Dear Father Robinson

Oneshot

Dear Father Robinson,
 

My name is Paul Kalinski. I'm not sure you remember me, though you must know my parents, Louise and Adam Kalinski. They are probably searching for me as I am writing this. Please assure them of my well being, if you can. I trust you not to reveal anything else except that I am well and cared for.

My parents are, for the most part, not aware of the events that I will describe in this letter, and I trust you that this will remain so. Please, view this as a form of confession, though neither God nor you can give me any form of absolution valuable to me.

I believe it is safe to say that my story began in the deliriously joyful weeks and months when my father's - metaphoric - shovel hit the gold vein in the mine of business. In other words, he had gotten the jackpot. His - to beginning little - business thrived, and each day Lady Fortune seemed to smile on us a little more. We became rich practically overnight. The first few weeks, maybe months, were euphoric. But excess in money, however large, is surprisingly easy to get used to. Soon, instead of pleading we began to demand, and instead of hoping we started expecting.

However, as my parents should soon find out, a fine suit does not make a beggar into a gentleman. Wealthy they might be, but the rich society frowned upon them. Adam Kalinski fixed his shoes instead of buying new ones? Their children took the public bus instead of being driven to school? Why, they acted like some shabby middle-classers! Oh, but haven't you heard, they were middle-classers, laden with money, but still... And they thought they could be part of the real fine society? How pathetic!

My parent's - especially my mother's - struggle to be accepted started with a row of excessively large house and garden parties. Unfortunately for me, my older sister Julienne was banned from appearing at any public event that included my parents having to acknowledge her, as she was going through one of her rebel phases, and had dyed her hair a bright blue. That, and her newly acquired nose and lip piercings condemned me to attending those social gatherings instead.

As you may have noticed, my love for stuck-up formal barbeques isn't overwhelming; but it wasn't altogether so bad. The girls loved me. Their sense of reality was so distorted that the sole fact of me coming from a middle-class background made them assume I was some kind of drug-dealing street warrior. I didn't lie to them, of course, but I didn't destroy their illusion, either. Of course, the guys were way more sceptical, because, y'know, there they were, advertising their money and their cars and having the girls on their heels, and suddenly their couple thousands weekly allowance didn't matter anymore - just because some punk with bad hairdo came along.

Well, I won them eventually; I have a knack for that kind of thing. We didn't really establish close-knit relationships. It wouldn't have worked anyway, because most of them studied in fancy overseas boarding schools (you know, Switzerland and stuff) - but the main reason would be that we just didn't mix. We had different values - I don't think I could've stood it to be among people who are establishing relationships based on their families' wealth. And where as a "street punk" and "gang member" it was okay for me to be a little scruffy, as one of them you had to have perfectly clean/washed/ironed clothes and not a hair out of place. The idea of just putting on regular torn jeans didn't appear logical to them - the clothing article had to be taken to an expert and ruined artfully. I didn't understand that need to throw money away. I probably never will.

But that's not important; the fact is that it was one of those parties that the inevitable started at. I have asked myself many times as to why it was there, why it was then, and why it was I. The scary thought is that I am almost sure I would have been even more miserable, had it not happened.

The night had been warm; the blazing heat of the day had left for a not-quite cool, but definitely desirable breeze. The girl clinging to my arm was named Sarah. She was pretty, I guess, if she'd only stop trying to be "goth" so hard (Don't ask me what "being goth" means, I've got no idea. Neither did she.) Anyway, she was pretty... only not my taste. Unfortunately, she was hitting on me quite persistently, and so I was stuck looking for a way to get rid of her politely. We were walking around the garden, which was lit by pretty little Christmas-ey lights, while Sarah was telling me about some apparently incredibly funny incident that had happened last week. I was nodding and smiling and making it look like I actually listened while recalling the latest episode of Family Guy (yes, big bad scary gang member Paul watches that show). I was so engrossed in my own thoughts that I hardly noticed where we were walking.

That is, until we went around a corner. Sarah suddenly screamed and clung to me. My guess is that she used the moment to get closer than she already was, because the sight before our eyes wasn't scary at all. It was a boy who looked about twelve, and seemed as scared as Sarah pretended to be. He was sitting on one of the less illuminated benches, all by himself and apparently doing nothing. Despite the warm temperatures, he wore a dark sweater and long pants.

The boy looked as surprised as I had been upon the scream. He stared at us wide-eyed, and then blinked, letting the tension slowly leave his face. I could see his narrow chest heaving with fast-paced breaths.

Sarah broke the silence first. "What are you doing here?" The tone of her voice was annoyed.

"You know him?" I blurted out incredulously, receiving a wary look from the boy.

"I'm her little brother. Sorry for disturbing." He rose to leave, but I wouldn't let a sudden chance of escaping Sarah's wrath slip away that easily.

"Hey, it's okay." I grinned at him, extending a hand. "I'm Paul."

"I know," he told me with the same wariness as before. He took my hand, though. His palm was slightly sweaty, which didn't surprise me at all. "They call me Anthony."

"Nice to meet ya, Anthony." There, "street" charm of big scary gang member Paul was on. There was a snowball's chance in hell he'd escape me now. I pretended not to notice the agitated glare Sarah sent my way before seizing my arm once again.

"Come on, Paul, let's go," she whined. Her long, black painted fingernails were digging into my skin. "He's just my little brother, he thinks it's cool to scare my dates away." The last sentence was added in a tone of absolute disgust. Apparently she was oblivious to the fact that her brother seemed like the less scary perspective to me as of that moment.

I smiled at her. "Why didn't you tell me you had a brother? How old are you, kid?"

"Fifteen," he answered dryly. "I go to your school."

For a moment, my response consisted of staring at him. Then I found my voice again. "Fifteen? But..."

"...I look like I'm in grade six, I know." His smile incorporated a mixture of shyness and slight bitterness. I grinned back sheepishly.

"Sorry..."

Sarah now glared at us both. "You...! I don't get you guys!"

Gone was the shyness. "And we should care because...?"

Good point. I didn't argue. Sarah sent another seething glare our way, and, discovering that neither of us was writhing on the grass in agony, stormed away.

Anthony looked at her retreating silhouette, and then at his knees. "Sorry," he murmured. "Guess I kinda ruined your date."

I grinned at him, feeling pretty relieved. "It's no big deal. You're really fifteen?"

He nodded. "At least I get my bus tickets cheaper."

I sat beside him and we were silent for a while. Then I looked up. "Aren't you hot like that?" He looked at me, blinking as if confused. I gestured to his sweater. "Come on, man, it's summer!"

"Oh, that..." He looked down on himself. "Well, I guess I could take it off." He did so. His perfectly done hair got ruffled in the process, random short strands sticking off in physically impossible directions. Underneath the sweater, he wore a white dress shirt. He smoothed it, then folding his sweater into a perfect rectangle of wool, but crumpling it again the next moment. His fingers went over the rebellious hair, trying unsuccessfully to put the strands back in place. All the while he was looking at his knees.

By this time I was quite sure: before me sat the living, breathing incarnation of nervousness.

When around nervous people, I get uncomfortable, as well. So I guessed that it was time to say something. "I... I've never seen you around school before."

He shot me a fleeting glance before resuming the staring duel with his dark dress pants. "Not many people do."

"Why aren't you in some famous, expensive school in Switzerland?" I tried again. This time his eyes fixed on my knees after shifting to my face briefly. I guess that was an improvement.

"I could ask you that as well."

"Well..." I didn't know how to explain it without being rude. "It's different for you."

"How?"

I shifted uncomfortably. "Your... Sarah goes to a Swiss school... and... you know... all my friends are there, so..."

"So?" He lifted a slender eyebrow. "You could still see them."

"I... guess I just wanted to be around... normal people." I think I almost blushed when I realized what I had said just then. I rushed to correct myself. "I mean -"

But he was already smiling at me. "I have the same reason." That shut me up effectively.

After that, we were a little more comfortable with each other. He warmed up to me gradually as we talked, and told me a little more of himself. His parents were overprotective; that's why they made him wear the sweater in the evening, even though it was warm. He made them allow him to go to a public school because the demands of the high society were wearing him out. He was supposed to take over his father's business, but found himself more interested in arts than stock markets; they've had fights about that. He found Sarah's sudden obsession with Satanism and death embarrassing. And so on.

I'm not sure how it happened, but sometime during the evening both of us succumbed to sleep. I woke up with the bench panels digging into my back and an almost comfortable weight on my right shoulder, which identified itself as Anthony's - Tony's - head. His parents were shocked to find him here in the middle of the night, sleeping on a hard, cold bench, with his hair tousled from the wind and without his sweater on! His mother was near hysteria as they bade us good night, loaded him into the limo and drove off. Sarah was nowhere to be seen.

I guess I pretty much slept through most of Sunday, and Monday morning found me not overly enthusiastic by the prospect of going to school. I generally don't wake up before midday, and so I was still in zombie mode when Brad - the "Gossip Lady" of the school, and, unfortunately, my friend - walked up to me and asked me if I had gotten myself a new girlfriend.

Now, there were two facts that were funny about that question. Number one - Brad doesn't ask questions. If he does, they are purely rhetorical. He states things. Asking questions is beyond Boy Genius Bradley. Number two was the wide, delighted grin that graced his features. Something was funny about it.

Would I have been in a normal state, I would've noticed the warning signs and taken counter-actions. However, I was not. So I made the biggest mistake one can do when in presence of a specimen such as Brad: I told him to shut up.

"But Paul-Darling", he grinned even wider, "I'd really like to know it if you're changing your sexuality."

That got me awake at least. I looked at him, void of words. He now had me in his hand and he knew it. "What, you wanna hear the story?"

Apparently he had heard about me falling asleep together with Anthony Hendrikken, that guy that always sat in the halls reading at recess. Where Brad got his information from, I will never know. I stopped asking a long time ago.

Of course I assured him that it was nothing like that and that I still preferred girls, besides, why would I go for someone who looks like a child? Does he suspect me to be pedophile, too? Though that only made him latch into a series of assumptions about how I actually might be pedophile, I knew he didn't really mean it. He still managed to annoy the hell out of me, which is why I decided not to seek Tony out at lunch after all. He'd understand that I had been busy, I was sure.

The next big house party was already scheduled to next week, this time because of my father's birthday. Initially, I think he would have been happier without a pompous feast, but my mother wouldn't let him get away with that. I think she actually liked arranging all those festivities.

The evening was what I've already been accustomed to. Sarah had finally given up on me. I didn't pay her much mind; if she wanted to sulk, fine with me. I caught her talking to Amy once or twice, glancing at me once in a while, but this also failed to concern me. I decided to stay clear of Tony. I didn't want to have to deal with Brad again.

But Fate wouldn't agree, and so I found myself standing right beside him at the pool, as we all drank champagne in the aftermath of the celebrations. It was the first time I've seen him more or less normal lighting conditions; the light at the bench had been way too dim. He didn't look quite so young now, though younger than fifteen still. I also noticed that his hair was much darker than I had thought it was, a bluish black that just couldn't be natural, not when his skin was so pale. The light grey of his eyes contrasted with the dark hair shockingly. He was pulling the whole "goth" thing off rather well, though in an unconventional way.

He smiled up at me, and I found myself smiling back. That is, until he raised that one questioning eyebrow again. "I waited for you."

"I know. I'm sorry I didn't come, I couldn't, you know, forgot to do the homework at home..."

The other eyebrow joined the first. "Five days a week?"

"Well..." I smiled sheepishly. He sighed and looked away.

"It's okay... you could have just told me. You forgot, didn't you?"

I blinked. Unexpected, that, but I seized the opportunity. "Uh... yeah. Sorry. I won't do it again."

"It's okay." He turned around, giving me a shy half-smile. "Just invite me to the next party, will you?"

I grinned. "Sure. What's up with the vampire look?"

He blinked up at me, and then smiled. "Oh, that... it's to annoy Sarah. She thinks it's embarrassing to have, and I quote, 'such a poser' as her little brother."

I looked at him, puzzled. "And your parents let you dye your hair?" They'd seemed like the kind of up bringers who'd faint upon hearing the very idea.

"They didn't have a chance to intervene." He grinned slyly. I couldn't help but laugh and ruffle his perfectly done hair, at which he let out a startled yelp. "Hey! That took the -"

Suddenly someone seized my arm, someone with long crimson nails. Amy.

"Hey, Paul... why don't you come over there to sit with us?" she asked, completely ignoring Tony. Her voice was dangerously silky.

I was about to nod reluctantly when I caught Tony's eyes. Or, rather, did not catch them. He was already turned away from us half-way, and looking down into his glass with a quiet disappointment that reminded me all too painfully about how I had ditched him this week. To hell with Amy and Sarah, I thought.

So I pulled myself from her grasp cautiously. "Sorry, can't. Gotta show Tony something, tell Sarah I said hi, 'k?" And before she had a chance to protest, I took Tony's shoulder and guided him away. I led him to my room, hoping they wouldn't go looking in the upper floors of the house.

"You... ditched them", he said as I closed the door behind him. His forehead was wrinkled as if that was something incomprehensible.

"Yeah, so?" I let myself fall on the bed and motioned him to follow my example.

"Do you ditch all your friends?" He looked at me sceptically.

"Are you complaining?" He blushed, looking down. I took that as a 'no'.

Having won, I stood up and walked over to the wide screen TV, tossing him one controller as I did so. "Now, let's see if you were lying about your skills in digital car racing the other day..."

A while was wasted away with screeching tires and asphalt roads going on into infinity. By the time we stopped, he had defeated me a total of twenty-one times to zero. I was lying on the bed, my controller cradled into my chest, which was heaving with theatrical sobs - while the little devil laughed his ass off beside me. He had taken off or loosened most of his formal attire, and was now wearing an almost-unbuttoned white shirt and dress pants. The tie was hanging loosely around his neck and his cheeks had way more colour than before. I think I liked the change.

I sighed and looked at him from under my arm. He was openly giggling at me, mirth shining in his bright eyes.

"Just wait, I'll make you pay for that", I growled, and the next moment he was buried under me while I was tickling him vigorously. Minutes passed until I gave in to his pleas for mercy.

I don't know how the idea of filling him up came to me. I've already drunk quite a bit this evening, and I'm rather silly when drunk. First he protested, of course, saying that his parents wouldn't allow it and that he didn't drink much... He had a point when talking about his parents, but I solved the problem by venturing downstairs and effectively convincing them of letting their darling son stay over - and it was not easy, trust me. But that way, if he'd have a hangover, he'd have it in our house, which made it way easier to hide.

When I returned, I brought a bottle of sweet red wine with me. It wouldn't take much to make him drunk, and I like sweet wine. He was unsure about the whole thing at first, but excitement and curiosity took over and he cooperated.

Soon he was in a really silly state. He was giggling at basically everything I said or even did, and talked way louder than his usual controlled tones. His coordination wasn't too bad, though walking straight seemed to get a little problematic.

It was then that he kissed me.

I'm not sure how exactly it happened; I think I was holding him down while he struggled to escape. Looking back at it, it was a pretty compromising situation to be caught in, but I didn't think about it that way then. We were just wrestling. Or, at this point, I was holding him down while he was helplessly laughing at me.

"Hahaha, let me... haha... lemme go!" he demanded. When I failed to follow his request, he quieted down for a moment or so and murmured something to the extent of "then I'll do it that way". I didn't listen, to busy grinning at him, and the next thing I knew was that he had reached up and pressed his lips to mine.

I was so shocked that I let go of him immediately. He sat up, blinking slowly and still smiling with a silly expression on his face. I reached up, touching my lips.

"Dude, what..."

He blinked. And suddenly realization flooded his face as well. He turned crimson and wide-eyed. "I... I... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... I've had too much to drink" he stuttered, trying to stand up and losing his balance. I sighed. Well, I had brought it on myself.

And so I decided that it was time for bed; it was almost dawning. We had enough guest rooms, but his bed was already set up on my sofa, so I brought him there and helped him to get undressed without hurting himself in the process. Of course I didn't feel so comfortable about that in light of what happened just before, but I discarded his actions as the result of him being helplessly drunk. Hell, I don't want to know what I did last time I was as wasted as he had been.

He remembered though, because, along with severe headaches, the morning brought on many an embarrassing moment when he glanced at me and then looked away, blushing. Despite mutual discomfort, I didn't address the matter. I had long ago come to the conclusion that such things are better when forgotten as quickly as possible.

He didn't agree. Sometime after breakfast, he touched my shoulder and asked me if we could talk. Upon my reluctant consent, we went up to my room.

"I'm sorry about yesterday" he apologized meekly, looking down at his feet.

"It's okay", I murmured in return, glancing at his not quite perfectly aligned hair.

"No, it's not." He looked up. "And I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to... well... I did." Once again, his cheeks were ablaze.

I was speechless. For a while. "You mean... what do you mean, you did?"

He sighed. I imagine I made it harder for him than it already was. "I mean that I did mean it", he said as if to a stubborn child. Upon my stunned silence, he continued. "I probably should go now, huh?" He smiled up at me sadly.

I didn't know what to say. "I... um..."

He turned away. "It's okay. I'll just go. Sorry."

He gathered his things and left, and I didn't move to intervene.

After that, the relationship, if we had ever had one, got rocky. I was uneasy while talking to him or seeing him. He noticed that and avoided me for my sake. But we couldn't escape each other forever.

The next time we should meet was at Christmas. By that time, my parents had kind of made it into the rich society, and were grudgingly accepted as eccentric but lovable. For some reason, though, being with Sarah's group seemed more tedious than ever. Despite all that happened, I found myself longing for the hours I spent with being beaten by Tony in car racing.

I decided to go looking for him. He was, as always, sitting quietly in a corner and doing nothing. His eyes lit up when he saw me coming towards him, but he cast them down immediately, blushing. He seemed all too surprised when I addressed him. "You're not enjoying yourself."

He blinked up at me, and then raised an eyebrow. "Me? Of course I am."

I grinned and gave him the glass of Coca Cola I was holding. "Right." He smiled questioningly, and I just shrugged. "You left your hair black."

"Yeah... I thought it was a fitting choice. Is it not?" I wasn't sure if I wanted to explore the implications of that question, so I just shrugged.

"It suits you."

We stood there for a little while longer, in what could best be described as not quite comfortable silence. Then I looked up. "I..."

I missed you, whispered my mind, but I rejected the notion of saying that to his face. Instead, I grinned with a touch mischief that I wasn't feeling. "I want revenge."

He blinked. "What?"

I inclined my head to the right, motioning to the stairs. "You know. Car racing."

He grinned, understanding me at last. "You don't stand the slightest chance and you know it."

"No way! I so own your ass."

His eyebrows disappeared behind the dark bangs. The hair was a bit longer now. "You do?"

I felt heat rushing into my face, but kept my features solemn. "Do I?"

He smiled. "Perhaps at another game."

I didn't know how to answer him. I wasn't interested in him physically. He was a nice guy, and there was something to him that distinguished his personality from that of the spoiled brats drinking themselves silly in my mother's precious winter garden, but I was as straight as an arrow.

Tony took my silence for his answer. The smile faltered, and he averted his eyes from my face. I couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt upon that. But why? It wasn't my fault. He couldn't possibly believe me gay, now could he?

Nevertheless, I felt guilty. Sighing, I touched his shoulder, making him look up. His look was questioning, almost hopeful. I smiled. "How about it?"

Up to that moment I was fully sure that what I did I did purely for his sake. But then something happened, the possibility of which I had never even thought about.

He refused my offer.

Being Tony, he refused in a very polite and friendly way, of course. Nevertheless, the rejection didn't feel nice. Neither did I like the fact that I now had to go back and entertain his big sister. In retrospect I must realize that this was most likely the moment where I first took into consideration that he was not the only one profiting from our friendship. I didn't think the thought out coherently, but it was there at the back of my mind. I didn't want to go back to Sarah and her boring group of young snobs. Somehow, I had to make Tony accept after all. And so I did something I regretted almost instantly.

I proposed a bet.

At first he looked at me like I had grown myself another head, which made me grin a bit sheepishly. But there was no going back now, was there?

"Winner can make loser do anything he wants. Deal?"

To this day I do not know why he agreed. A person who wasn't acquainted with Tony would probably assume that he had the following events plotted all along, but some part of me refuses to accept that; he wasn't the scheming type. And even if he would have been, I very much doubt he'd ever make me do anything against my will just to benefit himself. Therefore, I'm left wondering.

As you may or may not have guessed, I lost the bet 23 to 2. While I didn't trust Tony to make me do anything too bad, I didn't underestimate him nonetheless. Most people mistook him for younger than he really was, the result being that they were incredibly surprised when he showed his real abilities. I guess he was more mature than it was expected from a fifteen-year-old as well. Like I said... he was pulling the goth image off rather well.

I looked up at the black-haired, all too vampire-like creature that had somehow landed on my bed and was residing there with a triumphant grin I did not like... at all. I swallowed as his pale eyes fixed themselves onto mine, and tried to smile feebly.

"So... what... do you want?"

His grin got wider. I fought off the odd urge to back up.

Wordlessly, he reached over. The pale blue light coming from the TV illuminated his hand in an eerie way, enhancing the contrast between the now seemingly pure white skin and the deep black of his formal suit. I couldn't help but stare, transfixed. The fingers touched upon my cheek, and I was surprised to find them warm.

When he pressed his lips to mine, my first impulse was to draw back. But - a bet was a bet, my conscience reminded me. And so I remained in one place, unmoving.

It was different from that first time. Back then we had both been drunk, and I ended it as soon as I could. It had been rushed and awkward, sloppy, and without any thought as to what the other was feeling. Now he seemed to notice my bewilderment. His lips were gentle and warm, pressing against mine softly. Despite the steady hold of his hand on my face, he had closed his eyes, as if afraid of what my reaction might be.

Involuntarily, I felt myself melt against that warmth of his slowly. It wasn't as if I had cast all my values and feelings about homosexuality aside, but in that moment I realized that kissing him wasn't that different from kissing a girl. No, that's not it. It was different, but it was not as disgusting as I had always imagined it to be. Actually, it was not disgusting at all, just weird. Different. Almost as if against my will, my hand settled on the small of his back gently. I did not do it to encourage him; it just seemed like the most comfortable move in that position. In return, he leaned into me a bit more, until our bodies were almost touching.

"OH MY GOD!"

We jumped apart like frightened mice, turning our heads to see Sarah standing in the doorway, her face distorted in a grimace of absolute horror. I felt something inside me stir by her sight. Fear? No. It was annoyance, built up at all those parties where she stuck by my side, talking relentlessly about things that didn't concern me in the least. She was so caught up in her ego that she didn't even know what I liked and what I hated, though she was supposed to "like" me.

I almost surprised myself when I reached up and pulled Tony on top of me, crushing our bodies against each other - hard. Our lips were sealed together again, but this time I was the aggressor. I pushed against him, and he gave way to me willingly, literally melting into my touch. I would make sure this kiss was Hollywood-worthy.

I knew she watched every second of it, could almost imagine the horrid fascination she felt of seeing her brother and her crush kiss on the bed. I took sick pleasure out of it, out of the hurt - no, not hurt, anger - and disgust I was sure she would experience. And when I heard the door slam shut, little fireworks of triumphant glee exploded inside me.

Was I using Tony? The plainest answer would be, yes, I was, but I'd like to believe it was not only egoism that had been the driving force behind my actions. And when I recall the look on his face when we separated, I am sure that there was something else.

Tony was flustered, eyes still half-closed and damp, glistening lips slightly parted. The black tendrils of hair fell over his pale forehead disorderly, adding to the breathless appearance. He looked like someone who had just been thoroughly ravished. I couldn't quite contain a complacent smile at that thought.

For all the haze that seemed to cloud his mind momentarily, Tony was no simpleton. Actually, he was as far from that as one could imagine. And as he blinked, shaking off the spell I had placed on him for a brief time, realization flooded his eyes. The lines around his mouth hardened, and I felt his body tensing against my own.

He slid from where he'd been laying half on top of me, and sat up, all the while avoiding my gaze. I felt like I had to say something. So I reached out with a tentative hand. "Tony, I-"

But he just turned his head to me and smiled. A matching blush accompanied the shy smile. "It's okay, Paul. Thank you."

I grinned back, relieved. He understood. The mood seemed to lighten immediately, and we spent the next two hours doing stuff that two normal (meaning, straight) high school boys could do in a room stuffed with all of the most advanced game technology available in 2005. He didn't stay over that night, but went home with his parents. We hadn't talked about Sarah, yet from the way he was carrying on I concluded that he wasn't all too concerned about her reaction. I, on the other hand, couldn't help but feel a bit uneasy about the prospect of her telling all of her friends about how she had found us. But then again, it would be my word against hers, and everyone knew that she could easily have done it out of anger that I never gave in to her obvious advances.

I didn't know back then how much my perception should change over the next couple of days.

When Christmas break ended, and I arrived in school again, I was instantly cornered by Brad. He had a sly, hungry look to him - like a hunting dog having sniffed out the deadly injured prey only meters away. I couldn't help but notice the expression, even in my weary before-twelve-o'clock-state.

"You know that Hendrikken kid, don't you?" he inquired.

I cast him a wary look. "Yeah, so?"

"Well, you better be careful around him, buddy, or your virgin ass might end up not being so virgin anymore."

I blinked. "What?" Why didn't I like where this was going?

Brad practically beamed with poorly contained glee. "Your little 'friend' is gay, mate."

I stopped in my tracks at that. Shock surged through me hotly. "What? Tony?"

He raised one eyebrow. "You're giving him nicknames already? Wow... when's the wedding gonna be?"

I ignored the comment. "That's ridiculous! Where do you...?"

"A little bird sang it right into my ear... you know." He grinned widely and patted my shoulder. "You'd better not hang out with him anymore. You know those homos, don't you? Never know what hit ya until you're tied up with a dick up your ass."

I felt slightly nauseated at that point. "Tony? Raping me? Brad, have you even seen him? He couldn't hurt a fly!"

He seemed to contemplate that for a second. "Hmmm... you're right. I bet he's the type who'll be begging for it. You know, there's no such thing as being raped for those sickos - they'll take it all and still ask for more."

I have known Brad for a long time. He wasn't what you would call a typical empty-headed accuser. He was intelligent, well informed, and pretty direct if a bit crude at most times. However, he was also stubborn, ignorant and absolutely subjective in certain topics. Homosexuality was one of them.

But all his tirades have never concerned me personally until now. The imagery he provided me with, however, included Tony. I felt sick, quite literally. It wasn't Brad's fault; he could hardly know how much of a friend Sarah's little brother had become over the last couple of months. My insides tightened painfully. I swallowed, just as the bell rang.

"I'll meet up with you later," I gasped, and without waiting for his reaction, left him. I walked as fast as I could, and started running after I had turned the corner.

Breathlessly, I stormed into the empty washroom. For a while I just stood there, leaned on the sink, trying to calm my stomach down. I concentrated on the cool ceramic touching my hands, and the silence around me, broken by the occasional shout from the hallway. All the time, I tried not to think about Tony, yet couldn't stop. How had they found out? Well, Brad had his sources everywhere, but... And it must have been terrible for Tony. I had to find him, do something - but he was in class right now, and I had no idea where that might be. Brad... Anger welled up in me, my fingers tightening around the sink's sides. For the first time in my life I saw his actions as truly disgusting. Sticking his nose in other people's lives, and then judging them by what they were and what they weren't - and that hungry, terrible look. How could he? How...

But he didn't know better. No, I couldn't blame it on him. He didn't know that my relationship with Tony was past that of chance acquaintances. I drew a deep breath, and then opened the water tap. After splashing a couple handfuls of cold water into my face, I looked in the mirror, adjusted my hair, and left the room. I was late for my first class already.

All through the morning, I couldn't help but think about Tony. I would go look for him at lunch, I decided. I was sure that the news had spread about the whole school already, and he'd need the support. All the while I also pondered how they had found out about his orientation. Was it just a guess? But why? He didn't have anything overly queer about him, other than the appearance of a young boy. Our kiss? That theory brought a dizzying wave of fear with it. But the only one who had seen us was Sarah, and if she had told someone in our school about it - it would have included me into the story. However, I didn't seem to be under gunfire, and Brad didn't tell me anything, either. So, that was out of the question. But what else was there? I thought and pondered and contemplated. By lunchtime, my head was hammering with a record-worthy headache.

I had just managed to slip out of class when Brad caught up with me. He seemed more energetic than ever, and delighted in a way that could only mean trouble.

"Dude, you gotta see this!" He literally dragged me after him, ignoring my feeble protests. A vague sense of dread befell me. This had something to do with Tony. It just had to.

I saw the mob from afar. It was a cold day outside, and thick snowflakes danced in the wind. However, there was a large group of people standing around something - or someone.

It was Tony. Him and two guys I more or less knew - Jeff Smith Jr. and Ralph... I don't remember his last name. They both were popular, especially since they were the two undisputed stars of about every team we had in our school. Dressed in little more than jeans and a shirt, Tony stood between them.

The memories of what followed are difficult to recall and even harder to describe. Not because of any weakness of my mind, but because the pain and shame that washes over me while I think about what happened still makes the breath hitch in my throat. Those memories are a part of me that I cannot live with, and don't want to live with, yet can't escape. In a way, they are my worst punishment.

And so I will tell you.

It's not difficult to guess what happened. At first they just pushed him around, accusing him of spying on them in the locker rooms and making moves on various people. I can still see the widening of his pale eyes when they brought my name into the picture. The same thought had raced through our minds at that moment - did they know? But they didn't. They didn't know anything. They knew it, I knew it, everyone knew it - and yet they still continued. It was like a Roman circus.

As soon as they ran out of accusations, they pushed him to the ground. He landed softly, because of the thick snow covering the ground, but I wager his shirt was completely wet in a matter of seconds.

I wanted to stop it, to break through the circle and run to them and punch each of the fucking bastards' faces in until they were little more than bloody chunks of flesh and bone and - but I couldn't. Every time I moved my hand to push the people in front of me aside, every time my foot lifted off the ground, every time even the tiniest muscle twitched in the hint of a movement to help him out, an invisible barrier rose between us. I couldn't go out there. I couldn't stop it. That would put me in an unfriendly light. What would the people think? What would Brad think? Yes, so maybe a friend who'd hate me for something like that wasn't a real friend. But he was my friend. It was all too easy to picture myself in the middle there, being ridiculed and kicked and-

I couldn't do it.

But I couldn't walk away, either. My eyes were glued to Tony's frame, trying to get away from the snow they rubbed in his face and the half-hearted kicks they gave him. The crowd roared around me, excited, bloodthirsty. A real mob, they were. I could almost feel Brad's approval beside me, his delighted grin. I wanted to turn around and run from it as fast as my legs would carry me, yet still I stood in one place, watching, as my intestines twisted and turned with a feeling that was so strong it made me dizzy.

Guilt.

I don't know how much time passed until the teachers came and stopped it. I can barely remember what happened afterwards, only a strong feeling of nausea. I can't recall if Brad said something to me, or anyone else. I was - overwhelmed, maybe. Unable to think straight. I don't even know how I got home.

The first memory after that which I remember clearly is my mother making hot rosebud tea for me, and berating me about getting a cold. I was, of course, physically okay, but took the tea nevertheless. In the middle of my cup, however, I abruptly remembered what had happened. The cup gashed on the floor with a heavy sound as I jumped from the couch. Only pausing long enough to snatch my jacket, and completely ignoring my mum's inquiries of where I was going, I stormed out of the house. I had to find Tony.

Of course, my dad was just coming home, so the trip outside was cut short in favour of a prolonged tirade about how I had to remain at home for at least a day or two, getting better. They wouldn't hear of anything I brought up to convince them otherwise.

Finally, I let the matter be. There was absolutely no way I could get out of the house undetected, not in that cold anyway. I'd have to get my jacket and shoes from the wardrobe at the main entrance, and they would notice that.

That night, I didn't sleep. Instead, I sat in my bed, clutching the old teddy I had not touched since I was twelve or so against my chest, and thinking. I resolutely forbid myself to cry. I couldn't have shed tears, even if I wanted. The guilt I was feeling sat heavy in my chest, not permitting any kind of release for my grief. It was torture. It still is.

The following two days I passed in a similar state. Finally, on Thursday I was allowed back to school. I went there in low spirits. This time I resolutely avoided Brad, even hiding the first twenty minutes or so before lunch. Once I was relatively sure he didn't expect me to show up, I went on a search for Tony.

I couldn't find him anywhere. No one knew anything, only that he hasn't shown up since Monday. Of course, everybody wanted to know everything, but I was unresponsive. Brad was the Gossip Lady, not me.

Lunch came to an end, and I to a conclusion: Tony had to be at home. Not wanting to see Brad or anyone else, I decided to ditch the last two periods and visit him. Now, if I only knew where he lived...

That problem was solved with a quick look in a phone book I discovered on the way. I also noticed that he didn't live too far from where our house stood, just a couple of bus stations. So I hopped on the 187th and made my way to the villa where Tony resided.

The house would have been impressive to someone less used to pompous residences, but I didn't spare it more than a quick glance as I waited to be admitted inside the large and elaborately decorated gates. I was let in after a little while, and made my way over to the front entrance doors.

Once inside, I was not greeted by Tony or his parents, but by Sarah. Apparently, break time was not over yet in Switzerland. She was incredibly friendly in face of what had happened, and upon my request to see Tony led me to his room. She even went so far as to open the door for me. With my guts once again clenched into a tiny nervous ball, I stepped in, only to find the room devoid of Tony.

I heard the door click, and turned around. "He's not-"

"I know." A weird, contemplative smile graced her lips. "He's in Switzerland."

I blinked, unable to understand what she was trying to tell me. "What - how?"

She raised an eyebrow. "He didn't want to stay here anymore. He saw you that time, you know, while you were watching him getting beat up. He saw you among the crowd." The smile morphed itself into a smirk. "It must've completely broken his heart, for you to betray him and then let people hurt him for your amusement. He was devastated, to find that you told everybody he was gay, you know. Guess you didn't love him back after all."

I stared at her. "I didn't-"

"I know you didn't."

"Then who did?" Silence. "Who told everyone?"

Her smile was my answer.

"You?" More silence, but it wasn't a question that had to be answered. "But - but how could you? He was your brother!"

Her eyes narrowed, fine-plucked eyebrows forming an angry V. "He snatched you away from me - he always does that. Everything that's mine, he wants. My parents love him more, my friends find him cute, and now you, too!"

I felt anger surge through me. All that hurt, all that shame built up to one big ball of fury that now travelled through my veins like compressed fire. I stepped forward, barely noticing how her eyes widened in fear at my approach.

I slapped her. I didn't give a damn that she was a girl and that I was stronger than her. I think she stumbled, for I seized her shoulders right after my hand had connected to her face. I shook her, mad with rage as I spit out all that I felt for her.

"I cannot believe you - I just can not believe what you did! Do you think it's fun? Do you think every time something doesn't go your way you can ruin the life of another person?! You know why I liked him better than you? That's because you're a little, egoistic whore! All you think about is your fucking self! He was not like that - he thought about what I might feel when doing something!" I gasped for air. She had gone deathly pale, her grey eyes wide with shock. Tony's eyes were the same. It was the only thing that made them alike. Disgusted, I let go of her.

"You think you can just get him out of the way and I will be happy with what you did?" I hissed. "You think I'm that kind of person? Like you?" And then, the image of Tony's eyes widening against a background of dancing snowflakes appeared. Shocked, not because of the mentioning of my name, but because he had seen me. How could I have been so stupid? He had looked straight at me, and I didn't even notice. I just stood there, letting it happen. And he knew.

The fury left me as fast as it had appeared. "I am," I whispered. "I am that kind of person." Suddenly, I felt terribly empty, and so alone. So fucking alone. It was tearing me apart.

I didn't realize I was crying until I felt wet warmth sliding down my cheek. "Fuck", I murmured. I bit on my lip. No, I couldn't cry. I didn't have a right to cry, not after what I did to Tony.

But in that moment, I knew what I had to do.

Sarah's feeble attempts to stop me from going didn't even register in my mind properly, so preoccupied was I with my new purpose. I swept her aside the way one would move a doll, and went on, out of the house. I had to get back to school.

The bus arrived just eight minutes before the bell would ring. I used the time to clean up my tear-streaked face and bring my ruffled hair back into its original form. Once I looked like a human being once again, although one with considerable rings under its eyes, I left the urine-scented confines of the washroom and went to look for a certain person. I found him in his favourite corner outside, smoking a last cigarette before he went home.

I approached Brad, and he greeted me with a wide grin. "Hey, where were you? Skipping again? Ah-ah, bad boy, Paul." He waved an accusing finger at me as I flipped him one of my own. He shook his head mournfully, and then looked at me, raising an eyebrow. "Why'd you bother to come back here, anyway?"

I smiled. "Because, Bradley-kins, I have something to tell you."

He straightened up, instantly interested. "Is that so?"

"Yes - another piece of information I am sure you would cherish."

He grinned. "And that would be?"

I smiled as nicely as I could. "I'm gay."

I did not stay to listen to what he had to say, but his incredulous expression was all I needed to see. I grinned as I walked down to the bus station, and, for the first time since Monday, the grin was real.

The rest you probably already more or less guessed. I went home and packed what I absolutely had to take with me, then went on the first train I could catch that brought me to Toronto. And here I am. I still have a plane ticket to Zurich, given to me more as a joke by Sarah so that I could come visit her - and now I am going to use it. It's only a couple of days until the flight leaves. I guess their school is starting soon, as well. Until then, I am going to rent a hotel room in Toronto and hope that the fact that I am sixteen is going to permit me to do all that. My parents should not make the connection too quickly - hopefully it won't be quick enough. But I'm not going to give up, even if they should catch me. This... this is something I have to do. Something I really, really have to do.

And thus ends my confession. As you see, I have sinned, but forgiveness by God is not what I seek. It's Tony who has to forgive me. I realize it is all too possible that he can't. But I have to try, don't I?

I don't want to think about anything besides that point. I didn't quite tell Brad the truth. I'm about as equally sure that I'm gay as I'm sure that I'm straight, which probably makes me bisexual, but that makes things even more complicated than they already are, so I refuse to contemplate on that point any further. One thing I am sure about is Tony. I love him - like him - and whether or not that love includes sex is not important at this point. You know; I want to make sure that he doesn't hate me to all eternity before deciding if I want to do him or not.

I wrote all this down because I think it needs to be written as well as read. And, well, you're the only spiritual advisor I know (good thing the address of your church is in the phone book as well; there are about thirty Robinsons around here).

I will arrive soon, and thus don't have much time left. Also, my right hand aches like crazy - I feel like I've written a novel (and now I discover that I have). So, I'll end this.

Yours truly,

Paul Kalinski
 

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XD" Critique and comments in general is highly apprechiated ^-^.