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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

Live, Love, Lose - 28. Chapter 28

George woke up with a loud shout. He was attacked by something cold and icy. He started panicking, unable to brace himself for the worst. He wanted to take a look at his surroundings, but his vision was blurry; once again.

But then he realised he was completely soaked.

What the heck…?

His head was aching again, so bad, so much so that it was utterly unbearable. It seemed that it was about to burst.

What had happened again?

Oh yes, right. He obviously had drunk again, and too much to be in such an awful condition, and also completely soaked.

He just hoped there wasn’t anyone naked in the bed next to him this time.

He groped for his glasses, but they were nowhere to be found…he was used to letting them next to the bed’s foot on the floor, that way he wouldn’t squash them, but they weren’t there…

Where had he landed this time?

“Is this what you’re looking for?” He flinched at the familiar voice; no, rather at the tone that was used. This was foreseeing nothing good…

This time, he definitely was in Paul’s former room.

He waited for him to give his glasses to him, but he didn’t. And instead…

“Aaaaaahhhhhhhh!!! Have you lost your mind?! I’m already awake!!!”

He rubbed his eyes and wiped his face before running both hands through his hair. At least, he wouldn’t need to take a shower today.

“Thank goodness, you’re lucky your mother can’t see you so wretched.”

He bit his lower lip at the mention of his mother.

“Could we not talk about my mother—”

“Of course, let’s talk about you instead. You’ve been acting like a complete idiot lately!”

His jaw clenched mechanically. He hated that kind of lecturing.

“Just look at you! No, you can’t, but you should! The picture is both pathetic and dreadful.”

He’d rather not take a look at himself in a mirror. He would need his glasses on anyway if he really wanted to, in the first place.

“Listen, we can all understand what you’ve been going through and how difficult it is to mourn the death of someone dear to us, but you should stop thinking the world revolves around you! Yes, you’re hurt and I can understand it’s hard to bear, but you don’t realize that you hurt other people with your self-destructive behaviour!!!”

He flinched at how angry Paul was. But…he? Hurting other people?

“Mum has been worrying herself sick about you and Dad has fallen into a silent depression! And what you’ve been doing isn’t helping at all, you see!!! So just stop with your crap!!!”

His chest tightened painfully. He hadn’t meant to hurt anyone in anyway…especially not them, and how could he have not seen—

“You’d better get a grip on yourself, and fast! It’s about time!”

He could feel that behind all his anger he was hurt too; frustrated not to be able to make things better, and his chest was aching even more now. This adding to his headache made him just want to pass out. No, in fact, this might not be that good an idea…

“Here’s your bloody glasses!”

He could hear a soft thud on the mattress near him, indicating he had just thrown them at him. Then he could hear his footsteps, as light as silent as they might have been; he knew he wouldn’t stay any longer…

“Paul…” he said weakly, hurt prevailing in his voice. “I’m sorry…”

But the door was slammed closed. He let out a shaky breath. That’s definitely not how he had expected things to happen. He shifted his position and fell face flat into the pillow.

Why did everything have to be so complicated and so awful?

He could keep asking himself that question a million times, he was sure he would never have the answer to it.

And more importantly, what was he supposed to do now?

He didn’t have a single clue.

Couldn’t just that bloody pain go away and leave him alone?!

Yes, okay, he had caused it, but still. He was under the impression he was going to die. There definitely couldn’t be any worse sensation in the whole wide world.

He groaned both out of pain and frustration. He tried to think, but the pain wasn’t making it easy for him.

What he was going to say wasn’t against them, but they couldn’t know, let alone understand what he was actually going through, because none of them had ever been deviant and had that wrong, oh so wrong desire towards men. Well, Margaret wasn’t concerned because she was a woman and not a man, and because of this, she could understand even less. He just wished he could be like them; like his father.

But if he couldn’t get hard with one bird, he knew he couldn’t with any other woman. Yes, he had got hard when she had given him that blowjob, but he had been quite drunk, and a mouth was a mouth. It could be anyone’s mouth, it wouldn’t change anything about the sensation. As long as you didn’t associate it with the face and body corresponding. Yes, then, when you saw who you wanted to fuck, drunk or not, it became much more complicated.

He sighed loudly into the pillow.

He wondered how some men managed to do it. He was absolutely certain that there were some men who had a strong desire for other men too, but who managed to repress it and shag a woman to pretend that they were into women and then get married and have children.

He sighed again.

Maybe they just used some kind of drug, who knows?

Was there something medicine couldn’t do? Yes, a lot of things. There was still huge medical progress to be achieved, but this kind of thing, he was sure it could do.

Well, if he was truly sick, maybe it was high time for him to be cured.

***

Later during the day, he went back to the old disused warehouse. He definitely needed some fresh air after having drunk so much.

No matter how much it hurt, he just couldn’t help coming back there.

He went back to the upper floor and took very slow steps to go sit on the old mattress they used to share.

He cried over and over again. He had been crying so much for so long that it had become a trivial habit by that time.

He remembered the day when Nathan had announced he had to leave for the war. He had been so angry with him. Yes, he had had no other choice, but still. Conscription. A word he had grown to hate as the time had passed. That was what had taken his love away from him, the bloody war, those bloody Boche.

Please, George, don’t give me the cold shoulder…. You know I have to…I can’t desert and escape.

Please, I don’t want our last moment together to be like this. I want to remember your smile once I’m away, have it etched in my mind, your sweet and charming smile.

His anger had just been a way to hide his sadness and vulnerability. He had never wanted to look weak in front of him.

How could I bloody be smiling in such a moment?! Can you tell me?!

Yes, how could he have? Seriously.

But then he had taken him in his arms from behind, and he had tried to struggle free from his embrace, but in vain…

He had always known how to break the walls he had built to shield himself.

Let me come with you! I don’t care what they say about my eyesight! I’ll go anyway! I don’t wanna be separated from you!

No, don’t say nonsense, you were not made to be a soldier. And you’ve hardly started your studies, and you need to finish them. You’ll be a brilliant doctor. I know it.

Him, a brilliant doctor…?

He had hardly managed to pass the exams for his second year. And now he was just a depressed mess, unable to think about his future anymore…

The future was as blurry as his eyesight without glasses.

He let out a heavy sigh as he stared down at his feet. It looked like his brain was slowly turning into some pulp; he could feel it. He couldn’t think straight anymore. Straight. He huffed as he let himself fall on the dirty and worn mattress. Maybe he had just been thinking too much and that he needed to stop for a while. But that was nearly impossible. How could you possibly stop thinking completely, well, except when you were sleeping, but that didn’t count. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but after a while, he realised he couldn’t.

He could only remember those painful memories to hurt himself a little bit more as the seconds passed. This was enough to make his head ache again.

He shifted uncomfortably on the mattress, but it wouldn’t change anything.

The seconds and minutes just seemed to be endless. Endless pain. A punishment for eternity. Well, it’s not as if he were going to die anytime soon since he couldn’t go to war. And the Boche still hadn’t started their bloody bombing.

He should have never let him go.

Even if it had meant he would have had to kidnap him, lock him away in some place where no one would have ever been able to find him, it wouldn’t have mattered, at least he would have still been alive and safe.

It had been the biggest mistake he had ever made in his life.
And now he only had regret eating him up.

No. He couldn’t get back in time.

He should have known.

He shouldn’t have let him make him so vulnerable and meek. He shouldn’t have bought his bloody lies, saying everything will be alright, we’ll see each other again soon.

He hated him so much. He hated him so much with all of his heart, guts, and soul; his whole being hated him so much. He hated him more than he had ever hated anyone in his whole bloody life.

He hated him for making him fall so hard for him, for becoming his everything, for making him jealous so many times, for leaving him, and for hating him.

“Bloody bastard…” he blurted out as he was fighting the new tears that were ready to stream down. “At least you don’t have to endure suffering anymore…”

That's part of the reasons why he hated him.

It was just…it was just too easy to die…to let go of everything you had or the little you had.

This was not fair.

If it wasn’t for him to remember him, it would be as if he had never existed.

That thought was truly terrifying.

But remembering was so awful.

He suddenly shouted at the top of his lungs before he hit the mattress with his fist.

He really should stop thinking. What was the point in overthinking anyway? This wouldn’t bring him back.

Maybe the dead don’t like it very much to be thought of too much.

Maybe they would just like to rest in peace without being the center of attention of the living.

Who knows.

No one could confirm that to him.

“Bloody reality…”

Well, this can't be worse than the previous chapter...

Take care and have a good day/evening/night ❤️

Copyright © 2021 LittleCherryBlossom26; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
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The nexxt chapter could be the critical piont. He seems ready to break---Will he give up and commit suicide or will he decide to live for now repressing his feelings?

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He is such a twat.  I find no sympathy for him, which is pretty amazing because I’m a very loving person.  But to me, George is just a waste of time.  Good on Paul for letting him have a dose of reality!  I miss our sweet, kind hearted Karl, who is another one who has suffered at the hands of that bloody creep!  

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Hopefully George will come back to some sense of resuming his own life without Nathan. It’s so hard in the youthful years to understand just how much life has to offer you. I can only hope he doesn’t go out the deep end and try to join Nathan; that would hurt so many and deny others of a more compassionate and outstanding future doctor; once he can climb from the turbulent pit of depression he has thrown himself into.

I to miss Karl and look forward to catching up on his progress, achievements, and whether he has received any news from his occupied homeland and family.

There are still many dark events and times for all to bear.

Edited by Philippe
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George needs to man up, it isn't easy to lose a loved one, and one has to ask would his deceased partner want him to act this way?

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George seems to be blaming himself for Nathan going away to war.  Blaming himself seems so easy to do to ones self, but it still does not lend towards self healing.  Paul is seeing what George is going through and told George to pretty much get his act together. 

I am still thinking that Karl my play a part in George's path to healing. 

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Looking at the past from the future, it is sometime very difficult to understand the depth of George's grief.  Living in a world as hostile to gays as the UK in the 1940's would be almost impossible for the young gays of today.  Finding another gay person at the time, let alone a soulmate, would have seemed like one in a million long-shot. George feels like he will be facing the rest of his life alone and loveless.  What's the need for living such a bleak existence only to die alone? The young gays today are still committing suicide, even when living in a much more accepting society.  

Paul is too caught up in his own denial to be of much help to George. Karl (I miss him too) has the emotions of a 10 year old and can't help. Robert might be the only one, if George can confide in him.  I expect the next chapter will tell.

 

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