Be Myself! - 48. More than Private Lessons

When doctors warned me that I could have problems concentrating and remembering things at school, I did not think too much about it. I thought I would just be a little distracted and need extra revisions in order to understand my lessons. But by the first day of my second week in school, I realised that my head injury caused me to be much more than ‘a little distracted’, and that extra revisions might not be enough to help me learn. I could not concentrate at all. My mind became foggy, and nothing the teachers said could get through it. As soon as they said something, I forgot their previous sentence. And when I tried to take notes, my hand moved too slowly for me to catch all the details. I would never have guessed that a concussion could have such horrible and long-lasting effects.

I suffered through the lack of concentration during double biology (Helena elbowed me so hard and so often that I thought I was going to get a bruise on my ribs), and then during one period of English. By the time the day’s geography lesson started, I was frustrated and angry at myself for failing so horribly at something I should to be good at. Oliver and Henry noticed my distress, but there was nothing they could do about it. I sat at my desk staring at Mr Smith for fifty minutes, and yet, by the end of the lesson I knew I had learned nothing. I felt so angry at my failure that I completely ignored Oliver and Henry when they tried to talk to me and get me to lunch. Mr Smith noticed my uncharacteristic behaviour and came to speak to us.

“Is something bothering you, Oscar?” he asked. “You didn’t seem like your usual self today.”

“I can’t concentrate. I can’t remember anything from any of today’s lessons. I’ve never had this much trouble learning before.”

“You’re frustrated by this change.”

“Yeah.”

Mr Smith guessed my feelings correctly. He gave me a look of pity that only made me feel even more frustrated. “Would you like some extra help with school things?”

“What kind of help?” Did he mean extra lessons? More homework?

“If you think it could be helpful to you, I could tutor you a few days a week after school. We can look over things you don’t understand well in a more relaxing atmosphere, like your house or even mine, and hopefully that will improve your concentration and your ability to learn.”

“Would you really do that?” It was not me who asked, but Oliver. I had the same surprised reaction as he did, but I could not verbalise my question quickly enough. Even for speaking, my brain seemed to be taking its time today. “I don’t know if we can pay for that kind of tutoring…”

“It’s fine. As long as it doesn’t take away too much of the time I use to prepare lessons and grade schoolwork, I’m happy to help Oscar in my free time, free of charge.”

“Why?” was all I could ask. I knew teachers were busy people even when they were not at school (Joseph’s job as a university professor meant he worked as much at home as he did at his workplace), so I could not understand why Mr Smith would simply give up some of his precious free time to help me and not even bother to get something out of it.

“Because you’re one of my best students.” Mr Smith smiled. He paused for a few moments and then spoke again. “And because I feel kind of responsible for what happened. If I hadn’t called Mr Schubert back then…”

“You were just doing what the school rules told you to do.” I had already forgotten that it had been Mr Smith who caught Jean and me in the school toilet. It seemed a lifetime ago that he took us to the teachers’ office and called Joseph to tell him his model son had been fucking another guy on the school premises. Back then I still believed Joseph had been right to punish me, and I hid my wounds from my new friends. What if I had told someone about it then? What if I had gone straight to Mr Smith and showed him the gashes in my lower body that still hurt even after a week at home? Could he have done something to take me away from that family before they went too far?

Maybe that was what Mr Smith felt guilty about. In hindsight, I felt guilty about my silence too.

“But still. I had no idea it would get you in so much trouble. I’m really sorry, Oscar, and I would like to make up for it somehow.”

“You don’t have to.” I should have been the one who spoke out against what Joseph had done. Mr Smith had no way of knowing what was going on, because I chose to hide it from him and from my friends. “It was my fault. I didn’t realise what he was doing was wrong until it was too late. If I had known earlier…”

“Don’t say such things!” Mr Smith lunged forward and grabbed both of my shoulders. I instinctively flinched from the sudden outburst and body contact, and he immediately let go. “I’m sorry, Oscar, I didn’t mean to shout.” He waited until I had calmed down to speak again. “If there’s one thing you must never doubt about what happened is that it was in no way your fault. Nobody saw it coming. Mr Schubert is the only one to blame for what he did to you. You couldn’t have failed to report him if you had been brought up in a way that made you believe there was nothing to report. If anything, it’s our fault for not having got the message to you sooner.”

I could not say anything to that. Mr Smith was probably right. It took me a lot of time spent around Oliver and his family to even suspect Joseph might not be the perfect parent I thought he was. It would have been hard for me to react in any other way, but still...

“I think the tutoring might be a good idea,” Oliver said when he realised I was not going to answer. “Let’s talk to my parents, but I don’t think they would have a problem with it.”

“Would you like to do it, Oscar?” Mr Smith asked.

“I guess I could…” I would feel bad rejecting Mr Smith’s offer when he seemed so keen on doing it. If it helped him feel less guilty, and helped me to actually learn something even when my brain went on a holiday, it could only be a good thing. “I’ll talk to Ms Savage to see what she thinks, and then we can plan it properly.”

“That’s great, Oscar. Let me know how it goes.” Mr Smith smiled, and Oliver seemed happy for me too. We left for lunch soon after that, and although my concentration did not improve at all for the rest of the day, I felt considerably less panicky about the consequences for my academic future.

(...)

Oliver and I arrived home fully intending to ask Ms Savage about Mr Smith’s private lessons, but Oliver’s parents had other plans for us. Mr Viñas was in his bedroom speaking Spanish so loudly on the phone that we could hear him from the front door. Ms Savage called us to the living room as soon as she saw us come in.

“What’s going on?” Oliver asked.

“Leo is on the phone with your Aunt Isabel.” Ms Savage sounded apprehensive. “Apparently your grandparents are arriving in Glasgow tonight, and they want to stay here until your birthday party.”

Oliver panicked. “They want to stay here? Why? And why are they coming so early?”

“As far as I could tell, your grandparents miss you and want to spend more time with you now that you’re growing up.” Ms Savage’s emphasis on the last two words made me think that Oliver’s grandparents had talked about Oliver’s ‘growing up’ in that special gendered way reserved only for girls. Oliver probably realised it too.

“But they can’t…! I’m not ready! They can’t see me like this!” Oliver pointed to his chest, currently flattened by the binder. “I’m not ready to come out to them yet! What am I going to do?”

“Leopoldo is asking Isabel to go to the airport and take them to her house. We figured you wouldn’t like a surprise visit.” Ms Savage hugged Oliver.

“What kind of excuse are you giving them?” Oliver asked.

“It’s not really an excuse. We’re just saying that, now that Oscar lives here, we don’t have anywhere for them to sleep.”

Oliver gave me a relieved smile. “Thanks for saving my life, Oscar.”

Mr Viñas came into the corridor, no longer on the phone. “It’s kind of sorted for now. Isabela wanted to know why we sounded like we were avoiding everyone, but I managed to convince her we were just a bit pressed for time.” Mr Viñas saw Oliver and me and gave us a sad smile. “But your aunt insisted we meet everyone tomorrow for dinner.”

“Can’t you just tell them I’m sick or something?” Oliver suggested. “What if you, Mum, and Sam go, and I stay here with Oscar? I don’t want to pretend to be a girl for them.”

“You could use the dinner to come out to everyone.” I suggested.

“No, I don’t want to do that. I’m not ready. If I come out to my grandparents and to Aunt Isabel now and they don’t take it well, the rest of the family will know before I’ve had a chance to tell them. And, even if they don’t tell anyone, that means that at my birthday party there will be people who know and people who don’t, and it’ll be horrible. And I’ll have to come out more than once. I don’t know if I can handle it. I just want to gather everyone and say it once, then go and hide if they hate me.”

“Oh, Oliver…” Ms Savage hugged Oliver again and kissed the top of his head.

“I guess we can try to do that.” Mr Viñas decided. “I’ll tell my parents you’re not feeling very well and decided to stay home so you could get better in time for the party. I bet Isabel will want to know more about Oscar as well.”

“You can tell her Oscar is taking care of me, and see what she says.” Oliver smiled a little as he spoke. “Maybe it’ll distract everyone.” I knew my boyfriend well enough to realise he meant that his parents should distract the family from Oliver’s absence by strongly implying we would be having intimate moments together. Having my sexual life speculated on by strangers felt really embarrassing, but I didn’t have the right to stop Oliver from doing it. I had once used my supposed sex life to fool Joseph too, making him think I was seeing a secret girlfriend when I was in fact hanging out with the LGBTI Club and helping everyone revise for exams. So I said nothing, and focused on the thought that at least this time around no fictitious girlfriend was going to get pregnant and die in a violent car crash.

Oliver’s family went out on Tuesday and Wednesday night, leaving us behind. Oliver was nervous the entire time they were out, and so he asked me to help him get some kind of sexual release. I did not understand exactly how being anxious about coming out to family led to horniness, but it was not the first time Oliver had this kind of reaction to anxiety. He claimed sex helped him relax and forget about his problems, almost like an addictive drug, and that was why he was asking me to help him get off while his parents were in some random restaurant trying to keep the façade that Oliver was happy with his assigned gender.

So, although I could not relate to his reasons, I tried to be a good boyfriend and do as he asked. The only problem was that I was still under medical orders to not do anything too energetic. The wounds from the splenectomy would take another two weeks to heal, and so until then all I could do was kiss Oliver and grab his hair as he did all the work. I had to be careful to not get too caught up with the whole thing, in case the accelerated blood flow to certain lower areas of my body affected my injuries. My lips kissed Oliver’s, but my mind wandered to a world of cute kittens and puppies.

The trick worked, but I felt like my relationship to cute animals would never be the same again.

(...)

Despite the turmoil of the beginning of the week, Oliver woke up in high spirits on Thursday. He was finally sixteen years old, finally old enough to legally change his name, and (as he made sure to remind me as soon as he saw me that morning), finally above the age of consent. Not that it ever meant much in our relationship, but Oliver seemed to take great pleasure in being able to admit publicly that he was not a virgin.

I should have guessed that Oliver’s birthday would end up involving a great deal of sex. My boyfriend was still (thankfully) far from being like Jean, but if the last two days had taught me anything, it was that Oliver was not above using sexual pleasure to distract himself from his problems. And it was not exactly surprising that Jean could somehow feel Oliver’s ‘appetite’. That said, I was still caught completely off guard by what happened during lunch, when the LGBTI Club organised Oliver’s gift-giving ceremony.

“I’ve got something to help you celebrate your manliness,” Jean told my boyfriend with his usual sexy grin. He had an inconspicuous rectangular package in his hand, though Hannah raised her eyebrows the moment she saw Jean taking it out of his schoolbag. “I hope you like it.” Jean’s hands brushed Oliver’s as he passed the package on to its intended owner. Nobody was surprised when he somehow managed to touch Oliver’s ass before stepping away from him. Oliver’s face turned the same colour as his hair, but he smiled happily.

“What is it?” Oliver carefully unwrapped the package. Jean’s answer was to make him grin even bigger and much more obviously flirtatious. Oliver became even more cautious in his dealings with the wrapping paper. When he finally realised what the gift was, his jaw dropped to the ground and his face became so red I feared there was no blood left circulating in the rest of his body.

“I thought now that you’re a guy, you would need someone to teach you how to do the things that guys do best.” Jean approached Oliver from behind and put both hands on his shoulders. He leaned close enough to bite Oliver’s ears. “I can be the perfect teacher.”

“I can’t believe what I’m seeing.” Charlie face-palmed. Next to her, Luce, Helena, and Hannah groaned. Henry, Ariadne, and Edward looked like they wanted the earth to open up and swallow them. Only Emma, the not-so-innocent twelve-year-old, did not seem fazed by the fact that Oliver was holding a strap-on harness with a ten-inch dildo in his hands.

Jean moved from Oliver’s ear to his neck. He bit Oliver’s skin just enough to give him shivers, while his hands ran through Oliver’s ass and up to his abdomen. He pointedly avoided Oliver’s chest and groin. “I’ll teach you how to pleasure a man with this. I can’t wait to have your manliness inside me.”

“When did we become part of a low budget porn atrocity?” Helena asked no one in particular. “If you want to get fucked by monster penises that badly, you might want to cut the cheesy lines.”

“I know I’ll get fucked with or without the cheesy lines; I’m just that irresistible.” Jean flashed a cocky smile to Helena, but soon turned his attention to Oliver again. “And I’m sure Oliver is having a good time, right?”

I thought Oliver was going to faint. If it were me in his place, I would have already died of embarrassment. Yet, Oliver’s shock slowly turned into a smile, and he grabbed Jean by the hair to make him bite him deeper. “Never been this happy about invisible erections.”

“Guys, get a room.” Hannah groaned. “Preferably one that’s not on school grounds, so Mr Smith doesn’t have to suspend you for inappropriate behaviour.”

“How about we head to my house after school?” Jean suggested. “I’ll take you to my room and teach you how to get the best out of your new gift. And I’ll keep thinking about it until we get there. I really can’t wait to have you fill me up.”

I could not take it anymore. Jean spoke like he was in a porn movie. It was embarrassing and kind of gross. The thing in Oliver’s hand was the scariest imitation of a genital I had ever seen. I felt sick just imagining someone trying to fit it inside their body. I knew better than to expect Jean to feel anything but excitement at the prospect, but I could not get my head around the fact that Oliver felt the same way. Jean had always been messed up, but Oliver?

“Mr Smith did say he wanted to tutor Oscar… Maybe we could all go together! I’ll call Mum and ask her!” It did not even occur to Oliver that I might not want to be anywhere near them while they still held that phallic monstrosity. My boyfriend simply told his mother of Mr Smith’s proposal (which we had been more or less ignoring since the tension with Oliver’s family started), and asked if we could go there for a bit after school. I was trying to at least be grateful that he was not mentioning the real reason he wanted to go along, but I should have known better. “And Jean gave me a fake cock with a harness and wants me to fuck him with it as my birthday present. Isn’t it cool?”

As it turned out, Ms Savage was quite happy for Oliver’s new sexual prospects. She told him to have a good time as long as he promised to return home in time for dinner, so that the rest of the family could spend time with him on his birthday too.

I never dreaded the end of the school day so much.

(...)

“Thank you for having us here, Mr Smith,” Oliver said as soon we crossed the front door to our teacher’s house.

“It’s not a problem. You two have –”

Jean did not let Mr Smith finish speaking before dragging Oliver up the stairs to his room. I was left alone in the landing with the teacher, in an awkward silence that lasted until the noise from upstairs became too obvious to ignore. Mr Smith took me through his office space and into the kitchen and had me sit at the dining table. The wall separating the two rooms had been knocked down, turning it into one big work space in between meals. Glass patio doors covered most of the wall on the other side of the table, bringing a lot of light into the place.

Mr Smith took the seat in front of me and placed a few books on the side. “Please make yourself comfortable, Oscar. I suggest we start with geography for now, then move on to other things if we have time. If you think this tutoring could really help you, we can try to schedule lessons on fixed days.”

“Ok, that sounds good to me.” I took out my geography notes while Mr Smith looked for the right textbook and page. We were ready to start when we heard a loud moan coming from upstairs. Judging by the sudden colouring of Mr Smith’s cheeks and his swift avoidance of eye contact, we shared the same level of embarrassment. Mr Smith took a calming breath and tried to concentrate on the material at hand. We managed to ignore the faint sounds from upstairs for about five minutes, at which point another loud exclamation of intense pleasure disrupted our work.

“I’m really sorry about this, Oscar. I didn’t think Jean would be this distracting.” Mr Smith ran a hand through his hair in frustration. Despite what my teacher said, the loudest voice we heard seemed to be Oliver’s. I had to really make an effort not to imagine what he could be doing to make such sounds. The most disturbing part was that we were at the back the house on the ground floor, while Jean’s room was directly above the front door. Even though Mr Smith’s house was not that big (compared to Joseph’s house, at least), we should still be far enough from them as to be protected from the sound of Oliver’s birthday’s private show.

“He does that kind of thing often?” I asked, despite knowing better than trying to find out more about Jean’s sex life. It just seemed like an obvious question to ask under the circumstances.

“He doesn’t usually bring people over, even though I tried to tell him that doing it here is much safer than doing it on the streets.” Mr Smith became even more embarrassed by my question, but did not seem to have a problem answering it. “When he’s home, though… he can keep himself busy, so to speak. And he makes sure we all know how busy he is.”

“Isn’t it a bit… creepy?” I did not know how else to phrase my question, but at least Mr Smith seemed to understand exactly what I was trying to say.

“It’s definitely not ideal, but we’re kind of used to it. We’re lucky to have great neighbours who understand Jean’s situation and can put up with his needs as well. When Jean came to live with us and started doing these things, the neighbours were understandably… shocked. They have five children they adopted two years before I met Jean. The two oldest are teenagers, but the youngest is barely a toddler, and the middle ones are younger than Emma. I invited them for tea to apologise and explain the situation as best as I could. I didn’t want to tell them everything I knew about Jean’s past, but…”

“I don’t think I would want to know everything about Jean’s past.”

“Exactly. I wasn’t sure what my neighbours would think. Luca and Roderich are a gay couple, so I knew that at least Jean’s sexuality wouldn’t necessarily shock them.”

“But it’s not Jean’s sexuality that’s the problem.”

As if to prove my point, we heard another loud moan coming from Jean’s bedroom. This one seemed to belong to him rather than Oliver.

“No, of course not. And of course I had a hard time trying to explain to Luca and Roderich what was going on. The man who brought Jean to the UK, Ankou I think his name was, was still on trial for all the horrible things he did. Jean and I had to testify, but all Jean wanted to do was defend that man. Jean insisted he wanted to go back to him, that it would make him the happiest. And he was just eleven years old at the time. Everything about Ankou’s trial and Jean’s sick attachment to that man was tearing me apart. How could I tell my neighbours about all of that?”

“Did you?”

“No.” Mr Smith took a deep breath. The noise from upstairs still reached us. As always, when Jean’s past came up in conversation, I felt the contents of my stomach beginning to rebel and threaten to rise up my throat. “I didn’t have to tell them anything, because Jean did it himself. He appeared in the living room wearing nothing but underwear and the handcuffs he made me buy for him. He hadn’t realised we had guests; he just wanted me to help him out of the cuffs, but when he noticed Luca and Roderich, he promptly told them everything they wanted to know. And a lot of things they didn’t.”

“Ouch.” I would not have wanted to be in the position of Mr Smith’s neighbours. It sounded like the worst afternoon tea ever.

“At least Luca and Roderich witnessed first-hand how much help Jean needed at that point. They even offered to help me with anything I needed. Bless them.” Mr Smith’s eyes became watery, and he turned away from me slightly. “They offered to pay for a good therapist for Jean, to get me a good lawyer that would grant me permanent custody of Jean, and even hire someone to find out more about Jean’s life in France.” Mr Smith began to cry for real, and I felt even more uncomfortable. I did not know what to do, or even if there was anything that I could do. Mr Smith kept talking, and I decided that, for now, it was better to just let him say everything he wanted. “They are some of the nicest people I’ve ever met. They used to be famous TV stars around the time Emma was born, but they decided to not let their fame dominate their lives. They kept living in a tiny house despite being able to afford a mansion. I couldn’t understand why they would do such a thing, until they offered to help me. They said there were better ways to use money than to buy things they don’t need just for the sake of it. They were touched by Jean’s story, and they wanted to help. They could help, and they didn’t let me refuse.”

Mr Smith was crying so much he could no longer speak. I kept my eyes glued to the geography textbook in front of me while he tried to compose himself. It felt too much like an invasion of his privacy to keep looking at him in this kind of situation. The moans from upstairs had been replaced by faint laughter, but I had a feeling it would not be for long.

“I’m really sorry, Oscar.” Mr Smith took a while to calm down. I tried to smile and reassure him it was fine, but I probably felt too embarrassed to make my smile convincing. “It’s been two years, but I’m still overwhelmed thinking about everything. Luca and Roderich have helped me a lot since. We hired a private detective to find Jean’s birth family, but we haven’t had any significant leads so far. Ankou never identified Jean’s village during the trial, and Jean never knew what it was called either. All we know is that it was a small place, and that his mother died in childbirth. It’s not really much to go on. And Jean is adamant he will never return to France, though I can’t really blame him.”

As Mr Smith spoke, I remembered the strangely vivid dream I had a while back, where I seemed to be inside the mind of Jean’s father. It had obviously been a trick of my imagination messing with my head, but I could not help thinking that, if I had remembered more details about that dream, I would have been able to help with the investigation.

We tried to go back to geography after that. Mr Smith made an extra effort to concentrate through the insistent noise from upstairs, and I did my best to follow his lead. He was patient with me and my new learning speed, and he made sure I had really understood a topic before moving on to the next one. We did this for about an hour, and by the end, I was happy enough with my progress that I decided to carry on with those tutoring sessions. We arranged for them to take place every Tuesday and Thursday after school.

Thankfully, we did not have to go upstairs to tell Oliver it was time we headed home. My boyfriend and Jean seemed to sense it was time for their fun to end, and came down to meet us just as I was mentally preparing to call them.

“I’m ready to go now, Oscar.” Oliver had a giant smile in his face. His arm grabbed Jean firmly by the waist, while Jean put his arm over Oliver’s shoulder. There were obvious purple marks on both their necks and near Jean’s elbow (I did not want to ask how it got there), but at least they seemed to have made an effort to tidy up their hair. “We had a great time.”

“I can now confirm that you’re indeed dating a manly man, Oscar!” Jean winked at me. “Oliver is quite talented as a top, even though he was born without the necessary equipment. I’m impressed!”

“I think it’s just because you’re a good teacher.” Oliver winked too. They kissed like they were trying to eat each other’s face, and Jean grabbed Oliver’s ass. It was such a strange scene for me I did not even realise that I should probably be feeling jealous. Though even if I did realise it, I would probably end up confused as to whom I should be jealous of. I had had intimate contact with both of them, so I did not know how to feel now that they were having that same intimate contact with each other.

“I can take you home, since it’s your birthday and everything.” Mr Smith offered. “I’m sure your parents miss you.”

“Thank you, Mr Smith!”

Jean insisted on coming with us, and dragged Oliver to the backseat with him while I sat in the front with Mr Smith. “I hope you don’t mind I’m borrowing your boyfriend, Oscar. I just feel sorry for Oliver now that you can’t do any fucking, so I’m trying to make sure he gets all the attention he deserves today!”

“Sure, as long as it’s what Oliver wants.” I shrugged and made a point to keep looking forward from that moment on.

“Thanks, Oscar. I’m going to make this up to you when you’re ready for it again.” As soon as Oliver was done speaking, I heard the sound of his mouth coming in contact with Jean’s again. I feared the whole journey to the Viñas’ would be filled by a similar soundtrack to the one that accompanied my study session, so I tried to think of things that would distract me: school work, the eeriness of Glasgow after sunset, the cloudy sky. Eventually my thoughts wandered back to the things Mr Smith told me about Jean, and to my weird dream that seemed so much more than a dream. Obviously I knew there was no way it could have been anything other than my imagination making the most of what little information I had, but it still felt incredibly realistic. Never mind that Jean’s father turned into Joseph towards the end of the dream. I would rather not think about that part.

I made an effort to remember as much as I could from that dream, but my memory was still a bit foggy. It had been a while since the dream happened, and I had completely forgotten about its existence until Mr Smith started to talk about Jean’s past. I remembered the dark atmosphere, the fear in Jean’s parents when they realised their child was the curse of the Devil. I remembered the man in black who said he was a doctor, the same man who later said he could make good use of Jean’s curse and was thus willing to pay good money for him (I felt slightly sick remembering that particular bit of the dream). The man’s repeat appearance must have meant that my dream was recycling characters. My subconscious could not come up with someone new, and decided to make me think the person who helped Jean be born was the same one who took him away from his birth family. This should have been the ultimate proof that my dream was really one hundred percent the fruit of my imagination. This kind of thing did not happen outside horror movies or supernatural fantasies.

But if none of it was real, then how did my dream know that the man who took Jean away was called Ankou?