A/N: Well, you guys asked for it. One heapin' helpin' of Portman-angst, coming your way! And, surprise surprise, it's actually a big update! Well, not as big as 'Unforgiven V', which was 19 KB, but pretty close.
Major homages to lycanthrope...damn you Katie, why must you think up such quirky little catchphrases?!
****
"Combat Boots and Clover, Chapter Six"
[DEAN AARON PORTMAN]
"Dean, is something wrong?" my mom asked. I sighed and shifted my shoulder so that it pressed the reciever to my ear. Yesterday, I had decided that it was time to tell my parents the truth about Fulton and me. Yesterday, it had seemed a lot more simple, too.
"Mom, could...could you get Dad to pick up the other line, please?" I requested quietly. She must have noticed that something was wrong in my voice, because I heard her cover the phone and a muffled mumbling that must have been her passing the instructions onto Dad; the tell-tale click that he had turned on the other cordless phone sounded soon after.
"Is there some kind of problem, Dean?" Dad asked immediately.
"No, no. It's not...a problem, really." I swallowed hard, trying to gather my courage for the task. Me, big Dean Portman, enforcer extraordinaire, I who have faced down guys strong enough to check me straight through the boards without flinching...I was scared to say one simple sentence. I was scared to be honest to my parents.
As my silence wore on just a little too long, Mom said, almost automatically, "You know that you can tell us anything."
Heh, Fulton had said almost the exact same thing when he confronted me--back when I was being dumb as a rock and avoiding him because I had fallen in love with him--and truthfully, I didn't believe it when Mom said it. I could tell Fulton anything...but my parents? I wasn't very sure that I could tell them my grades without them freaking out on me, so I was practically positive that they would freak out about this.
"I...I dunno how you'll...I mean, I dunno if you're gonna like what I have to say," I mumbled, stalling for time. 'Say it, come /on./ Get it out, deal with how they react when they react!' I took a deep breath.
"Just tell us, son." Dad encouraged.
I told it quickly. "I just wanted you to know that Fulton and I are dating. That we're boyfriends." Utter silence on the line. I chewed my lower lip, finally finishing with, "That, um...that I'm gay."
Neither of them responded for a long time. I glanced around the dorm lobby; it was still deserted, except for the supervisor in the desk across the room.
Dad spoke first. His voice was deadly soft, clear and strained. "What did you say?"
It was easier the second time around. "I'm gay; I have a boyfriend; his name is Fulton Reed." I paused. "You know Fulton, the guy who's called the house on my birthdays for the past two years?"
"I know who you're talking about," Mom murmured. She sounded a little like she was in shock. I had, after all, had a few girlfriends before coming to Minnesota to go to school. And then I turn around and tell her that I have a /boyfriend;/ well, let's just say that I was expecting surprise, at the very least. "I didn't...I couldn't..." She laughed suddenly, a high-pitched, nervous sound. "I had no idea that he was a homosexual!"
"Er, neither did we...until earlier this year."
Dad was still using that crazy-sounding, strained whisper-voice as he choked out, "How long?"
'That could be taken several ways,' I thought, raising an eyebrow. Aloud, I said, "Excuse me?"
"How long have you been...like this?"
That question had no real answer. But I decided to settle for telling him when I confessed my feelings for Fulton, when we began our semi-official role as the poster boys for the Eden Hall gay community (population: out of closet, two; in closet, unknown). "Two, three months at least."
"And you didn't say anything?" Mom demanded.
"Sharon, calm down," Dad instructed her sternly. To me, he growled, "We'll call you back."
There was a loud click as he hung up--or rather, slammed down--the phone. Mom stayed on only long enough to mutter, "Goodbye, Dean," and then she hung up as well.
****
Back in the room, I sat on my bed and stared at the carpeting for a while. "It could have been worse," I told myself aloud. "They could have started screaming at me. Now, they'll scream at each other for a while, and then come back and have a calm, controlled blow-up at me instead." It always worked that way.
I reached over and grabbed Fulton's pillow, holding it securely to my chest and hiding my face in its softness, inhaling the slowly fading fragrance of his soap and his scent--pure, clean, and warm; comfortingly male and familiar. Right now, I needed him so badly it was like a deep, physical ache everywhere in my body. I just felt persistently empty, lonely, and sad.
But I smiled as I sat there, thinking about him. Remembering how he would always wake me up--'too fucking early', I constantly told him, but he never took the hint--how we would wrestle until mutually giving up and just making out, how he would tease me and I would tease him right back, how he would laugh...
I needed some cheering up. I set aside Fulton's pillow and got on my knees to study my collection of tapes and CDs, starting from the middle and working to the end. Pink Floyd, Nirvana, Mudhoney, Mettalica, the Meat Puppets, Led Zeppelin...skip a bit...Guns 'n' Roses, Def Leppard, the Clash, Alice in Chains, Aerosmith, AC-DC...
Yeah, I arrange my music in reverse to the alphabet. Zs first, As last. Got a problem with that?
I popped Def Leppard's 'Hysteria' in my stereo and waited for the worst.
****
Instead of the worst, the best came in the mail that afternoon. A letter from Fulton:
"Dear Love Muffin,
"School is paralytically boring, as usual. I flipped through the textbooks on the first day of school and realized that I already know most of the stuff that they're teaching us...
"Cade is still rating high on my 'damn-I-wish-I-could-beat-you-up' scale. But he seems to be spreading the joy of his attentions around...he splits his bastardness fairly evenly between me and this other kid, Mac Perry.
"Mac is this skinny dude with long brown hair; in fact, I thought he was a girl the first time I saw him in Chemistry class. The opinion of the majority at Istrouma is that he's gay, but I am witholding judgment at the moment.
"Mom managed to come out of her withdrawal trance long enough for us to have a conversation. Mostly about you, hockey, you, school, music, and...you. I miss you so much, Dean.
"However, a good thing came out of that mother/son talk. Mom and Aunt Louise went and bought me a guitar and a Crate BV150HB amp. Okay, so the guitar is a secondhand bass guitar and it looks like crap, and hardly sounds any better...but it's the thought that matters.
"I hope you got my letter answering your questions . And I did read 'Song.' You're sweet.
"I love you, Dean.
-Fulton"
****
I wrote him back and sent it off immediately.
"Dear Fulton,
"'Love Muffin'?!
"You're getting weirder, hon. Have you been accepting pills from mysterious strangers? Or dropping more acid lately? If not, you better have a real good reason for calling me Love Muffin.
"Yes, I got your letter about 'Howl.' You're a godsend. I forgot to mention last time that I got a part as an extra in the school's production of 'Grease.' And Averman is playing Putzie. I'm sure that we'll have plenty of pictures and embarrassing stories (more of the last, I'll bet) for you when it's over.
"Earlier today, I called my parents and came out to them. While they weren't yelling and threatening to disown me, they both seemed sorta shocked. Dad said they'd call me back, but they haven't yet. I'm not looking forward to when they do.
"Interesting bit of news: Russ says that Julie was talking to their Speech and Debate teacher about writing a reference to get her into Debate for some school in Maine. Could it be that the scourge of our time at Eden Hall won't be returning for sophmore year? Let's hope so!
"Bass guitar, huh? Going to go all serious and artsy on me, Teddy Bear? (Hey, if you give me a dumb nickname, I give you one.) If so, I'll just have to corrupt you back to your old self when you come home...
"Think that Kyle and Lorraine would put up with me living at their house if my parents DO kick me out?
"Yours and yours alone,
Dean the Love Muffin"
****
The next letter from Fulton came two days later. My parents still hadn't called, and I was starting to get a little worried. What if they had started fighting, I mean really fighting? Maybe they had hurt each other, and it was my fault...
"Dear Dean the Love Muffin,
"Be glad that I'm not calling you 'sugar,' like Cade's cotton-candy-doll girlfriend Ellie does to him. Or 'princess,' like Cade calls Ellie. But if you really want to know, you are 'love muffin' because it's horribly embarrassing, very sweet, and rather cute. All of which you can be at times.
"I'm sorry to hear about your parents. They don't deserve a son like you anyhow; you're too damn good for the likes of them! Don't ever think it's your fault that they are acting like this. It's all on them. I'll talk to Kyle; I'm sure that he'll say yes, but they'll probably need rent from you.
"The Gibson (my crappy guitar) and I are fighting today. It refuses to stay properly tuned for more than a minute. Hopefully all it needs are some new strings, 'cause I don't make enough working at Uncle Bobby's garage to buy a whole new instrument. Serious and artsy? Please, more like fuckin' around and being pissed off.
"I have to tell you, Dean, it is such a relief to get out of the damned house and go somewhere other than school. I feel like I'm back in the fifth fucking grade. People go out of their way to avoid me, like I'm some big scary criminal or something. Sort of, 'Look out, it's a freakin' Neanderthal (although I'd be surprised if they really know what a Neanderthal is...),' or they treat me like I'm some idiot; just because I could break most of them into itty bitty pieces MUST mean that my brain doesn't work. I'm sure you understand. The only entertaining thing to do there is bait my Calculus teacher, Ms. DeMarco. I think I set an Istrouma record: eleven detentions from one teacher in a single day. So far, I have about sixty. Too bad for her that I'm not gonna be around that long!
"Anyway, like I was saying. I work at Uncle Bobby's garage after school. See, Aunt Louise keeps an eye on Mom during school hours, and then Cade and I alternate days when we watch her. Then Uncle Bobby comes home from the garage and Cade usually goes out and fucks his girlfriend. Well, his girlfriend or some random whore from one of the high schools around here... (Okay, so I don't know that for certain, but if there ever was a king of the hetero slut-puppies of the world, Cade is it.)"
"Why must we watch my mom, you ask? Well, if we don't, she'll go out on the street and find a dealer, disappear for a couple days or weeks, and then show up on the doorstep out of her fucking face on heroin. Cade says that it happened twice after she came to live with them. God, I just don't get it, Dean. Why's she gotta be like this? Doesn't she see how much it hurts her family; how much it hurts me? And if she does, does she even care? Coming here was such a mistake. I am so sorry, Dean, I really am...
Miss you lots. Love you more.
-Teddy Bear (ha ha)"
****
The dreaded phone call came that afternoon at lunch. I got called to the attendance office to take the call.
"Hello?"
"I was just calling," Mom said all soft and distant-like, "to tell you that your father is in the hospital."
"What?" I shouted. The secretary in the attendance office gave me this dirty look, so I glared at her and she made this funny scared-squeak sound and went back to typing. But I dropped my voice and demanded, "What's the matter; did the doctors say what happened?"
"He had a stroke. He's still unconscious."
"But he's alive?" I asked desperately.
"Yes," she replied. I was so shocked and frantic that I hardly noticed how cold and controlled Mom sounded. Like she didn't care, or maybe, that she didn't care that I cared.
I asked quickly, "Do you want me to come home? I can come home if you--"
"Now, why the hell would I want that?" she said nastily, "Haven't /you/ done enough already?" And before I could respond, a loud click told me that she had hung up.
"Bitch," I hissed, automatically almost, and as I hung up the phone, I felt the goddamned tears starting up in my eyes.
****
'I don't care. I do /not/ care.' I repeated to myself as I splashed some cold water on my face in the bathroom. 'So what if she hates me? So what if...if Dad is in the hospital. I don't care. They can go to hell.'
Fuck, who the hell was I kidding? I cared. This hurt, worse than getting stomped on in a mosh pit, worse than the time I broke my arm white-water rafting, worse even than having Fulton leave.
My parents hated me.
I could feel the tears stinging my eyes again and watched my knuckles go white as I clutched the edge of the sink right before they went all blurry. 'I am not a fucking baby! I'm not going to cry about them; they don't give a fuck about me...'
"Goddammit!" I cried, blindly lashing out with my fists against the wall. I heard the shatter of glass, but it barely registered beyond that. "Why?"
I don't know how it happened, but the next thing I remember was sitting in the nurse's office with her turning one of my big, bloodied paws over in both of her small, dark hands, and someone was saying, "I just found him in the bathroom beating the shit out of the mirror above one of the sinks...I don't know what was going on..."
"I'm sorry," I muttered, and my voice was all raspy and croaky from crying and yelling. The nurse jumped a little, but she sent a shaky smile my way.
"It's okay, Mr. Portman. You didn't hurt anybody else. And these cuts on your hands don't look very deep; thank goodness that there's no glass in them." She let my hand go and said, "There's a sink right behind you, could you wash up, please?"
I turned and went to the sink. It was then that I caught sight of who had brought me here.
Riley.
My gut twisted with anger and embarrassment. Of all people. Riley, Varsity captain and sworn enemy of all the Ducks, would have to catch me in my lowest, weakest moment. And then help me. I ignored him and turned the water on so that it ran warm, hitting the little SoftSoap pump bottle a few more times than necessary, then lathering up. Pink froth was spilling out of my hands, and I stared intently at it, studying the motions of my fingers, ignoring Riley's presence and the sting of the soap.
"Um, Portman?" He ventured to ask at last, quietly. The nurse had vanished, probably to get antibiotics and bandages. I sighed and snapped out,
"What?"
"Are...are you okay?" I glared at him and he seemed to realize the total buttheadedness of his question. He stammered, "I...I mean, um, that is...what happened...to make you all...er, you know..."
"Yeah?" I growled, rinsing my hands. I pulled a couple of paper towels down from the painted-white metal dispenser and carefully mopped up the little beads of blood that welled up fresh from the shallow cuts. Riley was trying to avoid looking at what I was doing, but as he spoke, he would dart quick glances at my hands, and the sight seemed to fluster him terribly.
"What I'm sayin' is, er...can you handle it? I mean, by yourself. I know...with, uhm, Fulton gone and all...that you, er...uh...well..." Riley stopped and took a deep breath, finally managing to spit it out. "This problem you got, personal or whatever, you're gonna talk to those friends of yours about it, right? Because I'm not gonna say anything to anybody, but I don't want you to turn out all suicidal or whatever, you know?"
"You should be so lucky." I told him, feeling a cold little smile twisting up my lips.
He nodded, looking uncomfortable. He turned away and muttered, "Um, so...I'll go now."
"Riley." I said as he headed out the door. He stopped. I said quietly, "Thanks. For...you know."
"Yeah. You're welcome."
"Nothing to anybody?"
"Nothing to anybody." He promised.
Surprisingly, he kept that promise.
~~End Chapter Six~~
Major homages to lycanthrope...damn you Katie, why must you think up such quirky little catchphrases?!
****
"Combat Boots and Clover, Chapter Six"
[DEAN AARON PORTMAN]
"Dean, is something wrong?" my mom asked. I sighed and shifted my shoulder so that it pressed the reciever to my ear. Yesterday, I had decided that it was time to tell my parents the truth about Fulton and me. Yesterday, it had seemed a lot more simple, too.
"Mom, could...could you get Dad to pick up the other line, please?" I requested quietly. She must have noticed that something was wrong in my voice, because I heard her cover the phone and a muffled mumbling that must have been her passing the instructions onto Dad; the tell-tale click that he had turned on the other cordless phone sounded soon after.
"Is there some kind of problem, Dean?" Dad asked immediately.
"No, no. It's not...a problem, really." I swallowed hard, trying to gather my courage for the task. Me, big Dean Portman, enforcer extraordinaire, I who have faced down guys strong enough to check me straight through the boards without flinching...I was scared to say one simple sentence. I was scared to be honest to my parents.
As my silence wore on just a little too long, Mom said, almost automatically, "You know that you can tell us anything."
Heh, Fulton had said almost the exact same thing when he confronted me--back when I was being dumb as a rock and avoiding him because I had fallen in love with him--and truthfully, I didn't believe it when Mom said it. I could tell Fulton anything...but my parents? I wasn't very sure that I could tell them my grades without them freaking out on me, so I was practically positive that they would freak out about this.
"I...I dunno how you'll...I mean, I dunno if you're gonna like what I have to say," I mumbled, stalling for time. 'Say it, come /on./ Get it out, deal with how they react when they react!' I took a deep breath.
"Just tell us, son." Dad encouraged.
I told it quickly. "I just wanted you to know that Fulton and I are dating. That we're boyfriends." Utter silence on the line. I chewed my lower lip, finally finishing with, "That, um...that I'm gay."
Neither of them responded for a long time. I glanced around the dorm lobby; it was still deserted, except for the supervisor in the desk across the room.
Dad spoke first. His voice was deadly soft, clear and strained. "What did you say?"
It was easier the second time around. "I'm gay; I have a boyfriend; his name is Fulton Reed." I paused. "You know Fulton, the guy who's called the house on my birthdays for the past two years?"
"I know who you're talking about," Mom murmured. She sounded a little like she was in shock. I had, after all, had a few girlfriends before coming to Minnesota to go to school. And then I turn around and tell her that I have a /boyfriend;/ well, let's just say that I was expecting surprise, at the very least. "I didn't...I couldn't..." She laughed suddenly, a high-pitched, nervous sound. "I had no idea that he was a homosexual!"
"Er, neither did we...until earlier this year."
Dad was still using that crazy-sounding, strained whisper-voice as he choked out, "How long?"
'That could be taken several ways,' I thought, raising an eyebrow. Aloud, I said, "Excuse me?"
"How long have you been...like this?"
That question had no real answer. But I decided to settle for telling him when I confessed my feelings for Fulton, when we began our semi-official role as the poster boys for the Eden Hall gay community (population: out of closet, two; in closet, unknown). "Two, three months at least."
"And you didn't say anything?" Mom demanded.
"Sharon, calm down," Dad instructed her sternly. To me, he growled, "We'll call you back."
There was a loud click as he hung up--or rather, slammed down--the phone. Mom stayed on only long enough to mutter, "Goodbye, Dean," and then she hung up as well.
****
Back in the room, I sat on my bed and stared at the carpeting for a while. "It could have been worse," I told myself aloud. "They could have started screaming at me. Now, they'll scream at each other for a while, and then come back and have a calm, controlled blow-up at me instead." It always worked that way.
I reached over and grabbed Fulton's pillow, holding it securely to my chest and hiding my face in its softness, inhaling the slowly fading fragrance of his soap and his scent--pure, clean, and warm; comfortingly male and familiar. Right now, I needed him so badly it was like a deep, physical ache everywhere in my body. I just felt persistently empty, lonely, and sad.
But I smiled as I sat there, thinking about him. Remembering how he would always wake me up--'too fucking early', I constantly told him, but he never took the hint--how we would wrestle until mutually giving up and just making out, how he would tease me and I would tease him right back, how he would laugh...
I needed some cheering up. I set aside Fulton's pillow and got on my knees to study my collection of tapes and CDs, starting from the middle and working to the end. Pink Floyd, Nirvana, Mudhoney, Mettalica, the Meat Puppets, Led Zeppelin...skip a bit...Guns 'n' Roses, Def Leppard, the Clash, Alice in Chains, Aerosmith, AC-DC...
Yeah, I arrange my music in reverse to the alphabet. Zs first, As last. Got a problem with that?
I popped Def Leppard's 'Hysteria' in my stereo and waited for the worst.
****
Instead of the worst, the best came in the mail that afternoon. A letter from Fulton:
"Dear Love Muffin,
"School is paralytically boring, as usual. I flipped through the textbooks on the first day of school and realized that I already know most of the stuff that they're teaching us...
"Cade is still rating high on my 'damn-I-wish-I-could-beat-you-up' scale. But he seems to be spreading the joy of his attentions around...he splits his bastardness fairly evenly between me and this other kid, Mac Perry.
"Mac is this skinny dude with long brown hair; in fact, I thought he was a girl the first time I saw him in Chemistry class. The opinion of the majority at Istrouma is that he's gay, but I am witholding judgment at the moment.
"Mom managed to come out of her withdrawal trance long enough for us to have a conversation. Mostly about you, hockey, you, school, music, and...you. I miss you so much, Dean.
"However, a good thing came out of that mother/son talk. Mom and Aunt Louise went and bought me a guitar and a Crate BV150HB amp. Okay, so the guitar is a secondhand bass guitar and it looks like crap, and hardly sounds any better...but it's the thought that matters.
"I hope you got my letter answering your questions . And I did read 'Song.' You're sweet.
"I love you, Dean.
-Fulton"
****
I wrote him back and sent it off immediately.
"Dear Fulton,
"'Love Muffin'?!
"You're getting weirder, hon. Have you been accepting pills from mysterious strangers? Or dropping more acid lately? If not, you better have a real good reason for calling me Love Muffin.
"Yes, I got your letter about 'Howl.' You're a godsend. I forgot to mention last time that I got a part as an extra in the school's production of 'Grease.' And Averman is playing Putzie. I'm sure that we'll have plenty of pictures and embarrassing stories (more of the last, I'll bet) for you when it's over.
"Earlier today, I called my parents and came out to them. While they weren't yelling and threatening to disown me, they both seemed sorta shocked. Dad said they'd call me back, but they haven't yet. I'm not looking forward to when they do.
"Interesting bit of news: Russ says that Julie was talking to their Speech and Debate teacher about writing a reference to get her into Debate for some school in Maine. Could it be that the scourge of our time at Eden Hall won't be returning for sophmore year? Let's hope so!
"Bass guitar, huh? Going to go all serious and artsy on me, Teddy Bear? (Hey, if you give me a dumb nickname, I give you one.) If so, I'll just have to corrupt you back to your old self when you come home...
"Think that Kyle and Lorraine would put up with me living at their house if my parents DO kick me out?
"Yours and yours alone,
Dean the Love Muffin"
****
The next letter from Fulton came two days later. My parents still hadn't called, and I was starting to get a little worried. What if they had started fighting, I mean really fighting? Maybe they had hurt each other, and it was my fault...
"Dear Dean the Love Muffin,
"Be glad that I'm not calling you 'sugar,' like Cade's cotton-candy-doll girlfriend Ellie does to him. Or 'princess,' like Cade calls Ellie. But if you really want to know, you are 'love muffin' because it's horribly embarrassing, very sweet, and rather cute. All of which you can be at times.
"I'm sorry to hear about your parents. They don't deserve a son like you anyhow; you're too damn good for the likes of them! Don't ever think it's your fault that they are acting like this. It's all on them. I'll talk to Kyle; I'm sure that he'll say yes, but they'll probably need rent from you.
"The Gibson (my crappy guitar) and I are fighting today. It refuses to stay properly tuned for more than a minute. Hopefully all it needs are some new strings, 'cause I don't make enough working at Uncle Bobby's garage to buy a whole new instrument. Serious and artsy? Please, more like fuckin' around and being pissed off.
"I have to tell you, Dean, it is such a relief to get out of the damned house and go somewhere other than school. I feel like I'm back in the fifth fucking grade. People go out of their way to avoid me, like I'm some big scary criminal or something. Sort of, 'Look out, it's a freakin' Neanderthal (although I'd be surprised if they really know what a Neanderthal is...),' or they treat me like I'm some idiot; just because I could break most of them into itty bitty pieces MUST mean that my brain doesn't work. I'm sure you understand. The only entertaining thing to do there is bait my Calculus teacher, Ms. DeMarco. I think I set an Istrouma record: eleven detentions from one teacher in a single day. So far, I have about sixty. Too bad for her that I'm not gonna be around that long!
"Anyway, like I was saying. I work at Uncle Bobby's garage after school. See, Aunt Louise keeps an eye on Mom during school hours, and then Cade and I alternate days when we watch her. Then Uncle Bobby comes home from the garage and Cade usually goes out and fucks his girlfriend. Well, his girlfriend or some random whore from one of the high schools around here... (Okay, so I don't know that for certain, but if there ever was a king of the hetero slut-puppies of the world, Cade is it.)"
"Why must we watch my mom, you ask? Well, if we don't, she'll go out on the street and find a dealer, disappear for a couple days or weeks, and then show up on the doorstep out of her fucking face on heroin. Cade says that it happened twice after she came to live with them. God, I just don't get it, Dean. Why's she gotta be like this? Doesn't she see how much it hurts her family; how much it hurts me? And if she does, does she even care? Coming here was such a mistake. I am so sorry, Dean, I really am...
Miss you lots. Love you more.
-Teddy Bear (ha ha)"
****
The dreaded phone call came that afternoon at lunch. I got called to the attendance office to take the call.
"Hello?"
"I was just calling," Mom said all soft and distant-like, "to tell you that your father is in the hospital."
"What?" I shouted. The secretary in the attendance office gave me this dirty look, so I glared at her and she made this funny scared-squeak sound and went back to typing. But I dropped my voice and demanded, "What's the matter; did the doctors say what happened?"
"He had a stroke. He's still unconscious."
"But he's alive?" I asked desperately.
"Yes," she replied. I was so shocked and frantic that I hardly noticed how cold and controlled Mom sounded. Like she didn't care, or maybe, that she didn't care that I cared.
I asked quickly, "Do you want me to come home? I can come home if you--"
"Now, why the hell would I want that?" she said nastily, "Haven't /you/ done enough already?" And before I could respond, a loud click told me that she had hung up.
"Bitch," I hissed, automatically almost, and as I hung up the phone, I felt the goddamned tears starting up in my eyes.
****
'I don't care. I do /not/ care.' I repeated to myself as I splashed some cold water on my face in the bathroom. 'So what if she hates me? So what if...if Dad is in the hospital. I don't care. They can go to hell.'
Fuck, who the hell was I kidding? I cared. This hurt, worse than getting stomped on in a mosh pit, worse than the time I broke my arm white-water rafting, worse even than having Fulton leave.
My parents hated me.
I could feel the tears stinging my eyes again and watched my knuckles go white as I clutched the edge of the sink right before they went all blurry. 'I am not a fucking baby! I'm not going to cry about them; they don't give a fuck about me...'
"Goddammit!" I cried, blindly lashing out with my fists against the wall. I heard the shatter of glass, but it barely registered beyond that. "Why?"
I don't know how it happened, but the next thing I remember was sitting in the nurse's office with her turning one of my big, bloodied paws over in both of her small, dark hands, and someone was saying, "I just found him in the bathroom beating the shit out of the mirror above one of the sinks...I don't know what was going on..."
"I'm sorry," I muttered, and my voice was all raspy and croaky from crying and yelling. The nurse jumped a little, but she sent a shaky smile my way.
"It's okay, Mr. Portman. You didn't hurt anybody else. And these cuts on your hands don't look very deep; thank goodness that there's no glass in them." She let my hand go and said, "There's a sink right behind you, could you wash up, please?"
I turned and went to the sink. It was then that I caught sight of who had brought me here.
Riley.
My gut twisted with anger and embarrassment. Of all people. Riley, Varsity captain and sworn enemy of all the Ducks, would have to catch me in my lowest, weakest moment. And then help me. I ignored him and turned the water on so that it ran warm, hitting the little SoftSoap pump bottle a few more times than necessary, then lathering up. Pink froth was spilling out of my hands, and I stared intently at it, studying the motions of my fingers, ignoring Riley's presence and the sting of the soap.
"Um, Portman?" He ventured to ask at last, quietly. The nurse had vanished, probably to get antibiotics and bandages. I sighed and snapped out,
"What?"
"Are...are you okay?" I glared at him and he seemed to realize the total buttheadedness of his question. He stammered, "I...I mean, um, that is...what happened...to make you all...er, you know..."
"Yeah?" I growled, rinsing my hands. I pulled a couple of paper towels down from the painted-white metal dispenser and carefully mopped up the little beads of blood that welled up fresh from the shallow cuts. Riley was trying to avoid looking at what I was doing, but as he spoke, he would dart quick glances at my hands, and the sight seemed to fluster him terribly.
"What I'm sayin' is, er...can you handle it? I mean, by yourself. I know...with, uhm, Fulton gone and all...that you, er...uh...well..." Riley stopped and took a deep breath, finally managing to spit it out. "This problem you got, personal or whatever, you're gonna talk to those friends of yours about it, right? Because I'm not gonna say anything to anybody, but I don't want you to turn out all suicidal or whatever, you know?"
"You should be so lucky." I told him, feeling a cold little smile twisting up my lips.
He nodded, looking uncomfortable. He turned away and muttered, "Um, so...I'll go now."
"Riley." I said as he headed out the door. He stopped. I said quietly, "Thanks. For...you know."
"Yeah. You're welcome."
"Nothing to anybody?"
"Nothing to anybody." He promised.
Surprisingly, he kept that promise.
~~End Chapter Six~~