Chapter Fifteen – Adonis
It was over a month later. Since that lesson, Schuldig hadn't reiterated his desire for intercourse with Bradley, but the older man was still on edge. Summer was in full swing, and it was a hot one. Schuldig took full advantage of this, wearing as little as possible to keep cool, and the heat seemed to have such an adverse affect on Bradley he was taking up to three cold showers a day to stay cool.
Denial seemed a little pointless now, but Bradley wouldn't let it go. Maybe… maybe he did find Schuldig attractive. But if he allowed one thing to lead to another he'd being to hope again. That comfort, that end to this aloneness, was so tantalisingly close, but he knew he could never have it. The scars on his arm were testament to that.
One hot night, Bradley was lying in bed, trying to ignore the presence of the young an on the other side of the room. Every noise left him more alert than ever, and he was on verge of giving up on sleep altogether when Schuldig spoke.
"Bradley?" he murmured.
"Herr Crawford," Bradley corrected, but there was no bite behind the remark.
"Suppose… suppose there's a monster under a bed. Hypothetically, how would one deal with it?"
Bradley stared at the ceiling. That was quite possibly the most random remark Schuldig had made since his request for sex. "What?" he asked in confusion.
Schuldig leant over, narrowing the space between them. He beckoned for Bradley to do the same. He surprised himself by complying with the unspoken request.
"I think there's a monster under my bed," Schuldig confided. "Are you armed?"
Bradley couldn't help it. He laughed. In the moonlight Schuldig's face was distraught, but Bradley couldn't stop laughing. Schuldig really thought? Yes, yes he did. Schuldig really thought there was some kind of supernatural beast under his bed, lurking in the shadows. Bradley wondered hysterically whether is was one of those monsters with a purpose, like the scissor man to cut off the digits of children who sucked their thumbs, or the phantom sock stealer who made certain you only ever had one of each pair of socks.
"Bradley," Schuldig half-wailed. "Stop it! I'm serious."
"Schuldig," Bradley managed to calm himself down enough to talk. "Schuldig, the only monsters here are the human ones, like Hertz."
"Are you sure?" Schuldig sounded confused. Bradley fought another eruption of laughter, until the implications of the situation hit him.
No one had ever told Schuldig monsters didn't exist. No one had ever been there to comfort him when the curtains billowed in an odd way or the shadows looked like fingers or the floor creaked to sound like feet. No one had ever cared enough to tell him that the only thing people had to be scared of in this world were other people.
"Schuldig?" he said softly. He didn't get a reply. "Schuldig, monsters don't exist."
It felt wrong, being the one to tell him that. It felt wrong having to tell a sixteen year old that at all, but the fact he was only five years older and barely knew him made it so much worse. Here was a young man who'd taken every drug known to man and then some, a man who'd been put through the most terrible physical and mental tortures imaginable, a man who'd sold his body daily from the age of eleven, a man who'd sold his soul to Estet now. And he still believed that there were worse things out there. That scared even the battle-hardened Bradley Crawford Junior.
"Herr Crawford," Schuldig said very respectfully, "I'm not sure I believe you."
"Schuldig, humans are the only intelligent creatures on this planet. Humans are the only evil things on this planet. The only things that will set out to wilfully hurt and destroy you are your fellow beings. Monsters are just figments of the imagination created to ease our consciences."
"I am the most evil thing on this planet?" Schuldig stared at him.
"No! With people like Hertz around, you're barely in the running. He causes pain for the joy of it."
"Why do you think I said I was the guilty one?" Schuldig looked small, nestled in sweat-drenched sheets on the narrow bed. The sheer pathos of his situation threatened to engulf Bradley. "There's so much you don't know, about the things I've done."
"Schuldig?"
"Ja?" Even his voice was small now.
"Would you like to share my bed?" Bradley asked with trepidation. He didn't want Schuldig to get the wrong idea, but he couldn't stand to see the young German looking so miserable. Even Bradley Crawford Senior had let Brad Junior curl up beside him after a particularly violent nightmare. It was what parents did.
"Danke," Schuldig murmured. Bradley felt the warm body press against his side, and he moved closer to the wall to give Schuldig more room. He found himself with a mouthful of fiery hair and a pair of bony arms wrapped themselves tightly around his body. He stroked the hair with one hand, feeling a little awkward. He wasn't a parent, but Schuldig needed one.
"Schuldig?"
"Ja?" The German murmured sleepily.
"This is just for a short while, and in a completely non-sexual manner, okay?"
"I know." Schuldig rested his head against Bradley's chest, nuzzling the chest hair impishly. "Bradley?"
"Uh-huh?"
"What else doesn't exist?"
"How do you mean?"
"Well, like Father Christmas, or the Easter Rabbit, or Australia?"
Bradley snorted. "The last one's real," he said with a grin, "but neither of the first two exist."
"Knew it was too good to be true," Schuldig murmured. "Danke, Brad, for this."
"For what?" Bradley wasn't at all sure he liked the abbreviation of his name, but let it slide.
"Letting me sleep here."
Bradley rested his chin on the top of Schuldig's head, still trying to get comfortable with another person invading his personal space. A thought occurred to him. "This is what you were angling for all along, isn't it? You were just waiting for me to let you sleep next to me."
"Nein," Schuldig sighed drowsily, "that was you."
Bradley didn't get a lot of sleep that night, either.
* * *
Bradley stared at the dossier he'd been handed. Everything Estet had been able to find on Schuldig's past. And it didn't include his name, oddly enough. But still, who knew a simple request would actually get a result, around here?
Schuldig had started taking the 'normal' lessons again, but he was still struggling a bit. He was wiped out at the end of each day, his mental shields barely holding. But he'd still insist on doing more study with Bradley, improving his vocabulary and accomplishing more complicated sums. He'd would never be an A grade pupil, but he was clever and intuitive, and not above stealing the answers from other people's minds.
Bradley was a little suspicious about these late night lessons; especially as Schuldig tended to insist they both got ready for bed before they began. They'd start off on opposite beds, and by the time Bradley declared it was time to sleep Schuldig would usually be nestled against his side, heavy lidded eyes gazing adoringly up at him.
But Schuldig was with the rest of the students now, and Bradley had the room to himself. He started to skim the documents. Most of it he knew already, from hints dropped by Schuldig or rumours circulating throughout the school about the mysterious telepath. What he wanted to know was noticeable in its absence: Schuldig's early life with his family. Several pages towards the end caught Bradley's eye, handwritten in a disturbingly familiar script. They appeared to be forcibly taken from a diary, judging by the apparently personal nature of their contents and the jagged edge along one side.
"Mr May," Bradley murmured, "I'd forgotten you were involved." He could still remember that first day, when the thirteen-year-old Schuldig had asked in broken English for 'Greg'. It seemed the two telepaths had known each other quite well, once upon a time.
Bradley started to decipher the ornate calligraphy, and wasn't impressed with what he found.
I found a boy earlier today. He's a stunning sample of adolescent beauty, and really quite willing. He says he's thirteen, and German, but won't give a name. I am calling him Adonis. He is sharing my hut on the edge of the desert. He seems relieved to have found me. He especially likes Betsy, my little plane.
I find him incredibly desirable. His body is much older than he is, and has been used several times before, but he still retains some of that innocence so looked-for in children. His skin is fair and unmarred, and his coquettish mannerisms are driving me wild. I will keep my distance though. I don't want to get into yet more trouble for this sort of thing.
…
It's as I thought: Adonis is a telepath. Estet will be overjoyed. He told me today, though I knew already. It seems I have been remiss with keeping my shields at their full intensity. He knows just how much I am lusting after him.
He offered himself to me. I've been strong willed up until now, but he told me he wanted me to take him. I was as gentle as I could make myself, but months of pent up sexual frustration have their way of taking over. He has a most pliable tongue.
…
I am trying to help him maintain his shields, but he's not interested. I swear, all this boy thinks of is sex! I am overjoyed, I must admit. Adonis admitted he became a prostitute at eleven, to pay his way out of Germany and through Europe. It's taken him two years to reach my Sahara abode.
Adonis is calling. He burns terribly in the desert sun, but that does not stop him from wandering around naked. He makes it quite hard for me to keep my mind on anything else, and I think that is the way he likes it!
…
Adonis is gone. He didn't leave a note, but I felt him reach out to me earlier today. He's gone into the desert for some silence. Apparently that was the only reason he came here.
Madame DuBois called, and told me where I would find him, once he'd collapsed. Now I must take Betsy and searched the rolling dunes for a pale body and shock of orange hair. For the first time I find myself hoping he's dressed.
Crawford trembled in anger. To think he had trusted that man, that pervert! He'd seemed so much nicer than the other trained psychics; he'd seemed so much more benevolent. When all he wanted was to have sex with children.
"You're wrong!" Crawford's head snapped up. Schuldig was staring at him. "Greg is a nice guy!"
"He's a paedophile!" Crawford's hand tightened on the paper until his knuckles were white.
"You yourself thought I was sixteen or seventeen, that first day! I remember! And he had restraint! He loved me!"
Crawford stared at Schuldig incredulously. "He wanted your body, your imagined innocence. He only restrained himself because the police would be done on his head like a ton of bricks if they caught him raping a thirteen year old!"
"No!" Tears were streaming down Schuldig's face. "He loved me," he insisted. "I know! I'm a telepath, I know what he thought. He thought I was beautiful and desirable and precious. I was precious!"
"That isn't love," Crawford said scornfully. "It was lust, Adonis."
"He didn't rape me," Schuldig persisted. "He waited! He didn't want to force me! Do you know what that meant to me? I was thirteen. For two years people had taken me as they liked, when they liked. I was just another notch on the bedpost for many. A sex toy. But to him I was a person. I had to be treated gently, so as not to be scared away. No one ever cared whether I was scared before! He was nice to me. And he waited because he didn't want to hurt me or scare me. He wanted me to want him as well. He waited!"
Schuldig stared at Crawford through streaming eyes. "I don't care if perhaps it wasn't love," he said defiantly. "He liked me, and that's enough. And you have no right to go prying through my life like that!" He snatched the dossier and fled, leaving a surprised and confused Bradley sitting on the floor alone, the door swinging back and forth in the breeze.
"I cared if you were scared," he murmured to the empty air. "Remember?"
And suddenly it all got darker. Urgh. I feel so dirty, writing about Greg like that. And poor Crawford, ne? The closer he comes to acknowledging his feelings for Schuldig the worse the situation between them gets.
