of his school day. To him, nothing beat having a good sweat and feeling the satisfying vibration of his pumping blood by running the fields or being involved with whatever sport they were assigned. Unlike the majority of the class, he actually applied himself, causing Coach Foster to take more notice of him. It hadn't been Ralph's goal to suck up to any of the teachers, P.E. was simply his thing. It always had been, even before the island. It was a reminder of his life before. And it was a great help in keeping his cluttered mind stable and occupied.
Ralph was somewhat thrilled when he heard that their new unit was going to be on swimming and diving, a refreshing change from breaking a sweat on the outdoor fields where the sun poured its passion over the back of their necks. It was his preferred form of physical activity and the one that he excelled at the most. He had been told that he had an athlete's build, which may have contributed more or less to his swimming capabilities. It worked with nearly all the muscles without being harsh on the joints.
At the moment, Ralph sat in the boys' locker room, unlacing his trainers, currently the only tranquil human being within the zoo-like vicinity. The area was bustling with loud activity. There were naked and half naked boys running all over, trying to find their lockers and quickly changing into their school swim trunks and grabbing their goggles.
The blond ignored the other boys as they played juvenile pranks on each other, stealing each other's locker possessions and instigating a chase as they simultaneously attempted to dress themselves. Ralph opened his locker after the second try when a younger boy had collided right into him before he finished the combination, forcing him to start over. He grunted agitatedly as he began to strip, stuffing his school uniform haphazardly into the small locker. Blind habit forced his fingers to lightly trace the surreal smoothness of his diagonal scar.
After briefly looking about and observing that everyone appeared to be preoccupied with their own locker or activity, he hurriedly pulled down his shorts and just as quickly replaced them with his trunks, feeling a little bit of heat touch his cheeks. He had always been so painfully modest. Even on the island, when most of the boys preferred running about stark-naked, he still managed to retain the necessities of his clothes, no matter how ragged they got. It was the civil thing to do.
He shut his locker, twisting the combination to ensure that it was sufficiently sealed before following the crowd through the door out into the indoor swimming pool area. His eyes searched and found Jack. Roger was nearby as well. It was routine for every single class. Ralph wandered further away from them down the crowd. He was nearly at the opposite end when Coach Foster emerged with his clipboard. He surveyed his students, making sure that everyone was properly suited. Most of their goggles were hanging about their necks, while some were tight over their foreheads. He took brief attendance before starting the lesson. Coach wore his usual attire of a simple windbreaker and sweats with the school logo on it.
Foster started and broke from his mini lecture on how their school ranked above average amongst the other schools when it came to their swimming and diving team. Most of the boys' eyes wandered, obviously bored while he talked. Abruptly, he asked for a raise of hands of those that either were on the team or had been on any sort of swimming and diving team in the past. Ralph timidly raised his hand, flashes of the school that he had gone to before the island skipped through his mind. There was only one other unfamiliar boy that had raised his hand amongst the entire group. Coach Foster immediately smiled in Ralph's direction, much to the blond's chagrin. "Medevane," he summoned with a quick gesture of his hand.
Ralph stepped forward, his cheeks enflamed, trying to ignore the faint snickers of the boys behind him.
"Why don't you show us a little demonstration. How about a simple breaststroke?" he said. It wasn't a request, though he attempted to make it sound like one. Ralph turned away from the coach and students to hide his dark face as he made his way towards the pool.
God, was he trying to humiliate him? Ralph pondered with fevered awkwardness as he faced the pool, his toes touching the tiled edge. Teachers had the annoying tendency to volunteer up their students, oblivious to the fact that they were inflicting social trauma on them. That… or they were aware and just secretly enjoyed the torment, watching them squirm. He felt every pair of eyes on him as he adjusted the annoying eyewear over his face, briefly tightening the sides before taking a diver's stance.
It had been years since he had done this, but it was like riding a bike, once you learn, it was something that could never be forgotten. Ralph's mind emptied, effectively blocking everyone and everything out as he allowed previous experience to guide his body. As soon as he dove, slipping beneath the water, breaking its tension, he was off. All he knew was the rhythm of his body as he fought to slice through the water, against the surge of the ripples as it tussled against him. All he felt was his body pumping excitedly, so full of adrenaline, an almost immediate high.
It felt so good.
When he saw that he was close to the other end of the pool, he did a mild flip turn. Without thought, he pushed now in the opposite direction when his feet came into light contact with the wall, twisting, so that he continued to face the bottom of the pool. He continued when the water began to slow his momentum. When his fingers brushed against the wall that he had started against, he allowed his body to relax, slowly aligning itself parallel to the pool's edge. Ralph removed the eyewear, briefly wiping his eyes.
"Thank you, Medevane." Coach Foster beamed. The students were less enthused and grumbled. Roger picked at his nails, looking as bored as ever. Jack stared. Ralph only caught a fleeting glimpse of them from the pool, but could feel the intense heat of Jack's scrutiny. The warmth tainted his skin and he avoided meeting anyone else's gaze as he started to pull himself from the water; reluctance to leave the pool slowing his limbs. His arms flexed as he heaved his body, now heavy with the sheen of water.
Coach Foster proceeded to lead the other students, setting them up along the side of the pool to learn various strokes. They were barely touching the basics. Foster instructed Ralph and the other swimmer to wait by the side of the pool while the others continued on with the lesson. Before long, Ralph was exceedingly bored as he sat, barely watching the others. He pulled his knees up against his chest, hiding the scar.
While they practiced, the coach approached him. "Medevane, have you ever given thought to trying out for the swim team here?"
Ralph looked up at him. The idea was appealing, but it honestly hadn't crossed his mind. Normal things like that never did anymore, at least not without prompt. Swimming again, even though it was brief, brought back a little more normalcy. It held seductive promise for possibly even solidifying his sanity. It might be really good for him… Ralph thought; the small bit of prospective hope flickered briefly within his chest. "I'm really not sure, sir. Maybe…" He replied with simple sincerity.
Coach Foster smiled a little. "I think that would be a splendid idea. Boys swimming starts up in about a month, so keep an eye out for the postings." Ralph nodded, rather absentmindedly.
With only fifteen minutes left of class, they were given permission to free swim. Ralph allowed his feet to dangle in the water as he watched the students charge through the pool, some splashed at their friends. Ralph removed the eyewear from his head, setting them on the tiled floor as he slowly lowered himself into the deep end of the pool where few dared to ventured. He kicked off lightly from the wall, lounging back into the water, allowing his head to rest back as he floated peacefully.
Just as quickly as the tranquility was wrought, however, it was destroyed. A strong, quick arm encircled his waist, pulling him under. He gasped, though it was too late, his head had already been submerged and instead of air, he swallowed a copious mouthful of chlorine water. He squeezed his lids shut as the water stung his eyeballs. Blackness swallowed up his world.
He struggled as violently as the syrupy movement of water would allow. His attacker continued to crush his chest, forcing whatever precious air he had left within his lungs out. Ralph was on panicked overdrive as he took in another unbidden gulp of the chemical-laden water. Another arm wrapped tightly about his pale throat. Ralph's flustered adrenaline forced him to yank his head forward as he clawed at the arms around him, grating the other's flesh. His head made sharp contact with the wall, the side of the pool. Intense pain flooded his senses as his lungs began to burn.
A sudden dizziness seized his brain and strength quickly left his body. He grew limp and just as quickly, felt another pair of hands. The arms around his throat and chest were removed, pried away. A strong arm surrounded him, pulling. Ralph's mind buzzed and emptied as he felt his helper struggle against the heavy water, pushing him until their faces finally broke the surface. If it were a moment later, he would have blacked out. Ralph painfully gasped, his breath sounding rough and unnatural as he greedily drank in the oxygen. His helper forced the blond's arms over his shoulders. Ralph automatically gripped him close, his chest plastered to the other's back and broad shoulders. His cheek brushed against the boy's hair as he opened his eyes. A handful of boys were leaning over the ledge. They watched with frightened eyes, while others stood nearby. The coach was quickly making his way over, trying not to slip on the saturated, tiled floor.
His rescuer struggled with the weight of Ralph on his back as he neared the edge of the pool. It felt as if he were going at a snail's pace. When Ralph's eyes peered at the back of his rescuer's head, he was shocked at seeing the familiar visage of red.
Jack.
Under any other circumstance, he would have pushed him away.
When they finally reached the edge, the coach as well as a few other hands reached over to pull himfrom the water. Ralph's lungs still hurt. Every breath felt like he was swallowing fire. His eyes sought the trash can near the door to the locker room; blood drained his face as he felt bile starting to come up his esophagus. One of the boys noticed this and scurried away to retrieve it. The blond felt so weak, so spent that he could barely move his muscles in that strange suffocating moment. When the boy brought the trash can, he griped the edges as he leaned forward into it, vomiting the contents that he had just swallowed as well as his scant breakfast that morning. He retched until nothing came out, his body shivered unpleasantly as he forced the spasms of his retching to cease, compelling his body to calm down.
"Irvine! To the office! And I expect to see you in detention tomorrow!" The coach barked. His booming voice echoed. Ralph looked up and caught Roger's offhand glare before retreated into the locker room; his forearms bore several angry, red scratches. The dark boy's triumphant lips curved briefly when their eyes connected.
Ralph felt the onslaught of radiating warmth as someone stooped next to him. A hot hand touched the clammy skin of his bare shoulder. "You ok?" He heard Jack's low mumble. Ralph looked at him, confused. He actually sounded… concerned. Despite the fact that his body screamed that he wasn't, he gave the smallest of nods. Just then, something warm trickled down his brow. Thinking it was water, he wiped at it exasperatingly and winced as fresh pain jolted his senses. His head suddenly felt tender and everything swayed dangerously, knuckles turned white on the edge of the trash can. The back of his hand was now smeared red and the familiar metallic scent of fresh blood assailed his nostrils.
"Uh, coach?" Jack said. "He needs to go to the nurse."
"I do not," Ralph hissed at him. It would only make him feel worse if he were to be coddled like a baby.
"You're bleeding," Jack pointed out straight-faced.
Ralph gingerly touched the spot, grimacing as he did. Coach Foster approached them. "Merridew, would you please take Medevane to the nurse?" He inquired, observing the wound, getting messier by the minute.
"Yes, sir," Jack replied as he offered his hand to Ralph. He pushed it away.
"I don't need your help," Ralph heatedly stated as he stood up, instantly regretting it the moment the warmth rushed quickly from his throbbing head, forcing another rivulet of blood to tickle the skin of his forehead. He would have toppled over had Jack not quickly steadied him, forcing him to lean against his sturdy body. He began to help him over towards the locker room. Pink tinged the blond's face upon feeling how close their bodies were and how their moist skin stuck together, especially in nothing but sopping wet swim trunks.
Jack led him to the showers to rinse off the chlorine. He quickly turned on one of the showerheads with a free hand. The other was still wrapped around the smaller boy. The outreached palm tested the water until it was warm.
Ralph briskly freed himself from Jack's grasp as he meandered towards the stream of water. Jack helped wipe away the blood while carefully avoiding the broken skin of his forehead. When Ralph was finished, he stepped aside and waited while Jack rinsed himself off, quickly casting his flustered gaze to the cream-colored tiles. After the water was turned off, Jack immediately held Ralph against him again as they made their way to the lockers, which Ralph didn't think was absolutely necessary, but didn't complain. Jack led him to his locker and proceeded to watch as the blond worked on his combination. Ralph felt the prickle of the unnerving stare crawl over his skin as his locker finally clicked open. After pulling out his towel and drying himself, he peered over at Jack, unnerved to see that he was still there. Pale eyes gleamed, silently watching his every move.
"Don't you have to get dressed too?" Ralph asked, annoyance creeping into his tone.
Jack shrugged, the corner of his lip lifted upwards in a half grin. "It's not important. If I leave, I'll come back to a bloody, crumpled mess on the floor. You're pathetic without me." His voice was light and cocky.
Ralph rolled his eyes before halfheartedly pushing him away. "Get dressed."
Jack left, though his smug expression remained as he turned the corner.
Taking instant advantage of his solitude, Ralph slid the sopping wet trunks down his hips. He dressed as quickly as he could, having some difficulty with getting the dry clothes on without sticking too much to humid flesh. The feeling brought on unwelcome flickering images of dirty shorts and relentless, wet skin. Ralph's breath hitched; his fingers tightened over his clothes, pulling them on with renewed vigor.
When finished, he walked carefully towards the main hallway of the locker room where Jack had gone, his hand gripping the sides of the lockers as small spells of dizziness came over him with each step.
Sucks to head injuries.
Just as he rounded the corner, he nearly bumped into Jack. "You didn't have to come find me, I was going to get you," Jack grumbled vexingly as he wound one of Ralph's arms over him. One hand took his as it lay over boney shoulders while the other gripped the blond's hip on the other side, pulling him close. Ralph could blushingly feel the contours of Jack's hip against his and the friction of the side of his thigh with every step they took towards the nurse's office.
Why am I even paying attention to that? Ralph silently reproached himself. This really is stupid.
When they reached the nurse, the elderly woman behind the desk was instantly flustered at seeing Ralph with more blood pouring from his head since coming from the locker-room.
"Oh my! What happened to you?" She motioned Jack to bring him to one of the cots as she retrieved her supplies.
"Hit his head in P.E., the clumsy git," was Jack's quick reply, mock humor poorly hidden. Ralph glowered at him beneath the nurse's attempt to clean his wound before dressing it. When she was done, she handed him an aspirin, saying that head injuries always hurt and bled more than they were worth. He muttered his thanks as he swallowed it with a small sip of water. The dismissal bell rang.
"Stay here. Skip your next class if you need to," Jack muttered. His voice rigid as he made his move to leave. Ralph's heart pounded, sudden and loud, as he quickly reached for and grabbed Jack's forearm, stopping him before he left the cot. Jack shot him a look, confusion marring his severe face. Ralph's eyes averted from his briefly, feeling both a little stupid and bewildered for his unexpected reaction.
"Uh…um… th—thank you," Ralph said, somewhat lamely. Jack's gaze softened in the slightest before slowly removing his extremity from Ralph's now loose grip. Jack glanced quickly at the nurse behind her desk scribbling down notes, completely absorbed in her work. He looked back at Ralph and allowed the back of his fingers to gently graze down the side of his face. Ralph felt chills crawl up his spine, though couldn't tell if they were the ominous kind. The feeling overwhelmed him and a dense swallow passed through his throat.
Jack's hand retreated. A light smirk twisted his mouth before leaving. The blond stared blankly as the door closed.
Still feeling dazed, Ralph lowered himself back onto the cot, gingerly arranging his head so that there was no pressure being applied to the bandage. Only moments passed before he drifted into a state of blissful semi-consciousness, free of dreams.
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