Lucian Ch. 08

Why think you're a woman when all you have are her moves and her make up? And why think you're a man when even your balls have gone?

Lucian Gaines inhaled the sweet spring air.

It wafted in through an open window making his nose wrinkle as he closed his eyes. His ears caught birdsong and distant voices.

Opening them again, Lucia Gaines looked around.

Her room was impeccable -- from the pale-pink flowery covers on the double bed to the crystal vase she'd filled with white-and-yellow daffodils.

Everything felt warm and welcome.

He ran a light hand over her bed to brush away an invisible wrinkle. Then she sat down with a sigh, stretching his legs and massaging them slowly. Her smooth skin and firm long muscles slid through his fingers.

Running practice had slowed down to three times a week since his graduation. But she'd run all through winter, often ten miles or more.

He picked up a silver scrunchie from her side table. Gathering his long curly hair with an expert twist of her hand, he created an ash-blond ponytail and let it dance on her shoulder blades. Everyone loved his hair, just like they loved Charlie's.

Lucia looked at the second pillow on the bed.

It still showed the slight dent where Charlie's sleeping head had been resting. They shared the room -- she and he; he and she. It was an unusual settlement at Norton's Academy of Excellence, but amongst all the unusual things that had happened, this was maybe the least remarkable.

Lucian's mind refused to go back to those horrible autumn days anymore. It was the only way to stop her reoccurring nightmares.

But sometimes it just didn't work.

Seeing a drop of blood could make him retch; the mere picture of a male cock in erection sent bile up her throat.

That awful night the girls whisked him away, after mercifully injecting a sedative. Thank God the limousine never left. Charlie held him all the way home. Nico told him later that she'd cleaned his blood-splattered face and body with her dress soaked in champagne from the car's bar.

He woke up the next morning, close to noon.

Charlie was still there, sleeping in a chair beside his hospital bed. The bloodstained dress stuck to her pale skin; her hair looked a mess and her make up was in ruins.

Lucian felt dizzy, but he knew where he was and why.

Horrible images returned -- even sounds and smells -- and the sickening taste of blood; his father's blood.

His hand crawled from under his blanket until it rested on the girl's knee. Her eyes flew open.

"Luce," she croaked. "You're awake."

Jumping to her feet she leant over the bed and grabbed his head -- kissing him deeply.

"Thank God," she panted, her violet eyes dancing up and down as she took him in. "How do you feel?"

His heart raced from the sudden attack.

"I'm fine," he said -- or rather tried to say through his parched throat.

"Water!" she cried out and fetched a glass, filling it from the tap.

He drank as she watched with an ever-bigger smile.

"What happened?" he asked after emptying the glass.

"You... you almost bit his cock off!" she said in awe. "There was so much blood -- and screaming."

He shook his head.

"I know that," he said. "But what happened after? Are the police here?"

She looked confused.

"I don't know," she said. "Should they? I've been with you all the time -- in the limo and here. I was so afraid."

He looked at her. She was a child, a lost child with raccoon eyes from her smudged make up.

"How did you get me here?" he went on asking.

"In the limo," she said. "Thank God it waited for us. Nico gave you a shot and the driver carried you. You looked dead, covered in blood and vomit and things..."

Her voice petered out as her eyes stared into the awful memory. They shone with moisture.

"I was so afraid," she murmured, covering his hand with hers. Then her awareness returned and she jumped to her feet again.

"I'll call Dr. Kurtz!" she exclaimed, turning to the door.

"Charlie," he said. She stopped.

"Thank you."

Her smile washed away the pale tiredness.

"I love you," she said.

He held her gaze -- the sweet wide-open eyes and the smiling mouth.

"Take a shower and go to bed," he finally said. "I'm fine. Really."

***

She loved him, she'd said.

Lucian recalled Charlie saying she loved him on the way to the embassy -- and later, as she walked him across the hallway to the horrible room. She loved him and yet she'd prepared him and led him like a lamb to be slaughtered -- leaving him alone with the asshole.

Ah well, love -- what did he know about love?

Remembering as she lie on the bed in his room, hearing the sounds of spring through the window, Lucian wondered what really happened during that silly charade they called her graduation. If one ever could be ready for an ordeal like that, she was sure he hadn't been. Even now, months later, his identity kept shifting. Was he Lucia, or was she Lucian? And did he have to choose? Or was it just social pressure urging her to decide?

How do you decide you're female or male if you feel you're both -- or none at all?

Charlie loved him -- or did she just love the her in him? They'd talked about who she thought he/she was, but the girl hated the topic. She said she didn't care, it wasn't important.

Lucia or Lucian, she loved him she said... or her.

Maybe she was right.

Maybe the whole gender thing only mattered in the outside world, where you were pressured to choose -- or rather: where people chose for you. Maybe out there you needed an identity. Here at Norton's they all knew who they were, whatever they were -- and so did he... she.

He was the tall thin blond creature that knew how to run and jump a gym horse, do a split or make a summersault. Like all the others he knew where to put his feet and how to graciously bend his wrist. Sometimes he wore her war paint and was the one with the decadent eyes and the red, greedy mouth -- the one with the silver cascade of hair, the never-ending legs and the albino skin.

They photographed him as her -- and he'd learned to love the lights and the fuzz, the dressing up and the pampering hands. Sometimes she posed with Charlie, acting outrageously, just having fun.

He was one half of the famous Ice Queen couple.

Lucia chuckled at the nickname the Bobs and Barbs gave her and Charlie. "We might look like ice, but it's a smoking hot ice, indeed," he murmured, feeling a moist heat build in her crotch.

Damn, Charlie, where are you? You're late today.

Being alone had become awkward after living at the Bobs' dorm, and after all that had happened later. It felt awkward now. He, once the champion of solitary life, felt lonesome and incomplete when Charlie wasn't around. Lying in bed alone caused restless nights and repetitive dreams.

They were dreams of hard meat and splattering blood, choking throats and pushing hands. The ones you wake up from bathing in sweat.

Norton's didn't believe in shrinks.

Dr. Kurtz told him so a long time ago. They believed in going on; in discipline and repetition -- and in doing as told, of course.

But Lucia knew it wasn't true; there were many shrinks at Norton's: her fellow-students. Their cure was practical and hands-on. His time at the Bobs' dorm had saved him, just as being with Charlie kept him sane right now.

She was hardly ever late. He hated it when she was.

Being alone made Lucia think; and when she did that, his brain ran in circles, starting from the incredible accident of meeting her father like that, then going on to Parker's explanation and from there to the question how to go on.

After waking up from his sedation, he told no one whose cock he'd almost tore off -- that it was his fucking father's. He didn't tell Charlie, nor did he tell Dr. Kurtz when she came by to examine him.

The doctor told him that the man was all right; or at least as all right as could be expected. He might even fuck again.

They hadn't taken him to a hospital -- the embassy ran a small medical facility.

But when Lucian asked her about possible charges and police involvement, she told him nothing -- just to rest and trust that everything was fine.

He was save, she said, and gave him a shot before leaving. He sank into a slumber that was like bobbing on a warm water lake -- sinking down and rising up.

Memories about that time were vague and spotty; there were people around his bed -- Kurtz of course, and the Barb nurses; sometimes Charlie, smiling.

Things were done to him.

They washed and massaged him, and when he was really awake they fed him liquids through a straw.

His crotch was tended to as well.

When he finally woke up, he saw that the metal plate had gone. He wore a tight latex thong now, and when he peeled it aside all he saw was a wide Band-Aid under his penis.

The sight of it made his anger return -- but it was a powerless, sedated anger, dripping away when he focused on it.

The next evening he'd been released, but they wouldn't let him return to the Bobs' dorm. Instead they took him to a four-bed room where Charlie and Nico welcomed him. All his clothes and things were there, and Charlie fuzzed over him until he was properly installed.

The next morning he insisted on seeing Parker, but they told him she was away on business.

Charlie took him to the Barbs' breakfast room instead, where he found six other girls. They welcomed him with hugs and a lot of questions about his health and wellbeing.

It felt as if they meant it.

Next to his plate laid an array of pills in a new spectrum of colors. He picked them up and put them in his small purse, ignoring the surprised looks of the girls.

His next stop was Mamselle.

He learned that she would be his counselor until his next graduation. He'd obviously made his first one.

"You might use me as your tutor as far as your studies go," she said, sounding much less French than she did in class. "But you should know that my role might be bigger, if needed."

Her smile had always been subtler than the Smile. And her dark eyes never took part in it. But her small white hand was on his, suggesting a hint of a squeeze.

"I have a question," Lucian said.

"Of course," she said, smiling and leaning back. "I hope you have many."

"I think my graduation has been rushed," he said. "Compared to other Barbs I'm not nearly ready."

Mamselle's smile evaporated.

"Why would you think that?" she asked. "Look in the mirror, chérie. You are the most beautiful second grade girl we had in ages."

Her answer should disappoint him for its shallowness, but he knew it was more than that. It was a ruse to evade a real answer. Which of course was disappointing by itself.

He rose.

"You're leaving?" she asked, rising with him. "But we haven't even started."

He shrugged.

"If this is your counsel," he said, "I think we can save us a lot of time this coming year."

She blinked.

"Je suis désolé," she murmured, offering her excuses. "You're right; you deserve more. Please don't leave yet."

After they sat down again the petite woman fuzzed for a minute with the perfect hem of her immaculate skirt.

"Lucien," she finally said, "you must be aware of the battle that is going on over your head -- a battle between Ms. Parker and your parents."

"About my tuition," he said.

She stared for a bit before going on.

"That too," she said.

"There is more?" he asked.

She hesitated before going on.

"Much more," she finally offered. "But it is not for me to tell you, even if I would know all the details -- which I don't. You should talk with the headmistress."

"She's out," he said.

"She'll be back tomorrow and she'll see you. But please," she said, while rising. "Take your pills -- no need to risk your health just because of empty principles."

***

Next morning he sat opposite Parker.

Everything was as always -- the desk, the white blouse and the severe suit. The owlish glasses were in place too, their dark rims circling abundantly made up eyes. He remembered reading in Beauty class how spectacles make you eyes smaller, and how make up helps.

She certainly compensated, he thought.

"That was quite an adventure, Lucian dear," Parker started, her Smile in place. "I'm sorry you had to go through that without warning."

An odd way to put it, he thought, considering he just followed her orders. Why would she be sorry about something she made him do -- warning or no warning? She'd never been sorry about that before, had she?

Then the answer clicked.

"You knew he was my father," he said. "It was no accident. You sent me there because he was there. I didn't know and he wouldn't either. But you knew."

She looked straight at him, her eyes in the middle of her glasses.

"If so," she said, "why would I do that? Why would I set you up? For what purpose, you suppose?"

As a typically egocentric adolescent it was hard for Lucian to see others as the possible target of her manipulations. It must be about him. So why did she take the risk of maneuvering him in a position to be deflowered by his father? Why his father -- any guy with a cock would have sufficed, wouldn't he?

"I don't know," he finally said, feeling on guard. "Because you're sick?"

Parker grimaced.

"I am quite sane, thank you," she said, slipping some ice into her voice. She let her words follow by an awkward silence.

"Honey," she then went on, "would you ever even consider that I might have done it for your benefit?"

She was right of course -- he would never consider any of her actions to be to his advantage. Why would he? And why would she?

From the very first time he met Parker he'd seen her as his enemy, in league with his mother. Everything she did was to her own advantage -- or Norton's, obviously.

"Why would you?" he asked, aware of how flat his voice fell into the silence.

She sighed.

"I hear that often, darling. It must be something in my attitude." Shegrimaced ironically. "But please believe me: everything I did this time was for your benefit -- and Norton's. You see: when your parents broke their contract, they duped you, because leaving this school will kill you. Your mother knows that. The outside world will eat you alive, and I can never allow that to happen."

He watched in silence, his eyes fixed on her moving lips. What she said was true, probably, but why would he believe her?

By sheer fixation he missed part of her next line.

"...not just you they dupe," she said. "We have eight students who could never afford this Academy, but who would -- like you -- be without a chance in the outside world. So we finance part of their tuition from our paying students."

While talking, Parker rose from her chair.

Walking around her desk she approached Lucian. Her suit was impeccable, he thought -- such a pity of her legs.

She stopped in front of him.

"Part of your money, Lucian, has been used for Drew and Harper's tuition. Of course they had to work in addition, but without your money it would never have been enough."

Again, was she telling the truth?

Did she ever tell the truth, and did it matter? He knew what Drew's own contributions had been, and he was sure they were forced upon her. What about Harper, and who else? Nico, Mac and Honor were working students too.

What chores did they do -- just waitressing and hair styling, tending the grounds?

He remembered the amount of his tuition mentioned in this same room -- two hundred thousand dollars. There were more paying students like him, and still Drew had to whore herself out. Maybe Mackenzie did too, and Nico? When he thought of little Honor, he couldn't avoid Charlie coming to mind -- and the blowjob she gave on the lawn, at the party.

But her parents paid for her, didn't they?

"I owe you an explanation," Parker then said, folding her arms before her chest and looking down on him. "My lawyers assured me we had a good case, but it would take years to make your father pay. Norton's and all our work would be destroyed by then."

The woman sounded... upset, Lucian thought. She sounded angry and passionate. Cool, arrogant Parker had a heart? Or was it just another show?

She turned and walked to the window, looking out over the grounds. Then her gaze turned back to him, lights flashing from her glasses.

"Nobody destroys my work," she hissed. "Nobody."

The new Parker scared him even more than the old one had.

"So I used you to make your father pay," she said. "I apologize for not informing you or asking your consent; there was no other way."

She apologized, he thought -- she apologized again. Why? She used him without asking, but what was new about that? Why feel sorry now?

"We filmed what he did to you," she said. "Your father. And what you did to him."

A quick smile touched her face.

"We never expected you would bite him like that, honey. I guess we keep underestimating you. But it didn't hurt our plan -- to the contrary."

A plan?

"You blackmailed him with the video," he said.

She came closer, wanting to cup his face with her pale soft hands, but he withdrew.

"Your daddy, Lucian," she said, stepping back, "doesn't deserve your loyalty. He is the sickest version of any sick macho you might ever meet: a frustrated homophobe who really is a closet homosexual himself -- a hypocrite caught in the strings of his upbringing, his profession and his social circles. I'd pity him if he weren't taking it all out on you -- and us."

Lucian recalled how his father took him to a strip joint with his friends, pushing banknotes between fake boobs and cheering as the girls gave him a lap dance. He remembered his blunt flirting with women anywhere. And he remembered the screams from his mother's bedroom. They'd been from passion, hadn't they -- from making love, for sure?

"But he can't be a homo, he hated them," he objected; there was hesitation in his voice. "He bullied me into calling them faggots too, and all kinds of other names. He beat me if I wasn't enthusiastic enough. And he beat me for not being like him -- not being macho enough, cruel and aggressive. And when he was home, he always made love to my mother. I know -- I heard them."

Parker stared at him.

"Love?" she said in a whisper. "Really? Well, whatever; our plan worked: your tuition has been paid in full; even more than full. You'll never ever have to fear him again."

'What about fearing you?' he asked himself. Then he rose, pleased again to see he was taller than she.

"You got what you wanted by using me, and putting me in harm's way," he said, waving away her protest. "I still have nightmares. I want compensation."

Her eyes narrowed.

"I can't let you go," she said. "I told you; it will kill you."

He laughed and saw it confused her.

"I won't leave," he said. "I stay. But I stay on my conditions."

"You want your old room back?" she asked, producing a careful shadow of the Smile. "And stop doing chores? That's fine with me. I guess you earned it."

He mirrored her Smile.

"Didn't you just say that you keep underestimating me?" he asked, shaking his curls and bending a wrist as he bit a fingernail.

Parker looked puzzled now.

"I'll make my own schedule," he said. "No more Grace classes. And no more fucking French."

Parker shrugged.

"Talk with Ms. Fontaine," she said.

"And I want Charlie in my room -- permanently." He added. Then he leant into the woman.

"And no chores for her."

***

Charlie moved in and she was like a twirling Tinkerbelle, showering pinkish dust on every niche and crack of the room and its furniture.