7: Confrontation
Roger's feet felt as though they were made of lead. The effort it was taking simply to lift one, then the other - it was ridiculous. But he kept his head down, kept trudging along, kept moving.
He'd raced round to Leo's apartment the minute Leo and Max had finally confessed. He hadn't even stopped to scream at the pair of them in a fury, to demand of them, what the hell did you think you were doing, keeping him hidden from me? How dare you? How DARE you? Instead the words repeated themselves in his mind, over and over and over as he ran into the street and flagged down a cab and practically shrieked Leo and Ulla's address at the startled driver.
Leo had handed over his keys, so getting in hadn't been a problem. But what he had found inside -
A strangled little sob escaped his lips; he clapped one hand across his mouth as though he was about to throw up. He wasn't sure, actually, that he wasn't about to throw up.
If he hadn't known it was Carmen sitting there, he would have thought some terrible sort of switch had taken place; that somehow Leo had managed to warn Carmen that Roger was on his way and they'd arranged for this ... substitute ... to be there instead.
He had Carmen's hair. Light brown, streaked with blond, and sticking up all over the place in those spikes that normally took forever to arrange.
Carmen's clothing - what could be seen of it, underneath the blanket he had wrapped around his shoulders, despite the fact that the heating was turned up so high it was a little like stepping into a sauna. All black, excessively tight, almost indecent from the right angle ...
Carmen's eyes ...
Except they weren't. They were the same at first glance, true: enormous, bright blue, slightly turned down at the outside edges ... but when Roger looked into those eyes, there was nothing there that was Carmen. No passion, no spark. Nothing.
"Go away, Roger," the Carmen-who-wasn't had said, in a tired, hoarse voice. He sounded like he hadn't spoken for weeks. "I don't have anything to say to you."
"Oh, but please, Carmen - " Roger had begun, helplessly, and he'd actually fallen to his knees, right there in Leo's living room, clutching at the blanket that Carmen was pulling closer around his body as though it could protect him from Roger's onslaught. "Please," Roger said again, feeling tears welling up in his eyes and letting them spill unchecked down his cheeks, "please just listen to me ... Carmen, I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry. I - I don't know - you've always forgiven me before, can't you - ?"
Carmen had laughed, a soft, humourless little laugh. "But that's the trouble, can't you see?" he asked in that dreadful broken voice. "Yes, I've always forgiven you before. And you've always gone straight out there and done it again - "
"No - " Roger began, but Carmen had screamed, "Yes! Yes, Roger! Every time, every single fucking time!" He shot to his feet, towering over Roger, who stayed crouched on the floor, shocked into silence. "And there's nothing about this time that's any different, is there?" Carmen demanded, the cocoon of numbness that had surrounded him for weeks suddenly stripped away by this unexpected blast of rage.
"Tell me, then," Roger had whispered, "what to do. Please. Tell me how to make it better."
Carmen had sighed, "I don't know, Roger. I don't have an easy answer for you. I think this is something you have to figure out for yourself."
And before Roger could say anything else, he had added, "I really think you should go now."
: : : : :
He had to ring the doorbell, which was stupid. It's my bloody house, he thought furiously, it's ridiculous that I can't even open my own front door ...
Nobody answered. Roger, stamping his feet on the doorstep in an effort to get some feeling back into them, was getting crosser and crosser by the second. He rang the bell a second time, and then a third, and then, losing his temper altogether, he pounded on the door with his fist.
"Roger, darling, I'm so sorry!" Sabou exclaimed, flinging open the door and ushering Roger inside, "Come in, come in, I'll get you something to drink, you must be frozen!"
Roger shrugged out of his coat, allowed Sabou to take it and hang it up; he turned towards the couch, was almost sitting when the realisation struck like a thunderbolt and he leapt once more to his feet -
It wasn't Sabou.
Roger's stomach clenched like a fist, his heart started beating a little too fast, he reached out towards the man now wearing Sabou's clothes, tried to grab his arm, but Vanilla was too quick and moved out of reach. "Where's Sabou?" Roger demanded through clenched teeth.
A shrug. "He's around," Vanilla said carelessly. "He had a bit of a headache, he had to lie down. It was lucky I was here, really, wasn't it? Lucky I had those keys of yours ... I cancelled the locksmith, darling, because I already have the right key, there's no need to change things, is there? Oh, yes, Sabou ... he's fine. We can invite him to join us later, if you like. Once we've had a little chat and got a few things ... straightened out." And he sat down hard on the sofa - on Carmen's ridiculous pink pillows - and crossed his arms and legs in an attitude of amazing stubbornness.
"Get out." Roger said flatly.
Vanilla snorted out a quiet laugh. "No, Roger," he said, calmly. "I'm not going anywhere. And neither are you." And before Roger could say another word, Vanilla reached behind one of the pillows - get your filthy hands off those, they're Carmen's! - and produced a gun. Roger's heart did some more stuttering and he could feel sweat beginning to gather on his upper lip.
"Oh - now, hold on - " he stammered. It wasn't the first time he'd found himself staring down the barrel of a gun, but somehow he doubted Vanilla would be as easy to escape from as Franz had been. There were no handy closets to hide in, for starters.
"Hold on?" Vanilla laughed again, louder this time. "Oh, but I am holding on, Roger, my love. Holding on to your every word. Holding on to this gun. See how I obey you?"
"Leave, then," Roger said desperately. "If you want to obey me, then just ... leave. Go away!"
The younger man lifted his chin. "No."
For a second Roger forgot about the gun and blurted, furiously, "What in the name of Gloria - what do you mean, no?"
"I mean no," Vanilla said, louder now, and even more determined. "I mean, you wanted me here, right?"
"Uh ... well, yes, I did, once! One night! Which was a mistake, a terrible mistake, I'm sorry, but - "
"So now I'm here. Just like you wanted." Vanilla's expression shifted, changed to something else. Some kind of a smile; a quiet smile, but a deeply unpleasant one all the same. Roger stared at him in horror. "Just like you wanted," Vanilla said, softly, "and we all give Roger whatever he wants, don't we? All of us so eager to be chosen ... whatever you want, Roger, whenever you want it ... that's the way it goes, right? And never mind the fact that you change your mind again ten minutes later, never mind the fact that as soon as you have us, you don't want us any more ... well, fine. Fine - for everyone else. Fine for bloody Carmen, too, even if it has taken you - what, ten years? - to realise you don't want him, either. But not fine for me." Vanilla got to his feet, and within a heartbeat was standing right in front of Roger, staring up into the older man's eyes with a very intense stare indeed. His eyes were darker than Roger had realised; the only non-vanilla thing about him, to be honest.
But they were burning with a distinctly non-vanilla fire right now, and Roger felt he was treading on very thin ice indeed.
He tried to be rational. "The others will be home soon," he said, in as normal a voice as he could manage, "rehearsals will have finished ... "
"Have you even been listening to a word I've said?"
"Yes. Yes, of course I have. I'm sorry."
"Well?"
"I don't know what you want me to say," Roger said, and he sank down to sit on the floor, in a miserable heap. "It's true, all of it's true - I've behaved simply dreadfully, you're right. I can - " he laughed, half-hysterical " - I can resist everything except temptation! But - "
Vanilla was watching him with narrowed eyes. "But?"
"But you're wrong about one thing. You're wrong about Carmen. I do want him. I want him very much."
The young man's face flushed suddenly with rage; he aimed the gun at Roger's chest, and snarled, "You're lying."
"No," Roger said, simply, and didn't really care whether or not the kid pulled the trigger. Just so long as he could say the rest of it. "I want him forever. I need him here, with me. I love him."
There was a sound from the doorway; the softest of sighs, and Roger scrambled to his feet, whirling to face the newcomer, tears suddenly blurring his eyes.
"I love you too, Roger," said Carmen.
And Vanilla pulled the trigger.
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