Ardent Cure: Lennox and Mielo

 

Chapter 8 -

 

1

Mielo couldn’t stop thinking about what Lennox had said for the remainder of his classes. Each flew by, for Mielo was blissfully lost in his own thoughts. The boy had just come to realize he was weak. He was not a leader, not the way Lennox was, not the way Allan was, not the way his own father was. Mielo struggled each day, not asking for extra help, keeping out of sight, and steering clear of trouble when little did he know he was going about things the wrong way. If he wasn’t a leader or a man without the need for help, then he was a follower, a weakling—a damn invertebrate. If this was so, then he needed to choose a leader, someone to follow, someone that cared about him.  His father sure as hell didn’t fit the bill, and he wasn’t sure about Allan, but he knew Lennox did. He knew Lennox wanted him, desired him, and needed him.

The boy stopped to feel the flutter in his stomach, enjoying it even. It was a different kind of anxiety he was feeling now, the kind of waver and flicker of excitement that made him smile. He wanted Lennox too, more than he wanted Allan, yet … choosing Lennox over Allan would be difficult. He wasn’t even sure if Lennox wanted to risk everything for him, like his job or his family, if he had any. The man was thirty-seven and didn’t wear a wedding ring. Mielo wondered if it was at all possible for a man of his age to have never married yet.

The boy’s blissful wonderings were stopped when he finally reached home. Now his stomach was turning as it prepared a missile of nausea in defense of the old threat that lingered inside his house. The change was so sudden, he bent over in fear of throwing up on his lawn, covering his mouth quickly. The feeling passed after a few moments of salivating through his palm.

Gross, Mielo thought, wiping his hand on his dress pants. Maybe he should take a shower and ruminate in errant thoughts of himself and Lennox, wondering what the man’s touch would be like. Would he be gentle? Rough? It was hard to say; the man seemed like an inspiring romantic every other day when he taught, using his amorous verbal skills to capture the class and keep them interested. Was it all an act though? What did he see in the man during lunch break, when he was pinned up against the wall unable to breathe, staring directly into those demon-like eyes?

“Wilhelmina?” Mr. Herz mumbled drunkenly as Mielo entered the house. “Are you home? I ... I missed you so much. I was hoping you’d come home—I called all your friends....”

The boy was rather relieved to see his father in such a state. He almost felt bad for letting his old man know that it was just him, and not his dead mother.

“Sorry, it’s only me,” Mielo responded in a mumble before heading down the hallway to his own bedroom. As soon as he dropped his bag, his father began to whine and call for him. “I’m coming, dad, what do you need?”

“Wilhelmina...I’m so sorry,” Herz began to sob, getting up drunkenly from his chair. “I just wanted to let you know, Mielo is my son. The teacher at his damn school recognized me. I forgive you, you know? I don’t care if you slept with all those men anymore, I don’t care. Mielo is ours.”

Mielo didn’t even realize his father was face to face with him after he heard what he did. His mother...? She--

“If you don’t believe me, we can make another one... we can have another son. I fucked up, I need to start over, I...” Mielo stumbled backwards until his bottom hit the floor as his father struggled and fidgeted with his belt, dropping his beer onto the plush carpet.

“Father, it—it’s me, it’s Mielo!”

“I know, I’ve done him such wrong ... I want to start over, I can be a good father, I’ll show you Wilhelmina...”

The boy scampered backwards until his back met the door of the washroom as his father finally dropped his pants. What the fuck was going on? Why was this happening? Mielo couldn’t help but feel that every time he felt good about himself, something terrible happened after. This had to be one of those cases.

Mr. Herz snatched Mielo’s arm, though his grip was weak and the boy was able to wipe his father’s hand away from him even with the cast over it, the bigger man was already using his other hand to pull and tug at the kid’s clothes.

“Mielo’s messed up, let’s try again...” his dad belched out, leaning in to kiss who he thought was his wife on the neck. In a panic, the boy managed to find the door handle and opened it. He fell backwards once again, but this time his father fell with him, landing on the youth’s legs. Mielo cried out in pain, then attempted to kick his father off of him.

“Mina, I know you’re angry with me, I promise it’ll get better, everything will get better—I have a new job...”

“No, get the fuck off!” the younger protested, managing to slide himself out from under his father’s overbearing weight.

He thrust his leg at his father’s shoulder, and the man howled in pain, rolling out of the washroom and back into the living room. He curled up, and then began to seethe with rage. Mielo froze, watching his father hassling himself to get up.

“YOU BITCH!! You fucking NO GOOD WOMAN! After ALL I DID FOR YOU?!” Mielo suddenly realized the man was going to come for him, and he should have used that moment to close and lock the washroom door. It was too late, so the boy had to think of another plan. He didn’t want to know what his father was capable in this fuming inebriated state.  The boy backed up away from his father, who grabbed the boy’s shirt and flung him out of the washroom. The boy hit the ground on his side and turned onto his stomach, clutching himself where he felt the carpet burn his skin.

“YOU SLEEP WITH AS MANY MEN AS YOU WANT, BUT I’LL SHOW YOU WHO’S BOSS. I’LL SHOW YOU WHO YOU VOWED TO FUCK FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE, YOU FUCKING WHORE.”

Mielo barely had time to look up when his father grabbed the nape of his neck and held him down. The man began to jerk and yank violently at his son’s pants, succeeding in getting them down as far as the boy’s knees while the teenager thrashed in his grip. The kid looked around frenetically, looking for something to hit his father with. The man was grabbing at his undergarments while simultaneously trying to undo his own. Mielo managed to grab the leg of the stand next to the love-seat and pulled on it. The whole thing toppled over, the phone and the lamp cascading noisily to the ground, and the sound of the dial tone was heard as the phone was released from its receiver. The boy grabbed for the neck of the lamp, then swung it at his father’s face. He thought he heard something crack at the contact, but he didn’t even want to look back as he crawled out skittishly, pulled up his underwear and pants, and made it into the washroom. He slammed the door shut and locked it as quickly as he possibly could, clinging onto the lampshade and holding it dearly to his chest.

2

                Things were looking up; Lennox was expecting today to be the highlight of his week. Wednesdays were good in general, filled with activity and excitement, but it was also the prospect of Mielo that brightened the teacher’s eyes so. He would keep his cool, however; he didn’t want to blow the good track record he’d inadvertently started yesterday.

                The boy seemed tired that day, maybe Lennox scared him into not getting any sleep. He doubted it though … he wasn’t that frightening. Was he? It didn’t matter, the end of the class came not a minute too soon and Lennox dismissed everyone except for Mielo, who didn’t seem to want to go anywhere again. The teacher closed the door behind the class and leaned against his desk directly in front of Mielo.

                “Have I gotten you so well trained already?” He asked with a dark yet handsome tone, leaning forward a bit to loom over the boy. He didn’t get an answer from him, the earthy green eyes looked away from him shamefully. Lennox sighed, “you didn’t hand in your homework today. It’s alright, you’ve been doing much better, I’m not disappointed in you. You could have had any number of …,” the man paused to have a think, to choose his words carefully, “… distractions.” He concluded simply.

                “Don’t.” Mielo mumbled, still refusing to look up at Lennox.

                The instructor frowned slightly, but remembered the lesson he learned yesterday, “Mielo,” he began slowly.

                The boy snapped his head up with the angriest glare he’d given Lennox, his hands slamming flat-palmed onto the table. Mielo’s features then softened when he realized he was panting with rage, and he hid his face in shame.

“I jus’ can’t do zis anymore. He’s alvays … he tried to … I just can’t …,” he folded his arms on his desk and used them to hide his face as he laid his head down. His back trembled as he began to cry silently.

                “Mielo?” Lennox wheezed, stepping over to the boy and kneeling next to him.

                “Don’t try to be sympathetic-- DON’T! You’re not veak … not like me,” the boy spat suddenly, his anger burning up again.

                Lennox furrowed his brow, not sure what to make of this. Mielo had never cried in front of him before, not even when he had his arm snapped back into place or when he was being nearly strangulated against the chalkboard. The teacher stood up slowly, making himself a strong figure again, and put a hand on Mielo’s shoulder.

                “What happened?” He asked in a calm assertive voice, pulling at the boy so he was forced to sit up, “who was it? Allan? Your father?”

                “Fuck Allan, I haven’t spoken to zat asshole since yestertag morning,” the boy whispered aggressively, shoving his desk away from himself.

                The instructor somehow sensed that it wasn’t the best idea to press any further, he knew that whatever happened to the boy, it was at the hands of his father. A quick whiff of the air revealed to him that it wasn’t any sort of sexual abuse, and he didn’t notice any other injuries on Mielo. Whatever happened, it was a deeply scarring psychological gash that might not be stitched closed for a long time … not unless someone helped with it. Lennox softened his grip on the boy’s shoulder and pulled up a chair to seat himself in.

                “Shhh, hey,” he began in a soft tone. He didn’t know much else to say, however, not unless he knew what happened specifically. Perhaps it was best to just be there, the simple act of caring that Mielo needed. Lennox put his arm over Mielo’s shoulders and let it rest there gently as he felt the small heaves of the boy weeping. He smelt rank with sadness and anxiety, it should be a crime for such a beautiful being to be put in such a state.

                “You’re not weak.” Lennox said simply in his in his low soft tone, reaching forward for the tissue box on his desk and putting it in front of Mielo.

                Mielo shook his head, not believing the teacher one bit, “nein, I only try to seem zat vay. Es ist .. just einen act.”

                “Believe it or not, the ones that keep up the act are the weak ones.” The educator revealed in his wisdom, “weak men don’t cry in front of anyone. Weaker men don’t cry at all. Strong men are brave enough to show their weaknesses to others. It’s not something Western society acknowledges that much.” Lennox looked down at his own knees, taking a moment to appreciate the warmth that Mielo emitted. He hoped the boy would listen to him, as cliché as he knew he sounded, it was a good bit of modern knowledge that was just starting to be shown some light.

                Mielo stopped his tears and stared at Lennox through his soaked eyelashes, then wiped his face with the back of his forearm. He looked down at his desk, most likely contemplating and taking to heart what Lennox had said. His lips trembled as he tried to speak, and eventually he gave up and decided it would be better not to say anything. Instead, he stood up and pressed his head against the bottom of Lennox’s chest. The older man was able to feel the boy’s entire body shiver, and it grew into intense shaking when Mielo brought his arms around his sides. He began to sob once again.

                There were many types of affection that Lennox was used to, but this wasn’t one of them. Sexual affection and student affection were the two main types he was subjected to, but this was neither, it felt like it would be somewhere in the middle. He didn’t know how to reciprocate it, or even if he should. It frightened him a bit, being exposed to something that he hadn’t been exposed to before, could he even put a name on it? The man looked up in thought for a moment, and the idea that he may be impression on Mielo as a replacement father figure brushed his thoughts. Could it be? Is that how it was going? No, it couldn’t be, lest the signs he got from the kid yesterday be for nothing.

                Lennox raised his own arms hesitantly, and draped them about Mielo’s shoulders lightly, a very faint tremble passed through him as he did so. He felt that there was something wrong about this, but … what kind of rational thought is that to a commonly mislabeled ephebophile Dardexian living three lives? The man let himself relax and he tightened his embrace.

                “It will be alright,” he whispered with pure empathy, letting their embrace continue for a few more moments before he pulled away and reached for something on his desk. “Here is my number,” he scrawled it on an index card and handed it to Mielo, “if you ever need anything of me … I’m always available.”

                Mielo took the card and stared at it for a few moments before quickly hiding it in his pocket.

                “D-Danke-- don’t tell anyvon about zis...,” Mielo whispered to the teacher. “Novon else needs to know.”

                Lennox grinned and crossed his arms, “I should be the one telling you that.” He reached over and gave Mielo one last pat on the back before he sent him on his way.