Chapter 4

What if the people you hate become the only ones to turn to?

November turned into December, and the weather refused to really get cold. It was wet and misty, though, but that didn’t stop Lucian Gaines from running two times a day, just wearing his long lycra tights and a top.

The park had maybe become the only place he felt save anymore, escaping the eyes that were everywhere, the whispers and the giggles.

Wherever he saw Barbs, he wondered if they might be the ones that raped him. Maybe they were the two blondes whispering behind their hands. Or the Asian girl – what’s her name – pouting her lips at him. He tried to ignore them, but they were always there – winking and waving.

Only running set him free, in dawn and dusk, rain and sunshine.

Not many of the Bobs accompanied him anymore. In the end he often ran alone; sometimes he saw Drew – they hardly talked until one day she suddenly crossed his path, making him stop.

Her hair was damp, so was her top. She panted.

“Do I have a disease, Lucian?” she asked.

He danced on his feet, trying to get past her, but she didn’t budge.

“I guess it’s something really bad and contagious,” she went on.

Her eyes were dark under a frown, but her lips smiled, giving her a sardonic look.

He shrugged.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

She stepped forward, bringing her face close to his. He saw the myriad of tiny raindrops on her skin. He also saw that her irises had a steely hardness to them.

“You don’t understand,” she said, her voice toneless. “What’s new? But I do, darling. I understand that you’re a fool – no, a spoilt, ungrateful child.”

The venom in her voice almost physically pushed him back.

Drew rose on her toes; it made her taller than him. He looked up into her angry eyes as she went on.

“Poor, poor Lucian, sulking for months, oozing self-pity and thinking the world should be shocked by his fate. I guess we’re all supposed to pity poor you.”

Her breath on his face was the only warmth she exuded.

“Oh my, the sorry fate of Lucian Gaines,” she proceeded. “Living in his own private room, being pampered day and night, fed and dressed, living like a fucking princess, not lifting a finger – and all he can do is moan and cry that he’s a captured prisoner and wants to run. But when he runs, he’s back within hours, no doubt missing the soft life and the sweet pampering.”

Her voice broke at the last word, and tears yet again ran down her face, mingling with the rain.

“You have no idea, do you?” she finally said through sobs.

Lucian felt like a stone. The emotions, the crying, the accusations were an icy shower. Here was this girl he’d made love to – a sweet, yielding creature – now yelling at him, spitting fire and venom; first telling him it was just fucking what they did, now telling him he’s an ungrateful, spoilt child.

People dumped him, abandoned and ridiculed him, raped him – and now he had to be thankful? Irrational anger seized him and he pushed her away.

“You’re crazy!” he yelled. “They’re cutting me, injecting me, feeding me drugs and making me paint myself and dress like a whore – they rape me and ridicule me when I report it, and now I’m the one being ungrateful? You’re crazy!”

Drew had sagged down, crouching in the mud, sobbing.

The sight of her misery confused him. She attacked him, accused him and now she was in tears? He sank down and crouched next to her. Her arms flew around his neck and she pulled herself into him.

“I’d kill to be you,” she muttered into his shoulder.

“But why, Drew? Why want to be me?” he said, hugging her back. “You’re so much more. I’m a fake. You’re you – beautiful and sweet and lovable, so at home here, so sure of yourself.”

She guffawed. Their embrace muffled the sound.

“So very kind of you to say,” she said. “And such a crock of bullshit.”

He gently pushed her away.

“I mean it,” he said.

“Of course you do,” she answered. “You mean it with all your sweet, stu ... naïve heart.”

He knew which word she’d swallowed.

“Why am I stupid?” he asked. She chuckled.

“Sorry for that one. But you are naïve – and blind. You have no clue.”

She rose to her feet, rubbing the tears from her eyes with small, angry movements.

“You know that most Bobs sleep in a dorm,” she said.

He nodded.

“I sleep with two other Barbs,” she went on. “Why do you think that is?”

He hated it when people asked things like this while already knowing he had no answer.

“You have no idea, do you?” she asked. “No idea why Nico does chores, and Audrey, my other dorm mate, and I? And Honor and Mac and all the others? You have no idea why Harper rakes leaves in the park, and Jo and Kelly clean class rooms?”

“No, I guess,” she went on after a pause, answering her own question. “Neither do you know why you don’t lift a finger, or Mu, or little Charlie.”

Another pause. Drew retracted her arms and sat straight.

“Because Nico and Harper and I are poor, and you are rich,” she said, emphasizing the last word. “Someone pays for you, your parents or a trust fund or whatever. I am an orphan, so is Nico, Jo too. Harper’s parents are too damn poor to pay for him, so he has to earn his stay by working, doing chores like Nico and I. Helping in the kitchen, the hospital. It is why we have to...”

She broke off her sentence. He saw how she shook, holding her chest. He reached out, but she stepped back.

“Speaking of the devil,” she said. “I have to go. Chores waiting.”

She slipped past him.

“Drew,” he said, turning around.

She disappeared behind a clump of dripping evergreens.

Christmas came and it wasn’t white.

The boughs on the huge tree in the central hall nevertheless groaned under loads of artificial snow. It shone with baubles and lights, and at its foot laid a veritable mountain of boxes wrapped in colorful paper and glittering bows.

The Bobs milled around in front of the tree, their colors competing with the presents.

As was tradition at Norton’s, they’d dressed up in a common theme – this year’s was Carnaby Street, the famous London place that stood for a distinct fashion hype in the Sixties: mini skirts, garish colors, white nylons and fat-heeled platform shoes. Their make up allowed for pale lips, fat long lashes and black-shadowed eyes.

Lucian stood with a champagne glass of sparkling water, knowing he looked the part, as did Harper and Jo and the others. Most Bobs were there; only Taylor and Kelly had left to be with their families, much to their own regret.

In the days before, the excitement had been palpable.

The boys were running around, trying on things, cutting and restyling, comparing, posing, trying out make up and jewelry, playing music from the period, and all the while giggling – they did a lot of giggling.

Of course Lucian’s first impulse was to condemn the whole charade as ridiculous and fucking awfully gay.

He knew by now that it was easy to do that and be the cool one, the lone wolf; to stand on the side and mock the whole thing. But in the end you’d pay for that – you’d be the outsider, the unhappy one, wouldn’t you?

He’d already tried to run off, and failed. So now he decided, while he was here, not to be unhappy anymore.

So he’d plunged in, yielding to the sweet attraction of make belief, like he’d done when he was Romeo. He’d dressed up and tried out with all of them, discussing their look, cutting and sewing and styling – and most of all: talking and giggling, going through piles of old magazines, watching video’s, walking imagined catwalks and being shamelessly silly.

He never slept better.

Of course there were moments of discomfort, standing on the platform shoes, feeling the big earrings bump against his neck and the short skirt’s hem against his thighs with every step he took.

But when he looked into one of the tall mirrors, he saw what others saw – an endearing teenage girl looking at the world with the wide-eyed gaze of first-time arousal.

Young was the word, heartbreakingly young and most of all: not him.

Cute was another way to see it, cute they were, like newborn voles prancing around on high, thin legs. Older people might call it ‘touching,’ he guessed – and envy them for it.

There was comfort in looking different and not being himself, if only for just a moment. Walking on heels inside a cloud of perfume was a thrill. The delicate taste of lip-gloss brought a buzz to his head.

Everything was fine, wasn’t it – just for now, just a playful charade – children dressing up from granny’s boxes of vintage clothes?

Since returning from his botched escape Lucian knew where a possible way out could be found. He didn’t have to run away at all. He could hide behind the masks of make up and make belief.

He took a sip and saw the delicate pale crescent his lipstick left on the thin glass. He also heard the rattle of his colorful bracelets, smelling the authentic sixties perfume they’d all chosen.

“Ah man, you look great,” he heard.

Turning around he saw Jo, grinning. His kinky hair was teased into a huge Afro, his eyelids a blazing mint over long fake lashes. The pale lipstick made his pulpous lips stand out against the blushing butterscotch of his face.

His mini dress was very short, and the same mint as his eye shade.

“Mmm, I could say the same about you,” Lucian heard himself say with a chuckle, graciously touching the boy’s glass with his.

It was hard to tell why, but when amongst themselves the Bobs kept saying things like ‘man’ or ‘dude,’ giving high fives even after dressing up. They could grin toothy grins one moment, and curtsy graciously the next. They belched and then giggle behind their painted fingernails, or say: “Hey asshole, pass me the lip gloss.”

They were boys after all, he thought – boys dressing up, but needing to let the world know it was an act.

When Charlie walked in, though, they all felt their supposed comfort slip. Charlie wasn’t a knobble-kneed vole, needing a regular escape into boyhood. He would never belch or give high fives or say ‘dude.’

Charlie didn’t play make belief, he was the real thing.

Thinking of him as a him felt out of place. When Charlie wore a lumpy sweat suit, he was a girl – small, angelic, gracious. Even when Charlie was naked, showing his tiny pink-tipped penis, he was a girl. He moved like liquid, he smiled like a cherub, and his laugh was made of the same tingling silver as his hair.

Lucian remembered seeing the boy practice at the ballet studio. He remembered watching the frail body bend and stretch against the tall windows’ backlight – feather light and utterly natural.

He also remembered the tightening of his crotch.

Now, at the Christmas party, Charlie once more oozed an attraction that ridiculed Lucian’s carefully built defenses of make belief. Kelly guffawed, showing his buckteeth. Pretty Jo seemed to nurse a remnant of swagger in his walk, and Harper fought the height of his heels.

But Charlie mocked all their denials.

“Hi Lucian,” he said with his soft shy voice, as a blush blossomed through the porcelain of his cheeks.

His violet eyes were enormous, enlarged by dark shadow and fat mascara on his long lashes. The big cloud of white curls had been dusted pink. White-nyloned legs ran forever from under his mini skirted dress to end in silver platform sandals.

“Hi, Twiggy,” he said, forcing his nerves away with the little joke. Charlie really looked like the famous sixties fashion model.

Taking the compliment with a giggle behind his little pink-tipped hand Charlie again was the shy and very real teenage girl.

The Barbs were fashionably late of course.

Quite a few of them seemed to have left for the holidays. As it happened only six appeared. Maybe their theme was ‘slinky’ as they all wore slinky dresses falling down their slender bodies from their throats to their high-heeled ankles. The thin fabric lazily followed their movements, showing off long thighs. Some had splits up to their hip, others a backside cut deep enough to show the dimples of their ass cheeks.

Two wore black, two red, one blue and one silver. The dresses were simple, but they all wore a lot of jewelry with them – silver and gold earrings, bracelets, colliers and broaches. Most of them had done up their hair to show off the baubles. As they walked in, they spread soft tingling sounds, the rustling of their gowns and a cloud of perfume.

“Hi Lucian, you look picture perfect.”

He turned and saw Drew, wearing a powder blue dress. It was long and tight, even her arms were covered. There was jewelry and her hair was up, teased and curled. She smiled, but despite her make up her face was pale. Her eyes looked tired.

A wave of nervousness washed over him.

It wasn’t shame for being seen all dolled up, he thought. Stage fright maybe, he decided, hearing his bracelets jingle. His lips trembled when he tried to reflect her smile.

“Thank you,” he muttered. “So do you.”

She touched his arm; then walked on, picking up a glass. Lucian felt abandoned. He followed her, not sure if she wanted him to – or if he wanted it himself. When she turned around at the opposite wall and saw he’d followed her, he thought he saw a cloud descent on her face.

Then she smiled.

“I remember my Christmas as a Bob,” she said, nodding at a group of Carnaby girls. “We had Ancient Rome for a theme – short toga’s and things, lots of crazy fun. Was it as thrilling for you?”

He stared at her.

She’d been away for days and now all she had for him was a forced smile and small talk.

“Where have you been, Drew?” he asked. “I missed you.”

She closed her eyes and frowned.

“Nothing special,” she said, opening them again, but not looking at him. “Just dreary chores.” Suddenly she wiped the fatigue from her face and cried out: “Everybody happy?”

There was a lot of shrieking and shuffling as the other Barbs came over to hug and air-kiss her. They obviously hadn’t seen her for a while either.

Soon he was hustled to the side, left to watch bare backs, big hair and shining bottoms.

So he guessed he was to be ignored, considered a stick in the mud asking the wrong questions at the wrong moments. He shrugged and turned away, right when Ms. Parker, Dr. Kurtz and some of the staff walked in. Having mostly seen them dressed in their work gear, they were a sight to see.

Parker was a fortress of black silk, her milky tits being pushed up and her waist laced in. She must be wearing a corset, he supposed.

Dr. Kurtz followed the slinky fashion lead of the Barbs, but her adult curves did quite different things to her dark blue gown. Today her body seemed quite in sync with her crooked smile.

Ms. Fontaine and Mamselle were their gracious selves, but Coach was a huge surprise. Lucian had only ever seen her in spandex and lycra, stretching around her Amazon muscles, but today she wore what might have been called a little black dress if the word ‘little’ could ever be used on her. She looked great in it, like a Marilyn Monroe enlarged in every direction.

They mingled with the Barbs and the Bobs, trying to shed their professional reserve for the occasion – some overdoing their joviality, others obviously forcing it, like Ms. Fontaine.

Coach struggled with her heels.

Lucian saw Harper and Jo walk around on their vintage platforms carrying silver trays with little snacks. Chores for the poor, he thought, recalling Drew’s words.

Then Parker tapped her glass with a ring, asking for attention.

“My dear students,” she began.

In the following pause Lucian heard a voice whispering words into his ear. “Yet another year passed at our great school. How time flies,” it said right before Parker said exactly the same.

“So many things have happened to shape your lives and further your wonderful talents,” she went on, but the whisperer had already beaten her to it.

He turned his head and looked straight into the face of a grinning Drew. She nodded and whispered the next line: “We are so honored to be able to give you this save haven in a world of cruelty and neglect.”

She snickered when Parker repeated her words verbatim; guffawing as she tried to hold back her glee.

The headmistress’s speech was an endless string of cliché’s singing the praise of her unique institute and the qualities of its students. And Drew was always one step ahead.

Then Lucian knew what the subtle tang to the girl’s breath was. It was alcohol; Drew must have been drinking, even when she held a glass of water now.

He decided to pull away a few steps.

Drew shrugged and grinned, raising her glass in a toast, before turning around to her group of Barbs who were giggling as inane as she was.

The speech petered out to an uninspired ending and a “Merry Christmas” to which they all toasted.

Lucian turned around to refill his glass and maybe find a snack, when Dr. Vivian Kurtz blocked his view. It was quite disturbing to see her up close the way she looked. Her suggestive smile stuck to her pale face, or should he say it was plastered on it? Her gown allowed quite a deep cleavage to be seen; it must have been artificially enhanced with some ingenious bra-construction.

“Lucian,” she said, touching his bare upper arm. There was a slight slur in her voice.

He nodded and smiled, trying to move on. Her hand stopped him.

“Lucian,” she repeated, “We have to talk. Please come with me.”

He didn’t want to – not talk, not be with her. But her hand closed around his wrist and she pulled him with her to a small adjoining room.

She almost tripped, entering.

The room was cozy, having a burning fireplace and a couple of easy chairs around a low table with empty wine glasses and a bottle. A few candles burned on the mantelpiece.

“Please sit,” she said, nodding at one of the chairs while she closed the door. She walked over to the mantelpiece, leaving her glass on it; it was half full, the white wine sparkling. As she turned to Lucian he saw her smile had gone. It made her look older, softer.

She clasped her hands in front of her chest, making her bracelets rattle.

“You are not happy,” she said.

He shrugged, only then realizing how he had automatically joined his stocking-clad knees together in a graceful sideways stance, adjusting the hem of his dress.

The doctor walked over to him. He saw how uncertain she moved in her heels. Was she drunk?

Sinking to her haunches, she placed a hand on his upper knee. Her position allowed for a cavernous view of her cleavage.

“Why do you keep fighting it, Lucian?” she asked, her voice hushed and a bit hoarse. “It is so obvious what you need.”

He stared at her, noticing her tired eyes and the wrinkles around them. Was she right? And if so: could he ever agree she was?

“How would you know what I need?” he asked.

She sighed, looking down. Her fingers picked invisible lint off his skirt; then smoothed over non-existent creases with her hand. The touches irritated him.

She rose and sat down in the other chair, draping the gown around her legs. He was relieved she did.

“I had a son,” she said. “He was very much like you, blond and slim and beautiful.”

Lucian saw her swallow.

He’d noted her using the past tense; it made him nervous. The fire painted her face with hills and valleys of black and orange, being unkind to her age.

“He... , “ the doctor started again, looking down on her hands. “He was the ideal prey in this predators’ paradise they call high school. He was bullied, beaten and humiliated.”

She looked up; there was pain in her eyes.

“I bet you know what names they called him.”

He didn’t answer.

“One day,” she went on. “One afternoon he came home with a shiner and bruises. He begged me not to go to the school and complain. He also refused to change schools again, as we had done twice before. Starting anew was worse than staying, he said.”

Lucian nodded, wishing he were elsewhere. The story was too close for comfort.

“A week before that day I’d heard about this school,” Kurtz went on. “Norton’s, I mean. They’d opened only a few years earlier. So I showed him a flyer and asked him to at least go and see.”

She sighed, sitting more upright.

“He didn’t want to. He was adamant. He was no faggot, not a fucking sissy, he said. And when I went on about it, he fled to his room.”

There was silence, filled with far off laughter and soft music.

Lucian saw her hands clasp and unclasp in her lap. He wanted her to stop. He wanted out.

“Please,” he said, raising a hand. The jingling bracelets tumbled down his forearm.

Kurtz’s gaze seemed to re-focus, returning from a far away place.

“I’d like to return to the party,” he said. “I really am sorry for your son, but...”

Kurtz jumped to her feet, almost stumbling. Her eyes were huge; her hands reached out for him.

“No!” she hissed. “You listen to my story. It is as much about you as about my son.”

Almost physically repelled by her vehemence, Lucian fell back into the club chair. The woman in front of him stood with balled fists and high shoulders. She trembled as tears ran down her face.

Medea, he thought. Or what was the name?

She looked like an ancient Greek avenger in her long gown, her face ghastly pale, her eyes dark with smudged mascara, her mouth a bloody gash.

“He ... he hanged himself, you know?” she whispered. “In ... in his room, all alone, alone. His beautiful face swollen and purple; his sweet, lovely body broken – hanging like a sack. Only sixteen he was ... sixteen. Life gone, beauty gone...”

She stood, arms wide, eyes empty.

Lucian felt a force pulling him out of the chair, up to his feet and on to the woman. A force from outside it seemed, beyond his will. It made him want to embrace her. But Kurtz fought him, muttering “no, no...”

Her fists punched his chest.

He felt awkward, not knowing what to do, but not knowing how to stop either. So he closed her into his arms, hugging as he felt his own tears ruin his make up.

They stood and cried for minutes.

Dr. Kurtz’s resistance melted, her padded body pressing into his now. She felt soft, like down – no bones there, just weak, shifting flesh. So very different from Drew, so very different from his mother.

Then again, when had she ever hugged him?

“You are so much like him, Lucian,” she mumbled into his shoulder. “I am so glad your mother saved you by sending you here. She must love you very much.”

Lucian stiffened.

Then his body started shaking with laughter. He pushed the doctor away, looking into her red-rimmed eyes. He couldn’t stop laughing; it made new tears run down his face.

“Love,” he hiccupped. “Love indeed.”

Kurtz just stared – confused by his reaction. Lucian stopped laughing.

“My mother,” he said, “not only doesn’t love me. She doesn’t even hate me. She dumped me here so I would be out of her way. I am an embarrassment. My father would have me killed if he knew he’d get away with it.”

The doctor shook her ruined face from left to right.

“No,” she said. “You’re wrong. She loves you, Lucian, believe me. She is like me. The way she talked about you when she was here the first time had us both in tears, Ms. Parker and I. She really cares about your life and your future. We feel honored she trusts us with your fate.”

‘And her money,’ he couldn’t resist thinking.

“I need to get out of here,” he said. “I really need to.”

But Kurtz didn’t let him go. She held on to him with her arms and her weak, yielding body.

“We love you, Lucian, all of us,” she breathed. “And we can save you. You must believe that.”

Her mouth was close to his ear, hot breath tickling it. Lucian was very aware of her soft breasts, her thighs and round belly pressing through two thin layers of fabric, spreading heat.

He wrestled until he was free. He felt he was blushing deeply as his hands automatically smoothed his dress.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I really must...”

And then he moved past her, hearing his platform heels rattle the wooden floor as he stumbled to the door, opening it and running down the corridor.

‘Fuck!’ his mind repeated. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Lucian?”

He looked up, stopped by a hand on his arm. Harper’s eyes hid in dark eye shadow and mascara, hooded by his bluish-black bangs.

“God, you look awful!” he cried out. “What happened? Did you cry?”

Lucian tore his arm free, wanting to pass, but the boy blocked his way.

“Come,” he said, pulling Lucian with him into a restroom.

“No,” he said, but Harper clucked.

“You really don’t want to show them that face,” he said, pushing Lucian in front of a mirror.

He was a mess – his hair, his face, and his lips. The rims of his eyes were red and swollen; dark traces ran down his pale cheeks.

His nose had pink blotches.

Fingers touched his chin and pulled his face aside. The moist dab of cool, fragrant cotton made him shiver as an experienced hand started to cleanse his skin. The next moments were a whirl of action.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the reflections of a beautiful olive-skinned teenage girl restoring the make up of this other beautiful curly-blond teenage girl.

He groaned. The other girl giggled.

Snow came the next day.

It turned the park into a fairytale landscape with the ancient building at its center, windows spilling golden light over the white expanse.

The fat, dancing flakes had an age-old effect on the Bobs. They ran outside in the early morning, screaming and throwing snowballs or soaping their classmates with scoops of the chilly powder. Yesterday they’d been giggling teenage girls, today they wrestled and pushed and pummeled while Barbs huddled on the steps, shrieking comments while shivering in their woolen shawls.

The boys had ran out in just their silk nothings, but no one seemed to care as they rolled and slid and tumbled through the snow – cheeks ablaze and skin tingling.

Then the group of Barbs opened up and from its midst came Parker, dressed in a long fur coat. She clapped her hands.

“That’s enough boys, get inside,” her thin voice cried out. “Enough of this.”

And to Lucian’s surprise all raucous activities stopped at once. He stood panting, his heart racing ­– a huge snowball ready to throw. Feeling the melting snow slide down his face and legs, he watched the boys turn back into sweet smiling, gracious creatures patting down each other’s clothes and walking up the steps to join the Barbs. They greeted their headmistress with a little bending of their knees.

He shook his head to clear his hair from newly falling flakes. Dropping the snowball he followed them inside.

That day there was neither running, nor gymnastics.

Wearing pastel, tight-fitting ski outfits a big group of Bobs and Barbs filed into the snowy expanses for a cross-country hike on skis. They left the property through a small gate at the back, and skied in a long, meandering line through the white, rolling landscape.

Lucian watched the clouds leaving their mouths against the clear blue sky as they all chattered and laughed, pushing and pulling their long skis through the snow. The air, the laughter made him feel weird, but it was an easy weirdness – a feeling he had no name for.

Was it freedom? Elation?

It was a bit of what he felt while running, but more. There was the physical exhilaration – the being outside in a wide, white expanse, cold air kissing his cheeks, making his exposed skin stiffen and his fingers tingle inside his gloves.

But that wasn’t all of it.

There was safety in the feeling, a soothing sensation that made his shoulders relax, and his lips smile. Everything anyone around him said was funny – every face he saw looked kind.

Maybe the word that eluded him was ‘belonging.’

He felt part of a group. There was no pressure, no need to be someone else, somewhere else. Of course he was out there in an outfit that was tight and shining and candy-colored. But he didn’t care. They were sports tights, weren’t they? Runners wore them, and athletes.

“Hey, psssst, honey!”

The sound came from his left and he’d already slid past it before he realized what the male voice said. Looking back he saw a man waving at him as his tongue danced lewdly in the O of his open mouth.

Lucian bent his back and sped forward without looking, hitting Harper’s skis. They both fell into the snow, soon joined by two other Bobs, creating a heap of bodies with skis and poles pointing in all directions.

They looked like a giant, colorful hedgehog.

When the first shock subsided, they laughed, trying to extract themselves from the knot of limbs and things, rubbing cold snow into each other’s faces in the process. Lucian felt a hand in his armpit, pulling him up, and another hand squeezing his butt. He jerked his head around and saw the face of the man that had ‘pssst’ him before. The guy smacked his lips and winked as his hand squeezed harder, sliding forward to find Lucian’s crotch.