Jabberwocky - 7. Guilt

VII. Guilt

Jordan stayed crouched on the ground for a long time, long enough for his legs to cramp and his feet to tingle, until Brandon fell asleep again. Then after that, he stayed a while longer, holding Brandon’s hand, watching his face. He wondered what memories plagued his mind, what nightmares played out underneath those eyes. He carefully released his hand and crossed the room. He glanced at the book on his cot, the one on Enabling and Creating that Sumna had given him. Like he could really focus on that right now. He tossed it aside. Then he hesitated and went for the other book, the one on Charion. He looked through the pages carefully. He could remember briefly looking over the section on creatures like Rajar that inhabited Charion in a section near the back, but he hadn’t been paying too much attention.

He found the passage he was looking for and stopped. There was a picture of a female with dark hair and the trademark apricot skin, a long tail. She was arching her back, giving a good view of her uncovered chest and smiling seductively over her shoulder, holding her long hair up on top of her head. Jordan felt an instant, intense hate for her. It was ridiculous, he knew, but he couldn’t help it.

Reeskas, was the name next to the girl. This was the race of which Rajar was a part. He read. The book told him little, gave a brief physical description and their habitat. Jordan stopped at one passage, read it again slowly.

Reeska’s are an obscure race, living in isolation. This is partially due to the hunting of Reeska’s by other species. Their venom is highly prized for its effects as a poison and aphrodisiac. They are a relatively nonviolent, peaceful race, but highly sexualized animals, needing to copulate several times a week to sustain their energy and strength.

Jordan scowled. That sounded like Keith. Take a non-aggressive, sexually charged creature and hold it in a constant state of deprivation so he could have a willing partner whenever he wanted one. How disgusting.

Jordan growled low in his throat, and with great difficulty, gently closed the book and set it aside. He wanted to throw it, tear out the pages. He wanted to scream, curse, break things. A black hate was filling up his chest and he wanted to expel it, to scream it out, to throw a tantrum. He didn't, though, because Brandon was sleeping and he wanted to make sure he was around when he woke up.

Instead, he pulled his knees to his chest, and rested his forehead against his crossed arms. Tears welled up in his chest and he let them rise up his throat as he sobbed quietly. He was filled with hate. Hate towards Keith, towards his faceless Enabler. Hate towards Rajar. Hate towards Leia for getting them into this entire situation. And hate towards himself for bringing them here, and for not being there for Brandon when his lover needed him. Another load of sobs rocked his chest.

A cool hand closing around his ankle startled him. He glanced up and saw Brandon crouching on the ground, looking up at him.

"Hey, baby," Jordan croaked out, swiping a hand across his face, damp with tears, and unfolding his legs. Brandon didn’t speak, but stood up, pulling Jordan to his feet as well. Brandon enfolded him in a hug, chin on his shoulder.

"I’m fine," Jordan said, desperation thick in his voice as he struggled to turn off his emotions, to rein them in, to make the tears disappear. He needed to be strong.

"No," Brandon said, rubbing a hand up and down Jordan’s back. "Not your fault, baby."

"I should have been there. I should have saved you."

"You would have ended up dead or imprisoned or in the same situation I was in. Besides, the fact that you were asleep saved both of us from dying of bond strain when I was sent to Silver Falls. You saved both of our lives."

Jordan shook his head, inconsolable. "If I had been there, been awake, you might have never been sent to Silver Falls. I could have saved you and we would have escaped together. Anything would be preferable to the hell you went through."

Brandon rubbed a hand up Jordan's back. "You can't change it baby. If there was any way, trust me, I would have done it myself." Brandon sighed and rested his head on Jordan's shoulder. "We can't change it. I can't and you can't, so let's not play this game. Let's just..." Brandon shrugged and moved out of Jordan's embrace. "Let's just move on. Move forward. All right?"

"Okay," Jordan said, trying to keep the tenuous note of doubt out of his voice. They went to dinner with Jassa and Sumna, where Brandon told them with absolute confidence that they would be accompanying them to Driamor. Jassa simply nodded and told them that they would meet and share the details with them tomorrow.

After returning to the pod, Brandon drew in the dwindling light of the late day until it got too dark to see the lines he was sketching. He had drawn Leia holding a child, a beautiful, normal infant. He drew his family. Drew Jordan in his school uniform. Brandon had always liked the way Jordan looked in his uniform, probably because it suited him so well. He closed his sketchbook against the broken, fragmented past he couldn't reclaim and studied his lover, lying on his back, frowning at the book he was reading.

"You'll ruin your eyes," Brandon said. Jordan glanced up and closed the book. "What are you reading?"

"One of the books the girls gave us," Jordan said, even though he had been reading little and thinking a lot. He had also been stealing careful, secretive glances toward Brandon out of the corner of his eyes. He rolled onto his side and looked at Brandon. The light cast most of his face into shadow, his expression unreadable. "What were you drawing?"

Brandon frowned, then climbed into bed. For some reason, he didn't want to tell Jordan that he had drawn everything he was wishing he had right now. "Nothing. Good night."

A pause, then Jordan's voice, drawn tight and anxious over the darkness creeping into the pod, asked, "Do you want to talk?"

Brandon's answer was as confident as the one he gave Jassa earlier. "No."

* * *

When Jordan woke up the next morning, Brandon was already gone. Jordan, only mildly alarmed, sat up and looked around. He yawned and scraped a hand through his hair, then started to pull on his clothes. His foot met something sharp that sent a slice of pain up his foot and leg. He looked down and saw shards of glass covering the floor. He bent down and picked up the shattered remains of a lamp.

The lamps in Odwayon were strange contraptions. A metal base held a small stone that glowed with different levels of brightness depending on the settings of a metal dial on the bottom. In normal circumstances, Jordan would have been furious with curiosity, but right now, all that mattered was that it gave light and that it wouldn't turn their pod into a fiery ball crashing down through the trees.

Now all that mattered was that the glass chimney around the lamp lay in shatters around his feet. He pulled his ankle up across his knee and pulled out a small sliver of glass, grimacing slightly. He pulled on socks and shoes before kneeling down and carefully picking up the larger shards of glass.

He deposited them down on the table next to his bed, then studied the small triangles and light dust remaining, small shards that he couldn't gather. Panic and concern were ticking inside his chest as he got to his feet and crossed the pod, glass cracking and crunching underneath the soles of his shoes.

Brandon had cut after he had been with Keith. And Jordan had no idea what kind of frame of mind Brandon was in right now, but he was damn sure that no matter what Brandon was thinking, it wasn't a good idea for him to have a piece of glass in his hands right now.

He climbed down to the walkway, jumping the last little bit and casting a quick, casual look around. Brandon was nowhere in sight. He made a quick mental inventory of the places that Brandon was likely to go and headed off in the direction of Jassa and Sumna's dwelling.

Brandon sat in the deep woods of Odwayon's forest, his back against the trunk of a tree. He liked to think it was the same tree he had used for support the last time he was out here with Jordan even though he wasn't one hundred percent sure. But he appreciated the idea anyway. He liked that tree.

In his fingers, he held a shiny shard of glass from the lamp in their room. He had wrapped the lamp in a sheet before crushing it with his foot to avoid waking Jordan, who sometimes slept like a damn log anyway. He hadn't put the glass to its intended use yet, but was considering it. The idea smoldered slowly in the back of his mind, but wasn't hot enough to burn the compulsion yet.

He held a memory now, time and age making it a fragile delicate thing and he cradled it carefully in his mind. He was very, very young and enrolled in KinderCare while his mother either went to work or ran some errands. One day, a class outing was planned to see a movie—Care Bears if he recalled correctly, and his mom had gotten something mixed up, either the time or the location, because when he arrived at the center, his class had already left. He had been hit by the disappointment of missing the trip, and on top of that, had been left with an unfamiliar class and an unfamiliar teacher. He had sat in a seat that was not his own, surrounded by unknown faces and not a friend in sight, and at the age of five, had burst into sobs. The teacher, an older lady that Brandon didn't like the smell of, had come over to comfort and soothe him. And while the teacher was there, or he was given a task to focus on, he would calm himself. But as soon as she moved away, or he was done with a project and looked up, it would hit him again...the unfamiliarity, the fact that he was in a strange class with strange people and that there was nothing he could do about it. And he would sob.

He felt much the same now. While there had been things to do...wake Jordan, flee from Silver Falls, talk to Sumna and Jassa, he had been okay. Not great, but okay. There had been other things, other distractions, that had quieted that seductive chuckle, the mocking praises that slid from slick apricot lips. Other sensations had overshadowed the memories of hands on him; had smothered the feeling of helpless desperation that had almost torn him apart.

But now... with the long nights and the slow, quiet days of Odwayon, it was harder to hold it back. His confession to Jordan had helped, had eased the weight of secrecy, but it only helped a little. He still needed the distraction, the relief valve that he used to find in alcohol.

There was no alcohol in Odwayon. But there were other distractions handy... instruments that could hook and tear flesh. He held a rough one in his fingers now, not using it, but considering it. Cutting had made him feel good, had been an outlet for all the emotions Keith had shook up inside his confused mind during those hurried, unfriendly encounters in the utility shed and inside the blond's bedroom. After Jordan had discovered his secret, the shame, then his integrity, had kept him from doing it again, although he had sorely wanted to sometimes, and the alcohol had helped dampen the urge as well.

But now... now...

Hell, after what he had been through, he felt like he deserved some therapy. If this was his chosen method, who had the right to stop him?

He leaned forward and tapped the edge of the glass lightly against the top of his shoe, not enough to puncture the material or his fingertips. Jordan would have a fit. Jordan, if he was awake, was probably already having a fit, finding the glass on the floor the way he had left it. He hoped Jordan didn't step on it. He should have cleaned that up before he left.

He sighed. He didn't know what to do.

"Maybe you should talk to him," a voice said, interrupting Brandon's meditations. Brandon glanced up and saw the boy, the child from the stream, in the branches of one of Odwayon's majestic trees.

"I did talk to him," Brandon said. Tilting his head back to see the child irritated him, so he shifted to lie on his back, looking up at him. The foliage was thick enough to keep the sun from burning his eyes, and the light filtering down had a soothing green cast that Brandon found himself liking. A lot. "I told him-" Brandon stopped, realizing he was about to say everything, but that would be wrong.

"You didn't tell him everything," the child said, almost as if he were reading his mind, almost like he could tell what Brandon was going to say. "You told him most of it, yes, but you left out a couple of pertinent details."

"You were eavesdropping?" Brandon asked, his ears and cheeks burning, embarrassed at the thought of having anyone witness that private conversation.

"Of course not," the child said, his voice soothing. "You know better."

Brandon did know better, but he had grabbed onto the first rational explanation, a human reflex. He swallowed hard. "Can you read my mind?" he asked.

"No. I read your feelings."

"Who are you?"

The child grinned, walked along the branch with a grace and balance that reminded Brandon of a gymnast. "Why is it that the first questions you ask are the ones of least consequence? Does it really matter who I am?"

"What are your intentions then?"

The child sat down on a branch. "My intentions are to tell you things that you should already know. If you open a wound, drain half of it, and sew it back up, then it isn't healed. It would just get infected again. You have to drain the entire wound or else it will never heal.''

"I don't have a wound."

"Oh yes you do." The child leaned forward and Brandon could see adult eyes staring at him from a child's face. "It's not a physical wound, but it's there none the less, crying to be healed. Why is it so hard to tell him?"

Brandon shook his head. "I can't. I can't let him think for one minute that I enjoyed it."

"Did you?" the child asked.

Brandon shook his head vehemently. "No. Not at all. Not a single second of it."

"Then why do you think your lover will believe otherwise?"

Brandon gave up on trying to figure out how this child knew exactly what he was thinking, knew exactly what to ask. "Because I--Because--"

"Because of what your body did?" the child asked softly. "Do you have no knowledge of your species? Your body is made to respond. If someone stimulates it, it reacts. Not always the way we want it to, or in situations we want it to. You are a young, healthy male. It's normal."

"No," Brandon moaned, dropping the glass and raising his hand to cover his face, curling up. "No. It wasn't normal. It wasn't right. It was so wrong. I never should have reacted to someone doing that to me."

"Brandon," the child said softly and Brandon felt his breath catch. How did this kid know his name? Brandon looked up and the child leapt from the tree branch, landing lightly and soundlessly next to him. "I promise you, your body was not trying to betray you. It was only doing what it was made to do. You had no choice in the matter. He took it away from you. All the blame lies solely on one person's shoulders, and it's not yours." The child stood up from the crouch it had landed in and looked off into the trees. "Tell him, Brandon. The glass in your hand is only a temporary release, and you won't like what happens when you run out of places to try and hide."

Brandon could hear feet crunching on the thick carpet of leaves underfoot and glanced over to see Jordan heading in his direction, a heavy frown marring his face. Brandon glanced back over towards the child, but he, too, was gone.

"Bran! Bran, are you okay?" Jordan skidded to a stop and dropped down next to Brandon, eyes scanning his body. "Where are you hurt?"

"I'm not," Brandon said.

"I saw the lamp," Jordan said. "Are you bleeding anywhere?"

Brandon shook his head. "No. I didn't use it."

Jordan set back on his heels, frowning at Brandon. "What's going on?"

Brandon shook his head again. "I don't know. Dammit." He pressed the heels of his hand against his eyes. "I'm so confused."

"About what?" Jordan asked. He kept his position; close enough to Brandon for the brunette to touch him if he wanted, but giving Brandon some space as well.

"I have to tell you something about what happened to me," Brandon said. "But I'm scared."

"You're brave, Brandon," Jordan said, taking a huge chance by reaching out and tucking back a strand of Brandon's hair. Brandon didn't flinch away this time, and Jordan felt encouraged. He didn't say anything, just sat quietly, waiting.

"When-when Rajar was with me-" Brandon swallowed and stared at the ground, pressing his hands against the dry grass and moist dirt, taking some comfort in the feel of it against his palms and in between his fingers. "He didn't just rape me. He-He touched me. Everywhere." More tears came and Brandon didn't fight them back. He let them come, let them slide down his face and drop onto the ground.

"And...and..." Brandon sucked in a breath, held it until he felt he might pass out and shook his head. "I can't."

"You can," Jordan said, his voice soft, a reassurance. "You can."

Brandon shook his head. "I'm so sick," he moaned.

"Why?" Jordan asked. "Because of what happened? Because you came?"

Brandon lifted a tear-streaked face and nodded weakly. "Yes."

"Oh baby," Jordan said softly. He tried another touch, drifting his fingers along Brandon's cheek. Brandon turned his head, pressing his nose and cheek into Jordan's palm, smearing tears across his skin. "That is not your fault. Not even remotely."

"But-But I-"

"Rajar's poison, the venom he gave you, it immobilizes, but it also has an aphrodisiac effect," Jordan told him. "And even if it didn't, Brandon, it's simple biology. Prostate stimulation, even if it's involuntary, can lead to ejaculation. Just because you came doesn't mean it wasn't rape. And don't you ever, ever think otherwise."

Brandon pulled away and rubbed at his eyes. "I hate that he did that."

"Me, too, baby."

"I just don't understand why."

Jordan sighed. "I don't either. Maybe he was just trying to humiliate you. Or maybe it made him feel powerful." Jordan didn't know that as a fact, but he could definitely remember the fierce pleasure he always felt when he saw his lovers orgasm underneath him, knowing it was him who made them feel that way. He could see how for someone like Rajar it could be a power play.

Brandon flopped down on the ground, pressing his face into the leaves and grass. "I hate this," he moaned. He clenched his hands into fists and pressed one against his mouth. "I hate the nightmares and the way I feel and the way I'm scared all the time. I hate the way I'm afraid to let you or anyone else touch me. I hate that he ever touched her, I hate that she died to give him a son, I hate..." Brandon trailed off, took another deep, shuddering breath. "I hate everything about him."

"Me, too," Jordan said, feeling angry, frustrated, helpless. His lover was hurting and he had no idea how to fix it. He lay down on the ground next to him. "Can I have the glass please?"

Brandon extended his hand and Jordan carefully removed the glass from his fingers, laying it aside. They lay like that for a while, staring at each other. Brandon liked it. Jordan had beautiful eyes, a clear crystal blue that reminded him of cool, clean lakes and endless summer days. Things that had touched him before this dark stain had spread over his life.

"I'm proud of you," Jordan said.

Brandon felt like there was very little for Jordan to be proud of. He felt like a miserable, broken human being, a whore that had been used and then tossed aside. "For what?"

"For not cutting yourself," Jordan said. "You were thinking about it."

"I still am," Brandon said.

"But you didn't," Jordan added. "That's important, that is what matters the most."

"I want to."

"I know."

Brandon sat up. "I don't know what to do. I just wish everything was the way it used to be. You and me at your apartment, Leia pregnant and alive." He fanned his fingers on the ground and stared down at them, a little embarrassed at admitting one of his deepest wishes.

"I wish for that, too," Jordan said, sitting up as well. "But remember what you told me the other night? About not being able to change the past, but to just move forward?"

Brandon nodded. He remembered. But what he had said to Jordan were just words, hoping to relieve his lover's guilt. Following his own advice was not that simple. Moving forward was definitely what he wanted. He just wasn't sure how to do that.

"Come back with me," Jordan said, his voice a vague comfort. He extended his hand and waited patiently until Brandon took it and let Jordan pull him to his feet.

"How did you find me?" Brandon asked later as they approached the village.

"I went to see Sumna and Jassa to see if you were with them, even though I doubted it. Sumna was able to tell you were out of the village, on the forest floor somewhere. I came out to check the woods. If I hadn't found you here, I would have looked for you in the hot springs, and then...I don't know." The tightness in Jordan's last few words made Brandon look over at him. Jordan's eyes were steady and fixed and his face was nothing but tense planes of anxiety.

"You were worried," Brandon observed.

"I was," Jordan said. "I saw the glass and...cutting was the least I was afraid of. I was scared I might find you bleeding somewhere. I was scared I might go to the springs and find you face down in one of those pools-" His voice cracked and broke and Jordan swallowed. When he spoke again, his voice had regained its usual tone and pitch. "I'm worried about you, baby, and I can't not be. Just... don't run from me. If you need help, I'm here to give it to you, no matter what it is, alright?"

"I know," Brandon said, and leaned against him, just slightly, for a just a moment, and it was enough for Jordan.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Brandon sat on the floor of their pod. He and Jordan had eaten and visited the hot springs to wash up. Brandon, who was normally quite shy, rather liked bathing in the public site. Somehow being naked with a whole bunch of other guys in Odwayon made him feel less vulnerable than he did in high school, which was nothing but embarrassing exposure and the biting snap of wet terrycloth. Jordan was currently behind him, sitting on the bed, his knees bracketing Brandon's shoulders. He was combing out Brandon's hair, the slightly damp strands sliding smoothly through the teeth. Brandon didn't resist, and liked sitting on the floor while Jordan was playing with his hair, because the pull of the comb was pleasant enough and it felt good to be taken care of, for a little while anyway.

"Your hair is getting long," Jordan observed, gathering it loosely in his hands and pulling it off the back of Brandon's neck, then released it to let it fall again. More gentle pulls with the comb. "If you want, I can tie it back," Jordan offered, but Brandon made no comment. Brandon's hair was long, down to his shoulders, and Jordan knew his was getting to that point too, as well as constantly falling into his eyes. "Or I can try to cut it for you."

"I like it long," Brandon said.

Jordan slid the comb through one more time, then replaced it with his hands, combing his fingers through the strands, letting his fingers gently massage Brandon's scalp. He pulled his fingers free, bent down to kiss Brandon's temple. "I love you," he said softly, letting his lips linger for just a moment.

Brandon didn't respond, but did tilt his head back and to the side, enough for a quick kiss before standing up and exiting the pod. Jordan smiled a little and got up to follow him. It wasn't much, but it was a start.