Metron Ariston Part IV: Cathexis
"Extrovert or introvert Love is kind, or love hurts Rebellion or conformity What is my identity?"
-Pet Shop Boys, "Too Many People"
In a flash I was with him. "What's wrong?"
He looked up at me, his cheeks glistening in the quiet light. "I don't understand..." he said, trailing off, and looked down.
I put my hand on his shoulder, bringing my other hand to his chest and wiping his cum off it with my washcloth. I quietly put it aside. "What don't you understand?" I whispered.
He stayed silent for a few seconds, appearing to fight with himself. Then he spat the words out in a venomous rush. "I don't understand how you can do that for me when my friends and I beat you up and hurt you."
I exhaled, then sensed that a hug was in order. I reached over and provided it, and as we embraced, I looked at the wall and thought. He was right. It made no sense.
What difference did that make?
I looked at him in the eyes, took a deep breath, and prepared to say something I'd never said and meant before. "I forgive you," I said.
Then I kissed him again.
He returned my gaze, looking into my eyes this time, and he looked more thoughtful than I'd ever seen him. "It's so weird. If you'd have told me a week ago that I would be kissing you... I'd have punched you out. But now it seems like the most natural thing to do."
Then he kissed me again.
He rose and put his shirt on again, said goodbye, and said he'd see me at school. Then after a last kiss, he crept out the door to go home.
Having nothing else better to do, I got up and wandered over to my desk. I sat down and looked at my trigonometry homework. I sat there and looked at it for a long time, trying to switch from Randy to trig, but my rebellious brain wouldn't cooperate. Cosines fled before the thought of what he was doing to me.
Just like he'd said, things he'd never expected to do. I was getting him to do things he never expected to do, and I was starting to realize he was doing the same thing to me.
You're safe. It's going to be all right. It's ok, it's natural.
Please stay.
I forgive you.
I had never said any of these things before in my life. What was happening to me?
What was this leading to? Would it lead to something else I'd never said and meant before?
I stared at my trigonometry paper for so long, thinking of these things. I didn't even know whether to zone out to Metron Ariston and let the confusion slip away, or go to the vexation of asking all the questions. And dammit, if I were to go ahead and think about him, try to decide what I was feeling for him and how it was possible, how on earth was I supposed to come up with an answer?
These writhing puzzles swarmed my brain until I fell asleep onto my trig homework. It wasn't until next morning that I realized I hadn't gone to Metron Ariston before I had collapsed.
"Tour a tour on me chasse de vos frequentations Je n'admets qu'on menace mes resolutions Je me fous bien des qu'en-dira-t-on, je suis chameleon Prenez guard de mes soldats de plomb, c'est eux qui vous tueront..."
-Mylene Farmer, "Sans contrefacon"
And the next day after that came the crisis.
In the recess after my trig class, I ran across Randy in the courtyard. I approached him, but he turned away. I went closer, to talk to him, and he curtly snapped, "Not now!"
My mouth opened, and closed again. Hurt, I turned and walked away. I thought I was making progress, but I guess I was wrong. He didn't want to talk to me at all. Did he hate me? Was he having a homophobic relapse? The last thought scared me. I'd slept with him. If he'd turned fagbasher again, I was in danger from him. Not that I wasn't in danger anyway.
As if to drive home the point, I saw the Refrigerator Brothers approaching again. I turned sharply to the right and started to walk away, but they moved to encircle me anyway. Not good.
"Hey, queerbait!" one of them said cheerfully. "Have fun getting it up the ass last night?"
"No, but the guy I was with did," I snapped, pointing randomly at one of them. He shoved me, and I staggered back.
"Ya know what?" another one said, and shoved me. "We like having faggots around."
"Yeah," said another one, who shoved me too. I almost lost my balance. "You're fun to beat up!" The guy behind me kicked my legs out from under me. I sank to the ground. Another kicked me in the chest. Not again, I thought, as my wind shot out my mouth, I saw stars, and I began to retch. He kicked me again, harder. I heard a cracking sound and my eyes went red. I felt my conscious mind slipping into Metron Ariston, and I decided to let it go without a fight.
"Hey, Randy!" one of them called, as he grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and raised me up. My legs dangled above the floor. I saw him coming towards us. His eyes were murderous and he was looking straight at me.
"What?" he demanded.
"You remember Denise, here," he said, intentionally mispronouncing my name. "This little faggot. We wanted to save him for you."
"Go ahead," said another one, or was it the same one? I was delirious, from being beaten, suspended from my neck, and slipping away into my abstract state. "You want to hit him. Break his jaw. Punch him out."
It was like a dream, the state between wakefulness and sleep, or when you don't know if you're sane and dreaming or awake and mad. I looked at Randy, pain in my eyes.
I saw him wind up. He was going to punch me. My tottering world prepared to crumble.
He yelled something indistinct and landed a powerful punch precisely two inches above the top of my head.
The jock who had been suspending me by the neck fell to the ground and didn't move. Blood exploded into my head and air into my lungs from my released shirt collar as I dropped on top of him. And everything happened at once. Randy's former friends dove at him. I skittered away backwards, out of the fray, and faded out.
I have a dim memory of screaming, and of teachers, and of sirens, and then nothing until the intensive care unit.
part V coming soon