Strangetown: Chapter Twenty-Five - part three

[strangetomato]

Warnings: language, sexual situations



Chapter Twenty-Five

Part Three




"So, what actually happened?"

"What do you mean?"




"Well, how did he end up kissing you?"

"Is that what he told you? That he kissed me?"

"Well, yes. You did kiss, didn't you? You said so..."




"Yes, we did... We kissed, Johnny, but I was was the one who kissed him." Johnny was dead silent. "I made the move. He told me he wanted to kiss me, and then I just did it. I don't know if I even really gave it any more thought than that."

"So, you thought that was a good idea?"

"I didn't think about it. I just... felt it. Didn't I just say that?"




"Even hasty, irrational decisions are still decisions. You chose to kiss him. Did you even think about how that would make me feel?"

"Well, actually... I did. I thought about you the whole time."

"Yet you never thought that maybe it would be best to, I don't know, NOT kiss him?" There was a long pause, as she stepped out of the bathtub, and he followed her, tying a towel around his waist.




"I'm sorry," she finally said.

"No, you're not." Johnny was surprised by how angry he sounded. "You're glad. You have everything you want now. You have me, right where you want me, and you have Ripp too. Mr. Back Up."

"Johnny, that's not -"

"Not WHAT?! I'm just telling you how it is! It's not my fault you can't see it, Phi! You're the one who did this."




"Johnny..."

"Don't 'Johnny' me. I think I have a right to be angry." Ophelia said nothing more, but her face twisted horribly, as tears poured down her cheeks, silent and endless, until she let out one mournful sob.




"Don't cry, Phi... Please, don't cry."




"I - I didn't DO this, Johnny. Whatever this is... it just crept up on me. I didn't - didn't mean to ruin everything."

"I know you didn't mean it."

"I AM sorry... I hurt you. I don't want to hurt you. I love you."




"Ophelia..." He took her hands in his. They felt cold, remote. They were so small.




"Ophelia, I love you too."




He pulled her close, and hummed her a song. Something silly and out of tune. She shuddered as a small giggle broke it's way through her tears. "It's okay. We're stronger than this. We can make it through."

Johnny held her, and thought about how unavoidable it had all been, really, looking back. Ophelia and Ripp. And him.




Johnny's vision of the future had always included Ripp, but what exactly did he mean by that? Was Ripp meant to stay there, as some sort of troublesome uncle figure, but remain completely sexless and neutered? It wasn't realistic to expect that. He was well aware of Ripp's nature. Had Johnny really believed that this wouldn't happen eventually? Or had he suspected it all along? Yes, he had suspected it, many times, but yet... he still wanted Ripp to be there. He felt uneasy when Ripp was away, and always felt a little betrayed by Ripp's constant need to find satisfaction elsewhere.




It didn't make sense. Would he prefer Ripp to find his satisfaction there? With his own girlfriend?

It was becoming clear that Ripp wanted that. Ophelia wanted it too. Why wouldn't she? She was the one who would have the most to gain. Ripp had something to gain too, obviously, but what about him? He would have to share. He would lose something he already had. Wouldn't he? Or would he still have it? Love was complicated. There wasn't a set quantity of love, that would be divided and weakened if Ripp was allowed to love her too. Johnny had no doubt that Ripp loved her. That was why it was shaking him up so badly. How could he deny Ripp the love that he so badly wanted and needed? He wanted Ripp to be happy. He loved him.




There it was. That was the real problem. It would be a simple love triangle, if only he didn't love Ripp too. It made perfect sense. It wasn't the same as the way he loved Phi, but there wasn't as much difference as one might think. Like she had said... isn't it much the same? He loved Ripp like a brother, but more than a brother. There was something desperate about it. Wanting to hold Ripp close to him, but also wanting to exert a force of will over him. To push him, and have him push back. He needed Ripp to be there, as a challenge, as someone who challenged him. Someone who did that, and yet would overlook even the severest of injuries. Someone who offered a blind devotion. He thought of Ripp's pleading voice, coming up from the floorboards.

"John... Johnny Smith. No, Johnny, please..."

He needed Ripp, just as Ripp needed him.




"So now what?" he found himself saying, "What do we do about Ripp?"

"Well, what do you want?" The question was spare, simple. It had a lot of implications.

"Honestly?"

"Yes, of course."

"I don't want anything to change. We used to be happy... we can be happy, I think. I don't want that to change. I want things to stay the same."

"Could they?"

"I don't know."






"Ripp, there are two types of people in the world. Those with easy lives and those with hard lives." Her eyes hardened and, for a brief moment, she seemed much older than she really was. "And the people with easy lives could never fucking understand what it's like to be us."




He took another gulp of the whiskey. It was already working its way through him. He felt pleasantly warm and happy, almost estatic, and Jaxy only added to it by grouping him into her "us against the world" sentiment.




"They don't know what it's like to be alone, or to be poor, or to be neglected. To be looked down on. They don't know what it's like to be despised, to be hurt, by the people that are supposed to love and support you."




She was just getting started.




"They don't know what it's like to have to fend for themselves. They've never been homeless. They've never been forced to choose between protecting someone or saving themselves. Or had to defend themselves against an angry drunk who thought it was every bit his right to kick you around, like a worthless empty can."

"Jaxy..."




"Fuck!"

"My god. That's..."

"It's fucking SHIT, that's what it is, Ripp!"




"I didn't know."

"Nobody knows. Well, Zoe does... not that it matters."

"It does matter. That's terrible."




"I don't need anyone's fucking sympathy, okay? I'm a big girl. I can handle myself, and all that shit."

"I know that, but still..."




"I'm sorry." Jaxy let him hug her, but not for long.

"I want you to cut off all my hair."

"What? Really?"

"Yeah. Fuck hair."




Jaxy took Ripp's hand and led him to the bathroom. They were already weaving back and forth as they walked, touching the wall for leverage as they went. Jaxy placed the scissors in Ripp's hand.

"Here. Go nuts."

"Are you sure? I don't have a very delicate touch."

"I know. I've seen you after your attempts to fucking shave. Explains why you never do it." Ripp continued to look concerned. "Look - as long as you don't cut my scalp off, I really don't fucking give a shit. The hair has to go."




So Ripp started cutting. Slowly, carefully, steadying his shaking hands, and then, before he knew it, he was done.




"Not bad. A bit bland, but I can fix that up with some gel. Go get us another round, honey. I'll just be a couple of minutes and then we can hit the bar."




Ripp sauntered to the kitchen and returned with more drinks.




"Maybe you should cut mine too." He handed her a drink.

"Would you let me?"




"Yeah, why not? What the fuck am I growing it out for now?"

"Oh, honey, no... I wouldn't be able to to do that. You'll just regret it."

"Yeah, maybe."

"Besides, I'll bet your ears would look fucking huge if they were open to the world."




"Are my ears big?" He hadn't even considered that as an option for obsessing over.

"I don't know. Maybe. All guys have hideously big parts to me. You're just grotesque, compared to a woman."




"Well, I can't argue with you there." He rubbed her small ear between his fingers, and sighed. "Such pretty little things..."

"Keep it up and just see just how long you live, okay?" Ripp tried not to laugh too much, since he knew he was pushing it. "I'm going to call the cab, you asshole."

"I'll win you to our side yet."

"You'll win yourself a free neutering, and that's about it."






Tank placed his ramen noodles into the microwave and pressed the buttons. As the familiar whir of the mircowave picked up, he turned his thoughts back to Frances.






He hadn't been able to go back there for days. He hadn't even been able to call. Frances must have assumed that he was hiding out at Kendal's place, but since he hadn't even given him the number, there was no way to track him down. That had been a relief, at first, but now it became obvious that Tank would have to be the one to make the first move, if there was to be one, and that was more than a little daunting.




He'd have to go back eventually. All of his belongings were there. There was that obvious necessity, but there was something else. He wanted to speak to Frances. Since he had left, he realized that. He needed to speak to him. With each passing day, he felt more and more like he might actually be able to do that.




Tank had given it a lot of thought. How was Frances any different today than he had been just a couple of days ago, before he had told him that he was gay? Did that one detail define his entire personality? It was just who he was attracted to, and who can really explain that? It was a mystery of sim nature. And was being gay really such a bad thing?




Maybe his father had been wrong. It was the person that mattered, wasn't it? Frances was a nice guy. Tank had learned a lot by living there and being his friend. Simple things, like having a real conversation, and elaborate things, like the proper way to set a formal dining table. That was Frances. Like Tank, he was unsure of himself, and trying to live up to what had come before him. Tank could relate to him.




God. Formal table settings. How the hell had he not known that Frances was gay?

Then again, his own brother was interested in things like that too, and Tank was pretty sure that he wasn't gay. Maybe that's why he couldn't see it. Frances was like Buck, so Tank didn't think anything of it. Poor Buck. The General had always worried that Buck was too soft for a boy. Of course, "soft" was just another word for homosexual in that context. As a result, Tank had worried about that too, since his father had made it seem like the worst possible fate for a man.




Ripp hadn't thought so. Stupid, shit-disturbing Ripp. Buying Buck a dollhouse, and otherwise fanning the flames of his interest in feminine things. Ripp didn't see a problem with it, but Ripp was reckless and defiant, and he always coloured outside of the lines. In Tank's colouring book. Without asking. And then the General had thrown the book in the trash because Tank shouldn't waste his time on that worthless shit anyway.




Tank wondered if Buck had really forgiven him for destroying his dollhouse. That had been a terrible thing for him to do, but he had been upset at the time, and he really had thought that it was for the best. By some twisted logic, he had thought he was doing Buck a favour. How stupid he was. The dollhouse wasn't hurting anyone, especially not Buck.

He had been stupid about Frances too.




Tank decided that he should go back and apologize to Frances. He could go there right that minute, and just say that he was sorry. It wouldn't be that hard. He was capable of an apology, surely, and he really was sorry. Sorry that hadn't noticed sooner. Sorry that he had reacted so badly. Sorry that he couldn't return his interest.




He stood back from the sink, dried his hands, collected his courage, and turned to leave.




Ripp and Jaxy had reached the bar, and were already inconceivably drunk.
















"Johnny, where were you last night?"

He didn't say anything.

"Johnny?"

Again, silence.

"It's not like you do be gone like that."




"I was abducted."

"What?"

"I was abducted." He said it again, like he was aknowledging it to himself.

"No..."

"Yes."




"Why did they do it? I mean, was it just a random thing?"

"No. It was definitely not random. They want me... they want me to..." He felt tears welling up in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He wasn't going to cry. What good would that do?




"Johnny, whatever it is, you can tell me."

"You don't want to know about that."




"Yes, I do. I love you, Johnny." She took his hand. "You can tell me. You don't have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. You always do that. You just freeze up, and try to go it alone. You have to share with me. You have to let me in."




So he did.






Frances sat alone in his bedroom, thinking of every stupid thing he had done in his life. There were many, and he remembered every one of them with perfect clarity.

He often stayed awake at night, replaying embarrassing social situations in his mind. It was funny how time and distance could take the sting out of those events to the point of complete erasure from his memory, but then it only took a moment to bring them back, sharper than ever.




Like his very first embarrassing admission of his desires, to Guy Wrightley, his supposed friend. Friends only because they were forced together through circumstance and family connections, left along together on many a family visit. Unlike Frances, Guy took to his birthright like a fish to water, and he thought that his parents were more or less infallible, so any true friendship between them was significantly halted by this. Still, Frances considered him a friend. He didn't expect him to betray his trust.




Guy might not have thought much of it, and casually mentioned it to his mother, or maybe he had thought that Frances was sick and needed help. Frances tried to believe that Guy's actions had not been vindictive, but part of him, the part that recognized the truth, knew that Guy had attempt to ruin him. Guy saw Frances as a rival, and he had hoped to knock him out of the picture.




Frances could never forget how upset his mother had been, and how it had caused him to instantly deny the claims made by Guy. To vehemently deny his true nature. To insist that he too thought it was awful, and that he was upset to have been falsely accused of something so shameful.




His tears had been real enough, a product of his deep sorrow at the realization that he was going to be completely alone in the world, and so he had convinced her. His mother had believed him, at least on the surface, and that was the last he'd had to see of Guy for some time. They maintained a working family friendship, but it was mostly for show.




After that, his mother had gone on one of her episodes, and then went into rehab shortly after.




His mother obviously knew the truth.




Frances was lifted from his thoughts by noises coming from downstairs. The door opened and closed and footsteps went into the kitchen and ran the tap. It had to be Tank. Washing his hands, just like he always did. Frances could hear him moving around the kitchen, with that familiar heavy step. It was undeniably his way of walking.




Frances took a deep breath and headed downstairs.

He stopped when he reached the kitchen. He had been mistaken. There was a Grunt in his kitchen, but it wasn't Tank.




It was Ripp.

"Oh, Tank... It's okay if I eat these chips right?" Frances didn't know what to say. Ripp didn't turn around. It was obvious from the way he was swaying back and forth, and his slurred speech, that he was quite drunk. "Tank? Stop being a fucking prick and answer me... I'm just going to eat them."

"Tank isn't here."

"Oh... Worthington... Frank... Hi. Where's Tank?"




"He's not here."

"He's... not? Where is he?"

"He left. He was - I made him angry."




"What happened?" Frances didn't say anything. He didn't need to. "No... you didn't do THAT, did you? You told him?"

"I did more than that."

"What... how much more?" Frances frowned, and Ripp furrowed his brow. "Not... not that?"

Frances nodded. "I just... I didn't think. He was so angry."

"He didn't... hurt you, did he?"




"No..." Frances felt the tears coming, even though he struggled to hold them in. He couldn't help himself. It wasn't true. Tank really had hurt him, just not the way that Ripp meant it.

"Did he... hit you?"

"No, he just pushed me."

"God, Frances."

"I know. Just rub it in."

"What?"




"You were right, so you might as well rub it in."

"What? I'm not going to... what made you think..."

"God, I'm so stupid."

"Frances..."




"I just feel so worthless."

"You're not worthless, okay?"

"I am. I'm worthless."




In Ripp's mind, the words echoed back from a day long since past, but never forgotten.

"Why do you waste your time on this worthless shit? Is that what you want to be, Ripp? Worthless? Why can't you ever do anything right?"

It was such a horrible word. Worthless. Frances wasn't worthless. Ripp wasn't worthless. This could be him, here, laying his heart out, and having it crushed. This was him.

"You aren't worthless."

"I... I am."




Ripp spun Frances around and kissed him, just a little. Gently, but firmly, as if to suck the sorrow right out of him. He did it without really thinking, and then he realized what he was doing, and stopped.

He stepped back, stunned.




Frances was equally stunned.

"Ripp?" Ripp didn't answer him. He just stood there, looking like a deer in the headlights.

Frances looked at him. He wasn't Tank, but he could see a lot of the same qualities in their faces. Their eyes were exactly the same colour. They had the same smell.




Frances pulled Ripp to him and kissed him harder, and deeper. The taste of alcohol and desperation in Ripp's mouth was a potent mix. Frances couldn't contain his hunger. It had been so long, so very very long, since he had kissed a man like that. It was awakening something inside him that had all but dried up completely. It felt really good to kiss Ripp. He wasn't Tank, but he would do.

Ripp didn't resist him, and began to kiss him back. Just a little, at first, but then more and more. As hazy as it was, his mind was racing.




Questions flooded Ripp's brain. What was he doing? Why was he kissing Frances Worthington? He hadn't intended to do this, but here he was, kissing Frances and his soft lips. It was just kissing, right? It didn't mean anything. It didn't make any difference if Frances was a man. A gay man. It was just a kiss. Nothing at all. Everyone was the same from the neck up, anyway, right?

Right?








Ripp kept running that very same line of reasoning in his head, until he was on the couch with Frances, pressed up against the length of his body, and touching things that were most definitely below the neck.






Then Tank came home.
















"What the fuck!" Tank slammed his fist into the wall. "What the fuck is wrong with him?! Why is he - why is he like this?" Tank stood there, shaking, cradling himself in his arms. He was clenched, tight like a fist, holding back everything that wanted to break out of him. "Why does he do these things? Why can't he just be normal?"

Frances felt himself bristle at the last word. He was tired of being told that he wasn't normal, and that's exactly what Tank had implied. Frances was normal. Even if he had to argue that point for the rest of his life, it didn't make it any less true. And Ripp was normal too, though obviously far less defined.

Frances could have just taken it, accepted it, as he often did, but this time he couldn't. He wouldn't let it go.




Tank's body had the tension of a bear trap that was set, waiting for its victim. Frances knew that, but he could also see the real desperation in him: the desire to be consoled somehow.

Frances knew that he was risking his limbs, and maybe his life, but he didn't care. He reached his hand out and rested it on Tank's shoulder. He waited for the shock of the impact, but Tank didn't hit him. He didn't explode with rage. Tank's shoulder's slumped, and he seemed to soften instead.

"He - he is normal, Tank," Frances said. His voice was even and clear, and almost confident. "He's just confused... he's lonely."

"How... how dare you?"

"Tank, I..."




"How could you do this?"

"I don't know." It had been surprisingly easy, really. "I wasn't thinking."

"I can't begin to tell you how angry this makes me."




"I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have taken advantage of him like that, but I just wasn't thinking." He lowered his head. "I understand if you hate me."

"I don't hate you." Tank turned around.




"I wouldn't have come back here tonight if I hated you."

It wasn't much, but that was a start. "Thank you."

"You've been a good friend to me, and that's not something I want to just toss away." Tank's eyes revealed that vulnerability in him that he never let out. "I'm not perfect either. People make mistakes. I understand that, but I'm having a hard time understanding all of this. This is just a bit much to deal with."

"I know. I'm sorry. It's all my fault." Frances looked at Tank, wondering how best to mend this tear in their relationship. "I'm going to go away for a while, okay? Stay with Edie. You can stay here... if you still want to, that is."

"Yeah, okay. That's probably a good idea."








Ripp stumbled up the stairs, until he reached the door to Ophelia's bedroom. He put his hand on the doorknob, then stopped, and leaned his head against the door. He knew that he couldn't go in there, but he wanted to so badly he could taste it.






It was so unfair that he had been able to reach out and touch what he wanted, only to have it taken away again. That was what happened when you let someone into your heart. When you really gave yourself over to someone, they would just end up hurting you. Nothing was forever, and nobody would ever be there for him like that. It would never be good enough. It would never be enough.




He was a fool if he thought that opening his heart to Ophelia had been a good idea. Johnny was right. He was out of his mind. Why would Johnny want to share with him? If he were in Johnny's place, would he want to? Or would he hoard her away all to himself? That would be the first instinct, maybe, but why couldn't they share? Then nobody would be left with the terrifying task of being everything to one person. There would always be someone to love her.




Ophelia should be loved as much as possible. She couldn't be loved enough. She needed all of that love to push the sadness from her. To fill her with happiness instead. To fill her completely.

They could both love her.

They could share her.




Why couldn't they just let him in?

He could just do it. He could go in there, and then seek forgiveness instead of permission. Yes. What was left for him to lose?




Then his stomach turned over, and the room spun around him with an intensity that demanded respect.




He found his way to the toilet, where the smell and sight of the bowl that he was supposed to clean over a week ago did the rest.




His retching woke Johnny, who asked Ophelia to stay in bed. He got up, and said that he would go see to Ripp by himself.




Then he stood in the dark bathroom, silently observing the mess that his friend was in. His best friend. Even then, after everything, there was no doubt that Ripp would always be that.




Ripp noticed him standing there, but couldn't look at him. He felt so ashamed, and his guts compelled him to continue. He'd have to vomit there, with Johnny coldly observing him. Johnny could look and see what a complete fucking mess of a person he had become. He could judge him, and find him to be a failure. Always a failure. Something worthless. A burden.

His whole body shook with the shame and the embarrassment, as he purged his stomach, eyes, nose, everything.






Then Johnny stepped forward, kneeled beside him, and held back his hair.




"It's okay, Ripp. Just let it all out."

"John." He choked out the words between coughing and sobbing. "I just wanted... I love. I want... I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I have you. It's going to be okay." He held him until he was finished throwing up, then held him until he stopped crying, and then held him some more. He held him tightly, like something that could easily slip away.




"Please don't do this anymore, Ripp." Johnny's eyes were filled with worry. He gripped tightly to Ripp's shoulders, and shook him a little with each point of emphasis.

"Okay."




"I don't want to see you like this ever again. You can't do this. What if I can't keep saving you? If anything happened to you..." He trailed off, unable to speak the words. It was too terrible to even think. "Just promise me you'll stop hurting yourself like this. Don't be an idiot."

"Okay, John."

"You'll be okay, alright? WE will be okay. We can deal with this... all of it."

"Johnny?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."




"Yeah, I love you too."

Ripp didn't know much, but he knew that he could do that for Johnny. If Johnny needed him to straighten up and fly right, he could do that. For Johnny, he would do anything.

The next morning, Ripp didn't really remember much about it. Parts of his memory were completely blacked out.




He woke up feeling completely destroyed, but he remembered fragments of how Johnny had taken care of him.

Johnny had cleaned him up, made him drink some water, helped him to brush his teeth, and put him to bed, making sure that he slept on his side.










Johnny had forgiven him.




They would be okay.

Comments

[melody-curious.livejournal.com]

Those last images left me in tears....

They need each other so much, and now they have realised....*sighs*

[strange-tomato.livejournal.com]

I'm glad to see it had an impact on you. They really do need each other, in many ways which are hard for them to define, but they've started to really look more closely at it.