Date: Tue, 31 Aug 2010 22:41:38 -0300
From: D R <duncanryder@hotmail.com>
Subject: Everybody's Wounded 2: How the Light Gets In, Chapter 14

Everybody's Wounded
Book 2

How the Light Gets In
Chapter 14

By Duncan Ryder


Friday morning at 8:45, Matt pulled up in front of the Health Services
Building.  Luc's appointment was at 9.

"We're a little early," he said.  "Wanna grab a fast coffee?"

"I'm good," said Luc.  "I'll just wait."

Matt looked at him in concern.  Luc had had an hour-long session every
morning that week, and now, hearing the weariness in his voice, Matt felt a
swift and sudden empathy.  Though the Quebecois boy hardly spoke of them
and gave only the most oblique answers to his questions, Matt knew the
sessions were difficult and painful.  He'd been doing some research on the
net, and had even talked to a med student he knew in Halifax.

 "Ok," said Matt.  "But remember.  Scott's picking you up at two, ok?
He'll meet you in front of the Athletic Complex.  I'll be back for supper.
I'll pick up something–"

"I know," said Luc.  "Don't worry."

Worry?

Was he worrying?

Matt supposed he was.  Or something like that.

Luc leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes.  Matt
studied him carefully, his gaze lingering on the soft black curls, the
long, exposed neck, the line of shoulder, the length of his arm.  Luc wore
no gloves, and gripped a small rubber ball in his wounded hand, tightening
and releasing his fingers against the firm red curve in time to some
unheard, yet determined rhythm.

How could Matt not worry when he knew that every movement of those fingers
was agony?

"I feel like I'm abandoning you," he said, without thinking.

Luc looked up in surprise, and Matt–

Matt felt stupid.

Because the truth was, worry was just part of it.

The truth was, for some reason he didn't really want to think about, he'd
become protective of Luc over the last couple of weeks.  He didn't like the
idea of someone else picking him up.  Not even Scott.

Especially not Scott.

When Bran had called last night and asked him to drive Laura's mother to
the airport, he'd hated having to phone Scott to ask for the favour.  But
he couldn't say no to Bran.  Laura was finally being released from
hospital, and he knew how much his brother wanted to stay with her. She'd
been through so much - two surgeries, one to repair the damaged bone, and a
second to deal with an unfortunate infection.  Her father had only been
able to stay in Halifax for a few days.  Her mother, however, had been
there the entire time, staying at a B&B that belonged to friends of
Joshua's.

So Matt had agreed, and made the hated phone call to Scott, and hated it
even more when Scott seemed happy – too happy? – to do it.

It meant, after all, that Luc would be alone with him, and Matt wasn't sure
that was such a good idea.  He still wasn't sure exactly what the story
was, but it was clear to him that Luc was too hung up on the big guy.  It
just wasn't good.

It wasn't that Matt disliked Scott.  He didn't.  He couldn't.  There
was... nothing to dislike.  Scott, as far as Matt could tell, was exactly
what he seemed to be: smart and kind and decent and caring.  If anything,
it was more like... Scott seemed to be the kind of guy who was just too
good to be true.

And then there was the fact that he was in love with Joshua.

Joshua, who was too good to be true.

"I meant–" He stopped, felt his face grow hot.  He didn't know what he
meant.

Luc's laugh was soft and surprised.  "It's ok," he said, chewing absently
at his lower lip.  "I know you're not abandoning me."

Matt searched the fine-boned face for signs of fatigue and found them –
in the blue smudges beneath his eyes, in the fine lines drawn around the
curve of his mouth.

"You're sure you're ok?" Matt asked.  "You look tired.  I know–"

Matt managed to stop himself before admitting that he knew that Luc had
been up during the night.  Luc was up most nights.  Matt heard him.  Long
after midnight, he would slip out of his room to the piano.  Alone in his
room, Matt would have to listen carefully to hear the notes.  The sound of
one hand playing.  It made him feel like a voyeur, listening in on some
incredibly personal conversation.

Now he watched Luc lower his eyes, and he knew that the Quebecois boy was
withdrawing again.

"I'm fine.  I just need a drive."

His voice was polite.  Distant.  But the fist on his lap opened and closed
on the ball more desperately.  Matt could tell he was gripping it hard,
harder than he normally did, because he saw the soft curve of lower lip
tighten in pain.

For a second, Matt gripped the steering wheel in frustration.  This was
pretty much how the last couple of weeks had gone – Luc stepping towards
him, Luc retreating.  It was hard.  Even though Matt had no intention of
getting emotionally (or, God forbid, physically) involved with Luc, he was
doing his damnedest to be supportive.

Sometimes Luc let him.

Mostly, he didn't.

Matt wasn't quite sure how to deal with this.  He would have said he was
pretty well equipped to deal with Luc.  After all, he got guys like this.
He really did.  He'd always been drawn to them, the quiet ones, the shy
boys at the edges. He'd always found it so easy to reach them, to draw them
in.

Because beneath the shyness they had always been so eager.

Matt knew just how to get to them.

He knew how to smile, how to make eye contact, how to use his magazine good
looks to attract their attention.  He knew how to make them feel special.
Then the shy boys would look into his eyes and fall.  All he'd have to do
was... catch them.

Matt shut his eyes for a second, remembering.  Christ, but he'd loved to
watch that – to see it in their eyes.  He loved the way the very fact
he'd noticed them would make them all warm and flushed and fluttery.  He
loved the way they were drawn to him, like the proverbial moths to a candle
flame.


And he knew that Luc was not like the shy boys he'd seduced out west.
Those boys had come looking for themselves, and god alone knew what they
made of the answer they found in Matt's eyes, under Matt's hands.

But Luc wasn't like that.  Whatever he was looking for, he clearly didn't
expect to find it in Matt's jaded baby blues.

Because if one thing was perfectly clear, it was that, physically, Luc was
pretty much oblivious to Matt.  Which was a good thing.  Matt didn't need
the temptation of one more confused boy.

Matt climbed out of the car and walked around to the passenger door,
opening it and holding Luc's shoulder bag while Luc got out of the car.
Neither said a word.  Luc took his bag and headed up the stairs. Matt
leaned back against the car door, and through the white cloud of his own
breath in the frigid air, watched him go.

And thought about the fact that there was really only one shy boy who had
ever resisted him.

Joshua.

Luc was not Joshua.

Luc was not hot and sexy and mysterious and sad and wounded and...

Fuck.

So what if the Quebecois boy was sweet and shy and sad and lovely?

He would not think about that.

He would think about how Luc was hurt, and about how he was there to help.
Only that.

***

Half way up the stairs, Luc stopped, turned around.  The car was still
there, and Matt was still leaning against it.

For a moment, their eyes met and held.

A strange guy, Luc thought.  So obviously sensitive, and so obviously
determined to deny it.

Scott and Josh had both hinted that there was a story there.

For the first time, he found himself seriously wondering what it was.

***

Matt leaned against the wall, barely controlling his laughter as he watched
Brandon try to impose some kind of order in the presence of two small and
very determined blonde women.  Laura was determined to prove to her mother
that she was just fine and dandy and perfectly able to take of herself,
thank you very much.  Her mother, Elaine, was equally determined to fuss
over her and treat her like some kind of fragile flower.

"Are you sure you're going to be all right here?" Elaine demanded, glancing
worriedly around the small room, which seemed even smaller, stuffed as it
was with Laura and crutches and Brandon and Matt.  She ignored the desk
chair which Brandon had offered her, and did her best to pace.

"I'm fine, Mom," said Laura, squeezing around her on the aluminum crutches.
"Just fine."

She opened the top drawer of her desk.  "Tea.  I know I have tea somewhere.
Here it is.  Who would like tea?"

"But how are you going to manage?" Elaine demanded.  "Where's the
bathroom?"

"It's right here," said Brandon, opening the door beside the bed.  "And
I'll be right on the other side of it.  My room adjoins it as well.  So
even when I'm in my room, I'll always be in voice range if she needs any
help at all."

Brandon and Scott had exchanged residence rooms so Brandon could help
Laura.

Exchanged.  Right. Like Scott spent any time in his room anyway.  Matt
didn't think much of Scott's stuff had actually made it to Brandon's room.
He was pretty sure most of Scott's stuff had gone directly to Joshua's.

Just one more thing for him to try not to think about.

Laura paused a second, balanced carefully on the crutches so she could free
one hand to push her hair away from her face.

"I don't think I have any cookies left," she said.  "I seem to have
acquired a Cookie Monster."  She flashed a quick little grin at Brandon,
and then she giggled.

Brandon's responding smile, the way he looked at her, was so sweet, so
familiar.  Matt felt almost... jealous.

Laura pulled open the door of her little fridge that also served as a
printer stand.  "I'm not sure about this milk though.  Let me just
check–"

"Enough already!" said Brandon, laughing as he swept her up into his arms
and deposited her, crutches and all, on her bed.

"Sit," he said when she tried to move, grabbing a pillow from the end of
the bed and placing it carefully under her ankle.  "Now, stay!"

Elaine laughed.  "Good luck with that," she said, grinning at Brandon.

"Just watch me," said Brandon.  "I'm a lot bigger than she is.  When I say
`stay', she stays – and with her leg properly elevated."

Matt leaned back and watched.  It fascinated him, how easily his brother
had been accepted by Laura's parents.  Elaine had clearly adored Bran at
first sight.  And Laura's father, Gary, a quiet, thoughtful man who was at
once bemused by and lovingly indulgent of his wife and daughter, had made
his respect for Bran clear when he returned home.

"Do you know what he said to me when he left for the airport?" said Bran,
just after Gary's departure.

"What?"

"He said, `Take care of my little girl.  I'm trusting you.'  And then he
put his arm across my shoulder and kinda hugged me."

Matt had been truly surprised that such a bond could be forged in just a
few days.  "He didn't strike me as the huggy type.  I guess you passed
muster."

"Yeah," said Bran, chewing his bottom lip in that way he had when he was
thinking seriously.  "It was pretty amazing."

"You're pretty amazing," Matt had told him.

And he'd meant it, too.  He'd admired his brother for a long time, but the
strength he'd seen in Bran since Laura's accident, his devotion and his
tenderness, had touched him deeply.  At some level, he'd known that about
his brother, but seeing it in his face, his gestures, was moving.  He could
see in every act of tenderness how deeply Bran cared for the girl now lying
on the bed, pouting up at him playfully.  He knew how much Laura meant to
Matt – and so, how much her parent's regard meant.  He'd felt very proud
of his baby brother in that instant – and very happy for him.

But he couldn't help but think that it was so easy for Bran, to be part of
a couple, to be accepted by a girlfriend's family.

Everything was easy when you were who and what was expected.  When you were
straight.

****

"Finally," said Brandon, closing the door and throwing his jacket over the
back of the desk chair.  "I can't wait to hear how Matt makes out after two
hours cooped up in a car with your Mom."

"He'll have confessed all his deep, dark secrets," Laura said.

Bran laughed.  "I sincerely doubt it.  Matt's not the confessing type."

When he entered the room, Laura was still lying back against the pillow,
just as he'd left her.  Now she sat up, and with both hands lifted the hard
plastic boot that encased her leg from knee to toes.  One of the other
gymnasts had brought nail polish to the hospital and painted each tiny
toenail pink.  The process, so silly and so feminine, had fascinated him,
and he now felt a totally ridiculous urge to take each little toe into his
mouth.

 "Yeah, well, he can be as secretive as he likes," Laura said, "But it
won't work with my Mom.  People tell her things.  She's just – like
that."

Though Laura was smiling, her voice trembled with fatigue, and her smile
didn't reach her eyes.  As Bran watched, she determinedly managed to
manouever her leg so that she was sitting on the edge of the bed, but it
took a lot, and her shoulders slumped with exhaustion.

He took the three steps needed to cross the room and dropped to his knees
beside the bed.  He took her face in his hands and tilted up her chin,
kissing her mouth so quickly, so gently, that it was more breath than kiss.

"You ok?" he asked softly.

She tilted her head, pressing her cheek into his left hand, then turning
slightly, kissing his palm.  But when she looked at him, he could see the
exhaustion.

"I'm so tired," she said.  "I... I can't smile anymore, Bran.  I don't have
anything left.  Right now I'm too tired to be brave."

Once more, a little more slowly this time, Bran brushed her mouth with a
kiss that was air and breath and tenderness.  Then he slid his hands across
her shoulders, down the sleeves of her sweater, and around her waist,
enveloping her in his arms.  The blonde head nestled in under his chin,
against his throat, as she slumped against him.  He could feel the little
catches in her breath, warm and damp against his skin.

"You don't need to prove how brave you are to me," he said, smoothing her
hair, then dropping his hand to caress the length of her spine, with slow,
soothing fingers.  And as his hands whispered over her, so small and fine
and beautiful, he found himself wishing there was some way this touch could
heal her, free her.  He found himself praying desperately that she could
feel how he felt, in his soft, soft touch.

"I know how brave you are," he said against her ear.

He felt a small, sweet kiss on the most fragile part of his neck, just
there, beneath his Adam's apple.

He trembled.  He couldn't help it.  His entire body responded instantly,
yearning.  How could a touch so small, so tender, awaken such need?  She
was tired, so fragile right now.  She needed his strength, not his desire.
So how could such a small touch suddenly make him this hard, this
desperate?

On his knees beside the bed, he took a deep, deep breath, forced himself to
keep still.  His hands continued their soft, soothing movements.

"I think that maybe you should sleep for awhile," he said.  "It was a long
trip from the hospital."

He felt her nod.

"Come on, then," he said, easing her gently away from him, instantly
mourning the lost warmth, the lost contact.  "Let me help you lie down."

She looked up at him with wide blue eyes that were sad and hurt and so
very, very tired.  "Jammies," she said.  "Can you get my jammies?  They're
in the suitcase.  Mom bought me some new ones that will go over robo-boot
here."

 She knocked at the black plastic cast.

He brushed a curl that had escaped its elastic, and allowed himself one
more soft kiss, this time to her forehead.

He searched through her suitcase, finding several new pairs of pajamas.
When he looked up to ask her which she wanted, he almost gasped aloud.

She was taking off her sweater.

He watched, awestruck, as she raised her arms, pulled it up over her head.
Beneath it, she wore a little undershirt thing, pale, pale pink, with lace
at the edge, that looked ...  unbelievably soft over small, perfect
breasts.

He wasn't sure he had ever experienced anything that beautiful.  He
clenched his fists, forced himself to breathe.

"Pink or yellow?" he managed to asked.

She looked at him and smiled a small, exhausted smile.

"Pink."

So he got her the pink ones.  She pulled the top over her head.  Only when
the small, perfect breasts disappeared did his breathing ease – and only
for a second.

Because then it got worse, much, much worse.

He was mesmerized, helpless, as she struggled to remove her very baggy
sweat pants down and over the hard black plastic that encased her foot.
Just for a moment.  Then he swallowed hard and helped with that too,
removing them carefully, the backs of his fingers awed and helpless as they
traced the warm, warm line of her bare legs.  Her thighs curved so sweetly,
and so, too, the mysteries that beckoned and promised, hidden now beneath
the chaste pale pink of her lace trimmed panties.

Finally, it was done, and she was safely hidden away.  He lifted her, held
her with one arm as he pulled back the bedclothes of narrow bed with the
other, then settled her in.

"Bran?"

"Mmmm?"

"Will you hold me?  Like you did that night?  Just for a few minutes?"

Forever, he wanted to say.

But he didn't.  He just smiled down at her.

"Not a lot of room in there, with a munchkin and a robo-boot," he said,
scooping her up in his arms once more.  She giggled sleepily as he
repositioned her close to the wall.

He wasn't sure what to do.  He didn't want to slip into her clean bed in
his jeans and ancient hoodie, but he didn't want to get in beside her so
hard and wanting either.  But there wasn't much to be done about it.
Finally, he just shrugged them off, and lay down beside her in boxers and a
t-shirt, hoping she didn't notice.

How could she not notice?

But if she did, she said nothing, just curled up against him and sighed.
He breathed in the sweet, sweet scent of her as she settled into sleep.

***

Matt had come home to find Scott in the condo with Luc, sitting on the
floor by the piano bench, listening, as Luc had never allowed Matt to
listen.  Luc had stopped playing as soon as Matt came in, and soon after,
Scott had left.  All evening, Luc had been quiet, withdrawn.

It was almost midnight when Matt came out to find him standing at the
living room window, staring out through the floor-to-ceiling glass at the
darkness that was the ocean.  The living room was dark; the only light came
from the hallway, and Matt could make out the lines of Luc's body, his
face, but Luc's expression was reduced to line and shadow.  Matt stood
still for a moment, uncertain whether to speak to him, or to leave him
alone.

Finally, he crossed the room to stand beside and just behind him, looking
out into the black.

"You ok?" he asked after a few moments.  He decided he'd just go back to
his room if Luc withdrew further.

Luc said nothing for a long while.  Matt watched his profile, but there was
no movement, nothing at all.  He was turning to leave when Luc spoke.

"Have you ever known someone you felt so drawn to, so committed to, that
you just couldn't believe you weren't meant to be together?" Luc asked.

Matt thought of Joshua.  "Yes," he admitted.

"Then imagine waking up every morning feeling like that, with that
certainty, that knowledge in your heart.  Imagine that every morning you
wake up knowing that there is a man who is yours, that you are his.
Imagine the certainty."

Matt felt an enormous sadness.  He felt so bad for Luc.  He found himself
reaching out, laying a hand on his shoulder.  Luc did not react to the
touch at all.

"Then imagine," he said, his voice flat and empty. "That, as you wake
fully, you remember that you are wrong.  Completely wrong."

"Luc–"

"You remember that person is no more.  That he is dead and it's your fault.
He's dead because you loved him.  Dead, because he – he loved you."

Matt wasn't sure what to think, what to do.  When Luc had started talking,
Matt had assumed he was referring to Scott.  Now he knew that was
impossible.  There was someone else in this lovely boy's past.  Someone
else who had gored his heart.

For a moment, Matt stood motionless behind him, staring out over his
shoulder.  Then, answering some strange certainty, he found himself
slipping his hands around Luc's waist and resting his chin on Luc's
shoulder.

The lovely Quebecois boy didn't react at all.  But he didn't stiffen, nor
did he pull away.  Matt just stood there and held him for a while, aware of
his own heart beating.

"Tell me," Matt said, finally, against Luc's ear.  "Tell me."

***

I know it's been a long time since the last chapter.  I hope to update more
frequently going forward.

If you'd like to know when I post, just email me at
duncanryder@hotmail.com.