He supposed he had to find it unsettling how little everything that had happened was affecting him. He had imagined that he would be worse than before; his anxiety speeding up, his paranoia grasping at him like the claws of a nightmare, but it wasn't like that. He was even calmer than before the preposterous deed, than before Merridew had shagged him senseless on the edge of his bed. He reckoned he must have been in a stupor, his mind clogged with some sort of haze, after what they had recently committed.
The discomfort of Merridew being so close to him now, in such a personal sense, remained to a certain potency though. The fact that he was an ambiguous, even downright dubious guy, whose intentions were never clear, still somewhat ate at Ralph, but even this feeling was not as intense as he had believed it would be. He knew Merridew could change his mind in an instant about the whole wager, but given how he had been the one who'd instigated everything, Ralph highly doubted it now. He was almost as excited about this newfound pact between them as Ralph himself was, if not even more; though Ralph couldn't measure the intensity of each one's elation in this matter, he was fairly sure Merridew had a lot in mind regarding their agreement.
The fair boy closed his eyes and exhaled, trying to come to his senses. He didn't want to have another wave of arousal hit him right then. It was the early morning of a Sunday, and Sundays meant one thing: his father was home, which resulted in their early breakfast meeting to make up for his weekly absence. He pushed on his hands and tried to get out of his bed in the usual manner, but was stopped by the acute pain that struck his entire body, clenching it in a numbing grip. The most prominent stab was in the lower back of his neck, and naturally, in his goddamn arse. And it wasn't just in one place. His whole bottom felt like it had been beaten to a bloody pulp, and the overwhelming sensation was an impediment to his movement. The absurdity was, that as unpleasant as it should have been for any other person, this of course sent not-so-unpleasant chills through his whole body, and sent him on the brink of having another sudden boner. Ralph shook his head, trying to clear his mind.
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
He mentally gave himself a dose of disapproval and frowned at the whole prospect he now found himself in. It was one thing to be masochistic – he had finally discovered that he was indeed this - but it was another thing to be constantly stimulated by every discomfort in his body.
He had to know what was happening to him, so he had decided at some point to sneak into the city library after school, to search for books that offered an explanation on this taboo subject. In this manner, he had discovered that masochists had a few, main kinds of pain that they enjoyed; Ralph had a hunch that his most endearing one was having a hand tightening around his neck, until he couldn't breathe and see and think. He hadn't found anything about the possibility of someone being turned on even by traces of past-inflicted harm though. He pondered the probability of indeed having a mental problem in this sense, but shook it off.
Even if it was actually true, he didn't want to meditate upon it. He tried to push it at the back of his mind, and not give importance to it, not as long as it didn't interfere with his daily, normal schedule. He tried to tell himself that the fact that he was now having an unorthodox affair with another boy in school was just the start of a rebellious adolescence, just a tempestuous experience that he was passing through. So maybe he was queer, but that could be solved later, when he had to seriously consider finding a lifelong partner. He could claim he was just going through a temporary state of confusion. Merridew was the only bloke he had ever been attracted to anyway, so it had to do something with Merridew himself.
Maybe because Ralph had always been somewhat drawn to him, in spite of the entire violent history they had together. Merridew was a fascinating person, and Ralph felt that he'd always wanted to interact with him in one way or another, ever since their first friendship attempt. Maybe because Merridew was the one who had distanced himself from Ralph in the first place; that could have been the reason he had this odd fixation on him.
Even though he sensed that it was almost impossible to get close to him again, from a friendship point of view. They could have shagged as much as they wanted; it still appeared unnatural to Ralph that they would become close in any other way, not with how different they were, not with Merridew's maliciousness surfacing in every gesture and spoken word. Ralph couldn't accept being friends with such a person now, despite that there was a deep-rooted interest toward him.
He tried to get Merridew out of his mind for the umpteenth time, before he pushed aside the numbing pain and focused on what he had to do. Smoothing his frazzled hair and arranging his rumpled nightshirt would have to be the obligatory routine, especially because of the following father-son encounter. It wasn't that he cared too much about it, since his father himself wasn't too strict when it came to their meetings, but there still was that vague trace of respect in their relationship. They would converse as normally as possible, and even if slight altercations surfaced, they died down as quickly as they rose.
The fair boy let out a heavy breath, before heading toward the stairs, a bit too hurried, just as hurried he was to end it.
His father was at the dining table, as always. Had the custom to take all of his meals in the main room, apparently set on observing the changes that had occurred in his absence. He did it because of a certain curiosity regarding his son, not because he was especially keen on scolding Ralph on account of any potential damage. His father was quite casual on this side- rarely reproved Ralph or had any specific expectations of him. The fair boy took notice of his tired, opaque gaze, apparently dispirited by the lack of commotion in the house. He fixed the opposite wall of the room, which was still impeccable, the only unaesthetic aspect being the old, eaten by time, floral tapestry, a reminder of his mother.
Sorry to disappoint you, dad. The bitter thought flashed through his head. Everything was in perfect order, because he rarely hung out at home. Even though his father had assigned Hannah, the old, perfectly nice lady who tried with all her might to keep Ralph under surveillance as well as she could during the week, he couldn't be kept there for more than a couple of hours; not until night came anyway. During the week, he was at school, before crashing up at the house of one of his friends. Mostly Peter's, since the twins were rarely at home themselves, and Simon invited them over even more rarely. Or they just decided to hang out at one of their most frequented places – the shop that belonged to Peter's family, or a random pub in the town.
At the end of the week, Hannah was dismissed, before his father finally decided to spend some time with him. Ralph tried in his earnest to understand him. His father had to financially support them after all, but he still couldn't completely break the solid wall that had built itself between them ever since his mother's death. There had been years since then, but sometimes the incident still felt as if it had recently taken place, which was why the air seemed to get too dense at times.
The fair boy took the opposite, vacant seat, in front of a bowl filled to the brim with corn flakes. There was no specific sound that got his attention for good moments. Just the slight clinking of glass and cutlery over polished plate, his father taking his early breakfast in steady silence. He could have perceived it as somewhat comforting, if it wasn't for the weight of his father's stare, which was, for an unknown reason, studying him intently. The fair boy lifted his head to meet his eyes, strikingly similar to his own, but too different when it came to the glint that each possessed. His father's were too downcast, too exhausted. Too struck by old repentance.
"So you ready for the morning trip to church, lad?" His father offered him a friendly half-smile, an attempt to make pleasant conversation. His attempt was for Ralph though like a heavy branch hitting him in the head. He had completely forgotten. It had downright, utterly, even shockingly slipped out of his mind, especially because of everything that had recently turned his life upside down. He was conscious that he must have remained stuck with his mouth open, his whole body tense, as if he had turned into a stony replica.
"I just-" He started, trying to find excuses for him not going to church that Sunday. He was in the least disposition to visit that place, especially after what he'd got himself involved in; beyond redemption too, and the realization was too gripping to bear.
It was too soon. Too early. He had to get used to the situation first, in order to gather the courage and finally step into that sacred place again. He had been so enthusiastic by the whole pact, that he'd completely forgotten that what he'd committed with Merridew went against all morals, all principles, everything that was proper in the world.
He also couldn't go there especially because Merridew was almost always present, along with his bloody choir mates, parading like he was the ruler of the universe, in his sodding robe; like he was the new pastor ready to absolve all people of their sins. It was so contrasting and paradoxical, it would be amusing, if it didn't disturb Ralph to such levels. Merridew was like the devil himself and he had been in the service of the church for years.
In fact, ever since Ralph knew him, he had been assigned as one of the top choir boys in school, and sent to sing for every Sunday ceremony held in their town. Though in the last couple of years, Ralph had noticed that his presence on the platform had diminished considerably, he couldn't help but remark him every time he occasionally made his appearance.
Fortunately, Merridew usually abstained himself from attacking Ralph and his friends there. After all, their parents were assisting at the ceremony, so it was somewhat difficult for Merridew's pack to bully them. Difficult, but not impossible. There had been a few occasions when they'd managed to corner them without the intervention of adults.
The fair boy gritted his teeth as it came to him that he had to find excuses from then on, excuses for his weekly absence from church, but his mind was still. He didn't know what excuses he could have found, and the fact that he was going to miss more of the little time he had at disposition with his father was even more consuming.
He couldn't believe his ears when his father's chuckles abruptly echoed in the large room.
"Oh, you don't have to be so desperate, Ralph," He shook his head, apparently amused by the whole internal struggle Ralph was visibly showing. He paused, his eyes darting over Ralph's attire, before landing on his face. "The fact that you've got yourself a sweetheart is not the end of the world, and not the end of your spiritual life either." Ralph's eyes widened, his heart pounding with nearly sickening speed. How was that possible? Had Merridew revealed their affair? It had to be something else, his father was too cheery about it, which was highly unusual. He wouldn't have been glad about his son having that sort of interaction with another bloke. And yet, there he was. Bright and enthusiastic, like Ralph had finally settled his normal love life.
"You have to be more careful with the spots, though," The older man motioned to his own neck, in order to hint Ralph what gave him away in the first place.
Of course. Merridew had left a bite mark at the base of his neck, which was the reason his skin there was distressingly tender and hurtful. His father most certainly thought that Ralph had finally found a female partner, from the way he could barely hold his contentment in. Although Ralph felt as if he was too strained under the man's observing gaze, he cleared his throat, wiping his sweaty, almost trembling hands on his night pants, under the table, the perfect excuse now prepared.
"But you must surely know, dad, I can't go now, especially not with this horrendous sign on my neck. I mean, everyone will see and-"
His father raised his hand to stop him, eyes closed and a small smile on his face.
"Nonsense," He paused and took one sip of the morning tea. Ralph felt his pulse thrumming, as he swallowed thickly. He couldn't face Merridew so soon, and not in that place. And yet, he was sure he was going to be persuaded by his father who was unknowingly putting him in this nerve-raking situation.
"We have a few scarves around here, just perfect for this day. It's not very warm apparently, a bit cloudy too, so your scarf will be quite fitting." He smiled lightly, his eagerness regarding this new discovery about his son now radiating from him.
It wasn't the same for Ralph, though. It was certain his father would sooner or later inquire about this newly acquired 'female sweetheart' of his, which brought his deeply-buried anxiety to the surface once more. He had to think of a lie again, which was all he seemed to be doing lately. Lying to his friends first, and now lying to his own father. Ralph wasn't used to such vile acts, he had barely told a couple of lies in his whole life, and they were mostly for not-too-grave situations. He wasn't even used to do it, and yet that was all he could think about right then.
The fact that he wanted that affair with Merridew had turned him into a depraved bastard, even more perverted than he already was. It had turned him into someone akin to Merridew himself. And he desperately told himself it was mostly Merridew's doing in the first place. So maybe he had proven he was queer when they fought that day, but Merridew could have left him alone in this matter. They could have continued beating the shit out of each other and that was it. No camera scene, no Merridew accosting him for this illicit fling between them.
His stomach swayed in anger once again, even though he knew it was useless. It was useless getting angry about a thing that had already been committed. A thing that he still wanted, despite that it made his insides, his mind burn.
"I'll just have to get ready then," Ralph muttered, feeling as if his words were being pulled out of his mouth by pliers.
"You do that. I'll wait here, lad." Was the short reply of his father, before Ralph ended up flying up the stairs, the idea of barricading himself in his own room seriously passing through his head. He knew he couldn't do it, because he couldn't have found any plausible excuse for it. And he didn't want to cause his father any more pressure. He already had enough distress from their current living circumstances.
Down below though, the older man pensively regarded the bowl of cereal, left untouched by the boy, which was one of the most unusual acts he'd seen from his side in some of the recent years. Ralph had always been eager for his meals, and the refusal of them, albeit indirect, was concerning. Even though his mother had died years before, the shock was mostly over, from what he'd seen, which meant something else was troubling him. And it was something that it had to be taken into his notice as quickly as possible.
…
One of the most important encounters with his mother flashed through his mind vividly – Ralph could still see the look on her face, the deep remorse she displayed at the sight of her suffering son. At the fact that she couldn't do anything to alleviate his pain. She stroked the bundle of pale, soft hair at the top of his head, whispering kind words to him, but unable to stop the tears that flooded the small boy's crimson cheeks, and her blue, floral dress, his face buried into her stomach. His small arms tightly held onto her waist, like he sought to disappear under her wing and never face the newly found wickedness of the world that he was part of, ever again.
"What's the matter, hun?" Her soothing voice reached his ears, calming the storm of feelings inside, but strangely nurturing it at the same time.
He looked up, face splotched with red and eyes glassy, tears flickering on his fair lashes.
"H-he is not my friend anymore, mum," He sniffed, words swallowed by hiccups. "He is terrible. Awful. I-I should have never played with him."
The fair woman looked down on him, pale green eyes focused and face slightly contorted in misunderstanding, until a light washed over her features.
"Do you mean Jack?" The boy nodded, a deep relief at how his mother instantly recognized his first and most important friendship.
"Oh, Ralph," She deeply exhaled and tightened the hug, tucking the tiny, yellow clump under her chin and softly rubbing his back up and down. "It's always Jack, isn't it?" A tightness overcame him, a bizarre sensation of befuddlement and fear. It was like she was aware of something about him, something that he couldn't grasp. He tentatively looked up again.
„W-what do you mean?" Her expression was airy, almost meditative, as she shared his perplexed gaze.
"I've seen you cry because of him before." She gently explained, fingers twining through golden tresses. "I know you've had your quarrels and that boys often have their typical fights, which I know can end in bruises, and I've always believed that these child fights must work out on their own," She offered him a wry, but humorous look to lighten the mood. "But it's truly difficult for me to see you cry so thoroughly for what he's doing to you." She knitted her brow. "Children are not supposed to cry, and even if they do, it should be after they fall and scrap their knees." She slightly withdrew and brought his face up, caressing the tear-streaked cheeks. "You're suffering too much and it's not alright."
The finality of the words knocked against the fair boy's chest. It was puzzling, but the knowing, concerned glint in his mother's eyes reassured him that she knew better about his cause. The fact that he provoked her pain while expressing his own in such an open manner was making him want to shut himself down and never let her see him cry again. He was supposed to be strong, he was a boy, and he would become a man one day, and boys weren't expected to cry. They had to be steel-like and secure, they weren't allowed to show their weaknesses.
The more he pondered over those expectations, the more he wanted to bawl and hide in his mother's arms. It was impossible for him not to cry over his lost friend. Maybe Jack had done harm to him, but he had still been his first best friend, he had still been nice to him at times, and taught him things that he hadn't known; they'd shared great moments, and it was difficult to accept that they weren't going to hang out anymore.
There were moments when Ralph yearned to go to him and tell him he would forgive him for what he'd done, but then the memory of Jack pushing him to the hard floor and bruising him returned too quickly, too painfully, which put an end to all those intentions.
He had his own childish pride and the fear was even stronger. The fear that Jack would react the same as the last time, if Ralph returned and tried to make up. The fear of Jack committing even worse things, of Jack actually, truly beating him up if he attempted an approach, of Jack rejecting him and wickedly laughing in his face, calling him all sorts of names. The fear was always stronger than anything, it slashed through his heart and his thoughts, and it paralyzed him, stopped him from acting on his deepest wishes. His sudden stillness must have caught his mother's attention, as she brought him to reality again.
"Did he beat you up, Ralph?" The grave concern, almost repressed anger in her voice was enough to make him flinch in distress, at her tone of protectiveness, but even more, at her question. He let out a trembling exhale, slowly shaking his head.
"No, mum. He has never beaten me. This was his first attempt, but he has never tried to do it before." There was a flash of wonder in his mother's open expression, her unusual, sudden harshness slightly fading away, but her brow still knitted in a tense frown.
"But all those times you cried, why..." She trailed off bemused, a new curiosity grasping at her tone.
"It's because he always hangs out with Roger." Ralph felt his eyes going blurry again. "It's his new friend, and ever since Roger came, he has completely forgotten about me." He looked away, although he knew it was futile; he could feel the tremble in his voice rising up, as he looked at the garden surrounding them, at the neatly trimmed hedgerow, at the soft rays passing through the tangle of green and purple and pink that blended into the crowns of the magnolias from above.
"There are always solutions, Ralph," She spoke, trying to instill hope into him. "You can also make new friends." She paused and Ralph could hear in her voice that there was a sincere keenness regarding this alternative, which fueled some sort of burning feeling in the pit of his stomach. He knew she wanted the best for him, so she would have wanted Ralph to make other friends. People other than Jack, who was both consciously and unconsciously hurting him. "If Jack doesn't know how to value your friendship, that doesn't mean there aren't boys who are willing to be your friends."
Ralph wanted to tell her that no other friends could have replaced Jack, he wanted to shout and tear up and explain how nothing could have been the same, that the other boys were kind and smart and taught him a lot, but they still didn't make Ralph laugh and smile the way Jack did, they weren't as exciting, they didn't fire the eagerness and joy and anticipation of hanging out with them.
"I know, mum," He retorted, his voice strained and deceived, "I made a couple of friends in my class and they're very nice." He paused, his breath hitching, "But they're not Jack." He pursed his lips, feeling the warm tears on them. "I have to accept what I have now though, cause Jack hates me. He hates me cause he's become wicked and he likes to hurt me."
It seemed unfair, almost. Unfair to him, and unfair to Peter and Simon. Because they were so much better than Jack had ever been, and yet he still wanted Jack, due to some mocking twist of fate. A light hand fell on his back, gathering his attention. The fair boy's pale eyes lifted to see his mother rip off a sunny daisy from the nearest tangle of flowers, and his breath got stuck for a moment; it was out of place for her to rip flowers from their garden, or any flowers ever, because she loved them too much. She'd always said how flowers were the cure of the sight and spirit, so they should never be tainted, not even touched. Flowers were the most precious possession of the cruel world in which they lived.
Which was why it was even more shocking to see her starting to slowly pry its petals off, one by one, her gaze forlorn and tender, as she quietly murmured what Ralph could perceive to be the melody of a lullaby.
When she finished tearing the flower off, until nothing clothed the bright, yellow bump anymore, she gently placed the remains on the darkened ground. The melody flowing from her carried the heavy weight of sadness now and Ralph's heart ached at the sound. The gestures were confusing to him, but he didn't interrupt her. He felt like they held a meaning, some sort of purpose, and when she looked up, he could see the green in her eyes hued by guilt.
"I loved the daisy. I loved her, and yet I still hurt her, Ralph." She took his small hand in her own and squeezed it tenderly. "Sometimes we hurt the ones we like or care about, without intention. Other times, we do it with intention, but for a greater purpose. But most of the time, we just do it. What I know is," The fair boy looked up at her, at her expression that held a great intensity and determination; he searched her with round, curious eyes, and her comfort offered him wondrous relief. But what relieved him the most, at that moment, were her words.
"He doesn't hate you. Be sure of that."
…
Songs rolled in the vast, cold space of the church, tens of voices that echoed in unison, like calls in a well; they were so delightful to listen to, that the fair boy almost forgot about the intense aversion he had toward the owners of the voices.
They were all lined up on the podium, clothed in those almost sinister robes, instigating in him an eerie discomfort, as if they were about to surround him and hoist him up to forcefully take him to some kind of sacrificing ritual. Light peered through the sharply cut, coloured glass of the tall windows, falling on their pallid faces, encasing them in a surreal light, almost offering them an angelic image that could have been named blasphemous by the people who actually knew what was truly hiding behind those masks of society.
Peter slightly fidgeted next to him, and Ralph could feel his tremors, could notice the droplets of sweat that trailed down his temples, in spite of the fact that they were seated in some of the last rows, a considerable distance away from the pack's hellish presence, and accompanied by their families.
"In all honesty though," The plump boy whispered to Ralph in a strained tone of voice, "I've never really understood how Simon could handle their presence." Ralph lifted his eyes to see their small friend prompted between Roger Black and William Wendell, or as the pack called him, Bill, a tall, imposing, fair bloke, who had a perilous allure and a dominance that could be compared to Merridew's. Talbot and the other shorter, simpler-in-appearance lad seemed a tad more approachable and light-hearted compared to Black and Wendell, who were some of the most vicious acquisitions of Merridew's.
Speaking of Merridew, there was also the unsettling fact that Ralph could find no trace of him among the other choir boys. Merridew usually stood at the front, leading the whole procession with an infuriating arrogance, but this time, he was nowhere to be seen. The oddity was the fact that Merridew's parents were present, right in the first row as always, after a particular period of absence. Ralph knew this day must have meant something for them, given that the arsehole's snobbish family had finally decided to make their appearance. So what was going to be? Was he going to repeat his psalms for the one hundred and second time?
Ralph almost wanted to snort at his own thought, when Peter gathered his attention.
"So there's Roger Black and Maurice Talbot, William Wendell, and Robert Carlson; the whole bleeding pack, but no Jack Merridew. I mean, I know he kind of missed the recent wolf meetings, since they bullied us lately without him, but I've at least expected that devil to join them here. Looks like he's caught up more arrogance, ever since the new position, which I didn't believe it was possible for Merridew."
Ralph's heart nipped at his ribs, as he curiously gaped at his friend.
"What position?"
Peter looked at him like he was out of his mind for not knowing. The exchange was brief, but it was enough to prod into Ralph's conscience, to make him squirm inwardly. He tried to remain impassive on the outside though. Peter turned away as he breathed into the cold air, the small puffs swirling in the vaguely blue glow that was trespassing the church's glass.
"He's helping the pastor now. Like a right hand in training." Peter muttered stiltedly. "Current church boy, but future priest." His mouth curled downward in slight revulsion. "Just think about it, he will actually be addressed as father Merridew. It sounds profane, like the highest form of mockery sent from above." He pursed his lips before he proceeded to carry on his scandalized rant, but Ralph's hearing stopped there.
There was only the melody of the choir now, flowing into his ears, louder and louder, gradually turning into a screeching, the screeching of the boys, of his own voice inside his head, as his lips parted to catch more air, in an attempt to find stability. His sight was hazy, as a veil of dizziness fell over him, and he was grateful at the moment for the fact that he was seated, because he would have fallen to the ground otherwise.
The choir was a blur, just as the rest of the picture. No people seemed to exist anymore in that place, just the cold; the cold that was getting starker, deeper, seeping into his bones and marring his core, plaguing him. If he'd had doubts before of a possible damnation, now he was absolutely sure of it. He was forever incarcerated into the chains of this sin, he was damned to hell and more of it. Damned to live with the knowledge that he'd had sexual relations with a disciple of the church at one point in his life.
He desperately tried to console himself with the idea that Merridew was the one who'd tricked him. Had dragged him into all of this while knowing it at the time, despite that Ralph hadn't been aware of it.
Merridew was the devil, Ralph had no doubt anymore. He tightened his fists with all his might as the bastard made his appearance in the middle of the ceremony. Climbing on the stairs behind the priest like a guardian, with an absolute tranquillity, steady feet and proud stance, and he looked even fiercer, dressed all in black, from head-to-toe. His robe was different from that of the other boys this time. While the choir uniform consisted of a black one-piece, covered by a smaller, white garment in which a pale golden cross was embroidered, Merridew had no white this time. Just black, an almost disturbing contrast with the pallor of his face. It rather made him look like a monk, than a church boy.
He wasn't smiling though, to Ralph's fade bewilderment. There was pride, clearly embedded into his expression, but it was more like a cold pride. Judgmental, even aggressive, daring anyone to defy him. His eyes glinted when they fell on his parents, placed in the first row. Ralph could feel their fulfillment, the gratitude they had for their son, for his absolute ascent to the top of the social scale, while most boys their age didn't have the slightest idea about the future they wanted. Ralph himself had no idea, he was just drifting along a tumultuous current. Let himself be carried aimlessly, while Merridew already had an iron grip on his life and was shaping it with his own hands.
He saw his parents nodding in approval and Merridew's lips just barely twitched, before he molded his face into stony passiveness once again. He took his place behind the priest like a shadow, a shadow that would occupy that spot in front of it, one day.
Ralph couldn't pay attention, he was just aware of the major stages of the ceremony; the choir singing their final song, before the priest started his lecture. It didn't last much, because he slightly backed away to let Merridew step to the front of the podium and continue the lecture, which was like a hit in the stomach for Ralph.
He knew it'd been about to happen, but hadn't thought it would enfold so quickly. He had still had the vaguest belief that Merridew wasn't actually in that position yet, but then there he was. Preaching in all of his righteousness, as if he'd prepared his whole life for it. His voice was secure, it was clear and thunderous, it echoed in the whole church, reaching every corner. It was as if he was made for it and the fair boy felt struck by the cruelty of it.
Ralph couldn't unglue his stare from him, couldn't look anywhere else, as Merridew strictly kept on to the protocol, carving the silence with religious texts and prayers, the words scratching at Ralph's sanity. Merridew didn't flinch as he was holding the discourse, rows and rows of teachings, the sermon seeming interminable by that point. His gaze was unabashedly examining the church hall, every face that watched him, and their eyes inevitably met for a few moments; Merridew's mouth slightly quirked in a barely noticeable smile, his eyes heinously gleaming, and Ralph felt the knot in his throat drop into his stomach. He couldn't stand the atrocity anymore. Without excusing himself, he just let himself out before half of the ceremony was even over.
The sound of his steps rumbled against the walls, as he hastened to escape that place. A heavy grey was cloaking the sky and he felt the curtain of drops whipping his face. Still, the rain was slight and bearable, so he didn't need a cover for himself.
He could have gone home. He didn't though, because he knew he had to wait for his father. Ralph had no intention of going back inside, so he ended up sliding into the alleyway on the right side of the church; a tight, dark space, limited by the church's eastern side-wall and a solid brick wall that surrounded the building, shielded by a couple of massive trees. The drops still reached him, but much less now, so he just shoved his hands into his armpits in a weak attempt to warm himself, as he waited.
Everything seemed to take too long. He was too shaken up by all the events that had collided into him, by this chain of bad luck that continuously trailed after him, especially in the last years. There was his mother's death, a memory that he'd thought he'd mostly let go of, but then Merridew had to break into his life in this contemptible manner.
Ralph had to tell him to leave him alone, once and for all. He had to. He couldn't have continued that depraved relation between them, especially since Merridew had serious intentions of becoming a pastor in the future. He could have fooled around with whomever he wanted, but not him. Ralph wasn't going to allow Merridew to mock him in such a way; wasn't going to let him ridicule his mental health, dignity and most of all, his faith.
The fright grew into his soul once again, as he thought of Merridew's revenge, but Ralph was quite sure the devil wouldn't have exposed him. He knew his words were empty, they were just a petty form of manipulation, in order to make Ralph bend to him. He wouldn't have done it, because Merridew's reputation would have been tainted as well; suspicions always surfaced, no matter what proof Merridew had.
"Aren't you cold here, all by yourself?"
He paled as icy panic slithered into him, a cold that wasn't like the one that seized the air at the time, but a winter-like cold, that froze the blood in his veins. The fair boy quickly swirled toward the source of the voice, attempting to calm his breath as he saw him there. Leaning under a flimsy alcove, against the shape of a door that Ralph hadn't noticed earlier, a black silhouette against the dim, washed out wall of the church.
Merridew offered him a sly half-grin, before he brought his hands to his mouth, and Ralph was confused for a moment, but then he saw the flame bursting into Merridew's hands and the slim outline of the cigarette, which instilled even more outrage into his gut.
"Do you really have to mock everything the better side of humanity stands for?" The fair haired boy pondered aloud, bitterness and resentment engraved into his voice. Merridew raised a dark eyebrow, before he exhaled a pale cloud into the misty air.
"Do you mean the fact that I'm smoking while I'm wearing my cassock?" He retorted with an impish humour. Ralph wasn't exactly sure if 'cassock' meant the black robe that he was currently wearing, but Merridew confirmed his guess soon enough.
"Don't worry, I'm not going back in there. My training is done for today and I don't have to wait for my parents, since, you know, I'm capable of returning home by myself." He flashed the white of his teeth, before he put the deathly stick between his lips once again, taking a long, deep, satisfying drag, which irked Ralph even more. It was as if he was putting a show just to spite him. Which he probably did.
"So no one will smell it on me." Merridew leisurely carried on, then exhaled the smoke as his frosted gaze fixed Ralph. "Except for you."
The fair boy's lips tightened and he furrowed his brow, his nails digging into his sweaty palms.
"It's over." He tremulously articulated. "You lied to me, you didn't tell me you were choosing this path." He felt the rain slashing at his face harder now, biting at his skin, as if trying to reach within him, to torment him along with Merridew's scornful stare.
"Should I have told you?" Merridew wasn't smiling anymore. He took another inhale from his cigarette. "Why? It has no point. The fact that I'm fucking you has nothing to do with my social life. They are two completely different sides and they will never have any connection." The sheer, cold indifference that he exposed on this matter bothered Ralph. What bothered him more though was that he wasn't sure whether Merridew's lack of regard was offending him or not.
"So you have no respect for this vocation, for anything that this religion imposes, for the fact that so many people will put their faith in you? Do you even a conscience?" Ralph inquired irritably. He had even the reached the point where he was almost sure that Merridew didn't actually have a conscience.
Merridew's mouth curled upward again, his pale face like a derisive mask against the dark background.
"Oh, but you know I love rules, golden boy. I especially love crafting rules after my own will," Another inhale, "That is why I will allow myself to have a few fucks once in a while, in spite of the profession I have chosen." He took one last swing, before he let the fag hit the wet pavement and stomped on it with an elegant, black shoe to put it down.
Merridew then dug his hands into the folds of his robe as he silently measured Ralph with an intense, heated gaze. Ralph sensed his heart pounding harder and he took a step back, but didn't make any other move. He could have simply turned and walked away, but he knew he didn't actually want to do it, because there still was that pulsing in his core. That pulsing that always made him yield to Merridew's ungodly ways. Merridew narrowed his sharp eyes, his smirk widening.
"Does it turn you on?" He shamelessly inquired and Ralph's breath hitched at the question. "Seeing me in these robes?" Merridew continued with an unscrupulous amusement. "Would you like to suck my cock while I'm dressed like this?"
The fair boy's face flushed as Merridew slowly descended the stairs beneath the alcove and went out into the open air, the slight rain now sticking his fiery hair to his forehead, painting it in a dark red. He seemed even taller in his robe and Ralph instinctively took another small step back. He tried to say something in an attempt to repel him, but Merridew was too self-assured, too immovable in his intentions.
He stopped in front of Ralph and watched him with an ardour that burned Ralph and thoroughly disarmed him. Softened him until he couldn't hold his ground anymore. He couldn't give up on what they'd started, despite that half of him wanted it. But the other half was stronger, it was steadily fed by Merridew's wicked nature, by the temptations that he constantly laid out for him.
Every look that Merridew sent his way, every little touch was too much for Ralph. He could have protested and screamed, but no muscle in his body moved for that purpose. He just let Merridew reach out and touch the sides of his waist, rubbing his thumbs into the divots of Ralph's hips. He let Merridew pin him to the solid wall behind him, let him grind into him through their clothes like two animals in heat, let him claim his mouth and push his tongue into Ralph's mouth with a hunger that frightened but warmed him all the same.
He heard his own broken gasps, a small touch of the reality that surrounded him, a reality that could have struck them both when they least expected it, but it didn't matter right then. All that mattered was the outline of Merridew's cock pushing into his own, his mouth that tasted like cigarettes, Merridew whispering foul words into his ears, before biting the shell with his teeth, dragging a rough hand over the shape of Ralph's cock through his trousers.
"Would you like me to take you right here, like the little slut you are?" His words were appalling and humiliating, but it made Ralph's cock ache, it made him moan and open his legs wantonly and bring them over Merridew's sides. Merridew grabbed his thighs and lifted him with ease into the wall, before he crushed their fronts, rutting into him with a cruel desperation. "Want me to bend you over and fuck you till you cry?" He growled into his neck, taking his scarf off and revealing the previous mark, still pulsing in a deep shade of purple over smooth skin. Ralph wept and hollered as Merridew bit into the same spot, before lapping his tongue over the wound and repeating the motion.
He then opened his robes and undid the belt of his trousers to release his erection and tugged at Ralph's pants and undergarments down his hips, before bringing their cocks together. The heat was too much. It was like pure fire in the middle of the cold that gripped them, and he opened his mouth and brought his head back into the wall, gasping at the feel of Merridew's cock sliding against his own. He felt starved, like he needed more, more of his touch, more of him. He needed to feel his hand around his neck, needed him inside again.
"Please fuck me," He stammered, out of his mind, "Fuck me and choke me, please," He whimpered, grinding himself harder against Merridew's cock. Merridew grunted and brutally pushed back into him, his movement coarse and precise, then stopped and tugged at Ralph's damp hair, dragging his head back.
"No." He viciously muttered into his jaw, his tongue and teeth flickering against his skin. "I want you to crave my cock. I want you to want me so badly, that it's all you'll ever dream about." He sucked, bending the fair boy's neck even further, and Ralph felt his dick leak at the pain. "That's why I will not fuck you this time," He rumbled, "I will let you hunger for it, hunger until you'll be a needy mess."
Ralph keened and panted as Merridew opened the upper buttons of his robe and pulled out his tie. In a swift move, he fastened it around Ralph's throat and tightened it until he could barely breathe, before he savagely turned him around and shoved him into the wall again.
"I'll give you just a touch of it," Merridew whispered into his ear, then tugged at the tie and started choking him, and Ralph's moans were swallowed by his gasps for air. Merridew's breath was hot on the side of his face before he pulled at Ralph's jacket and shirt to expose more skin and plunged his teeth into the joining of his neck and shoulder, etching another bruise into him.
The hold around his neck abruptly lessened, to his slight disappointment, but then the crass sound of Merridew spitting into his hand reached his ears. He groaned as he felt Merridew's cock, wet with precome, rubbing against the cleft of his arse, and his spit-wet fingers smoothing against the flesh of his inner thigh, knuckles brushing his balls.
Ralph cried out and let his head drop as he shuddered, bracing himself against the wall by his forearms. He forced his arse back in impatience and he heard Merridew's vile laugh, his fingers jabbing into Ralph's sides to bring him closer again.
"Always so eager, my little sunshine," Ralph shivered at his tone of voice, and he gave another moan when Merridew slid his cock leisurely down the curve of his arse, pushing it between his thighs, the head snagging at his testicles. He pressed his chest into Ralph's back, grabbing at the tie with force and twisting Ralph's neck; making him arch into him.
"Clench your thighs." He ordered. Ralph obeyed and brought his knees together, trapping Merridew's cock in between his legs, and then they were moving and groaning in unison, and it almost felt like he was riding Merridew, almost. He yearned to be filled, but the firm grasp on his throat was still so good, and his eyes fluttered into the back of his head as he was caught between Merridew's cock between his thighs, Merridew's hand working his own cock at the front and the tightness around his neck.
"Good boy," Merridew grumbled into his hair, his grip faltering for a moment, as he rubbed his dick against Ralph's hole, and the fair boy trembled and struggled to stay upright. His head swam at the quick vision of Merridew suddenly shoving his cock into his arsehole, already sore from their previous fuck. But he didn't do it and it was almost driving him mad.
"Such good boy," Merridew repeated like a mantra, rubbing harder, deeper, pulling at the tie more fiercely with each thrust. "I'd fill you up so good," He murmured, nibbling at Ralph's exposed shoulder while bringing his other hand to roughly spread his arse cheeks and push against him with force. "I'd come in you so hard you'd overflow. You'd be dripping, is that what you want, my precious golden boy?"
A weak sound barely slipped out of Ralph's mouth, the tie around his neck now cutting all of his air. He felt his release coming too quickly, too messily again, and Merridew realized it too, so he grabbed Ralph's dick to stop his inevitable orgasm. The fair boy thrashed and writhed as he escaped broken sobs. He couldn't believe he was doing that to him for the second time.
"Shh," Merridew whispered into the side of his face, "You need to learn to control yourself better," He slowed down his pace, gripping Ralph's dick and strangling him at the same time, which was the highest form of torture. He tried to shove Merridew's hand away from his cock, but his grip just got tighter, which made Ralph scratch his nails into the other boy's wrist.
"I'm going to come first this time." Merridew stated mercilessly, before he started rubbing himself in between Ralph's thighs. It was unbearable. The combined stimulus of a bind around his neck and the friction of a cock in between his arse cheeks; and then there was Merridew who was groaning and grunting in his ear as he got off of Ralph's body. He felt tears wetting his face as he was about to explode while still having Merridew's hand tightly clenched around his erection.
Merridew came after what seemed like a long, agonizing period to the fair boy, streaking his inner thighs with his seed. It was a strange feeling, different from the one of him coming inside, and it destroyed Ralph. Merridew's grasp wavered in the midst of his orgasm and Ralph finally managed to push his hand away from his cock, in order to release himself. He instantly came; painfully, too painfully, panting and whining and blatantly crying, heedless of how pathetic and wet he looked.
He rested his forehead on the damp brick wall as he tried to regain some of the last pieces of his rationality. That had been wild. Indecent and lewd. Sinful. He felt Merridew receding from him, leaving him cold, shaking and suddenly aware that he was still mostly dressed. The rain appeared to have become heavier, and the cold quickly trickled into his bones.
"God, I hate you." He mumbled, leaning his forehead into the crook of his arm. Merridew gave a low chuckle, and Ralph felt a pair of cold lips shortly latch onto his neck.
"I know."
He startled when Merridew pressed some soft fabric between his legs, efficiently cleaning him up, and Ralph turned his head in time to see him stuffing the random handkerchief into some hidden pocket of his robe. He grimaced, but didn't say anything. The weirder thing was how Merridew then pulled the tangle of Ralph's trousers and undergarments up, tucking him back in smartly, as if he was fussing over him.
"What the hell are you doing?" Ralph snapped at him and Merridew stopped and narrowed his eyes.
"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm getting rid of the evidence of our very interesting escapade from behind the church." He retorted cynically. Ralph huffed, before pulling away.
"I can tuck myself back in." He retorted with indignation. Merridew incredulously stared at him for a moment.
"Suit yourself." He grimly replied, then smoothed the folds of his disheveled robe, as Ralph finished buttoning up his own pants while glaring at him in distrust. As he checked on his clothes, he realized he was soaked.
Merridew briefly hovered and looked like he wanted to say something. His previous perverse amusement seemed to have faded away, allowing only a somber detachment to linger on his face.
"Good thing I have precise knowledge of the duration of these sermons, because we've finished just in time." An oddly forced smile quickly passed over Merridew's harsh features, before he returned to his cheerless mood. "So I reckon I'll see you in school this week." With that, he simply turned and disappeared through the side door of the church, leaving a slightly obfuscated Ralph to stare at the wall.
He knitted his brow in aggravation at Merridew's bizarre reactions and bipolar attitude. He had waited for the tosser to give him an insight on their next meeting. Instead he simply fled like a thief after a precarious robbery, he had just abandoned Ralph there after humping him like a brute. He couldn't say he hadn't expected Merridew to act like this, but Ralph had had the impression that the bastard had somewhat matured, given his latest achievements and general behaviour. It seemed he had been wrong.
The fair boy glowered and muttered a few foul words that he wouldn't have normally even thought of, then rushed to the front of the church to meet up with his father and friends. He knew he would be assaulted with questions once they caught sight of his deplorable state. As his mind forged all possible variations of several lies, he was unaware of the hard gaze that followed him.
Across the street, a redheaded young man sulked, his mouth turning into a thin line on his colourless face as he silently watched the other boy for a while. He then shoved his hands into the pockets of his overcoat and turned to distance himself from that place as quickly as he could.