This work of literature depicts love between boys. It's fiction and none of the events are real. If there is any resemblance with any person, dead, alive or yet to be born, it's purely coincidental.
I personally wouldn't rate this chapter as 18+, but since the archives are, you better be legal^^
Bridges to cross, Ch. 1
All of a sudden, the door burst open and in the dark wooden frame emerged a silhouette I would recognize even in my drowsiest state. I wasn't really asleep, and a bit startled, I rubbed my eyes just to assure myself that this wasn't my wild fantasy, bringing me the pleasure I've longed for since the moment I entered the Citadel.
It was him, Eliam, panting, topless, with little drops of sweat, glimmering from the light in the hallway. I blinked, still quite confused and just a bit aroused from his very presence. The view was so much better than that in my dreams! The light from outside and the darkness of my room battled across his body, perfectly shading and highlighting his defined chest with those little nipples that rose up and sank down with every breath he took. As my eyes travelled to his abs I couldn't help but stare at the cutest belly button I've seen on a boy. Thank God, he couldn't see me perving him.
In this perfect moment that would surely leave me with some blissful memories, my roommate shuffled, stood up in his bed and switched on the lights. I turned my head towards him and watched, mentally giggling at the funniest `what the hell's going on' face he had on as he looked baffled at Eliam and broke the silence:
- Are you lost or something, Graff? -- shivers ran down my spine, as Axel, my
best friend and most awesome roommate ever, spat the name of the boy of my desires -- You have no business busting our door at freaking mental o'clock...
- Fuck you, Alexavier. -- returned the greeting Eliam, facing Axel for a couple of seconds and then captured my gaze in his blue-green eyes -- I'm not here for you.
I still wasn't used to their rivalry; it was more like pure hate than fair competition. But what kept me mute was the last sentence, it was way too disturbing and I felt my blood rushing in my cheeks.
- Spill it, retarded mutant! -- demanded Axel, but Eliam didn't even bother to hear it.
I watched in silent horror and astonishment as he approached my bed and knelt beside it, not breaking even for a second our connection. He took a breath and curved his lips in an unsure smile, then grabbed my hand and slowly intertwining our fingers and blushing, whispered:
- Uhm... Luke... I think... I like you and... - my mouth fell open and my mind
froze. This was definitely a fantasy, there was no way it was real... - And I...
- You what?! -- I gulped and pushed his fingers away, hiding my hands under the sheets. It wasn't my voice, it was Axel's and I began panicking what's going to happen next.
Eliam, clearly frustrated with the rude interruption, turned his back to me and slowly, but confidently repeated: - I. SAID. THAT. I. LIKE. LUKE.
-
You can't! You fucking can't! -- almost screamed Axel and jumped from his bed.
-
Who are you to tell me what to... - Eliam couldn't finish, because Axel punched him, once... twice... My head was spinning now, I lost count.
Both boys started fighting, pushing themselves towards the hallway. Finally, somehow they managed to slam the door shut and all I could hear, frozen in fetal position, barely breathing and shaking furiously, were their shouts, muffled by the wall.
My eyes closed and I blacked out.
It's who I am. It's what I do best.
11 years earlier
He came home too soon, usually his boring work at the office continued to the small hours of the night. That day, it was three o'clock in the afternoon as he entered and shouted my name:
- Luke! Luke, come here this instant! -- his voice was strange, I'll probably never forget it. It was a dark voice, full of rage and despair. But I was happy that he was back.
I almost tripped down the stairs as I hurried to the front door and hopped next to him, hugging his leg and screaming, excited:
- Daddy's home, daddy's home!
There was something strange about him today; it wasn't only the way he called me and the way he looked... He smelt odd, it was a faint odour of something like cooking sherry, just a bit stronger. He never drank.
- Daddy, is something wrong? -- I asked, looking with my big olive green puppy eyes.
He pushed me away from him, too harsh to be playful, then grabbed my little arm and dragged me to the couch, where he basically threw me as if I was a soulless stuffed animal.
-
Stop calling me your `dad'! I'm not and I will never be! -- he was pissed off, I couldn't understand why he was so angry with me, I haven't done anything bad.
-
What's wrong, Brad? -- my eyes watered and I brushed them as the first tear started crawling down my cheek.
-
Your mother's dead, Luke. Gone. Forever.
I just stood on the couch with a blank expression, breathing faster and feeling dizzy. My real father left my mum, when she said to him about her pregnancy. She decided to keep me, no matter what, killing all career chances for her and ending her dream of finishing university and getting a degree in Psychology. She was almost twenty, when I came to be.
In the hospital she met Brad and they instantly fell in love. She was happy with him, I was happy with him, and it seemed he was happy with us, too. They never married though, just lived together, but for me Brad was my father. I knew my story, but since I didn't know Robin -- my real father -- I couldn't feel any loss. My life was good, at least until that day.
- You can't live with me anymore, Luke. I'll have to give you away. Kids aren't for me. All I was after was your mum. And she's gone now...
What Brad said was a complete mystery for me. I grasped just two things, my mother was dead and Brad didn't want to look after me. He was twenty-five, I couldn't blame him... He wasn't ready for a child, especially one that was not his own. One that stood in his way...
In all its gory detail he told me about the last moments of my mother's existence. Every word stabbed me in the heart and while all I needed was comfort, Brad continued the torture.
I wanted to run, but I couldn't. My body didn't react at all. Scared to death, I just sat there, watching the murderer of my mother laughing hysterically and I couldn't do anything. My breath stopped for a second and I fainted for the first time in my life.
As I awoke, everything seemed different. I wasn't at my house anymore. The woman, sitting in the chair near my bed smiled pitifully and asked if I remembered where I lived, or what my name was. I was scared, I have forgotten everything.
- Lu... Luke. -- I whispered as tears started to fill my eyes.
Later on, the woman informed me that I was left unconscious in front of her shelter, an orphanage in a city, I've never heard of. She wasn't really gentle or caring, just doing her job. The same day, she sent me to a check up and the psychiatrist concluded that my amnesia is part of my newly acquired post traumatic stress disorder.
No one searched for me. No one wanted me back. After a year of changing institutions, I was put for adoption, like some lost kitty, waiting for someone to come and like me. Someone to come and want me. Someone to come and take me...
When my new family found me, I was already seven years old. They were a shy, caring pair, but they weren't able to have a kid on their own, so they got me. It wasn't a great deal, I wasn't even a good deal. My blackouts happened almost every day, whenever I was very excited, sad or angry. Each strong emotion that overwhelmed me, made me faint.
One week after all the paperwork was done and I was officially adopted, my new mother found out she was pregnant with twins. It was a miracle, but for me it was just another awful segment of the rollercoaster of my life. After my new brother and sister were born, I became a piece of furniture, then a helper and a servant and later on a nuisance. The twins took all the space in my parents' hearts. I was obsolete.
The happiest day of my life was my fifteenth birthday, I didn't get any presents, and there wasn't even a party, just a letter. A letter that changed everything, that made me believe that I deserve something better in my life.
I've never heard of Private Academy "I. K. Brunel", I haven't applied there either. But here was their letter of acceptance, written with a typewriter on a nice piece of chocolate-coloured and scented paper with dark robin egg blue ink. The signature was delicate and reminded of long lost times of nobility. The person it belonged to, that R. Cole, definitely had some style. The wax seal was just a bit too much and while looking at the letter left on the small coffee table I giggled, thinking of the resemblance that this Academy bore with Hogwarts.
I examined the letter once more and from it fell a little note, written in the same manner as the R. Cole signature.
"11th September, come, don't bring anything."
Notes
All rights go to me, Ciar Bennett, the author.
More (hot) highschool life in the next chapter!<<<
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xoxo, Ciar:D