His mind was foggy on the way back home, the events that had taken place at Merridew's house haunting him like some sort of traumatic experience. He was trembling and cold and wet from the rain, glassy eyes blankly staring through the window of the empty morning bus. Everything was overwhelming and he tried with all of his might to stop the tears.
Don't cry. Don't fucking cry. His mind was yelling at him in bitterness and anger. He is bloody Merridew. You don't cry for Merridew. He pressed his fists into his eye sockets for a moment, mouth pursing tight in fury, and he was aware of the bus driver's eyes reflecting into the mirror, following him suspiciously, but he didn't bring himself to care enough about that then.
He knew deep down that that was a thorough lie. Not crying for Merridew. Because he had done that, he had cried for Merridew too many times as a child. He had suffered in vain for someone that he had clung onto for too long. The ideal of a person that he had crafted for himself as a young boy, not knowing that it was just that. A figment of his own imagination, a friend that had not been a friend. It was harmful, like an adulteration that ate away at his mind and soul. The Jack Merridew that he had wished for too long. That vision of Jack Merridew was trying to trick him once again, to make him resort to that old suffering, giving him false hope, making him believe he would truly get to see and experience him this time.
Except he wasn't. That was never going to happen in this life, because he wasn't real.
He got out of the bus in a stupor, into the biting rain that seeped through his clothes, pinching at the gooseflesh of his skin. When he got into the house, he noticed that everything was too quiet and he realized that his father must have already gone to the Sunday ceremony. He breathed in relief, before he lethargically dragged his crushed body up the stairs, into the bathroom, removing his clothes with agonizing languidness and grunting miserably each time he brushed against the bruises on his torso and posterior.
He lost track of time while hanging his head against the bathroom wall, letting the lukewarm water run down his body and sighing in this temporary, small comfort, his mind absent, void of any thought, his chest hollow. He woke up ten minutes or an hour later, turned off the taps, then got into his nightclothes and let his body fall into the softness of his mattress, his mind instantly shutting down from the real world.
The sunset was painting the room in rusty gold when he jolted awake from a noise downstairs, his body feverish from the horrid pain that seemed to paralyze his limbs. He breathed in deeply a couple of times, before he strained himself to push into his weak arms and legs in order to sit on the edge of the bed. His spine contorted and he rested his head in his hands for a couple of moments, attempting to come to his senses, when another noise invaded his ears, penetrating his febrile mind like a deadly bullet. Gritting his teeth tightly, he barely stood up to reach the door and then walk down the shadowy hall.
His father was downstairs, seemingly preparing their evening meal. Ralph hesitated for a moment, then slowly descended the stairs, cautiously watching his oblivious father. Once he reached the bottom of the stairs, he cleared his throat, apprehensive and ready for a long inquiry that his father most surely had in mind regarding his nocturnal getaway. His father's tired expression appeared to brighten at the sight of Ralph.
"I was wondering when you would return to the living world." He quipped with a light-hearted smile. Ralph didn't answer, just avoided his eyes, before he let himself fall into one of the chairs by the table. He tried to initiate simple small talk, so that his father would not approach the subject of his long absence.
"So what are we having for dinner today?" He muttered in a half voice, still not meeting his father's gaze. There was a moment of quietude between them, before his father simply replied.
"Some rice with vegetables and steak, lad. What you usually enjoy eating on Sundays." Holding the pot with rice in one hand and the pan with steak in the other, he carefully settled them on the table that had already been equipped with the necessary cutlery. He took the seat opposite to that of Ralph and the fair boy lifted his eyes to see him offer him an encouraging smile.
"Bon appétit." He firmly asserted, before he dug into his meal. Ralph faltered in his seat, slightly taken aback by the temporary lack of curiosity, before he let out a heavy breath and nodded. He softly elicited the same words, then quietly and morosely started stabbing at his own food, barely taking any bites.
He couldn't focus on the meal at all, his mind too agitated to perform this elementary task. The twisted sickness in the pit of his stomach still bothered him and he could feel his father's intrusive stare from across the table at the same time, probably wondering about his pale and sickly physical form. His mind was not prepared for this, he was not ready to give a false explanation to his father on why he was like this; he could barely hold the fork and the knife in his hands, let alone be steady enough to smoothly tell an untruth, like he had done so many times before. He would never be capable of exposing his disturbing affair with Merridew to his father, but he could not utter anything else either at that moment.
"I went to the church this morning," His father began and Ralph's muscles tightened all of a sudden, his hands stiffly squeezing the cutlery, "I've met some your friends there."
Ralph swallowed unnerved, the tightness in his throat beginning to suffocate him like an invisible hand, making it impossible for him to keep eating. He had known they would come to this, he had. And yet he had done nothing to prepare a storyline in advance and dread slowly and securely immobilized him, like a disease that painstakingly permeated his marrow.
"And w-what," He paused and tremulously inhaled, "What happened?" He faintly responded. His father lowered the fork to his plate, his eyes slightly narrowing as he made efforts to reminisce what had taken place that morning.
"Well," He started at a loss, "It has been quite an unusual ceremony." He affirmed incredulously, "One of the most unusual in the past years. Your friend Peter has not shown up either and the pastor's apprentice has not arrived to perform his duties." Ralph's breath locked in his throat, his fingers almost hurting around the tableware, and he tried to control the quivers in his limbs. His father eyed him up questioningly, "I presume you are acquainted with him, Ralph," He spoke unsurely, "Merridew's son? He's in your class, right?"
A short lived madness surged in him that made him want to riot and throw the table over and yell as loudly as possible that yes, he knew Merridew, he knew him very, very well, because they had been shagging like animals for the past month and because Merridew had persecuted him and his friends for the past ten years, and that Ralph was most surely the reason why Merridew had not shown up at work that morning. He wanted to shout that his father had no idea about all of that because he did not know Ralph and had never made any efforts to find out anything personal about him, because if he had, he would have been aware of the fact that Merridew was of significant importance in Ralph's life, having affected him to a level at which not even his own father had.
He keened to rave all of that at the top of his lungs, just to see the expression on his conventional father who cherished the traditional values of society so much. Except he had been raised in the same manner. He had been raised to pertain to the same values and not to stray away from them, which was another regard at the back of his mind that nipped at his morality, each day he succumbed more and more to his true instincts and let his craving for Merridew swallow him up in its fierce tempest.
Instead, he simply nodded and struggled to hide the windstorm that threatened to burst out of him and wreck everything around.
"He is." He shortly replied, his pallid, deadpan visage barely revealing anything of what was rushing through him. He could not help but let his aversion to Merridew be clear as daylight though, even more so as he needed to hide any trace of his and Merridew's involvement with each other. And it was not as if his spite for Merridew was a lie. On the contrary, it was stronger than any other emotion that he nurtured in his life right then. "He is one bloody tosser, though. A sodding bully." He heatedly articulated, not caring in the slightest that his father might have been scandalized by his colourful language. To his good luck, his father just regarded him in slight amusement and wonder.
"Seriously?" He questioned somewhat taken aback, his brow furrowed in thought for a moment, before a peculiar acceptance grazed his features. "It doesn't surprise me that much, in all honesty," Ralph looked up at him in bewilderment as he continued. "His parents are quite arrogant folks. His father, in particular," He took another bite of the steak and chewed it thoughtfully, jaded eyes watching a point past Ralph's shoulder, as if he was remembering events unknown to Ralph. "Not many people hold them in their heart or have the desire to get involved with them."
Ralph had a sentiment that his father knew more about them than he was letting it show. Curiosity itched at him to poke more into this affair regarding Merridew's family, but he gave up on it before he even took the chance to continue the subject matter, because that would have meant delving into a discussion about Merridew with his father and that was something he critically intended to avoid.
"There is something that has particularly been perturbing me ever since this morning though." His father changed the subject, his scrutiny burning into Ralph. "Your friends, the twins, you know," He motioned with his hand, "They asked about you." He casually took another bite of his food and Ralph turned cold. His lips stuck to each other as he knew he would not be able to answer to what was about to come.
"They were confused, because you didn't attend their party last night and you also didn't give a reason for that. They were worried that something had happened to you."
No matter how much he had tried to get away from that, no matter how much he had tried to evade it and not let it come forth into the scene, it eventually rose between them, like an impending calamity. All the blood in his face and knuckles drained away as he dug his nails deeply into his palms, breaking into the skin. He couldn't look into his father's eyes, only glared daggers in between his eyebrows as he sought to pull himself together to formulate words. Bloody Samneric. They could have asked Ralph himself later that week about it, but no, they had to mention that to his father. He was aware that they had not done it on purpose, but he couldn't help but hold a small grudge against them for it.
"You don't have to tell me where you were last night, Ralph." His father interrupted his train of thought, seemingly trying to appease the situation and break off any barrier or clash that would come in between them because of it. "Whether you were with your friends or your lass or someone else, I don't have to know the truth." He put his fork down, calmly and expectantly looking at him with weary eyes. "I only want to know that you are alright and that you are not spoiling yourself in the company of the wrong people."
Indignation swelled up in his chest at the etiquette that his father had been manifesting lately, at the fact that he suddenly pretended to actively care about him and about his activities, when he had barely done that in the past. Not even when his mother had died, had he asked Ralph the essential question about his wellbeing or openly shown any regard toward Ralph's feelings; when Ralph had been just a child, crushed by suffering, traumatized by the loss of the most important person in his life. He couldn't understand what had moved his father now to reveal his paternal instincts and blatantly trouble himself with Ralph's safety and private life. Whether it was curiosity, guilt at the sudden realization that he had lost so many years of building trust and solidarity between them, or genuine concern, Ralph did not care much. He just stood up in one move, abruptly pushing his chair back with a loud noise.
"I don't think that's necessary, dad." He vehemently retaliated, panting as he made efforts to speak loudly through all the physical and mental pain. "You have never shown any interest in my preoccupations or personal life in general, so I don't believe there is any purpose in me reassuring you all of a sudden about anything that is going on in my life." He was conscious of the fact that he was acting like a common badly-behaved teenage prat as he stared his father down in silent protest. He knew he was disrespectful and that he was disregarding the hard work that his father was doing for them to live decently, because that was the manner through which his father had shown that he did care in some way or another, in spite of the many wrongs that he had done to Ralph, he knew all of that, and yet he couldn't stop the anger that was flaring in him; he couldn't stop the revolt that was growing, his resentment toward the harm that both his father and Merridew had caused him being its strong catalyst.
He briefly took notice of the sadness and regret that were soaring in his father's eyes and he felt the stab of guilt in his gut, even though it was already too late. The harm had been done. He just wanted to escape the stifling atmosphere of the room, so he turned away, ran up the stairs, and furiously slammed the door of his bedroom behind him, allowing himself to truly wallow in his own misery this time.
…
He was twelve summers old when he almost died.
Peter and he were playing by the bridge, over the river that flowed through their small town, laughing and unaware of the perils that awaited them, as they jumped, ran, and hung onto the wooden rails of the platform. Or, well, tried to.
"Wait for me, Ralph!" Peter barely managed to keep up with him, as he wheezed and coughed, occasionally stopping to rest his hands on his knees in order to catch his breath. The fair boy swirled like a spinning top, laughing carefree, content that they had finally managed to convince Peter's aunt to allow Peter to hang out with him around the area. Ralph had rarely needed a permit from his father to do something, which was why he used to saunter wherever he wanted to. Peter was another story. His aunt almost kept him on a leash and he had never been able to hang out outside of his neighbourhood. Which was why the occasion was special for both of them, as it was the first time they could freely enjoy the small bridge near the outskirts, surrounded by nature and unsupervised by adult figures.
Ralph graciously stuck his tongue out at him, before he grabbed onto the rail and leaned over.
"I bet you cannot do this, Peter!" He merrily shouted, before his small body tumbled around the balustrade, his hands fiercely holding onto it as he turned upside down and stared at the river from that position. Peter gasped and covered his mouth with his hands in panic.
"Ralph, stop that! You gonna fall!"
The fair boy snickered, then rotated his body until he stood upright again. He fell onto the wooden platform with two steady feet, then stretched his arms to the side as if he was a gymnast proudly acclaiming his prize.
"Ta-daa!" He widely smiled at a terrified Peter who chuffed and choked, pulling his asthma spray out of the pocket of his muddy trousers. He loudly and agonizingly inhaled a few times out of the spray, the roughness in his throat scratching at Ralph's ears, before he tremulously hid it again into the cut of his cloth. Ralph shook his head, turquoise eyes glinting with mirth.
"You're something, aren't you, Peter?" He tauntingly asked and Peter frowned at the slight jest that the other boy was making out of him. He feebly pushed his glasses up his nose, glancing at Ralph with two accusing, tawny headlights.
"T-that's not funny, Ralph!" He shakily articulated, pursing his lips in annoyance. "You could have died there! A-and then who would be to blame?" He complained, plump arms gesticulating in all directions. "Me, you hear that? Me!" The fair boy laughed again in his face.
"I'm not your responsibility, chubby lad," He pinched the rosy cheek of his friend who batted at his hand, before he turned and sat underneath the rails, patting the seat next to him. Peter hesitated afraid for a moment and Ralph huffed in exasperation.
"Oh, come on, scaredy-cat!" He grasped at the trim of the other boy's trousers and pulled him down and Peter wobbled forward and grabbed at the wooden balustrade with his pudgy arms, screaming in hysteria. Ralph laughed at him again as Peter desperately clung onto the rails, arms twisted around each other and legs quivering like jelly.
"Stop it, Ralph!" He screeched, trickles of sweat gathering on his forehead and leaking down his temples, into his eyebrows. He caught his breath for a couple of moments and Ralph took his chance. He tickled into the back of his knee, until his friend gave up with a sharp shrill, his plump body collapsing under him and falling onto the wooden floor, into the seat that Ralph had saved up for him.
The fair boy giggled as his friend's scrunched up face flared in shame and indignation.
"Un-unaccepta-" Peter made efforts to speak through throttled breaths. He pulled the inhaler out of his trousers once again, greedily gulping for air, and Ralph felt bad for a moment. Peter was so difficult to hang out with sometimes, Ralph had to be particularly attentive with the multitude of afflictions that hindered his friend's abilities to play like a normal child. Once in a while, it slipped his mind, which is why he ended up pestering his friend more than it would have been reasonable.
He sighed, suddenly caught into some sort of strange melancholy, a picture that Ralph could not convey in detail in his easily distracted mind. He just knew he longed once more for a different kind of companionship in that brief moment and this only heightened his sense of culpability at the fact that his friend was there for him, while he was not.
"Sorry, sorry," He apologized more out of good manners than anything else, before he grabbed his friend into a headlock and ruffled his brown hair. Piggy wailed and struggled out of the clutch, forcefully pushing Ralph away, before he arranged his specs and tousled clothing with quivering motions.
"This-this is not proper, Ralph," He lastly formulated whole words, still fussing over his attire. "If my auntie knew that we're here, h-hanging out at the edge of this dangerous bridge, she w-would flip out," He breathed heavily, gaping curious but terrified at the height their legs were dangling at, the distance to the river below surpassing sixty feet. He swallowed nervously and Ralph offered him a reassuring smile.
"That's true," Ralph intoned mischievously, waggling his eyebrows, "But she doesn't know, does she?" Peter gave him a slightly troubled look, shaking his head.
"Sometimes I think you fit more wit' that scary Jack Merridew than wit' me." He meditated, his eyes cloudy and sad, as he seemed to think deeply about the matter, and Ralph felt his words poke at his tummy, his inwards clenching in uneasiness and some sort of misplaced emotion at the mention of their greatest bully. He tried to take offense from it, tried to look upset at the fact that Peter had compared him to Merridew, except he only felt fuzzy, as if butterflies were dancing in his stomach, and he hardly gulped the feeling, because that was not the reaction that he was supposed to have.
He crossed his arms and furrowed his pale brow in exaggerated displeasure.
"Now, Peter, that's not a nice thing to say about your best friend, aye?" He protested. "How would you like if I compared you to Roger Black or Maurice Talbot, hm?" Peter exhaled drowsily, appearing to become fatigued at the mention of the other tormenters.
"You know what I mean, Ralph," He avoided his questions as if Ralph had not even answered him. "You were bes' buds with Merridew back in the days and you got along fine." He insecurely pinched the rim of his glasses. "No one gets along with Merridew unless they have common interests wit' him."
Ralph felt a pang of hurt suddenly, the demure disposition that Peter was giving off rubbing off on him in some odd way. His small body tightened all of a sudden, wishing so much to bring the joy and excitement that they had experienced until the name of Merridew had come up in between them. He suddenly, desperately wanted to show Peter that he wasn't like Merridew, that he was wrong, that perhaps he and Jack Merridew had shared some similarities at some point in their lives, like their playful tendency toward pranking other people, except that tendency had remained playful in Ralph, while it had grown in Merridew like something wicked and destructive, it had transformed into a tendency toward bullying and hurting other people, something that Ralph had never felt inside of him.
"You're wrong, Peter," He turned toward his friend, a look of determination marring his features, "I don't fit with Jack Merridew, because I am not like him and I will never be." He loudly uttered those words, unwavering, his eyes turned almost green under the light that breached the wings of the trees, shimmering with vivacity and good-will; sentiments which spread out inside of him to the tips of his fingers, as he grew more confident in his belief of his and Merridew's divergent natures.
The corners of Peter's mouth turned upward in a timid smile as he watched his friend's small rebellion against his improper comparison, and Ralph returned the smile and friendly clapped his shoulder. He felt a rush of energy in him and, before he could realize it, his childish impulse to climb things pushed him to grab the balustrade and show his capabilities off in yet another somersault.
It took only one second for the partially rotten rails to break under his hands, the wooden splinters escaping his fingers like flies, until he could grab at nothing but air, and he felt his breath stop and heard Peter shriek out in horror. His survival instincts didn't completely leave him though, in fact they made his whole body toughen and curve like that of an animal that sought to reach and hold on to the last remains of life and he did just that. He grabbed at the wall of rocks with his small hands, until he found himself hanging onto the sharp edge of the cliff, pressing his body into the rock and the wet earth, almost melting into it, as he feverishly struggled not to let himself fall into the abyss below.
He called hysterically after Peter and, when he received no answer, the dreadful thought of his friend having run away in panic and left him there to eternally hang with no help passed through his desperate mind. He found the strength to yell once again in a ragged voice and his heart wildly slammed in his chest in hope when Peter's head showed up at the top, his face red and blotched from the tears that flooded his face.
"O-oh my God, Ralph!" He cried out, tears and snot trailing down his cheeks and underneath his nose. "I thought you died, I w-was so scared to look for a m-moment!" Ralph huffed in aggravation as the muscles in his hands and legs started trembling from the tight hold.
"I will die if you don't help me right up, Peter!" He shouted back urgently. He tried to climb higher, but it was futile. His position right then made it impossible to advance up the steep cliff. Peter fidgeted and wavered.
"I-I don't know if I can, I-" He stammered pressured, his whole body flushing in distress. "M-maybe I should get some help-"
"There's no time for help, I cannot hold on longer anymore!" Ralph yelled at him. Cold fright stabbed at his heart as he thought he had no chance of survival with only Peter there to aid him and his worries soon proved to be true. Peter slowly and clumsily started dragging his heavy body a couple of feet down, until he reached Ralph's hand, before he tried to pull him up with all of his strength, ineffectively though; he could barely lift him up.
"I-I have to seek help, Ralph, I can't do it!" He anxiously cried as his pudgy hands tried with all their might to sustain the weight of the other boy, which only resulted in both of them screaming as their bodies slipped further down.
"Alright, alright!" Ralph frantically shouted, his own face turning purple by then, his breath choked. "J-just go and find someone else, Peter! Quickly please!" His friend fervently nodded, before he heavily climbed up, tripping a couple of times in his way, and disappeared at the top.
Seconds turned to minutes then turned to tens of minutes, and the fair boy felt life leaving him, his muscles so cramped, he thought it would have been a sweet release to just let go and fall into the river beneath him. His thoughts turned haywire and a morbid emptiness began to consume him, an emptiness that just simply told him that it was futile to still hold on. Your mother died. Your father forgot about you. Your friends forgot about you. Maybe it was time to let go. The last remains of hope started slipping his consciousness, when two heads showed up at the top. One of them was a frightened Peter, the other- no. No.
"Bloody hell, I though the fat lard was trying to trick me when he told me you needed help!" Merridew exclaimed, his pale eyes perturbed, but glazed over with a treacherous excitement that only Merridew could have in critical moments like those. Ralph wanted to scream in anger and simply let himself plunge into the river below. He threw Peter a reproachful look through all the struggle, which made the fat boy rant and quickly take his own defence.
"H-he was the only one I could find around, Ralph, I'm so sorry!"
Merridew didn't hesitate as he easily went underneath the rails, his slim figure moving down the slope with fast agility, before his bony hand quickly grabbed Ralph's wrist and immediately attempted to pull him up. Their eyes met for one moment, both keen and anxious and scared, and Ralph flinched at the skin contact and almost pulled away, if not for Merridew, who used his other hand as well to catch his wrist swiftly in a tight grip.
"I'm afraid I cannot help you if you're not going to give me your hand, Foley!" He snapped in annoyance and Ralph blew steam through his nose, red and purple spots blending into his cheeks as he tried to swallow his pride and push the grudge that he had for Merridew at the back of his mind in order to get the help that he needed. The pain and exhaustion in his limbs and mind gradually impelled him to cooperate; he carefully let go of the rock to firmly clasp his bloodied and wounded hand with Merridew's sweaty larger one and he heard Merridew grunt as he made great efforts to hoist Ralph's entire weight up all by himself.
"Don't stand there like a rock, just come here and give me a hand, Piggy!" He hotly snarled at a terrified Peter, who nodded vigorously and approached stumbling, before he caught the back of Merridew's shirt and yanked at it with his own plump, weak hands.
Soon enough, Ralph felt his body getting lifted onto the upper part of the cliff by the other two boys, who were panting and grunting from all the strain, and he gave one final rough cry as he fought to climb the last part by himself. He didn't know when he ended up falling into Merridew's lap, he just knew he was staring at Merridew's ridiculous striped shirt that he had most surely been forced to wear, but he was too worn out to make a humorous comment about it; so he just allowed himself to catch his breath for a couple of minutes, his body trembling but numb, his ears ringing.
"Thank you." He muttered feebly, completely battered. Merridew didn't answer. Instead, he was apparently waiting for Ralph to recover from what Ralph could tell, because he wasn't making any move, he was just letting Ralph rest in his lap for a few good moments in silence.
Until they both realized that Peter was crushed underneath their weights.
Ralph forced himself to move, even though he didn't like that he had to leave Merridew's warmth for some ridiculous reason. He frowned to himself at this irrational thought; Merridew was lanky and bony and nasty and he hated him, he told himself. But then again, Merridew had also just saved his life, so he mentally berated himself from going so low to think badly of him in that moment, instead of remaining at least a little bit grateful to him.
Ralph rolled away from him and Merridew barked a laugh as he stood up and saw Peter's form completely thrashed. His clothes and hair were a mess and his specs were hanging loosely on his face as he fussed and squirmed to sit upright.
"T-that's not funny, Merridew, y-you-" He screeched scandalized and Merridew laughed even harder and aggressively pushed Peter back into the mud. He quickly turned then and gave Ralph a small sarcastic salute.
"That was fun, lads, let's do it again some time!" He grinned mean-spirited, about to leave, then stopped for a moment, as if he had realized something.
"By the way, Foley, you owe me now." He smirked, before he went up the cliff and disappeared under the rails of the bridge, leaving them there, shook and disturbed, and Ralph instantly recalled why he should think badly of Jack Merridew.
…
Monday turned out to be easier for Ralph to bear through than he had foreseen, particularly because no member of the Merridew pack showed up for classes, including Merridew himself. Ralph was relieved on the one side, although quite disheartened on the other, and he knew he was being silly. He didn't give a damn if Merridew missed classes because of whatever angst consumed him, if that was even possible for Merridew, and he didn't care about seeing Merridew anyway. He could go the rest of his life without ever having to face him again. Still, the more he forced himself to believe those things, the more this absurd ache grew inside his chest, like an ivy that caught roots, stretched and unfurled, until it compressed his heart in between its tendrils.
Because he knew deep down that he did want to see Merridew, to feel his irritating presence there, at the back of the class, and occasionally receive his attention, like nothing had transpired between them the last Saturday, even though that would be impossible. He wanted for them to still hold on to their pact and continue being sexually intimate with each other, in spite of the resentment and the anger he had harboured for Merridew and still felt to some extent, even though those sentiments were not as strong anymore, their intensity having faded. He had always been too easy on people, especially the people that wronged him, and Peter's voice echoed at the back of his mind, reprimanding his tendency to give himself over to his enemies with such carelessness.
There was also doubt and even anxiety which troubled him, because he suspected that Merridew had probably started hanging out with his old mates again, ever since he and Ralph had cut off their affair. What baffled him was that his main worry was not their sexual agreement being finally revealed. No, what troubled him the most was Merridew's instant slip into the old group, once Ralph went away. Because he knew Merridew had mostly stopped hanging out with his pack in the last month, he had recognized some sort of positive change that their fling had brought in Merridew's life; Merridew had mostly ceased bullying people and he had entirely stopped committing every other criminal activity that he and his pack had been dealing with.
Now he presumed that change had now been completely undone. All sorts of scenarios played out in Ralph's mind, in which Merridew and his troop were skipping school in order to instigate anarchy somewhere else, probably beating some people up for the umpteenth time or even raiding stores and abandoned houses, as Ralph had heard them doing it in the past.
He was so preoccupied with Merridew's life that he failed to pay attention to his own, because he had not taken notice of the absence of his closest friend until the second break. As he decided to take a breath of fresh air outside in the school yard, he instantly spotted his friends lingering on one of the benches, tightly gathered around each other, discussing something that seemed to be of grave importance, given their earnest expressions. Ralph heard them break off their conversation once he got close enough. His heart jolted in shock when he saw the various cuts and bruises on their faces and most surely on other parts of their bodies as well, concealed by their clothing. Peter was not there, Ralph anxiously remarked, only Simon and Samneric, who were dismally gaping at him.
"What happened?" His voice sounded shaky. Simon had a bruised cheek and a small cut on his lip, while Eric had a huge wound that stretched from the top of his forehead to his left eyebrow. Sam was the worst. Dark purple spots faded around both of his eyes and he could barely keep one eye open, the spots turning black around the area. Other small wounds were etched into his cheeks and forehead and half of his mouth was damaged.
They hesitated before Simon decided to answer in a small voice.
"They ambushed us at the party on Saturday, Ralph," He started out uneasily, "Roger and Maurice and Robert and Bill," He spoke their first names as if they were friends rather than enemies, and Ralph felt dumbfounded for a second, before he remembered that Simon was used to calling them on their first names due to his involvement with the church choir. Eric sighed.
"I don't know who tattled, but they found out about our 'room of vengeance', ya know," He motioned quotation marks as he sarcastically articulated the name, "It was worse than ever before. They beat up almost half of our guests and thrashed the whole house. Peter got the worst again though," He turned sad at the mention of their missing friend, "They broke his leg and left him unconscious by the end."
Everything seemed to fall apart in Ralph as the information reached his brain, then sent signals down his nerves, in his organs and limbs, incapacitating him from thinking and from feeling anything else, except guilt, rage, agony, at those wretched bastards, at Merridew, but mostly, at himself, for not having been there for his friends when they had needed him, for having fooled around with Merridew, who was the worst of them all, while his friends were being abused by his followers.
He couldn't help but believe this was still Merridew's doing in some way or another, even though Merridew had not been with the rest of the group at the time and he had not been teaming up with them for a while in these assaults. That didn't mean he couldn't have ordered them to act so and to attack his friends, while Ralph was heinously being distracted at his place. Everything slightly good that he had dared to speculate about Merridew until then, all the changes for the better that Ralph had thought Merridew might have been going through because of him, all of them were repudiated by these news. He hated Merridew again with a burning passion and he hated himself even more so for having had the nerve to feel the want for him earlier that day.
"Where were you?" Sam's razor-sharp, raspy voice penetrated through his turmoil. He turned to see him staring Ralph down with one accusing eye. "Why didn't you come to our party or at least give any reason for missing it?" Agitation rose between them as they waited for retaliation from Ralph's side, a reasonable answer, a decent explanation, anything of the sorts, except Ralph did not have any. He couldn't get a single word out as he gaped dejected and despairing at them. He couldn't bring himself to lie to them or make anything up, he couldn't even speak anymore. Simon gently grabbed his shoulder, unconvincingly attempting to take his defence and find a justification for his lack of words.
"He doesn't have to give any excuse, if he doesn't want to, friends." He spoke demurely. The twins frowned instead and Sam suddenly jumped to his feet.
"Does he?" He heatedly insisted, fists balled at his side. He was almost as tall as Ralph now and the firm stance that he took against Ralph's defeated, hunched form made him appear bigger for one brief moment. "I thought friends were supposed to confide in each other and openly talk about everything, not hide all the time." He spat. Simon shook his head in worry, then placed his other hand on Sam's chest, trying to calm the spirits, before they delved into yet another unwanted quarrel.
"Sam, you're just being unreasonable," He retorted, warily keeping an eye on Sam's unpredictable body language, "We don't have to tell everything about ourselves, you know that. Everyone must have their own personal matters that they shouldn't divulge, not even to their closest people. Some things are better left unsaid." He wisely asserted and Sam deflated slightly as his friend's tranquil energy seemed to affect him. Ralph inhaled deeply; sometimes he felt too grateful for Simon's companionship and thoughtful words. He had always been a true friend along with Peter, trying to be by his side even in the most difficult times. It gave him the pluck to resist and pull through some of the most demanding situations.
He kindly pushed Simon's hand aside, silently nodding at him in gratitude, before he faced Sam.
"I know you're angry, Sam, and I can only try to understand your resentment." He honestly replied, pleading him with troubled eyes. "I can't do anything anymore to rectify the fact that I have not been by your side when you needed me the most. And-" His voice wavered. He swallowed heavily as regret and shame flared in him, heating his cheeks up. "I am sorry for that. Truly sorry."
The other boys stared speechlessly at him. Simon's lips curled up in a tiny smile of relief, while Sam's harsh features softened, his anger visibly dwindling as he sighed and took his seat back next to his brother.
"Well, we were the ones who came with the idea for the party and persuaded you boys to come in the first place," He admitted in a fade tone of voice, exposing bad conscience in between moments of frustration, "So I'm guessin' I kinda need to apologize as well for having overreacted earlier there, Ralph, taking it out on you." He lifted his gaze, his expression candid and vulnerable, and Ralph simply nodded in sympathy, wordlessly accepting his offer for truce.
"I guess we're all a little bit to blame after all," Eric supported his brother's idea, "Not as much as the devils themselves, but still," He exhaled heavily. "And you couldn't have helped much, Ralph, you would've been just as unlucky as we were. Probs would've also got a good beating." He scratched at his head. "So perhaps it's better you weren't there anyways." He openly acknowledged.
Ralph breathed the cold October air in and out deeply, a sense of responsibility welling up in his breast. He took a seat next to his friends, the remorse of what he had done still consuming him on the inside, although he fought to overcome it. There was nothing else to be done anymore. Just like other people had wronged him, he was also now in that position; that of the culprit. His offenses might not have been as great as those of Merridew or his followers, but he had still indirectly perpetuated them, against his own friends even, and Ralph could not stand it. He could not live with himself, knowing his friends had to go through such brutality, while he had been selfish enough to yield to his own pleasures. He needed to make amends.
"Perhaps I could not have helped much, but I should have been with you, mates." He confessed. "Perhaps Peter would not have been in the state that he is now, if I had been there." He watched the courtyard in bitterness, the other students who were enjoying the free time without being aware of their misery. "And I have to make it up to him in some way or another."
The twins exchanged knowing looks and Simon friendly patted Ralph on his back, then pointed at the big clock on the wall of the building.
"Once English is over, we're going to visit Peter at the hospital." He announced a bit too excited, even for Simon. Ralph sensed a wave of enthusiasm pass between all of them.
"Are you going to skip classes? Seriously?" He asked taken aback. "Peter would flip out and I'm not sure this would be a good first step in making amends from my side." He raised his eyebrows, unable to hide his hilarity toward the irony of the situation.
Eric and Simon chuckled in unison as Sam gave a wide grin.
"Well, Peter isn't here at the moment to stop us from doing it." Sam put his hands behind his neck in a gesture of mischief, then grimaced slightly as he appeared to have raked some bruises. "And it's not like we ever skip classes, since he's always beating our heads about it."
"Plus, you gotta admit it'll be funny seeing his scandalized reaction, as he'll not be able to protest much, cause we'll guilt-trip him. We're doing it for a good cause, we're doing it for him." Eric carried on with an equally elvish grin.
"Might as well brighten his day a bit, right?" Simon finished. Ralph shook his head, his mood already significantly lifted up by his friends' suddenly bright disposition. They never managed to sink completely in sorrow and gloom, not even in their darkest times, which is why he was glad to have them by his side.
"You guys are monsters," He grinned back enthusiastically, "Let's do it."
…
In the next couple of days, he tried his best to be by Peter's side, helping him whenever he needed. His leg was not the only body part that was quite badly affected, in fact he had received multiple stitches for different wounds and he had also got a minor concussion. Ralph helped his aunt move Peter and his things back home on Tuesday, before he decided to spend the rest of the day with him, keeping him up to date with the events at school, as well as with the school workload.
Peter himself did not seem to be very down about the whole deplorable situation in which he ended up. In fact, he sincerely admitted that it was easier for him to study at home, because there weren't any interruptions there or people who picked on him, and Ralph felt terrible again.
"You don't have to feel sorry for me," Peter reprimanded him when he caught Ralph staring at him with visible pity. He pushed his glasses up his nose, then waved his hand in dismissal. "If you're going to do that, then I don't need you here, Ralph."
Ralph nodded, then tried to change the mood by throwing a lame joke in, and Peter chortled a laugh. Too rarely had he acknowledged the good values in Peter, because even though he was physically a weakling, he possessed inner strength, he remained sane and sensible in times that Ralph himself could not.
Ralph kept him company for the rest of the evening. They played a few rounds of chess, some of Peter's favourite pastime, after they had finished studying, until Peter's aunt told him that he had to go home. He returned home at around ten in the evening, so exhausted after the whole ordeal with Peter and his friends that his mind had become completely devoid of any thoughts. He fell asleep more easily than he had ever been able to in the past years.
On Wednesday, Merridew and Black showed up again at school.
Ralph noticed them at the back of the school, passing the cigarette between each other and nastily laughing at some other people's misfortune probably, which made Ralph seethe and barely hold back from going to them to kick their arses. This also confirmed Ralph's previous fears: Merridew had joined them again. And he had most surely been indirectly involved in the onslaught that had taken place at Samneric the last Saturday. He couldn't dare let his most forbidden thought come up again, not after what had happened to his friends, he couldn't dare think about or even slightly feel his disgusting lust for Merridew ever again. That had to remain in the past, a dark sin that Ralph had to repent for, a mistake that he had to put behind and never recall, ever again.
He stubbornly avoided Merridew's obvious attempts of catching his gaze throughout the day and he moved his desk farther away from Merridew's during Maths, when Merridew was usually sitting next to him. This did not go unnoticed by the rest of the class and the professor of course, who immediately instructed Ralph to move back. He heard Merridew snort and make a snide comment at him, and the loathing and hostility that were simmering in Ralph immediately determined him to find a solution to get his way and stay the bloody hell away from Merridew.
"I apologize, sir," He feigned politely, "I do have the beginning of a flu and I'm not sure it's prudent to sit so close to other students at the moment."
This worked to his advantage, because the professor allowed him to keep his place. He didn't turn to look at Merridew, but he could feel distress and aggravation radiating from him, and slight satisfaction blended into the ill feelings that he fostered for Merridew. The vague, positive sentiment did not last long though, not like before, when everything had been simpler between them, when they had been just rivals and Ralph could get content about the smallest trace of bad luck that went in Merridew's path.
Now everything was too painful for Ralph to bear, this whole situation with his friends and Merridew, until the point where he could not feel any contentment or joy or anything good for things that were so insignificant. He couldn't wait for everything to be over, he couldn't wait until he left that damned school and town and went away for good, far away from all the commotion that had never let him live his life in peace.
He was late for his last class, as he struggled in the bathroom to fix his trousers up that were visibly getting larger on him. He went to the sink and splashed some cold water on his face. A shock went through his system when he noticed his sickly silhouette in the mirror, his dead eyes, the paper skin, the bones that were jutting out in his cheeks. He was losing weight at an alarming rate and he had not even stopped for a moment to notice it. Probably that's why no one had contested the fact that he was getting sick when he had declared it in class.
He intended to turn around when he bumped into someone's chest. He quickly rambled an apology, before he looked up and froze as he saw Merridew's equally disturbing physique properly for the first time; he seemed to display the same symptoms as Ralph, if not more so; his cheekbones looked frighteningly hollow and the usually intense blue in his eyes was faded to a pale grey.
Merridew did not waste a single moment of their encounter, as he instantly caught Ralph's wrist when Ralph attempted to flee from him. He shook his arm to escape Merridew's forceful clutch, but Merridew just turned more persistent, even downright vicious in holding Ralph there.
"Just let me go!" He snapped angry and panicked, as he used his other hand to try to remove Merridew's rigid fingers from his wrist, which started to hurt. Fright clawed at his throat as he had the vision of Merridew doing something vile to him, there in the bathroom, with no one else around to see or hear them. He was mistaken though, because the temporary fire in Merridew's eyes suddenly went out, his fierce stare just turning sad.
"Ralph, wait-" He started out, his voice low and downright depressed, and Ralph's heart stopped in his chest at hearing Merridew call him on his first name after so much time. He forcefully yanked his hand out of the clutch which now had turned softer and stared wide-eyed at Merridew for a couple of moments, his mouth open, a myriad of emotions flashing through him. Merridew seemed to want to say something else, but Ralph did not wait for that.
He just slammed the door against the wall as he ran out to class.
…
On Friday, they celebrated Peter's release out of the clutches of his household, and most importantly, of his overprotective aunt. All four of them went to pick Peter up after school, deciding that the Bagel Shop in the old town centre would have been the perfect choice for that. Naturally, Peter protested as he couldn't get his eyes off his beloved Mathematics book for one second, so they almost had to hoist him up and carry him like a trophy outside of the house.
"A very heavy trophy." Eric teased and the other boys burst out into laughs when Peter puffed out in displeasure.
The shop was moderately empty in the early Friday afternoon hours, so they could enjoy the cosiness of it and the company of each other without any other stares disturbing them as they laughed and bantered loudly. Ralph's mind simply went in and out of the whole scenario. One moment he laughed at the twins' jokes or Peter's scolding remarks, the next his smile just faded away as he pensively stared at the air, his eyes lost in memories of Merridew. Merridew watching him with sorrowful eyes, Merridew revealing so many emotions to him as he called his name, Ralph.
He couldn't get it out of his head; it couldn't have been, it just couldn't have. Merridew falling for him was the last thing that Ralph wanted and needed in his life, it would have been a disaster. Because Ralph could not allow a person that had tormented and bullied him and his friends for so long into his life just like nothing had happened, he could not even allow them to get sexually intimate anymore, let alone in any other way. Let alone in a romantic way, he thought horrified. He could not let him ruin him again. Because that was what Merridew was always doing, he was mentally destroying him.
Merridew skipped school for the rest of the week and Ralph almost knew for sure now that Merridew was being tormented by their separation, even though the sod resorted to the company of those wretched pals of his again, because that was the only manner through which he could release his bottled up rage, frustrations, and other foolish feelings that he might have had; through violence, vandalism, and other criminal activities. He internally rolled his eyes at Merridew's dramatic habits and at the fact that he knew him so goddamn well, even though they had not been particularly close to each other in the last ten years.
"Man, other people are coming to ruin our fun," Sam interjected and Ralph suddenly woke up from his reverie to turn around and watch a group of people enter the store. Except, it wasn't any group of people.
"No," Simon whispered terror-stricken and the other boys turned stiff, their faces colourless and aghast. Ralph did not want to repeat his past mistakes and wait a single moment longer, so he quickly stood up and grabbed Peter by his sleeve, discretely but hurriedly trying to push him toward the back door. He anxiously motioned with his head to his friends to follow him. Luckily, they were at the back of the store and the pack had not recognized them yet, as they simply went to the bar to order their meals.
"How 'bout that ham bagel," He heard someone order loudly in a domineering voice and he briefly turned his head to see Merridew lean over the counter, trying to intimidate and impress the cashier by being a bloody rascal. The other bullies laughed out maliciously at the small woman, who cowered and nodded in obvious fear at the sight of Merridew's towering form, as he was more than a head taller than her.
This small moment of observance had been fatal for them, because as he continued to watch the scene, he saw Black's dark eyes suddenly turn to him. The cold blade of a panic attack stabbed him in his heart and stomach, leaving him without air, and he hurried to push his friends out of the store, before they got to them, even though it was too late. Black's voice suddenly penetrated the air to them, cutting at their nervous minds like the sound of nails scratching a board.
"Look at what we have here, mates! The golden group itself!" He grinned bitingly, attracting the attention of his blasted companions. The bastards turned then to them and Ralph could not help but exchange quick glances with Merridew, who forced a malignant smile, even though there was no trace of enjoyment in his eyes.
"What's the hurry, though?" Talbot exclaimed, rubbing his hands with glee. "The fun is just about to begin!" The other bullies laughed excitedly and Ralph's body tensed. He forced himself to pay no mind to them and tell his friends to hasten their pace. Simon was helping Peter walk at the front, both of them having already reached the door, and Ralph could see the twins' features harden, their bodies toughening with the dangerous promise of violence. Ralph frantically mouthed at them to ignore the bullies, because getting into another fight would have meant not only getting outnumbered, as Peter and Simon could not fight, but also getting beaten up to a pulp and ruining another good day for them. Not to mention that Peter was already in a bad state and Ralph feared that he would be left crippled if another fight ensued.
"What, afraid we would break his other leg, too?" Black shouted amused, loudly voicing Ralph's thoughts as if he could read his mind. "Afraid Piggy's going to be crushed and fly away?"
Dread froze the blood in his veins at the disgusting, evil allusion of Peter getting killed. He instantaneously stopped in his tracks, his face livid, his body shaking in rage, his mind spinning from all the atrocious feelings coursing through him. He could feel the twins share his reaction, because they turned and took their stance, prepared to jump at the bullies like animals.
Everything happened too fast as Ralph twisted his body, dashed at Black, and savagely punched into his nose, feeling blood burst out underneath his knuckles. He managed to deliver a couple of good blows, before he was forcefully dragged away by two brutes. It was Talbot and Wendell who held him in place, as Black took some time to take the whole situation in, while wiping his nose with the back of his hand, hell burning in his dark eyes and blood trickling down into his mouth. Black raised then his cramped fist with the precision of a mercenary and struck into Ralph's stomach, making him double over in pain and gasp for air. He expected more blows, except nothing came.
He heard shouting and he barely managed to lift his head to see Merridew grab Black by the front of his shirt with one hand and repeatedly crash his fist into Black's face while yelling in wrath, then throw him to the floor. Merridew turned then toward Talbot and Wendell and he heard Talbot mutter a confused chief?!, as Merridew brutally pulled each one of them away from Ralph and pummelled them to the ground.
No one could fully take in what had happened for a short while, as they were all groaning in agony, pathetically wailing and grabbing at their wounds. Talbot and Wendell were staring in anguish and shock at Merridew, while Carlson faltered and remained to the side, in complete disorientation. Black seemed to be barely moving anymore, his body lying on the floor, facing down. Ralph could not react for full minutes, before he felt the upper part of his arm securely snatched by Merridew's stern hand.
"Take your stupid friends and go, Foley!" He barked at him, the blue in his eyes more intense than Ralph had seen it in the past week. He stared wide-eyed at Merridew, unable to move from his spot, as his mind could not wrap around the madness that Merridew had just committed. For him.
"Merridew, I-" He rambled, at a loss for words, and Merridew grumbled irritated and pushed Ralph into the twins, who had been watching the whole thing with dropped jaws. He tried to turn his head and catch one last glimpse of Merridew, as he was being hauled by Samneric out of the store, an abhorrent worry for Merridew making him sick to his already sensitive stomach, but he couldn't.
When they got out, Simon and Peter had apparently been waiting for them at the end of the street.
"What's going on?" Peter inquired in alarm when he saw Ralph being supported by Sam and holding his midriff with his arm, wincing in pain.
"You would never believe us if we told you, Peter." Eric retorted blown away.