Everybody's Wounded, Part II
How the Light Gets In
Chapter 3
The wind blew in from the St. Laurence cold and hard, clawing through the thinsulate of Luc's supposedly windproof winter jacket. Behind him the cobbled streets of Vieux- Montreal somberly awaited the next snowfall, its friendly warm-weather bustle just another faded ghost. Before him was the mighty river. He stared out beyond the dreary ice and snow of its frozen steel edges to the hard choppy water and to the grey sky beyond.
He was alone on one of the otherwise deserted benches that lined the park beside the old port -- alone and glad of it. Yes, the wind was bitter, but he sat straight and strong, refusing to huddle against it. He didn't care. It wasn't the North Atlantic, but it was grey and hard and merciless.
It would do.
For now, it would do.
Because he wasn't quite sure how yet, but he knew he was going home. Scott had said he would find a way, and Luc knew that he could trust Scott completely. For the first time in weeks, he felt truly... alive.
As he sat defiantly against the wind, he wondered what Scott was doing to make it all possible. He was probably at the residence office, Luc decided, requesting a fee refund for his second semester residence fees. Luc should have thought of that. He cursed himself for not having said something to Scott about rent -- he certainly didn't expect Scott to pay any. The condo was large; Scott would have his own room, his own bathroom. Luc, at his parents' insistence, just needed company.
Company, he thought sadly. Right. That, and a wall his parents could trust between him and the kitchen knives.
He shook off the thought. It didn't matter if it was too late for Scott to withdraw from residence. He would tell him that tonight. At nine o'clock. Scott said to keep his cell on after nine.
What, he allowed himself to wonder, would it actually be like, living with Scott? How would they be together? They would, at least for now, be just roommates; he wouldn't allow himself to think beyond that. Scott was with Josh. For now. He knew that. But even living together as roommates, as friends. Even that...
His sense of Scott was, in some ways, so clearly drawn -- and, in some ways, barely a shadow.
On the one hand, he had a strong sense of Scott's mind: its sharpness, its analytic bent. The two of them, he and Scott, had really provided the intellectual current running through the discussions in their courses and in their study group last semester. Of all his classmates, it was Scott whose mind he had been most drawn to, that he had respected most completely. His intelligence had a different, more intuitive, analytic bent than Luc's own, and it was still, in some ways, less disciplined -- but it was none the less formidable. And the relative lack of discipline was to be expected, thought Luc with half a smile. Scott wasn't, after all, Jesuit-trained the way Luc was. And Scott's intuition was powerful, much more powerful than Luc's own. Luc had enjoyed challenging it very much.
So, yes, there was that between them. He had a good sense of Scott's mind.
And there was also that fact that Scott liked his music -- and that Luc had been able to play for him. There was that, too.
Scott was the first person Luc had actually wanted to play for, enjoyed playing for, since... since his wrist and fingers had been broken three years ago. Because so much more had been broken that day, that January 17th, than a few bones. His wrist and fingers had, after all, suffered only simple, clean breaks that had healed perfectly. His desire to perform, however, to offer his music as a gift to others, had been more deeply, more fundamentally, damaged. His bones may have healed, but his previously burning desire to play for others had not. He had, quite simply, lost his ability to lose himself in the music if anyone else was around. The joy was there for him alone -- he could no longer perform.
Until that night he'd played for Scott.
Luc stared out at the water, unconsciously cradling his splinted left wrist in his gloved right hand, remembering how Scott had been that night. Luc's electric piano, a spectacular surprise birthday gift from his family, had just been delivered, and it had mesmerized him. He remembered how Scott had encouraged him to play, and finally he'd just given in, just a few riffs at first, and so conscious of Scott beside him. Just a few riffs. Then a few more...
It was the first time they'd been alone together, and at first he'd been distracted by Scott's physical presence, the size and latent strength that appealed to Luc in ways that disturbed and almost frightened him. But gradually, as his fingers coaxed life from the piano keys, the distraction had faded to comfort, and somehow to ...
Encouragement.
Support.
And as Luc had ventured into more and more complex chords and melodies, Scott had dropped to the floor beside him, and Luc had felt him there, just listening, really listening.
The way Daniel used to listen.
The way Daniel --
But somehow that hadn't paralyzed him, as such feelings normally did. Suddenly, he had been fine with that again. With the knowledge that someone else was really, really listening to him.
The way Daniel used to listen.
And afterwards, he'd driven Scott back to the university. Slowly, because it had been a fog-drenched night with poor visibility. And when they'd arrived, Scott had kissed him in the fog and --
No.
Perhaps it was best not to go there.
Luc sighed heavily and looked out over the water. His instinct was to pull his thoughts away, to force himself to think of something else, anything else. But it was too late for that now. He'd asked for help, and Scott would help.
Which meant that now, alone in the cold, grey morning, he had to let himself think. To wonder. To remember.
He raised his right hand to his mouth, pulled off his glove with his teeth, reached into his pocket for his iPod. He needed to think about this. He needed to stop turning away from it. And if he was going to allow himself to think about Scott, he needed to do it purely, without the constant presence of music, which he used to cocoon himself, to anaesthetize the pain of remembering.
He turned off the iPod and the music in his head stilled. Suddenly, the wind from the river was not just an icy reality against his skin, but a sound, a muffled groan, a base line to his troubled thoughts. Carefully, he used his teeth and his damaged left hand to easy his glove back on.
"Scott."
Luc whispered the name, tested the syllable in the frozen air. It was the first time he'd said it aloud since...before.
And he thought about how Scott had kissed him in the fog.
Sweet, sweet kisses, closed mouthed, gentle. Fearless, while acknowledging Luc's fear. Asking nothing but permission. Promising everything.
Luc sighed.
Scott was, he knew, a fundamentally good man. Kind. Patient. Loving. Reliable. And he was strong. He knew himself, and was unafraid.
Luc wanted that. God, how Luc wanted that.
"Scott," he said again, a little louder, surprised somehow that his voice sounded so strong and clear in the still morning air.
And he admitted to himself how much he loved him. Scott. The kind of man Daniel was meant to be. Grown into himself. Grown out of his fear, his anger. Surely, surely, the man Daniel was meant to be. .
Desperate for caffeine, but determined to avoid both the mind-numbing volume of the rap music that was the daily reality on his residence floor, Matt headed to the coffee shop a few blocks from campus, secure in the knowledge that Stevie was a Starbucks type -- he'd never slum in a Timmy's. As he let himself into the crowded warmth, he was surprised and delighted to see Bran at a table in the corner, deep in earnest conversation with Scott and Laura. He almost went right to the table, but he was cold. They hadn't seen him come in, so he decided to grab a coffee and a donut - no, a dozen donuts - first.
"Hey, guys," he said, brandishing the donuts cheerfully. "Look what I've got!"
Three faces turned to him in surprise, and for an instant he felt that he should just have taken his coffee and left, pretending he hadn't seen them.
Bran's cheeks were flushed in a way that Matt knew meant something was really bothering him. Scott's brow was seriously creased, his mouth worried. And Laura -- well, Matt had never been very good at reading women, but it seemed to him that the tiny blonde gymnast, who had stolen his brother's heart, just looked terribly confused.
But hers was the face that broke into a wide, genuine smile. "Hey Matty," she said, then flashed a longing look at the donuts. "Take those things away. Don't you know I'm in training?" But she was still smiling and there was no sting in her words.
Bran moved his backpack from the empty chair and motioned to Matt to sit down. Matt shrugged off his jacket and sat, smiling as Bran bumped his shoulder affectionately.
Scott said hi and grabbed the donuts. "I'm not in training, thank God," he said, fishing out a dutchie and pushing the box at Bran.
But even with the guys all munching donuts, there was an oddly serious air at the table, and Matt knew he'd interrupted something. He could see the serious looks passing between Scott and his brother, and sense the impatience bubbling in Laura.
It was Laura who couldn't stand it any more.
"Just tell him already," she said finally.
Matt caught the quick grimace which told him that Bran wished she hadn't said anything. He eyed his brother curiously. "Tell me what?"
He saw the slow, concerned look Bran gave Scott, and no one said anything.
Laura rolled her eyes. "Oh, for God's sake. Scottie's found you a place you live, that's what."
"Really?" Matt thought of Stevie, of Kieran who he couldn't quite remember, of the noise on his floor. "That's fantastic!"
"See?" said Laura, looking triumphantly at Scott and Bran.
But when Matt looked at Bran, he was surprised to see worry clearly written on his face. Scott looked thoughtful.
"Ok," he said. "So what's wrong with it? Is it a dive? I don't really care. I lived in some pretty rough places out west. Housing's so expensive in Banff and in Whistler that I've lived with a lot of guys sharing the same apartment. I can get along with just about anybody."
Still neither of the guys said anything.
"And as long as it's not terribly expensive, I can pretty much manage. I mean, I've been working for over a year. And --" he shot a grin at Bran, "I just talked to the Dean. When I explained the situation he gave me permission to move out of residence with a full refund. So I'm good financially."
"It's not a dive," said Scott carefully. "It's with a friend of mine, of ours. He lives in a huge condo his parents own, so the room itself will be great. And I don't know what the rent is, but it won't be an issue."
"Ok," said Matt. "So when can I move in?"
"Well, it's a little complicated," said Scott.
"It's a lot complicated," Bran muttered.
Matt felt his frustration rise. "What, for fuck sake? Oh --" He glanced at Laura and winced. "Sorry."
She giggled. "S'ok. I've actually heard that word before, believe it or not."
Matt nodded, and turned to his brother in frustration.
It was Scott who finally answered.
"Ok, here's the story," he said. "Luc tried to kill himself before Christmas. He damn near succeeded. He took an overdose and he slit his wrists. It was only through sheer blind luck that we got to him before it was too late. One wrist is badly damaged. He's had surgery and he's gonna need a lot of rehab."
"Jesus," said Matt softly.
"Yeah," said Scott. "Other than that, he's ok physically. Mentally, I don't know. He's home in Montreal with his parents. He says he's ok, that he's not gonna do it again, but neither his psychiatrist nor his parents want him to come back here if it means living alone. The thing is -- he wants to come back very badly."
Matt heard the depth of the emotion in Scott's voice as he spoke, and felt an enormous sadness for this Luc boy. He knew what it meant to feel like that. He knew...
"I see," he said slowly. "It sounds...rough for him. But if he really wants to be back here, and my living with him can help him do that, well, maybe it would a good thing for both of us. Does -- does anyone know why --?"
He looked to his brother, who shook his head slowly. Then he turned to Scott, who looked first to Bran, and then to Laura.
"Luc's gay," he said, in that quiet, deep voice.
Ok, thought Matt. And this is a big deal because? He knew Scott was gay. And surely Bran had told Scott that Matt himself was gay as well, so that couldn't be the problem. He said nothing, just nodded his head and waited.
"I don't know the whole story, all the whys, but I know some of them," said Scott. "If you want to think about living with him, you need to know, too."
Matt nodded.
"I think the suicide attempt had a lot to do with stuff that happened to him a few years ago. And I think some of it maybe had something to do with me. He says not, but -- I think it did. He left a message on my voice mail that I wasn't supposed to get until after it was over."
Scott's voice broke and he fell silent. Matt studied the big guy, watched the play of emotion on his face. Although he knew nothing else about this Luc, he could well imagine the hopelessness of falling for Scott when Scott had the beautiful Joshua. No one could possibly hope to compete with that. The pity he felt for the unknown boy was sharp and deep as he watched Bran reached across the table and put his hand over Scott's.
Finally, Scott seemed to get himself under control and continued. "Anyway. That's what you need to know. That this is more than just a place to crash. The reason Luc needs a roommate is that he can't be alone."
Scott looked up, straight into Matt's eyes. "And Josh and I will be there, too, of course. We'll all be there."
Matt considered what he was being told. And what it seemed to have cost Scott to tell him.
"Ok," he said slowly, staring down at the cardboard coffee mug he held in his hands. "I think I can deal with that. I mean, what I'm looking for is someplace quiet, some place I can study and get my own, well, my own life organized ."
He looked up to see Scott looking hard into his eyes. "Can you?" he asked. "Can you understand that Luc is very... fragile? That he needs friends -- just friends?"
Matt felt himself flush. So. Luc was strictly, strictly off limits. He wondered just how much Bran had told Scott about Matt's past. But despite the heat he felt burning in his cheeks, he met Scott's gaze steadily, refusing to look away from the demand he saw there.
"I understand that," he said simply. "I won't forget it."
He felt Bran's hand on his arm. "Matt, there's something else."
Matt looked at his brother curiously. "What?"
"Luc's condo's downstairs from Josh Templeton."
Fuck, Matt thought. But he let nothing show. Bran was the only person in the world who knew what he felt about Josh -- he was sure even Josh himself hadn't a clue. He wished he'd never told his brother about it. He wished he hadn't had to.
But in the end, of course, he telling Bran everything hadn't been an option. It was that, or never escape the hell his life had become. Confession to his baby brother was what had, in the end, made it possible for him to come home again.
Matt's descent into hell lasted eighteen months.
It began with rejection from the saddest, most beautiful, man he'd ever met, and ended with the despair in Brandon's eyes. That, for him, was rock bottom -- the look in Brandon's eyes. That's when he started clawing his way out.
His mother had kept him connected to the family through those eighteen months. Every Sunday morning she would call, tell him she loved him, tell him that they all loved him, beg him to come home.
"Hi, Mattie, it's Mom," she'd say, and he'd push away whatever horror his daily life had descended into -- the hangovers, the fatigue, the endless series of nameless curious boys and lost men who'd followed him home -- and listen.
Every conversation began with her most cheerful voice and ended with tears.
"Come home, baby," she'd plead. "Just for a visit. We'll send you a ticket."
But he couldn't go home.
And though his mother couldn't understand why, stil, she called, and kept calling. Every Sunday morning. Scared and sad and brave, she refused to let the connection falter.
In Banff, they'd called him the ski queen, and he'd played into it with a perverse delight. He'd been working as a ski instructor, waiting tables, and partying wildly into the night, taking a perverse delight in seducing the pretty, fucked up college boys. Then the party boys got him, and it was like a virgin mountain of fresh powder that had called to him and called to him and called to him... and he couldn't resist.
But if his mother had kept him connected, his father had kept him real, forced his feet to the ground despite the insanity that went on in his head. At the very worst point -- when he was sucked in by the pills, the dangerous boys -- his father had shown up with a psychologist in tow and dragged him kicking and screaming into rehab.
And through sheer force of will had made him stay and endure.
He still didn't know how his father had known, and still found it hard to believe that he'd left his busy Ottawa law practice for almost two months and holed up in Calgary while Matt himself got sorted out. And then, when clean and sober Matt had still refused to come back east, his Dad had helped him resettle at a new mountain.
Whistler was marginally better. Alert to the power of seduction, and aware of his own demons, he'd managed to avoid the seductive party boys, and so kept away from the pills. Booze became his safer drug of choice.
Other than that, it had been more of the same.
He was still the ski queen.
Ski instructing.
Waiting tables.
Exercising his secret talents in ski lifts.
Taking home the strays -- the lonely men and the frightened boys passing through.
And every morning waking up hung over, and hating himself, and all alone, regardless of who shared his bed.
Until the morning he'd awakened to a pounding on his door and pulled himself, drunk and naked and stinking of the guy in his bed, whose name he hadn't been able to remember if he'd ever known it, to find Bran outside the apartment door.
Bran who had thrown out the guy and dragged him into the shower.
Bran who'd forced him to eat and to talk and finally, finally, to cry.
It had taken Bran, sweet, trusting Bran, to do what neither of his parents had been able to do.
It had taken Bran to make him confront what he was becoming.
It had taken Bran bring him home.
Now he looked at his brother and forced himself to smile.
"And?" he asked, forcing a playful cheerfulness into his voice. "God, I don't think I've seen Josh for almost three years now. It will be good to see him again. Besides --" he looked over at Scott. "I expect I'd be seeing you both anyway, right?"
Scott nodded thoughtfully.
Matt looked back at his brother and smiled. "It will be ok, really," he said.
The four of them fell silent, until Scott brought them back to the practicalities.
"So I'll talk to Luc tonight then?" he asked.
Matt nodded. "And thanks," he said. "I really appreciate this.
"Gay?" said Laura. "How come nobody told me Luc's gay?"
Bran caught up with Scott later that afternoon. They were in the athletic complex, headed for a workout with the rugby boys.
"We need to talk," he said, dragging him into an empty corridor where no one could hear them.
"What?" Scott asked curiously.
Bran didn't beat around the bush. "Does Josh know you're suggesting this?"
"Yeah, Bran. He knows."
"And he's ok with it?"
Scott didn't say anything for a moment, and Bran watched his mouth harden uncharacteristically into a tight line. "Ok with what, exactly?"
But Bran refused to back off. Though they'd only known each other a relatively short time, Scott had pretty much become his best friend, and he loved the guy. But this was Matt they were talking about. The brother he loved with all his heart. He'd risk anything for Matt, even this friendship.
"With Matt being downstairs," he said. "They're bound to see each other."
"It's not a problem, Bran," said Scot softly. "We really don't need to talk about this."
"I think we do," said Bran stubbornly.
Scott studied him for a moment. "Yeah," he said finally. "I guess maybe we do. I guess this has something to do with what you said the first time you saw Josh with me, back before Christmas."
"Yeah."
"You were kinda cold to him. Then you said he was too old maybe, or too complicated for me. You wanna tell me about that now? Cause you know, Josh and I are together. I mean, we're really together, Bran. It's real, you know?"
"You sure?"
"Yeah," said Scott. "I'm very sure."
"It's just -- " Now that it came down to it, Bran wasn't quite sure what to say.
After a moment of awkward silence, Scott seemed to take pity on him. He reached out and put one hand on Bran's shoulder. "It's ok," he said. "Really. I know about Josh and your brother."
"Do you?"
Scott nodded.
"Do you know that Matt really fell for him? That when Josh dumped him, it was the beginning of everything falling apart for him?"
Scott sighed heavily. "I don't think that's quite right," he said finally. "I mean, maybe that's how Matt saw it, but -- Josh didn't dump him, Bran. They had -- well, a couple of encounters, I guess you might say. But they were never together."
Bran sighed heavily and looked Scott straight in the eye.
"I don't know what Josh's story is," he said finally. "What I do know is that he broke my brother's heart. Look -- I watched this whole thing with you. The stuff you went through with Luc. The stuff with Josh. I know you think you're in love with him. Well, so was my brother. And Josh broke his heart. And what that did to him --"
Bran swallowed hard, fighting back the image of Matt the way he had found him that morning at Whistler. "I'm not sure he's over it yet, no matter what he says."
Scott didn't flinch. "I'm sorry about Matt, Bran," he said softly. "But I really do know everything that happened between them. They were never together. Not like Josh and I are together. Matt may have wanted it -- obviously, he did want it -- but it never happened."
"You believe that?"
"Yeah. I believe that. I believe it absolutely. I also believe that it's long past time for Matt to get over what he thinks it was that happened. It was almost three years ago. It's time for him to start living again. Maybe this is the pause he needs for a new start. Have you asked him lately how he feels about it?"
Bran nodded. "Yeah, I asked him. When I told him about you, about you and Josh."
"What did he say?"
"Not much," Bran admitted. "He just kind of shrugged, said he was glad Josh had finally found someone better than the asshole he used to be with. But Scott, it's not about what Matt says."
Scott nodded sadly. "Maybe not. But sometimes there's no way out of situations but to get through them, you know? Maybe you can't run away. Maybe this is what Matt needs to deal with to get on with his life. Just keep being there for him, Bran. I've got a feeling Matt's a lot stronger than either of you give him credit for."
I hope you enjoyed Chapter 3.
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duncanryder@hotmail.com.