send me a ✈ and I will give your character a memory from mines past.

Dreams of Paris
[to be read after The Belt]

Sometimes scenes had a way of fading in Hakuba’s mind. Crime scenes in particular. They blurred, merged together with others of similar styles, methods, culprits. When he thought of the specifics, it was usually a simple matter to pick them apart and, once compared with his notes, became once again crystal clear in memory.

Everything from the lingering scent of whatever coffee creamer Megure-keibu had used that evening to the precise temperature of the cooling pavement beneath their feet came rushing back. Weather conditions, the particular knot he’d used for his tie, the number of steps from the squad car to the white chalk outline.

It was easier to let them stay buried, filed away until he needed them. Easier, safer, and, often enough at times, critical. But some memories didn’t fade that way. Ones he couldn’t compartmentalize because there were so few instances in which he could shuffle the cards to disguise the impact. Things like dreams of Paris with a former lover, and how it all fell apart. 

It had been two weeks since the incident with the belt. Two long, horrible weeks in which John had refused to look at him, let alone speak. After their month- 42 days, specifically -together, the fourteen year-old couldn’t understand what had happened. Yes, they’d been caught. Yes, John had taken a beating from his father. And, yes, Saguru James had been told to leave, but that didn’t mean that they had to stop seeing each other, did it?

They’d always known it was a risk. Everything they’d done had been in secret. Every moment had been a stolen one; an exercise in rebellious freedom from societal convention and religious oppression. They loved each other, and that was all that mattered. 

Love always won in the end. 

Until then. It was easy for John to avoid him, really; he was two grades ahead and moved in different circles. They didn’t share any classes, and John had rugby practice after school. Hakuba didn’t dare call for fear of alerting John’s parents, and though he wanted to, desperately wanted to, he was far too afraid to walk the seven blocks to the Wells’ flat. All that he could do was wait at his locker, attempt to catch him between classes at the drinking fountain or in the hallways.

And he did try. Every day until he couldn’t stand the pain any longer.  He needed to know. 

“Are we over?" 

John looked at the smaller hand that grasped his wrist, feigning ignorance of the desperation with a cold gaze. “What was that, twit?”

"I need to know… are we over?” 

"Get off of me.” The older boy yanked his arm away, scowling. “I’ve nothing to say to you.”

It stung. But there had to be more to it. He was hiding something; he had to be. “John, please. Talk to me. It’s okay if we’re broken up, but please, I need to know!”

This had John taking stock of the others in the hallway, some looking, most ignoring. Little kids like James were usually teased by the bigger boys; it was nothing unusual at all. Even Hakuba knew that John could have thrown him into the lockers, and no one would have batted an eye.

Would he take that chance? 

“Fine,” John said, rolling his eyes. “Meet me after school by the wall; we’ll talk there.”

The wall was where they’d meet to steal a kiss before school. It was where they’d make out during lunch. And also where they’d wait for the other to be done with the day before heading to John’s flat. It was a place of personal significance, and Hakuba couldn’t help but smile in hopes that things weren’t quite as bad as they seemed. 

They’d always talked things out before, after all. 

There they met. S. James Hakuba arrived first, nervously checking his watch time and time again while he waited the several long minutes for his lover. At least the wall was secluded; he watched the other students leave from his hiding place, heart fluttering. Forty-eight minutes… and he heard footsteps approaching. 

“John?”

“I’m here, James.”

The smile on his face was the same that Hakuba remembered; so easy, so pained. He crept from the wall to reach for his arms and felt instant relief when John let him, stepping after him into the shade. He stood still while Hakuba pushed onto the tips of his toes to kiss him, though he didn’t return it. Disappointed, but forcing that smile, Hakuba settled back on his heels and laughed.

“Are we okay, mate?”

John looked away. “I’m not gay, James.”

What? “John…”

“You heard me. I’m not gay. You remember why we started hanging around together, don’t you? I was curious. That was it. Now I know I’m not. So it’s over.”

It startled him to hear. It didn’t feel right. None of it clicked. The younger boy shook his head, horror creeping in. “That’s not true! We’re in love, John! Remember? It’s your parents telling you not to be who you are, but we can past that! We can run away, just like we talked about!”

“You don’t know anything about love, James. You’re fourteen.”

“Age doesn’t matter! It’s just a social construct meant to-”

“No. You are a fourteen year-old boy who has no fucking clue about life. You and I? Stupid fools. We were raped and beaten at that Academy, James. That’s the truth. That’s why we’re fucked up. There is no happy ending for us; we’ve already been ruined. Tainted. All we can do is try to do what’s right and pray that we’ll be forgiven.”

"What’s right is to be true to ourselves, John!”

“God, you’re so naive.”

"I know you had dreams! I know you! This isn’t you! You can’t let them oppress you! You can’t let them ruin you! It goes against everything that we believe in!”

John reached for the young boy’s shoulder and pushed him to the wall, gaze a mask of conflicted ire. “No. That’s what you believe, James, and I’m through with it. You’ve got to let it go. Don’t ever talk to me again. I don’t love you. I never have.”

With a strangled cry, James pushed from the wall, arms reaching for the other boy, but John held him back. “It’s not true, John! You know it’s not! You’re lying! You did love me! don’t let them ruin you! Don’t let them! Please!”

The older boy sighed. It was so easy to hold him in place. He was so small, so thin. “Everyone is broken one way or the other, James… I guess I’ve got to help you, now.” He paused. “Stop crying.”

"I can’t,” he said, admission through the tears. “You don’t know just what…”   but then he paused, lifting his head in silence at the sound of approaching footsteps. Furiously, Hakuba wiped his eyes. He couldn’t be seen like this. He didn’t want anyone to think that John had done anything to him. “Let go,” he muttered. 

But John didn’t let go. The grip that he had on his shoulder tightened as the others – five boys in total – filed in to join them behind the wall. Hakuba recognized them from John’s rugby team. Big boys. Strong. And all predatory. 

“So this is the little fag?”

“Looks like.”

“Why aren’t you getting the hint, little twit?”

“He doesn’t want you around.”

“God he’s so perverted.”

Hakuba shrank back against the wall, eyes wide as he looked from face to face, and finally back to John, pleading. “Let me go.”

“Yeah, he’s sick,” John said, stepping forward to press his hand to the front of his pants. It only took a gesture to unbutton the younger boy’s pants, hand slipping in to caress him. “He’s already getting hard.”

He was. A reaction to John’s touch. It wasn’t like he could help it. But why? Why in front of the others? James shuddered, shaking his head. “John, please, stop.”

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it? That’s why you keep following him around school.”

“Sending him love letters.”

“Showing up at his house.”

"It’s disgusting.”

There was a hitch in his breath and Hakuba bent forward, mouth open to gasp. Despite the rough handling, his body responded well, and to his horror, it didn’t take long at all for him to get close. The pressure built and so did the haze. It was different and all too familiar at once. When the priest had done this, it had always been in private. Same, too, for he and John before. But the others watched. Leered. Loomed. 

When he came, it was with a whimpering cry, face red and head hung, so embarrassed and ashamed. He struggled to catch his breath with the others laughing, and kept his eyes held tightly closed when John spread his own seed across his cheek and into his hair. 

“See? I told you he was sick.”

The only fortunate thing was that it was far too easy to remember what it had been like at White Chapel. The ground beneath his knees was concrete instead of stone, but it scraped just the same when he was forced down. They forced themselves into his mouth, and twisted handfuls of his hair whenever he’d start to gag or bite down. And he swallowed, as he’d been conditioned to, each and every time. 

The boys beat him when he threw up. Kicking his stomach, his ribs, and against his arms when they moved to cover his face. He sobbed when they dragged him out of his fetal position by a leg, hands clawing at his pants to expose him. They used a stick to sodomize him, cheering when they drew blood, and left it in as they laughed. 

He couldn’t focus on their words. It wasn’t a hot fire poker, but that hardly seemed to matter. All he could think about was the head master, the fire, and how he was going to Hell for his sins. For being so dirty. For being so sick. 

Trembling, all he could do was cry, burying his face in the sleeves of his wool sweater. They had to be finished soon, whether they got bored or they killed him. There couldn’t be that much more they could do to him. He felt the warmth on his face before he realized what it was; urine, sprayed from one of the larger boys, soon joined by others. The stinking liquid soaked into his hair, his clothing, filling his olfactory with the choking scent of ammonia. He gagged again, curling in on himself, and tried to shut it out. 

They left. Hakuba wasn’t sure when, but he found himself alone as the sun set. How long had they been at it? Where was Baaya? 

He managed to remove the stick and pull his trousers back into place, but that was all that he could do. Everything hurt, inside and out. Words wouldn’t come, only choking sobs as he lay there, waiting, humiliated. 

Baaya did come, eventually, but despite her urging, he couldn’t tell her what happened. Still, the doctor treated him and somehow in the fog, he ended up tucked into his bed, clean, medicated, and safe. 

The boys were suspended, a transfer put in, and S. J. Hakuba stayed far away from John.