Love, Lance - 7. Unwell (1/2)

"I don't know what you're doing that I'm not!" Bobby sulked as he dragged himself gracelessly back up to his feet with his hand on the barricade.

"Neither do I," Lance giggled, his cheeks pink with the cold. He took Bobby's gloved hand and squeezed it. "Come on. Let's see if we can complete a lap without slipping over!"

"I don't like this rubbish," Bobby complained, but he indulged his boyfriend anyway, keeping his hand close to the wooden barricade as he slowly let Lance lead him around. "You're lying. You've totally done this before."

"I have not! Don't be a berk. Just... stop being so nervous," Lance suggested.

They didn't do a lap. Or even a quarter of a lap. Bobby's feet seemed to do their own thing, and he fell again, and again, and again. Lance felt pity for him, of course, but there was an element of schadenfreude. Bobby was halfway between sixteen and seventeen and a bloody showoff at everything he did. He was terrific at ballet and ballroom, he came from a prosperous family and lived comfortably, he was beautiful, athletic, charismatic and popular. Lance felt like an awkward, useless little goblin next to him. He had talents of his own, but Bobby seemed to outshine him in every way. Taller. Masculine. An early bloomer who looked almost a grown man. Thus, when Lance discovered he was good at ice skating but Bobby was undeniably dreadful at it, it was absolutely validating to watch him fail for once.

Hehehe.

"I don't think I like this," Bobby complained after half a hundred tumbles onto the ice. "My arse is frozen and numb, innit? I'll be covered in bruises. That's attractive."

He gave a laugh, but Lance did not. Little comments like that always stung. How long had Lance been hiding bruises from the rest of the world? Feeling rejected, hurt and... ugly. Getting his photoshoot postponed because his welts were too hideous for the camera.

"Come on, then! Let's get some hot chocolate or something to thaw you out," Lance decided, finally feeling pity for him.

"Sorry, cutie. I thought this would be romantic but I'm rubbish at it," Bobby was pink under his olive skin, humiliated by his poor performance.

Lance had a couple of tumbles as well, but he was an experienced dancer and found his balance quickly. Why Bobby couldn't do the same was a mystery.

"I loved it! Maybe we didn't skate in circles and kiss in the middle of the rink, but I'm chuffed to see that you're not perfect!" Lance let himself slide slowly and surely into Bobby's chest when his boyfriend was braced on the barricade, and he kissed those soft lips. "That'll do."

That cheered the cold, sore and forlorn teenager up, and the two of them left the ice and took their skates off. Bobby paid for their hot beverages - Lance liked a simple hot chocolate with no added sugar, but Bobby ordered a cappuccino with soy milk, hazelnut and a sachet of brown sugar. Lance felt terrible for the poor girl, not much older than him, as Bobby bossed her around with his demands. When she was done, Lance made sure to praise her efforts, since Bobby seemed to think that her wages were thanks enough. It was nice to feel a warm, sweet drink fill his belly, but Lance kept his eye on the ice rink and wished he'd been able to skate more than he did. Still, Bobby was the one paying for their dates, as Sue didn't like Lance spending too much of the money he'd earned and won from competitions and recitals on what she deemed "unnecessary." Lance guessed he should probably let Bobby call the shots.

"Do you wanna come back to mine?" Bobby asked him casually, and Lance's heart began to flutter.

"Would you... like me to come back to yours?" Lance replied, sweating under his layer of makeup.

"Whaddya think?" Bobby pawed at Lance's hand and grabbed his fingers. "Come and watch a movie at mine or something. Everyone's out working. We'll have the place to ourselves."

A movie sounded like proper fun, but the idea that he would be totally alone with his handsy, suave, horny boyfriend was nerve-wracking. Bobby had been sexually active for a long time. Typical Londoner. Most of Lance's classmates were dropping off the virginity charts like flies, yet he didn't seem to have the same nagging desire. Bobby was hot. So, so hot! Plus, the nudes Lance received of the very bold teen sent signals to all the right places in his body. But did that mean he should do it right now? Bobby was a great catch, and Lance didn't want to lose him, so maybe he should, just to get it over with? Just to make sure Bobby didn't leave? It wouldn't be so scary, would it? Still, he didn't want to. He wasn't ready. It kept him up sometimes. He was scared the boy who had finally noticed him would dump him if he didn't put out.

"I dunno," Lance replied softly, guiltily moving his eyes. "I have my shoot tomorrow. I have a whole beauty regimen to get through if I'm going to look my best."

"You're the fittest guy I know. How will that rubbish make you look any better?" Bobby's crude compliment successfully made Lance blush underneath his layer of foundation. "But are you sure you want to go in all... dolled up? They're looking for a boy, right?"

"They invited me to come in just the way I am," Lance reminded him tensely and pulled his hand away. "This isn't an audition. I'm modelling."

"I know. That's great. I don't know why you're getting pissy. I'm just trying to look out for you," Bobby remarked defensively, almost sulking.

"No, it's fine!" Lance reached out for his hand again in a mild panic. "I'm just so bloody nervous."

"So why don't you come over and I'll help you chill out? No pressure. We won't do nothing you don't wanna do."

Lance giggled. "If you wanted to help me 'chill out' you wouldn't have given up so quickly on the ice."

"You don't wanna come over, do you?" Bobby, to Lance's dismay, completely ignored the clever joke he'd made, and went right back to the issue at hand.

"I do, but not yet. Just... not yet. Is that okay?" Lance asked him, instinctively holding his breath for a negative reply.

"You can breathe, Lance. I ain't gonna throw a wobbly," the older boy reassured him, taking another sip of his painfully complex coffee order. "Where do you want me to meet you tomorrow?"

"Hmm?"

"Before your shoot."

Balls. Now Lance felt even more uncomfortable. Could anything else go wrong today? How long before he was single again? "Bobby... Jane's coming with me. I told you already."

"Oh, you were serious? I thought you were having a laugh," Bobby's eyes shrank in his face, and he sipped from his coffee again.

"No... I mean, I'd love to see you after. But I can only take one person, and Jane's the one who has been there for me since the beginning. She was the one who made me audition in the first place. She's my bestie. It has to be her," Lance explained patiently, not for the first time.

"I'm your boyfriend, though. I should be there," Bobby argued back, also not for the first time.

Desperate to find a way to avoid leaving either of his supporters upset, Lance made a move. "Maybe we can hang out at your house after?"

Bobby seemed pleased with that idea, and Lance was relieved - though now, he was worried about what his boyfriend might expect from him. Following a tongue-filled snog goodbye at the train station, Lance found a seat by himself and reached in for his earbuds - of course, they managed to tangle themselves to buggery in his pocket - but sighed in frustration when he saw that his phone battery was at four percent. The bloody thing never held a charge anymore. Instead, he looked out the window as the train crawled along the tracks. Without the music to calm and distract him, commuting was scarier than usual, and anxiety pumped through his veins when anyone approached. Someone did sit next to him, to his dismay. He didn't look, but he knew the voice.

"Hey there. I thought I recognised you."

Lance, not knowing if it was safer to be polite and engage or if this person was dangerous and it would be better to ignore him, chose manners. Two weeks ago before his first date with Bobby, an older teenager had flirted with him on the train. Pimply, greasy, not beastly to look at but could definitely use a solid wash, some shampoo and a spritz of deodorant. It was him. Lance gave a slight smile with his glossy lips and returned his gaze to the graffiti by the train track barricade.

"Did you change your hair! It looks so good!" The boy remarked, not satisfied with the minimal reaction he'd received.

Lance recoiled when he felt something touch the faded violet locks. He gave the boy a look and scooted close to the wall.

"Please don't touch me. I don't even know you."

"We met on the train, remember? This train. You got on at Black Loch, and I told you that you're pretty. And I mean it! You're beautiful!"

"Thank you," Lance replied softly, hoping that would be enough. It wasn't.

"My name's Jesse. What's yours?"

"Cameron," Lance lied quietly. He wasn't sure what to do. He didn't want to make this weirdo angry, but he definitely didn't want to share his real name.

"Alright, Cameron?" Jesse beamed at him. "So, why do you wear all that makeup if you're a boy?" He spoke with a softer Cockney accent than Lance's family did.

"Oh," Lance instinctively ran his tongue over his coconut flavoured lip gloss. "I like it."

Jesse went a little quiet for a moment, but not long enough for Lance's liking. "Sorry, Cameron. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I'm bad at making friends."

Lance felt the strings of his heart being plucked. He knew exactly what it was like to struggle socially. It sucked. "It's fine, mate. I'm just... I'm knackered and I'm not in the mood to talk."

"We can text or something if you want?" Jesse asked him hopefully.

"Is this bloke bothering you, love?"

Lance snapped around to look over his shoulder and saw a pair of young male skinheads, and his blood chilled further. He didn't like the look of them, nor did he trust any man who called a stranger - especially a teenager - 'love.' Well, bollocks. What was he supposed to do? The one who spoke was noisily chewing gum and dressed grey tracksuit, and he was flanked by someone with tattoos on his eyebrows. A choice between two evils.

"No. I'm fine. Thanks," Lance replied in a sweet, high-pitched lilt to sell himself as a girl and not a boy wearing makeup and nail polish.

The way home was genuinely terrifying. Lance didn't feel safe next to this overly eager friend, nor did he like the attention on him from the chavs behind him. He wished he had enough phone battery to listen to music and take his mind off the situation or to just get off at the next station and ring his mum to pick him up. Jesse seemed upset that Lance - or Cameron - wasn't being talkative, and the chavs made several comments about the pair of them. Lance shot off like a bullet from a bloody rifle when the train pulled in to his station. He was free from all of them! Except Jesse followed him out.

"Where are you going? Don't you live further up the line?" Lance asked him, beginning to feel a type of fear he hadn't felt before.

"Oh, I thought maybe I'd walk you home or something," Jesse gave a friendly shrug, and Lance's breath caught in his throat.

"Okay, mate, I don't know if you're having a giggle, but I'm not having fun anymore," the younger teenager told him as firmly as possible, his voice shaking. "Please don't follow me."

"What's the matter? Did I do something wrong?" The pimply-faced teenager's eyes seemed to darken in the dimly lit station. "What's your problem?"

I'm the cross-country champion, Lance told himself as he slowly prepared to make a dash for freedom. This guy doesn't look fit. Maybe I can lose him.

"Nicky! Oh bloody hell, I've never been so happy to see you!" Lance, relief flowing through him, almost fainted at the sight of his grumpy looking brother leaning against the fence.

"What?" Nicky screwed up his face. "Why?"

Lance turned, and Jesse had slowed down his pursuit. "Nicky, this guy won't leave me alone."

"Him? He probably thinks you're some slapper when you go out looking like that," Nicky snorted, pushing his little brother behind him with one hand as he sized Jesse up with his beady eyes. "Oi mate! If you ever get this close again, I'm gonna start kicking you in the balls!"

"What, is this your boyfriend? Why were you leading me on, then?" Jesse shouted, his eyes narrowed in indignant rage. "I was trying to be nice to you! What's your problem? You slut!"

"Excuse me?" Lance stood up on his toes to poke his eyes above Nicky's Charlton Athletic shirt. "Nicky, I did not lead him on. No way. I even gave him a fake name and everything, and then he followed me off the train!"

"Why would you give me a fake name? What the hell? Why do people like you make it so hard for guys like me, you slut? You like the attention, don't you? Fuck you! Fuck both of you!" Jesse shouted, and it looked like tears were welling in his eyes.

"You're totally bonkers!" Nicky exclaimed in veiled horror, reaching back to make sure Lance was still safely behind him. "You see this line, dickhead? This line here?" The young man dragged his foot in a small arc in front of him on the asphalt path. "You cross it and I'll bang you out! If you ever speak to my brother again or even look at him, I'll hunt you down, kid, and I'll cut you."

Lance had never gotten along with Nicky before. He was as much a chav as the rest of the wankers that lived in the area. An aggressive, disrespectful delinquent indeed. But now, here his brother was, putting his tough-guy routine to good use. He didn't know what he'd do if Nicky weren't there - make a run for it, he supposed. As Nicky escorted him from the train station, Lance kept looking back to see if Jesse was following them, but he wasn't.

"You alright?" Nicky asked him as they turned around a corner. It wasn't the quickest way home, but both boys seemed to agree without speaking that it was best to change their route.

"Yeah. Thanks to you. I was ready to book it and these are my best shoes," Lance looked down at his feet, miserably.

"You're the biggest ponce. What do you expect? Getting all pretty and shit like a slag. I'm sick of being your nanny," Nicky returned to form, slinging insults and complaining. Lance didn't reply to him. There was no point in revisiting that argument. But soon, Nicky had more questions. "How's your boyfriend?"

"Is this a trap? Is there any way I can answer this without you giving me a hard time?" Lance asked him cautiously, wary that Nicky was capricious at best about his brother's homosexuality.

"Is he treating you good?"

"Heh. Yes. We went ice skating, and he's awful at it. Between us, it's so good to see him cock something up," Lance smirked.

"Is he pressuring you?"

"No," Lance replied quickly, but then he remembered the conversation he'd had with his boyfriend earlier. "A bit."

"What an absolute bellend," Nicky muttered, and he paused and grabbed his brother by the shoulder. "Is that what you want? To be some sissy slut that gives it up for twats like Bobby?"

"As a matter of fact, no," Lance shoved his hand away, letting his pretty face twist into an annoyed frown as his eyes searched his brother's face. "Is that what pisses you off? The idea that some guy might treat me the same way you treat girls?"

Lance spent the rest of the walk ten feet behind his brother after that comment as Nicky stomped the rest of the way, dropping some of the foulest language possible on his little brother for that assessment. It was cold and Lance's teeth chattered in his mouth as he listened to the enjoyable sound of his shoes clacking against the footpath. He wondered why every potentially tender moment with his brother ended this way. With his phone dead, he questioned if Jane or Bobby might be upset that he wasn't replying to them by text. He rarely went more than a few hours without chatting to his best friend or his boyfriend, and they'd both want to know he was safe.

"Lancey boy! You're missing a doozy of a show!" Garth yelled from the television room.

"No spoilers!" Lance poked his head through the doorway and shielded KADA Wrestling from his view. "I'll watch it tomorrow if I'm not too busy!"

"Jimmy Vause became the champion and Michelle speared Gloria through the commentator's table," Lola spitefully remarked, a shit-eating smirk on her stupid butterface.

"You know, you're too fat and ugly to get away with being such a bitch," Lance snapped at her, too exhausted from his day to put up with her pointlessly cruel shit. "News flash, tits are supposed to grow on your chest, not your back."

"Hey!" Garth scowled at him. "There's no need for this, you two! I expect an apology!"

"Sorry!" Lola sang her apology in the most insincere way possible.

That does it, Lance thought. "I'm not apologising. No chance in hell! Why should I?"

"You're going to apologise for what you said to your sister," Garth repeated in a low voice.

"No, I'm not. She spoiled that show for no reason other than to spite me! She had no reason to do that!"

"She said she was sorry."

"Fine! Lola, I'm sorry you're an ugly, fat, spoiled, evil little troll with no friends and no future," Lance's eyes, hidden behind violet contacts, looked with loathing at his little sister, who was thoroughly enjoying the fruits of her labour. Garth whistled in the way that Lance know he wasn't happy. "Don't even! Her apology was every bit as dishonest as mine!"

"I'm giving you one more chance to apologise to your sister. You don't ever speak to her that way," Garth pointed at him with the end of his beer bottle.

"I only ever speak to her this way when she starts up with her rubbish! She is always a bitch to me for no reason, and I'm the one who has to apologise. She can go to hell, and you can bloody well join her."

Lance capped off his argument with a slam of the door on his way out and marched across the hall to his bedroom, and he slammed that door shut as well. This family was going to be the bloody end of him. His brother blamed and shamed him every time someone attacked him, whether it be verbally or physically. His sister went out of her way to make him as unhappy as she could, knowing that she could get away with it. His parents did love him, he knew it, but he was sick of them letting his brother and sister get away with bullying him day in and day out. He was tired of being an overachiever in an underachieving family. He was fed up with having to tolerate spoonfuls of edible diabetes at every meal. He was done with feeling scared all the time.

"You listen to me," Garth bustled his way inside, arms folded and chest huffing with the effort of getting out of his chair. "I don't much like this attitude, Lance. I have half a mind to ground you."

"I'll apologise if you can give me a fair reason as to why I should," Lance turned back to his desk and looked at himself in the mirror, running his finger along his violet-coloured eyebrow.

"You didn't need to call her fat and ugly."

"Have you heard anything she has ever said to me? Telling me she wishes I had AIDS and laughing every time I get my head kicked in? Why don't you ever stop her?"

"Look at you!" Garth changed his tactic and crouched down behind Lance, so the boy could see him over his shoulder in their reflection. "You're a cute kid - a very cute kid. You're skinny and fit, and you look like a million quid whether you want to look like a boy or girl. You're talented and smart, and you're getting ahead in the world. Nick and Lola, well, they're not so lucky."

"Dad, stop! I'm not in the mood to hear another long speech about why I deserve to be treated like shit by everyone around me!"

"You need to understand that she's only jealous of you. I don't know why you're so bloody ticked off, anyway! It's just a show!"

"It's got bugger all to do with the bloody show! You don't ever listen! What reason does she have to be jealous?" Lance glared furiously at his father via the mirror. "She can choke down a salad or go for a run if she doesn't want to be a fatarse! How bloody awful life must be for her! Everyone has it in for me! I get dragged through the sodding mud all day at school, dance class and sports events! I can't go anywhere without someone having a go at me, or even giving me a slap! I should be allowed to feel safe in my home, but I go through it all over again with my own family!" Tears began to weep from the boy's eyes as he aired his frustrations. "They're cruel and mean, and I don't know why you let it happen! You're even worse than them because you're so fucking two-faced about it! I hate you!"

"Where do you get off speaking to me like that? Where do you get off?? You ungrateful sod! I'm the worst, am I? When I think back on all the times I've stood up for you! I've done time for you sorting out the ASBO brigade out there! Shouldn't have bloody bothered!" Garth's feelings were hurt by Lance's prickly remark, and he was roaring at the top of his lungs, and in a huff, he stormed right out of the room, almost bowling his wife over.

"Shag me sideways, boys, everyone this side of Black Loch can hear you!" Sue had arrived at some point, homing in on family discord as she always did. "What's got your knickers in a knot?"

"He's got a mouth on him tonight! Bloody teenagers!" Garth barked at her, hitting his fist against the wall and making the glass cabinet in the hallway rattle as he disappeared back into the sitting mouth.

"And you? What's up with you? You have a face like a cat's bum," the middle-aged woman nagged him, but Lance's angry scowl did not improve. "Come on, love. You're the sweetest boy in the world. If you're throwing a barney, there's a proper good reason for it."

"I'm fed up with living here, Mum!" Lance, in a fury, kicked the toe of his shoe against the wall underneath his desk, causing Nicky to thump back on the other side. "I'm done with the lot of you!"

"Lamb Chop, you're stuck with us, I'm afraid," Sue reached down and touched his hair. Lance shoved her hand away, and she didn't like that. "You are in a tizzy. Listen to me, lad. You don't have to like your brother and sister, but you do have to treat them with--"

Lance's left eye twitched. He got up and pushed past his mother. He stormed out of his room, down the hallway and threw open the front door, then he disappeared into the night. He heard his mother shouting at him from the front door, telling him to return this instant as he walked at a brisk pace back into the street.

"Lance! Lance! Lance!!" Sue and then Garth called, but he did not listen to them.

When he heard the unmistakable squealing of the car engine, Lance realised they intended to pursue him by vehicle. Obviously, he thought bitterly to himself, because none of them would ever be able to catch up to him on foot. He ducked into a small alley up ahead, one that acted as a walkway between two streets, and he hugged himself to try and warm himself up. All he could think was to try and make it to Janey's house. She would know how to make him feel better about the shitstorm that today turned out to be, and she would help him get to his photo shoot in the morning.

Tears streaked down his face and hit his shoes as he walked and walked and walked, oblivious to the world around him. He knew that he was putting himself in danger by roaming the neighbourhood by himself, but it didn't seem to matter to him at the moment. He didn't understand why Lola hated him so much, but he could live with it. What was upsetting was that his parents didn't take him seriously, they didn't listen, they didn't respect him. Or maybe they resented him because they were overweight, unemployed and lazy and their younger son was young, pretty, successful and motivated.

Either way, he was sick and tired of putting up with whatever problem the world had with him, especially when he couldn't even find justice in his own home. Some weeks ago, Lance's homeroom teacher, Mr Bell, gave him a piece of paper with his number on it and told his student to ring if he ever needed help. He hissed in frustration when he realised he didn't have that number with him. Only his dead phone and his wallet. He began to sing the first song that came to his mind under his breath, focusing on the lyrics and his tone-deaf vocals to keep his attention off the cold, scary walk.

All day staring at the ceiling making friends with shadows on my wall,
all night hearing voices telling me that I should get some sleep,
because tomorrow might be good for something.
Hold on, feeling like I'm headed for a breakdown, and I don't know why.

Lance didn't run into any trouble by the time he reached his friend's house over half an hour later, but he was cold and ready to collapse. He slipped around through the rose bushes and around the side of the house, the way he and Janey had snuck out so many times during their sleepovers, and unlocked the garden gate. By the time he reached the back door, the outside light was already on, and Janey's mother was standing by the comically tall novelty ashtray with her phone against her ear.

"Oh there he is, he's just come around the back now," Sheila muttered, beckoning towards him with her hand. "Come on in, sweetie, you look frozen stiff! Mum's here on the phone. She's worried sick about you!"

Lance's face crumpled again, and he started to cry again. "Like hell she is!"

Sheila put her cigarette back in her mouth and walked towards him, putting a warm hand on his arm and dragging him across the patio to the sliding door. "Jane's watching Bones inside. She'll give you a cuddle. Quick!"

"Can I stay tonight? Please?" Lance asked her desperately, his throat sore and his nose runny.

Sheila nodded her head up and down before exhaling smoke out of the corner of her mouth, waving it away from him. "It's okay, sweetie, you just go in and I'll bring you a cuppa, alright? I'll speak to Mum." Lance was grateful as he stepped into his second home and wiped the sticky, wet hair from his face. He overheard Sheila speaking to Sue as he went in search for his best friend. "He's in a bit of a state, but I'll look after him. No, no trouble, might do everyone some good to have a night apart. He'll be safe here."

The next chapter shouldn't be far away. Sorry for being so inconsistent!  Thank you for reading!