Written in the Walls: 8/??
Feb. 25th, 2011 02:15 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lalalive23Title: Written in the Walls
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lalalive23
Rating: PG
Pairing: Bell/Dom and a few original characters.
Summary: AU. Matt and Dom are teachers at a local high school in 1954. They don't want their relationship to be discovered, especially by those they work with, even though they've been living together for nearly 4 years. This is the story of what happens when the school librarian discovers them.
Warning: Fluff and sadness
Feedback: It's my Kubrick, it's my Jesus.
Disclaimer: I don't own Muse. I don't make money off this. This never happened. I do, however, own the characters Ellen and Martin, and their respective family members/coworkers. They are mine, so please do not take them. I am willing to share if you want to collaborate on something, but otherwise no touchy plz!
Note: I know I spend a lot of time in TLS world. But there is something about writing this that feels like coming home. Seriously, I love this universe so much it makes me want to cry. I actually did get really emotional writing this chapter, so I hope you enjoy it. I've got my cheerleadersdolce_piccante and millionstar , who read bits of this and encouraged me that it was a proper direction to take this. And I have to thank sheerpoetry for putting up with my email blasts and reading what I wrote of this even though she's never read the series at all. They put up with my insecurities like champions <3 And thanks to all my readers. You guys seriously make my world turn.
Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2A Chapter 2B Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7
Ellen
They sat before me, eyes fearful and worrying as they glistened with unshed tears. They were perched on and in a single armchair, Matthew on the cushion while Dominic sat heavily on the arm. I couldn't picture them being anywhere else, seeing them pull away from each other felt as though it would be an agonizing and bitter experience. With their hands clasped tightly together, fingers entwined and knuckles nearly going white with the force of holding each other, their bodies pressed themselves together as though forced by an invisible clamp. It was as though they wanted to merge into a single being.
They breathed together, heavily enough that I could see their chests rising and falling in perfect sync. Attuned to one another, neither needing to slow down or speed up. Neither spoke, lips quivering with mumbled, silent words. Breathing and silencing themselves as though they didn't trust the air with secrets.
In the aftermath of my initial shock, Matthew had wordlessly brought me from the library to his red Mini Coup, arm linked in mine as if to ensure that I would not slither from his grip and escape. Dominic was left in the library, sitting anxiously as he fumbled with pens, papers, his tie - anything to make it appear as though he were busy or focused. It confused me, Matthew repeating 'let us explain' as he dragged me away. He kept repeating 'us,' but it was as though he didn't want to include Dominic in the conversation.
He drove me to his home quickly, speeding up every time his tongue spilled over with apologies and worried mumbles, only to slow once he found himself reduced to silence. I couldn't make sense of it. I had too many questions, I had too much sock. I didn't care if he apologized or not, I just wanted to make sense of what I'd seen.
I knew what I had seen, known it well because it was too visceral to not be immediately clear in my mind. But my world was sheltered, closed off and caged as a prisoner to domesticity and society's expectations. What I had seen was as mind boggling as imagining a fourth dimension, what I had heard were memories of a past I used to know so well. The ecstasy in which I caught them contrasted with what I knew of male relationships, and as we rode the last of the short distance in silence, I began to assume that I had misinterpreted the whole thing and feared I would never understand it.
He invited me into his home and I noticed the neat decor, everything in its right place. I noticed it was large, larger than anything I thought he would need to live on his own. But then, there were many things I did not know of him and so I assumed nothing until he found himself able to explain to me what he could.
I sat on the large couch as he placed himself primly in the armchair. It felt as though the cushions beneath me expanded for miles, forming a canyon that made me feel impossibly small. We said nothing, and I wrung my hands together as I searched my mind for a way to start the conversation. With my heartbeat in my ears it was too difficult to think, and so I just bit my lip in worry hoping he would find the words where I could not.
For a moment it appeared as though he knew what he wanted to say, leaning forward a few inches with his lips beginning to part. But he was cut off by the sound of the door opening and closing swiftly, Dominic standing in the foyer removing his hat and coat. Matthew jumped up instantly, rushing over to cup the blonde's cheeks in his hands.
I stared dumfounded as I watched the intimate scene. They spoke softly in words I couldn't here, Dominic shutting his eyes and nodding furiously only to open them once more and search Matthew's face for reassurance. I felt sick. I felt confused. I felt as though I had been lied to, but then I hated myself for thinking I knew all of the ways of the world when I so clearly could not comprehend the mysteries that rested beyond my doorstep.
They came back to the armchair together, hand in hand, eyes boring into mine. And eventually, they seemed to know how to begin, as if communication had slipped through the circuit of their palms.
"You have to understand," Dominic began slowly, shakily, "I love him."
The statement took me off guard and I opened my mouth to speak, but Matthew cut me off before I could pass my thoughts to my vocal cords.
"No, Ellen, it's so important that you understand that. You need to understand that we are together. Together and in love the same way you and your husband are," he said seriously. I had never heard his voice fall into so deep a range before. "Anything we tell you about what you've seen or heard, or what you come to understand through our explanation needs to be based on the knowledge that this is love."
I knew what he meant, I knew what he wanted to mean, but I knew very well that the love he spoke of was not what my husband and I shared. It was an entirely different plane of intimacy. Not knowing how to respond, I merely nodded, wide eyed and open mouthed, surrendering myself to the knowledge that I was being instructed to only listen.
They spoke in tandem, telling me the story of how they met, how they fell in love. It was every bit a tale I would expect from my neighbors or my friends back home. But they were men. Men, and they were telling me the stories I wished I could tell my children. Every single thing I knew of society told me to reject their words, told me to tell them it was wrong, that it simply couldn't be. But to see them, to really see them, the way they tried to hide their smiles as they spoke of their first date, the way Dominic seemed to glow in the aftermath of Matthew's words. It was as though simply hearing his lover's voice gave him the courage to live, the courage to fight.
I was seeing them through a hole in their sky high walls, a hole opened just for me and ready to be closed instantaneously depending on my reaction. They had formed protective barriers to the outside world, but they didn't seem to mind. They had everything they needed in each other.
And as I listened and tried to deny what my ears were hearing, deny the words of lust, love, passion and joy that filled the air around me, my heart lost the strength to deny them and merely holed itself into a cave of envy.
"It was my idea to use the library," Dominic said, bringing their story up to the present. "I never meant to cause trouble or put you in the middle of this. I don't know what I was thinking, never being caught or - or I don't know." He fidgeted, raking his free hand through his hair as he looked everywhere but Matthew's face. Part of me wanted them to look at each other. I wanted to know what love looked like, for I had not seen it in Martin's face for so long.
Dominic paused to gather his thoughts, his lips moving minutely to formulate words I would never hear. "We never wanted to put you in this position. It just...it just happened, and we should have stopped but...when it comes to him...I just can't. I just can't."
I pondered the position of which he spoke, wrapping my head around the gravity of what had happened in the library. What it meant for me, and what it meant for them.
"We need you to know," Matthew said, "that so much of what we have built together depends on you, on what you choose to do from here. Whether or not we stay here, or keep our jobs, or move, or defend ourselves, depends on you. This moment, right now, half of our future is in your hands." He paused, allowing the words to hang in the air, thick and permeable with meaning. "But," he said sternly, "if you think for a second that you could...take this...and convince us that it's wrong or sinful or dirty," he said the word with a grimace that painted uncharacteristic lines on his face, "then you prove yourself ignorant."
In hindsight, I should have been offended by the end of his explanation, but the truth was that I had stopped listening from the start. My mind had locked on his choice of words, the continued use of 'we' and 'us,' subjective and objective pronouns that served only to indicate that they were bonded indefinitely had left me blindsided. What they had was sacred and unbreakable, no longer thinking of themselves as individuals but joined pairs that were so intrinsically dependent on the other and all I could do was wallow in my confusion about where my own romantic life had gone wrong.
"I want him," Dominic said, his brow furrowing as a pained expression painted his features. "It's more than that, really. I need him. And what you saw today, I just can't apologize for it the way you think I should. I'm sorry we crossed the line that way, I'm sorry you had to see it like that, but I will never apologize for wanting him. I just won't and there is nothing you can do or say to make me feel as though I should."
Matthew's hand gave an almost unnoticeable squeeze to Dominic's, though I did not understand how it was possible as their hands were already joined so tightly, and the action made me yearn for such simple contact.
"It's like," Matthew said, his hand raising to trill through the air as he spoke, a nervous gesture I had come to recognize. "I get upset, no that's the wrong word, well, no it's true. I get upset or uncomfortable if I'm not near him for a long period of time. To just see him calms my soul. I know that sounds ridiculous, but I just need to see him. And then it's like a catalyst for everything else. Seeing leads to hearing leads to touching leads to tasting. It's that unrest you get when you're excited about a new lover, about how good they make you feel. You just want to be near them all the time, it's all so fresh and new. But it's always like that for us, for me. I always need to see him because it's gone beyond the excitement to an actual physical necessity."
He spoke his words quickly, his pacing falling in strange dynamic patterns that lead him to racing through and slowing down at odd intervals. The blue of his eyes held my gaze with impossible strength, his effort to drive home how he felt in terms I could understand reflecting in every pore and sinew of his body.
Dominic felt it was his turn to speak during Matthew's evocative silence. "You can tell us we're wrong, and you're right. We shouldn't have done it on school grounds. You can tell us we're childish, and we'll agree because what we did was immature." Again, he used the same terms that Matthew did. Taking the blame for his suggestion of using the library, but knowing that the guilt was shared, knowing he wasn't alone. Knowing that he would never be alone. "But you cannot break this. It would be silly to try."
There was a long pause during which Dominic unconsciously leaned his head towards Matthew's as though he wanted to rest their foreheads together. He stopped himself when he was aware, reminding himself that their was an intruder in his private space. It was then that I saw Matthew twitch, as though he wanted to close the gap, stopping himself quickly as well.
Everything in those moments sank into my being, spreading itself through my body as though it were carried through my veins. Every word and breath they shared, and every touch my presence stopped them from sharing made itself known. And, somehow, I fought past my jealousy and found the words to speak.
"Why would I...want to break this?" I asked quietly. I brought my eyes to my folded hands, gazing at the ring on my finger, the metal stinging my skin as soap does to one's eye.
My response yielded a pause before Matthew found the strength to speak. "Pardon?"
"Why would I want to break this?" I repeated, still not bringing my eyes to his. "I've been to church, I was raised Catholic. I know the face of love and I know the face of sin, and I can tell the difference between the two. I admit, I don't....understand...much of this, but that's not because I don't want to, it's just a fault of my upbringing. But love...no matter the shape it takes...is not sin, and that is something I have fought with my entire life. I can't break this, what you have...and it hurts me to hear that you think I'd even try."
"It's not that -" Matthew began, but I was not finished.
"What you have, I...want," I admitted. I finally brought my gaze to theirs, my voice quivering as I continued. "It would be cruel of me to ruin it...just because I don't have it, because I can't have it. And just because I can't have it, does not mean I won't protect it when I see it."
There were no hints of relief making shapes in their postures, no exhales of subconsciously held breath. Only wary eyes that pleaded for me to continue, to offer reassurance.
"You can trust me," I stated softly, "because at this point, there really isn't much of a choice. But also because...I don't want to be responsible for ruining the only true love I have ever seen."
It was true. They were in hiding and, yet in their self-implemented captivity, they were happier than I had been in the streets of England, in freedom, without the shame of society or God. They hid together, they kept their passions under wraps, not by choice but out of necessity. I wanted to find it filthy, but I couldn't. I wanted to be a good, proper woman, and scold them for blasphemy, but I could not. All I wanted to do was beg Martin to love me in the way he couldn't find the strength to, to love me the way I saw it before me. And because I couldn't find the strength to be disgusted, I simply found the strength to preserve the image of love before me as best I could.
And still, there were no sighs of great relief or smiles, merely softening brows, questioning eyes muddled with concern for my well-being and I had to excuse myself to the bathroom because I knew I could no longer hold back the tears.
Dominic waited outside the door for me, silently waiting for me to clean myself up. I felt guilty for keeping him waiting, but I was in agony, and I could not help the choked sobs that forced my diaphragm into uncontrollable spasms. I wanted love, and I was ready to be loved. The love I knew from Martin had dissolved before my eyes, slipping between my fingers before I had even a chance to grab hold of it. And while I knew I was once loved, I knew it was never as deep or as passionate as the love Matthew had for Dominic and vice versa.
Opening the door, I found Dominic wringing his hands together nervously as he leaned against the wall. He frowned in concern when he saw me, and I blushed, flattered that in the wake of his own fear, he found it in him to care for my well being.
"Are you alright?" he asked quietly, pushing himself from the wall to rest a hand on my shoulder.
I nodded furiously, hoping that I could ward off the tears that the simple touch threatened to release. Even when I was upset, Martin never offered me the same kindness.
"Matthew will take you home, ok? It's getting a bit late." He guided me through the small hallway over to the parlor once more, and Matthew stood as soon as I entered, his kind eyes filling me with warmth. I needed to leave the house. I was an intruder in a world I didn't belong to, trespassing on the grounds of love - something I felt I didn't deserve.
It was when we entered the car and I had told Matthew where I lived that a question popped into my mind.
"Why did you drive home with me and Dominic walked? You live in the same place. Why not go together?" I felt bold for asking the question, but I knew I had the right. With the information they had given me in one sitting, I felt it was only fair that I vocalize the things I did not understand.
Matthew chuckled. "It's how we hide in plain sight. No one sees us go home together. He takes the car one week and I take in the next. We alternate, and thankfully no one has asked why we drive the same car."
I chuckled with him, understanding the tactic. It was ingenious. "It's a popular model," I said with a laugh, though it sounded more sad that jovial. "I doubt anyone would notice."
Loathe to leave the car, we sat in my driveway for several moments, neither of us speaking or looking at one another. I simply regarded the grey dashboard with a frown.
"I've noticed you," Matthew said softly after a short period of time. "At the library. You've been taking off your ring. You just stare at it sometimes and...you look sad. I might be wrong, but...what you said earlier...all those things about love. We have to trust you with our life, and I know that you don't have to trust us at all with yours, but, I just want you to know that you can. If you ever...needed...someone."
With those few words he had made himself the lifeline for which I had been searching. Trust, a confidant, someone to whom I could give details and ask questions, were embodied within him and I stopped myself from ecstatically throwing my arms around him and soaking his nice wool jacket with tears.
"Thank you,' I said simply. "I-I want to....I need to." I could find nothing else to say. He already seemed to have learned so much about me simply through observing. Even when he couldn't take his eyes off Dominic he had found the time to notice me, and he had found the time to care. It was an indescribable feeling.
It seemed like hours before I found the strength to extract myself from the car, walking to my door as though I were returning to fulfill a sentence at a penitentiary. I pushed the door open with shaking hands, wondering if Martin had returned, wondering if he even bothered to wonder where I was.
Silence filled the house, though his dress shoes were by the door and his coat hun from the coat rack. Shedding my own coat, I looked around the house. It felt so different and foreign from the intimate setting of Matthew and Dominic's home. I felt no comfort, felt no warmth. I felt no love - for anything.
"Hello?" I called.
Silence.
I walked through the house, keeping my footsteps quiet simply because the noise sounded garish as it resonated off the wood.
I found Martin in the parlor, papers spread all over the coffee table. He had not bothered to change from his work clothes, his face looking long and tired - but beautiful. So beautiful.
"Hello, dear," I said softly.
He said nothing, not bothering to look up from his paperwork. He simply nodded and I wondered why I even bothered anymore.
I retreated to the bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind me. It was nearly six o'clock and I had yet to even start dinner. I had no appetite, and I wondered briefly if Martin would care if I didn't bother to prepare a meal. My body allowed me no time to ponder the subject further, my stomach muscles clenching as I pressed my back against the door to rest against it, curling in on myself as I softly began to cry.
The ghost of Dominic's hand on my shoulder lingered, tethering me to a relationship I envied, tethering me to a kindness I hadn't known in over a year. The tears came, bitterly hot, angry, and desperate.
Searching through the archive of my memories, I found there was never a time when Martin simply felt compelled to look at me the way Matthew found himself being through the hours of his day. I wanted to deny it, but I could not. I had seen the sideways glances, the longing, lingering looks of unspoken wishes and secret promises. I had witnessed first hand the difficulty with which he looked away, seeing it myself as we walked out the door. Dominic dropped a kiss to Matthew's lips and I was sure that, if I had not been standing on the front step to coax Matthew outside, they would still be frozen in their respective positions, simply admiring each other.
I could not find a time when Martin had yearned for me with such need and passion the way Dominic did Matthew. Sneaking kisses in the church yard seemed childish when compared the adult and intimate way Dominic needed to be possessed and consumed by Matthew. I had seen it when I caught them that afternoon, Dominic's eyes shut in ecstasy as he let his body be overwhelmed by the erotic force of Matthew's presence.
There was never a time when he did any of these things, though it was not for lack of my efforts.
There was never a time when he did, and I was sure, as I pressed a hand to my stomach, jaw aching from the clench of remaining quiet, that there would never be a time when he would.
Author:
lalalive23 Rating: PG
Pairing: Bell/Dom and a few original characters.
Summary: AU. Matt and Dom are teachers at a local high school in 1954. They don't want their relationship to be discovered, especially by those they work with, even though they've been living together for nearly 4 years. This is the story of what happens when the school librarian discovers them.
Warning: Fluff and sadness
Feedback: It's my Kubrick, it's my Jesus.
Disclaimer: I don't own Muse. I don't make money off this. This never happened. I do, however, own the characters Ellen and Martin, and their respective family members/coworkers. They are mine, so please do not take them. I am willing to share if you want to collaborate on something, but otherwise no touchy plz!
Note: I know I spend a lot of time in TLS world. But there is something about writing this that feels like coming home. Seriously, I love this universe so much it makes me want to cry. I actually did get really emotional writing this chapter, so I hope you enjoy it. I've got my cheerleaders
dolce_piccante and millionstar , who read bits of this and encouraged me that it was a proper direction to take this. And I have to thank sheerpoetry for putting up with my email blasts and reading what I wrote of this even though she's never read the series at all. They put up with my insecurities like champions <3 And thanks to all my readers. You guys seriously make my world turn. Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2A Chapter 2B Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7
Ellen
They sat before me, eyes fearful and worrying as they glistened with unshed tears. They were perched on and in a single armchair, Matthew on the cushion while Dominic sat heavily on the arm. I couldn't picture them being anywhere else, seeing them pull away from each other felt as though it would be an agonizing and bitter experience. With their hands clasped tightly together, fingers entwined and knuckles nearly going white with the force of holding each other, their bodies pressed themselves together as though forced by an invisible clamp. It was as though they wanted to merge into a single being.
They breathed together, heavily enough that I could see their chests rising and falling in perfect sync. Attuned to one another, neither needing to slow down or speed up. Neither spoke, lips quivering with mumbled, silent words. Breathing and silencing themselves as though they didn't trust the air with secrets.
In the aftermath of my initial shock, Matthew had wordlessly brought me from the library to his red Mini Coup, arm linked in mine as if to ensure that I would not slither from his grip and escape. Dominic was left in the library, sitting anxiously as he fumbled with pens, papers, his tie - anything to make it appear as though he were busy or focused. It confused me, Matthew repeating 'let us explain' as he dragged me away. He kept repeating 'us,' but it was as though he didn't want to include Dominic in the conversation.
He drove me to his home quickly, speeding up every time his tongue spilled over with apologies and worried mumbles, only to slow once he found himself reduced to silence. I couldn't make sense of it. I had too many questions, I had too much sock. I didn't care if he apologized or not, I just wanted to make sense of what I'd seen.
I knew what I had seen, known it well because it was too visceral to not be immediately clear in my mind. But my world was sheltered, closed off and caged as a prisoner to domesticity and society's expectations. What I had seen was as mind boggling as imagining a fourth dimension, what I had heard were memories of a past I used to know so well. The ecstasy in which I caught them contrasted with what I knew of male relationships, and as we rode the last of the short distance in silence, I began to assume that I had misinterpreted the whole thing and feared I would never understand it.
He invited me into his home and I noticed the neat decor, everything in its right place. I noticed it was large, larger than anything I thought he would need to live on his own. But then, there were many things I did not know of him and so I assumed nothing until he found himself able to explain to me what he could.
I sat on the large couch as he placed himself primly in the armchair. It felt as though the cushions beneath me expanded for miles, forming a canyon that made me feel impossibly small. We said nothing, and I wrung my hands together as I searched my mind for a way to start the conversation. With my heartbeat in my ears it was too difficult to think, and so I just bit my lip in worry hoping he would find the words where I could not.
For a moment it appeared as though he knew what he wanted to say, leaning forward a few inches with his lips beginning to part. But he was cut off by the sound of the door opening and closing swiftly, Dominic standing in the foyer removing his hat and coat. Matthew jumped up instantly, rushing over to cup the blonde's cheeks in his hands.
I stared dumfounded as I watched the intimate scene. They spoke softly in words I couldn't here, Dominic shutting his eyes and nodding furiously only to open them once more and search Matthew's face for reassurance. I felt sick. I felt confused. I felt as though I had been lied to, but then I hated myself for thinking I knew all of the ways of the world when I so clearly could not comprehend the mysteries that rested beyond my doorstep.
They came back to the armchair together, hand in hand, eyes boring into mine. And eventually, they seemed to know how to begin, as if communication had slipped through the circuit of their palms.
"You have to understand," Dominic began slowly, shakily, "I love him."
The statement took me off guard and I opened my mouth to speak, but Matthew cut me off before I could pass my thoughts to my vocal cords.
"No, Ellen, it's so important that you understand that. You need to understand that we are together. Together and in love the same way you and your husband are," he said seriously. I had never heard his voice fall into so deep a range before. "Anything we tell you about what you've seen or heard, or what you come to understand through our explanation needs to be based on the knowledge that this is love."
I knew what he meant, I knew what he wanted to mean, but I knew very well that the love he spoke of was not what my husband and I shared. It was an entirely different plane of intimacy. Not knowing how to respond, I merely nodded, wide eyed and open mouthed, surrendering myself to the knowledge that I was being instructed to only listen.
They spoke in tandem, telling me the story of how they met, how they fell in love. It was every bit a tale I would expect from my neighbors or my friends back home. But they were men. Men, and they were telling me the stories I wished I could tell my children. Every single thing I knew of society told me to reject their words, told me to tell them it was wrong, that it simply couldn't be. But to see them, to really see them, the way they tried to hide their smiles as they spoke of their first date, the way Dominic seemed to glow in the aftermath of Matthew's words. It was as though simply hearing his lover's voice gave him the courage to live, the courage to fight.
I was seeing them through a hole in their sky high walls, a hole opened just for me and ready to be closed instantaneously depending on my reaction. They had formed protective barriers to the outside world, but they didn't seem to mind. They had everything they needed in each other.
And as I listened and tried to deny what my ears were hearing, deny the words of lust, love, passion and joy that filled the air around me, my heart lost the strength to deny them and merely holed itself into a cave of envy.
"It was my idea to use the library," Dominic said, bringing their story up to the present. "I never meant to cause trouble or put you in the middle of this. I don't know what I was thinking, never being caught or - or I don't know." He fidgeted, raking his free hand through his hair as he looked everywhere but Matthew's face. Part of me wanted them to look at each other. I wanted to know what love looked like, for I had not seen it in Martin's face for so long.
Dominic paused to gather his thoughts, his lips moving minutely to formulate words I would never hear. "We never wanted to put you in this position. It just...it just happened, and we should have stopped but...when it comes to him...I just can't. I just can't."
I pondered the position of which he spoke, wrapping my head around the gravity of what had happened in the library. What it meant for me, and what it meant for them.
"We need you to know," Matthew said, "that so much of what we have built together depends on you, on what you choose to do from here. Whether or not we stay here, or keep our jobs, or move, or defend ourselves, depends on you. This moment, right now, half of our future is in your hands." He paused, allowing the words to hang in the air, thick and permeable with meaning. "But," he said sternly, "if you think for a second that you could...take this...and convince us that it's wrong or sinful or dirty," he said the word with a grimace that painted uncharacteristic lines on his face, "then you prove yourself ignorant."
In hindsight, I should have been offended by the end of his explanation, but the truth was that I had stopped listening from the start. My mind had locked on his choice of words, the continued use of 'we' and 'us,' subjective and objective pronouns that served only to indicate that they were bonded indefinitely had left me blindsided. What they had was sacred and unbreakable, no longer thinking of themselves as individuals but joined pairs that were so intrinsically dependent on the other and all I could do was wallow in my confusion about where my own romantic life had gone wrong.
"I want him," Dominic said, his brow furrowing as a pained expression painted his features. "It's more than that, really. I need him. And what you saw today, I just can't apologize for it the way you think I should. I'm sorry we crossed the line that way, I'm sorry you had to see it like that, but I will never apologize for wanting him. I just won't and there is nothing you can do or say to make me feel as though I should."
Matthew's hand gave an almost unnoticeable squeeze to Dominic's, though I did not understand how it was possible as their hands were already joined so tightly, and the action made me yearn for such simple contact.
"It's like," Matthew said, his hand raising to trill through the air as he spoke, a nervous gesture I had come to recognize. "I get upset, no that's the wrong word, well, no it's true. I get upset or uncomfortable if I'm not near him for a long period of time. To just see him calms my soul. I know that sounds ridiculous, but I just need to see him. And then it's like a catalyst for everything else. Seeing leads to hearing leads to touching leads to tasting. It's that unrest you get when you're excited about a new lover, about how good they make you feel. You just want to be near them all the time, it's all so fresh and new. But it's always like that for us, for me. I always need to see him because it's gone beyond the excitement to an actual physical necessity."
He spoke his words quickly, his pacing falling in strange dynamic patterns that lead him to racing through and slowing down at odd intervals. The blue of his eyes held my gaze with impossible strength, his effort to drive home how he felt in terms I could understand reflecting in every pore and sinew of his body.
Dominic felt it was his turn to speak during Matthew's evocative silence. "You can tell us we're wrong, and you're right. We shouldn't have done it on school grounds. You can tell us we're childish, and we'll agree because what we did was immature." Again, he used the same terms that Matthew did. Taking the blame for his suggestion of using the library, but knowing that the guilt was shared, knowing he wasn't alone. Knowing that he would never be alone. "But you cannot break this. It would be silly to try."
There was a long pause during which Dominic unconsciously leaned his head towards Matthew's as though he wanted to rest their foreheads together. He stopped himself when he was aware, reminding himself that their was an intruder in his private space. It was then that I saw Matthew twitch, as though he wanted to close the gap, stopping himself quickly as well.
Everything in those moments sank into my being, spreading itself through my body as though it were carried through my veins. Every word and breath they shared, and every touch my presence stopped them from sharing made itself known. And, somehow, I fought past my jealousy and found the words to speak.
"Why would I...want to break this?" I asked quietly. I brought my eyes to my folded hands, gazing at the ring on my finger, the metal stinging my skin as soap does to one's eye.
My response yielded a pause before Matthew found the strength to speak. "Pardon?"
"Why would I want to break this?" I repeated, still not bringing my eyes to his. "I've been to church, I was raised Catholic. I know the face of love and I know the face of sin, and I can tell the difference between the two. I admit, I don't....understand...much of this, but that's not because I don't want to, it's just a fault of my upbringing. But love...no matter the shape it takes...is not sin, and that is something I have fought with my entire life. I can't break this, what you have...and it hurts me to hear that you think I'd even try."
"It's not that -" Matthew began, but I was not finished.
"What you have, I...want," I admitted. I finally brought my gaze to theirs, my voice quivering as I continued. "It would be cruel of me to ruin it...just because I don't have it, because I can't have it. And just because I can't have it, does not mean I won't protect it when I see it."
There were no hints of relief making shapes in their postures, no exhales of subconsciously held breath. Only wary eyes that pleaded for me to continue, to offer reassurance.
"You can trust me," I stated softly, "because at this point, there really isn't much of a choice. But also because...I don't want to be responsible for ruining the only true love I have ever seen."
It was true. They were in hiding and, yet in their self-implemented captivity, they were happier than I had been in the streets of England, in freedom, without the shame of society or God. They hid together, they kept their passions under wraps, not by choice but out of necessity. I wanted to find it filthy, but I couldn't. I wanted to be a good, proper woman, and scold them for blasphemy, but I could not. All I wanted to do was beg Martin to love me in the way he couldn't find the strength to, to love me the way I saw it before me. And because I couldn't find the strength to be disgusted, I simply found the strength to preserve the image of love before me as best I could.
And still, there were no sighs of great relief or smiles, merely softening brows, questioning eyes muddled with concern for my well-being and I had to excuse myself to the bathroom because I knew I could no longer hold back the tears.
Dominic waited outside the door for me, silently waiting for me to clean myself up. I felt guilty for keeping him waiting, but I was in agony, and I could not help the choked sobs that forced my diaphragm into uncontrollable spasms. I wanted love, and I was ready to be loved. The love I knew from Martin had dissolved before my eyes, slipping between my fingers before I had even a chance to grab hold of it. And while I knew I was once loved, I knew it was never as deep or as passionate as the love Matthew had for Dominic and vice versa.
Opening the door, I found Dominic wringing his hands together nervously as he leaned against the wall. He frowned in concern when he saw me, and I blushed, flattered that in the wake of his own fear, he found it in him to care for my well being.
"Are you alright?" he asked quietly, pushing himself from the wall to rest a hand on my shoulder.
I nodded furiously, hoping that I could ward off the tears that the simple touch threatened to release. Even when I was upset, Martin never offered me the same kindness.
"Matthew will take you home, ok? It's getting a bit late." He guided me through the small hallway over to the parlor once more, and Matthew stood as soon as I entered, his kind eyes filling me with warmth. I needed to leave the house. I was an intruder in a world I didn't belong to, trespassing on the grounds of love - something I felt I didn't deserve.
It was when we entered the car and I had told Matthew where I lived that a question popped into my mind.
"Why did you drive home with me and Dominic walked? You live in the same place. Why not go together?" I felt bold for asking the question, but I knew I had the right. With the information they had given me in one sitting, I felt it was only fair that I vocalize the things I did not understand.
Matthew chuckled. "It's how we hide in plain sight. No one sees us go home together. He takes the car one week and I take in the next. We alternate, and thankfully no one has asked why we drive the same car."
I chuckled with him, understanding the tactic. It was ingenious. "It's a popular model," I said with a laugh, though it sounded more sad that jovial. "I doubt anyone would notice."
Loathe to leave the car, we sat in my driveway for several moments, neither of us speaking or looking at one another. I simply regarded the grey dashboard with a frown.
"I've noticed you," Matthew said softly after a short period of time. "At the library. You've been taking off your ring. You just stare at it sometimes and...you look sad. I might be wrong, but...what you said earlier...all those things about love. We have to trust you with our life, and I know that you don't have to trust us at all with yours, but, I just want you to know that you can. If you ever...needed...someone."
With those few words he had made himself the lifeline for which I had been searching. Trust, a confidant, someone to whom I could give details and ask questions, were embodied within him and I stopped myself from ecstatically throwing my arms around him and soaking his nice wool jacket with tears.
"Thank you,' I said simply. "I-I want to....I need to." I could find nothing else to say. He already seemed to have learned so much about me simply through observing. Even when he couldn't take his eyes off Dominic he had found the time to notice me, and he had found the time to care. It was an indescribable feeling.
It seemed like hours before I found the strength to extract myself from the car, walking to my door as though I were returning to fulfill a sentence at a penitentiary. I pushed the door open with shaking hands, wondering if Martin had returned, wondering if he even bothered to wonder where I was.
Silence filled the house, though his dress shoes were by the door and his coat hun from the coat rack. Shedding my own coat, I looked around the house. It felt so different and foreign from the intimate setting of Matthew and Dominic's home. I felt no comfort, felt no warmth. I felt no love - for anything.
"Hello?" I called.
Silence.
I walked through the house, keeping my footsteps quiet simply because the noise sounded garish as it resonated off the wood.
I found Martin in the parlor, papers spread all over the coffee table. He had not bothered to change from his work clothes, his face looking long and tired - but beautiful. So beautiful.
"Hello, dear," I said softly.
He said nothing, not bothering to look up from his paperwork. He simply nodded and I wondered why I even bothered anymore.
I retreated to the bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind me. It was nearly six o'clock and I had yet to even start dinner. I had no appetite, and I wondered briefly if Martin would care if I didn't bother to prepare a meal. My body allowed me no time to ponder the subject further, my stomach muscles clenching as I pressed my back against the door to rest against it, curling in on myself as I softly began to cry.
The ghost of Dominic's hand on my shoulder lingered, tethering me to a relationship I envied, tethering me to a kindness I hadn't known in over a year. The tears came, bitterly hot, angry, and desperate.
Searching through the archive of my memories, I found there was never a time when Martin simply felt compelled to look at me the way Matthew found himself being through the hours of his day. I wanted to deny it, but I could not. I had seen the sideways glances, the longing, lingering looks of unspoken wishes and secret promises. I had witnessed first hand the difficulty with which he looked away, seeing it myself as we walked out the door. Dominic dropped a kiss to Matthew's lips and I was sure that, if I had not been standing on the front step to coax Matthew outside, they would still be frozen in their respective positions, simply admiring each other.
I could not find a time when Martin had yearned for me with such need and passion the way Dominic did Matthew. Sneaking kisses in the church yard seemed childish when compared the adult and intimate way Dominic needed to be possessed and consumed by Matthew. I had seen it when I caught them that afternoon, Dominic's eyes shut in ecstasy as he let his body be overwhelmed by the erotic force of Matthew's presence.
There was never a time when he did any of these things, though it was not for lack of my efforts.
There was never a time when he did, and I was sure, as I pressed a hand to my stomach, jaw aching from the clench of remaining quiet, that there would never be a time when he would.