Chapter 29

The week passed quickly for Arthur, who thought less and less of his attack and more and more about where he stood with Alfred after their date that was not a date. He was always reminded, however, of what had happened to him when he returned from dinner to see the crowd in the hall. The size of the demonstrators fluctuated, but they were always there. Though he was warming up to Alfred again, he still did not know how he felt about what had happened to him, and he wished he didn't have to think about it at all. The daily presence in the hallway made it impossible for him to deny everything.

On one hand, he felt that it was nice to see his close friends doing something so noble for the community and for rape victims…he just didn't want to be one of the victims they were helping. It had been almost a full six weeks, and Arthur had barely ventured down the hall at all. At first, this was due to feelings of anger and isolation. Then he'd felt annoyed and apathetic, and now…now he just didn't want the crowd, or the cameras, or any of it.

Except Alfred. He wanted Alfred in his room for those three hours. He wanted Alfred to claim him over and over again, so that the last touch he remembered wouldn't be that of his stalker. It was Thursday morning when Arthur finally managed to verbalize his need to Alfred before school began.

"I know you're raising money, and that's great…but I rather hoped we could spend some time together tonight," Arthur said in a suggestive purr. Alfred swallowed thickly and his cheeks flushed with color.

"Well, of course I want to…but Francis said no."

Arthur's eyes narrowed in warning. Alfred actually took a step backwards, raising his hands up in self-defense.

"You have three seconds to explain yourself," Arthur barked.

"It's partly because the project needs to be finished—"

"I want you back, Alfred, yet you're saying we can't spend time together because you'd rather sit outside my door with a bunch of publicity seeking strangers?" Arthur clarified. Alfred sighed and glanced around the crowded hallway uneasily.

"Let me just ask you one thing," he said. Suddenly, his sincere blue eyes were focused on Arthur with burning intensity and earnestness. "Do you want me back because you love me…or because you want to forget what happened to you?" Alfred asked simply. The line was too smooth to have been Alfred's. Francis must have been coaching him on what to say if Arthur tried to pressure him.

Internally, Arthur seethed with annoyance and indignation…and a not-so-small amount of mortification. Alfred was making him feel cheap. They loved each other, for god's sake! Alfred was his territory—his boyfriend, and everyone knew it, even if he had dumped him. It should have been okay for Arthur to tell Alfred that he needed him, but instead he just felt dirty and desperate now.

To be honest, the dirty feeling was nothing new. Arthur settled on frosty silence and slamming his locker shut with a satisfying bang. He stormed off, kicking himself for thinking he could trust Alfred with how he was feeling and what he was wanting.

"Artie!" Alfred pleaded, reaching out to grab at his arm. Arthur shook him off rather violently.

"Don't touch me. If you know me so well, then I don't need to explain to you why I want to punch in your face right now," Arthur spat. They had caught the attention of other students, who were gathering into a crowd and whispering and gossiping already. A few started playfully chanting "Fight! Fight! Fight!" Arthur rolled his eyes, even more aggravated by the feeling of living in a fish tank, and continued on towards his class. Alfred doggedly followed him.

"It's not just you here, okay? I'll admit that's what Francis told me to say if you asked me to…you know…but he's right! I don't want to be used!" Alfred defended in a low voice, trying not to gather more attention. Arthur faced him, green eyes wide and a little wild looking.

"Well I didn't want to be used either, but it didn't fucking matter what I wanted, did it?" Arthur was panting after his hurried walking and his outburst. He felt all the staring eyes burning holes in him and he flushed darkly in embarrassment.

"Arthur…I don't know what to say. You know…you have to know that I'm so sorry for what you've been through. I wish I could take it all away. You know I do…but I can't. I'm sorry, Artie. I'm sorry I can't make it better," Alfred replied. Arthur was horrified to see that the taller boy was crying—right in the hallway, in front of everyone. Arthur felt like a complete jerk. Could he do nothing right anymore?

A familiar face pushed through the crowd.

"Get the fuck to class! This is none of your damned business!" Michelle barreled through the little group that had formed nearby consisting mostly of Ashley and her groupies. Alex came up behind her smirking, and certainly not making any apologies for her loud behavior. The students began to disperse, not wanting to start drama with the unhinged, wild school slut.

As she left, Ashley made a pointed comment to her friends just loudly enough for Michelle to hear.

"If she's so against girls getting raped, then why is her skirt barely covering her fat ass?" The girls broke out into malicious laughter that Michelle mocked as she shot them a rude hand gesture.

Alfred was trying to get control of himself, but it was obvious that he was just as embarrassed as Arthur judging by his dark red cheeks and his flushed neck. Michelle pulled a napkin out of her purse and handed it to Alfred wordlessly, who used it to swipe immediately at his leaking eyes.

"It's going to be okay, Al. Alex, take him to the guys' room, would you?" she not-so-subtly ordered. With a nod, Alex gave Alfred a pat on the back and nodded towards the nearby men's room.

"Come on, pretty boy. Your hair is messed up—can't have that!" Alex said with bright, faked cheerfulness. Michelle shot him a warning look and he rolled his eyes. "Alright, alright—I won't mess with you today. It's obvious you're not having a good day. Just don't expect me to fawn over you like all your eleven-year-old twitter fans."

Alfred wasn't really paying much attention to Alex and his ill-timed teasing. He shot one last painful glance at Arthur before he took the excuse to leave and ducked into the restroom with Alex on his tail.

"So…what was that all about?" Michelle asked bluntly. The tardy bell rang, echoing through the emptying halls. Arthur cursed and started to walk off.

"Piss off. I'm late," Arthur snapped. Michelle let him go. When he was quite far down the hall, she shouted after him, clearly feeling no shame.

"I didn't deserve it. Not because of how I dressed, not because of the choices I made, not even because of how I acted. I didn't deserve it…and neither did you!"

"Just leave me alone, Michelle! I'm not you! Don't try to force me to…to…urgh! Just sod off!" Arthur cursed, before ducking into his class. Michelle sneered in disapproval and tossed her dark hair in irritation. True, nobody was going to give her an award for being Ms. Sensitive, but she was trying to help Arthur. Like Alfred, however, she just didn't know how. Even though she and Arthur had gone through the same horrible thing, she still didn't know what to say or how to comfort him. She recognized Arthur's anger—she certainly knew the feeling—but as she barely could control her own temper these days, she knew it was hypocritical to tell Arthur to control his.

Without caring about propriety, she went into the men's restroom.

"He was being a jerk. He doesn't mean it, Alfred," she said by way of greeting. Alfred was leaning over a sink, splashing cool water on his face. He flashed her a small, fake smile.

"Yeah. Thanks for trying to help, Shell, but…I don't think Arthur wants to talk. Not to me, and not to you, either. Just please don't give him a hard time."

"As long as he thinks he's a victim, he's going to stay trapped in that shame! He's got to snap out of this. It's not okay for him to treat you like this! He's been doing this to you for weeks now—"

"He's getting better, okay? Last Saturday he really tried. He really did. I'm strong enough to stick this through, and I know he loves me."

"Alfred…you need to go to a counselor or something. Shit, this is just getting bad. I think Francis would agree with me. Beating you up? Making you cry in the hallway? When do you draw the line?" Michelle demanded.

Alfred was clutching tightly to the sides of the sink, his face a mask of frustration and confusion.

"It's fine. He's going to get better."

"And what if he doesn't?" Michelle asked bluntly, her cool blue eyes assessing Alfred. The tall teen snapped, and he violently kicked the nearby metal trashcan. The sound boomed in the tiled bathroom. Suddenly, a teacher was yelling at them.

"You three! OUT!" Alfred cursed when he saw who it was—Mrs. Smiley was anything but as happy as her name implied. They were in for it.

Sullenly, the three teens exited the bathroom while she yelled at them for their misbehavior. The morning ended with them all sitting in the principal's office, each with a Saturday morning D-hall and none of their issues resolved or their concerns abated.

By last period, the events of the morning had been wildly distorted by the gossip mill. Arthur had heard six different versions, all equally ridiculous, just by overhearing random conversations. Had he been actively seeking the gossip out, god only knows how many accounts he would have been able to dig up.

Only one conversation had hurt him.

"I heard he's been hitting Alfred. It's, like, really out of hand, but they're trying to cover it up because of the press and stuff. He gave him a black eye."

"Yeah, Arthur's totally changed. They used to be best friends. I feel bad for Arthur and all, but Alfred's such a sweet guy! Prince Arthur needs to go to a mental hospital or something if he's that messed up."

Arthur frowned bitterly and knew what would be floating around in the gossip rags next—rumors of Alfred's horrible abuse at his hands. Arthur practically stormed up to his escape, just wanting to get away, barely even looking up to the point that he didn't notice someone in his path until they he was sprawled on top of him in the hallway.

And not just anyone. Him.

"So…we meet again. Your big, tough boyfriend isn't going to beat me up again for getting knocked over by you, is he?" Celio asked brusquely. Arthur scrambled to get off of the senior, cursing his horrible luck.

"N-no. We're through," Arthur said. At the exact same time, he wondered why those words were coming out of his mouth. He loved Alfred. Everyone knew they weren't broken up for good. Why the fuck was he talking to his ex like they were?

"I heard. I have heard…quite a bit, concerning you," Celio said.

"Well, the rumors are shit. Don't believe everything you hear," Arthur snapped in anger. Celio arched a brow at him in mild surprise.

"Arthur, you seem very…tense. Surely seeing me can't be that upsetting? Don't tell me I was your first love or something!" Celio joked, clearly not thinking much of the former freshman he'd seduced into bed rather shamelessly.

"Don't be ridiculous. It's just…surprising. I haven't seen you around."

"You haven't been around to see me. We don't have any classes together. You don't come to the music room anymore. Have you missed me?" Celio's roguish hazel eyes were the same, still dancing with mischief and familiarity.

With a hollow sort of feeling in his chest, Arthur realized that Celio had been the first boy to use him. He'd been hurt and taken advantage of long before his stalker came around. A painful flashback pierced his brain—too big hands, encased in rough gloves, and that horrible, awful voice whispering to him as those fingers pushed into him…

"Celio, I know this is random but do you fancy a quick fuck?" Arthur asked. His green eyes were cold with determination and his mouth was set in a hard line. If Celio noticed the sweat on his brow or the tight curl of Arthur's fists, he didn't comment.

The older boy considered him for a long, agonizing moment. Then he asked a single question.

"Why?"

Arthur gritted his teeth. Why was everyone asking him that today? He just wanted to fuck around with someone! Was that so strange? He wasn't an angel. He could have sex just to vent some aggression. People did it all the time.

"Because I just want a cock in me. Do you want a hand-written invitation or—"

"Easy, easy…I'm not your boyfriend, so don't beat me up!" Celio joked crudely. Arthur glared. "Not in the mood for laughing at rumors? Alright. Come on, we'll go to my room."

"No. We'll do it up here. Nobody comes this way. There's a room one floor up that's deserted."

Celio shrugged carelessly, and hitched his bag further up on his muscular shoulder.

"Lead on," he said with a wave. Arthur noticed with disgust the growing bulge in Celio's pants. He really was a randy dog. Not that Arthur felt much different from him just then.

"I'm topping, right? Shame you're not a virgin anymore," Celio remarked casually. It was clear he no longer felt any need to sweet talk Arthur. Likely, he was still a little irritated by Alfred pummeling him the year before.

"Yeah. I want it rough."

Celio just smirked.

Alfred could barely sit still at the end of the hallway. Something just felt wrong. Of course, he'd fought with Arthur that morning (though that was nothing unusual anymore), but he still expected Arthur to show up after he'd eaten dinner in the cafeteria. The sponsor for the night was the local PFLAG chapter, and the various officials of the organization were occupying the hallway and speaking to the students about civil rights and activism. No camera crew was there, but a photographer from the city paper had come.

Alfred was really distracted, and he was glad no interviews were being done. The brunt of the public relations work fell on Francis, who was a natural. The PFLAG members couldn't get enough of him and Matthew, and Alfred couldn't help but feel jealousy when he saw them so sweetly holding hands or sharing a loving look as they talked to the community leaders.

Just last May it had been himself and Arthur that were the golden couple. How quickly things changed.

The minutes dragged, the crowd peaked and then dispersed, like it did every night…and still no Arthur.

"I'm getting worried. He should have come back from dinner by—" Alfred's sentence ended unnaturally soon when he realized what he was seeing.

"Uh-oh," was all Matthew said. Alfred didn't know what to think. His brain simply short-circuited. Walking down the hall, casually hand in hand, was Arthur and the slimy, smooth-talking, bastard that had reduced Arthur's entire existence into a fucking sticker on his guitar case.

Arthur gazed at him coolly. Celio shot him a smug, satisfied grin and let go of Arthur's hand. He gave him a lewd little slap on the ass.

"It was fun. I'll call you," he promised. Waving casually at Alfred in obvious dismissal, Celio sauntered off down the hallway.

In all his steady, patient weeks of waiting, Alfred had actually made considerable progress down the hall. He was only fifteen feet or so from Arthur's door. Arthur glanced at him, his eyes darkened and the hickey on his throat clearly visible past his gaping, button-up shirt. Alfred noted the buttons were not done up correctly.

"Didn't think you'd still be out here. Didn't the three hours end some time ago?" Arthur asked with casual cruelty. Thankfully, the photographer had left and most of the students were gone, with the exception of a few who now eagerly watched the scene unfold.

Matthew wisely placed a restraining hand on Alfred's bicep. He began to whisper to him furiously.

"It's not worth it, Al. He's trying to piss you off. Don't blow up. Just walk away."

"That's right. Just walk away. Unless you want to wait for Celio's sloppy seconds?" Arthur asked, making sure to twist the knife in Alfred's heart.

"I don't…I don't even know what to say," Alfred realized. Matthew gripped his arm almost pleadingly now.

"Don't say anything. Please, Alfred. Let's just go. Don't fight over this. He's hurt and he's acting this way because of what happened to him. You can't take it personally—"

The loud bang of Arthur's door slamming could be heard three hallways over.

"Just call it a night, please," Matthew pleaded one more time. Alfred slowly, slowly let his fists uncurl.

"It's over," Alfred said simply. Francis and Matthew exchanged a heavy glance. "I'm done. I can't take this anymore."

"But tomorrow—" Francis said helplessly. Matthew cut him off with a glare.

"Okay, Al. We understand. We'll take care of everything. Just don't do anything rash, alright?" Matthew said gently. Alfred's lips twisted down into a heavy frown.

"I need to go for a walk. Alone."

Nobody stopped him.

Alfred walked until he found himself in the gymnasium. He hadn't visited in months, but it still felt like home. The rubber floor of the basketball court squeaked as he crossed it. Alfred imagined the scoreboard lit all up in red, the cheering of the crowds, and the satisfying swish of the ball sliding through the net. Shooting hoops sounded like a good idea. The locker room was unlocked as usual, and Alfred fetched the basketball from his gym locker on autopilot. He changed into his sneakers and gym shorts and returned to the quiet, safety of the empty court.

Thunk…thunk…swish!

Alfred sunk a few free throws and then missed a few, jogging slowly after the escaped ball and dribbling it back into position. He didn't think about Arthur, or the rape, or the stalker, or the Hallway Project, or about anything.

After an hour of shooting hoops, Alfred realized it was the first time in his life that he'd ever given up. He was surprised at how empty it felt. At some point, he sank tiredly onto the bleachers and clutched the basketball loosely in the circle of his arms. He put his forehead against the bumpy surface. He didn't cry. He wasn't mad.

It's over. It's really over.

"Alfred?"

The blond glanced up, spotting Tony's small form in the darkened doorway.

"Hey, Tony," he said. Tony came further into the gym, almost hesitantly.

"I don't like this place. They stuffed me into a gym locker last time, so this is not a good place."

Alfred glanced at him with a frown.

"Who stuffed you into a locker?"

"The football team."

"Figures. They used to be my friends, you know. I would have given anything to fit in with them. Anything. Now…I don't want anything to do with them. Or Ashley and her gossipy friends. They all suck."

"Agreed. Can we leave now?" Tony asked unemotionally. Alfred swallowed thickly and stood.

"Yeah. We can go."

"Alfred?" Tony asked.

"Hmm?" Alfred replied.

"You can throw pillows again…if you need to."

"Thanks, Tony. It's cool, though. Everything's going to be fine," Alfred said with calm detachment.

"I am not very good at this sort of thing, but even I can see that you are not satisfied with your situation," Tony observed. Alfred idly tossed his basketball up into the air and caught it.

"I fumbled. I missed the shot. I had my moment of glory and it just…slipped through my fingers. Game over. Same old Alfred. It's funny…how everything changes and doesn't at the same time."

"I do not understand your illogical statements," Tony replied, glancing up at him with genuine confusion in his reddish-brown eyes. Alfred just sighed.

"I'm not sitting in the hallway tomorrow. We can watch a movie or something instead," Alfred said flatly. Tony's perplexed look remained, but he shrugged his scrawny shoulders.

"I will have to made adjustments to the schedule, but that can be arranged with minimal inconvenience."

They were nearly out the gym door when Alfred stopped. He turned back, eyeing the basket for a moment. It was an impossible shot. The whole length of the court stretched between him and the basket. He'd lost much of his muscle strength in his upper arms, and he was never a fantastic basketball player to begin with.

He took one hesitant step, then a faster one, then a few running jumps that led to a leap and an animalistic growl of frustration. The ball sailed through the air, weightless, hurtled down the court like it'd been shot out of a cannon.

It hit the rim, bounced to the other side, balanced precariously for a single, breathless moment…and then fell to the ground. No point.

"I guess…it was always a longshot, wasn't it?" Alfred mused quietly, a sad, heartbreaking smile twisting his lips. Tony's frown deepened.

"According to the motivational poster in the locker room, you miss every shot you don't take," Tony replied.

"Or in my case…every shot period. Let's go, Tony. It's been a long day." With a sigh, Alfred hit the lights in the gym, pitching the cavernous room into total darkness. The forgotten basketball rolled out of bounds, no longer worth anything to the boy who'd tried with everything in himself to make the one shot that mattered. He had lost.

A/N: All I'll say is this…have faith. I promise this story will end happily. It will.

As always, thank you for sweet reviews. They are lovely and motivating and wonderful. The next chapter will be longer, maybe I'll get it out Sunday? That's the goal at least. Thanks for all the patience!