Boys and Pasts
A/N: So sorry for the delay once more, it seems that I can only write poems nowadays. Thank you soo much to those who have stood by this story although my updates have been few and far between.
They hear clapping and stop gazing at each other wistfully, they look over to see Rhys clapping slowly with a blank expression. They all feel panic boil in their guts.
"So lil sis, this is what you've been getting up to?" Rhys says moving towards the trio, the boys stand slightly ahead of Mercedes though she tries to inch forward. The Jones are sat silently in the corner, Miss Jones looking rather devastated and seeking comfort from Mr. Jones. Mercedes panics and is ready to start hyperventilating, looking at Rhys as he speaks but not absorbing the words, the boys tap her shoulder and smile at Rhys. She breathes in, shaking her head to clear it "You alright lil sis?" Rhys asks, looking at her in concern, the boys follow suit. "Fine, just - What did you just say?" she asks quietly.
"That if anyone wanted to trouble you guys they'd have to go through me first, and that I was disappointed that you didn't tell me earlier, I thought we were close," Rhys says, in mock-annoyance. Mercedes smiles wildly, a tear in the corner of her eye and throws her arm around her brother. The boys walk off into the living room to give them and her parents some time to adjust.
Mercedes suddenly remembers her parents, she lets go of her brother, tears flowing freely now and looks at her parents huddled in a corner. "Mercy, baby, I-I need t-to t-talk to you," her mum says, looking at her earnestly, she nods.
The two make their way to the kitchen, leaving Mr. Jones alone in the dining room. He gets up and joins the boys in the living room. Sitting on a soft, brown armchair, he sits back and takes out a cigarette, he lights it and takes a long drag. "So, you boys want to date my daughter?" He asks and both boys nod enthusiastically.
Rhys raises his eyebrow at the cigarette in his father's hand, he's never seen him smoke in his life, well, maybe when he was younger. Being 25, he was unlikely to remember if he did, he could swear that he had not seen his dad smoke in 10 years, give or take a couple. He said nothing, instead, sat back and waited to hear what his father had to say it was bound to be life-changing if his father's poise was any indication.
"It's been a good number of years but I remember you," Charles begins; the boys give him a puzzled look but wait for him to continue. "You look just like I must've, my best friend and my girlfriend with me all the time, we were in love, all of us," he stops, taking another drag of his cigarette, he looks down at it and waves it vaguely "She's the one who got us into these," he says with a small smile "Jessica," he moves to stand and grabs a photo album from the bookshelf, hidden behind a bible.
"Of course, our parents and pretty much anyone at the time didn't approve," he continues, sitting on the sofa and opening the photo album.
"Your mom wanted to make a show of it all, said it would hold good memories," he gestures to Rhys smiling wistfully.
"Anyways, so, we were shunned pretty much, run out of town to the sounds of PERVERTS! FREAKS! WHORES! SHAMEFUL! THAT'S AN ABOMINATION!" he recalls violently. He puts out his cigarette, he sighs heavily, pinching his nose.
"That's the bit that I worry about, I know what you guys are doing feels natural to all of you, it did for us too, but just remember that others do not feel the same. It was bad enough there were two women let alone a white one," he sees Rhys look at him in surprise and continues, gesturing dismissively "Jessica was white, so you'd get calls of TRAITOR! As well, I didn't realize just how cruel people could be until then," he snorts ruefully and sits down.
"That would be fine, if they hadn't come after us with a beating in mind," Charles says hoarsely, he quickly wipes his eyes, careful to avoid the others in the room, instead focusing on the beige and dark brown wallpaper. "It's a lot harder to shrug off a beating, they tried to get the girls and... Of course they did, but I wouldn't let them, I would sooner pull out my own eye than let those bastards lay a hand on Jessica," he sighs and leans his head on his palms. "I told her she could leave us, make it easier on herself... That especially hurt Corretta, we were the world to her, Jessica was strong though,"
"How did people find out? How long was it?" Kurt says in a rush, before sitting back shamefaced when Blaine gives him a stern look. "If you don't mind, we understand that this must be difficult and we're just grateful that you decided to share this with us," Blaine says. Rhys gives him an approving look and gives his father a cautious glare, one that says they need to know. He sits back and tries to remember a time when he'd seen his dad look that devastated, he could think of several others.
"To your first question, someone we thought was our friend told her father, she was white and her father did not have the best idea of black people," he laughs bitterly, looking forlorn. "It lasted a while, those chasing us were fairly stupid so we were able to find somewhere only we knew to be together," he looks on distantly for a moment "They found us, of course, and we decided it was all too much, we were so in love and us guys don't really know how to act around women, but I learnt, I learnt from them and couldn't ever learn from anybody else,"
"We went our separate ways, Corretta and I came here and Jessica went to Miami, we tried to call as often as possible," he opens the book to a picture of Corretta, Jessica and himself, all smiling ruefully. It was taken on their last ever date.
"What happened?" Rhys asked, everyone in the room looked at him. "As I said Jessica was strong, but she wasn't invincible, the distance got to her. She turned out to be stronger than us, by the time we got around to following her your mother was pregnant with you and your mother refused to kill a child, I was against it as well of course, it just meant we would always think of her,"
Rhys stands, looking at his father in rage "YOU NEARLY WHAT?" he yells, his father stands up "I just said we couldn't give you up-" "But you would have..." "Killed ourselves, yes, it was all arranged, like Romeo and Juliet, except more like Romeo, Juliet and Roasalie," Rhys scoffs in his father's face, disbelief marring his features, he storms out of the room and up the stairs.
There is silence for a tense few moments, then "How long after you'd broken up?" Kurt asks gently, careful not to upset him. "Three weeks," Charles says, looking away. The boys look at each other and hold hands before walking to Charles and enveloping him in a hug.