Will You Remember?
My first fic to post in LJ *is excited* Hope it shows up alright
Title: Will You Remember?
Author: Cesi
Disclaimer: This is pure fiction. If I really had any control over Viggo and Orlando, I wouldn’t be writing…I’d be watching = ) *evil laugh*
Summary: Sometimes remembering is the most you can do, and all that is takes is to simply let go. VM/OB ?/OB
Characters: Viggo, Orlando, original characters
Feedback: I would love to hear from any of my readers = )
Ratings: PG 13
Warning: Nongraphic rape
Status: Complete
A/N: My very first one shot. Enjoy! = ) Just one warning…rape, but not graphic. OB/unnamed ; OB/VM
The last time I tried to kill a man I was ten years old. I would have let that sick bastard drown in his blood too, if it wasn’t for Orlando. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have run away from my own party, but I couldn’t help it. What kind of children’s party had more adults and cocktails than kids and cake? As soon as I saw my chance, I ripped off that hideous pink dress they forced me to wear, undid the annoying clips on my hair, and threw away those blistering god-damn shoes. After I shed that atrocious mockery of childhood, I snuck out of the window of my room and climbed down until I was close enough to jump safely on the ground. I’ve done this for nearly every single birthday, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years, and I was becoming very good at it. Mouse…Orlando used to call me that, it was his little nickname for me. Not that he was mean or anything. You see, he was my favorite cousin. And he taught me everything I knew.
I snuck into the woods of our country home, the latest addition to our grandfather’s property. That man had so many houses and estates that I can’t even remember them anymore. But I remember this one, because I almost killed. And I still wish I did.
Strangely enough, I don’t remember much. Sometimes I wished that I would just forget it completely, but I wasn’t that lucky. I remember playing with my Swiss army knife, the one I stole from my brother. I remember hearing things that a child shouldn’t hear. I saw a man, the son of one of grandfather’s business partners. I saw him on the forest ground, and beneath his near-naked body was Orlando. I was an idiot child. I just froze in place, watching as that man touched my cousin in places that shouldn’t be touched, kissing him as if he were hungry for skin and lips. And Orlando was screaming. I was frightened. I never heard him sound like that. He screamed and pushed the man away from him, telling him to stop. The man kissed him again, and again Orlando tried to push him away. The man struck his hand across Orlando’s face. A second later Orlando was screaming as the man began to press himself violently against him, fast and mercilessly.
The next thing I can remember, my knife was sticking out from the bastard’s leg. And then I stabbed him again. I kept stabbing even when Orlando tried to pull me away. I only stopped when I saw the blood coming down Orlando’s thighs. Orlando saw my face, and he reached out for his clothes, trying to cover his nakedness. He wouldn’t look me in the eyes. I didn’t say anything. I watched him bury his face into his hands, and I saw the tears that slipped away. I never saw him cry before. I began to cry too.
I didn’t want to leave him with the other man, but I had to get help. I ran into the party, the knife at my hands, my clothes soaked with blood. I screamed at the top of my lungs that Orlando was hurt. Grandfather came and told me to stop screaming. I told him what I saw, and I showed him the knife. I had no idea what they were doing. All I knew was that the man was hurting Orlando, and that I needed to save him.
As soon as grandfather heard my story he locked me up, took my knife and threatened me to never speak of it again. I was confused.
“But he’s hurt!” I cried, my hands forming angry fists, “Why won’t you help him?”
“You’re only a child, and I won’t have you accusing our guests of such things! Especially the son of my wealthiest client. Not another word from you! You saw nothing!”
“But I did! He was hurting Orlando…I heard him screaming and he was bleeding! I saw it Grandfather!”
“I’ll deal with this mess, keep away from matters you don’t understand, child.”
‘Child’. He said it like a profane curse. I wanted to rip the knife from his hands, just so I could stab him too. But I didn’t. Looking back, I’m glad that I didn’t. There was someone more fitting than me, someone who I would soon meet.
I snuck into Orlando’s room the night he returned from the hospital. I asked if he was okay. He said yes. He was lying. Not that he was terrible liar, actually he could make anyone believe whatever he wanted them to. But I had a special gift in deciphering his words, and I knew him so well that once I believed I could even read his thoughts. He was an actor you see, or at least that’s what he wanted to be before grandfather extinguished his dream. I remember how Orlando used to read to me and my siblings. He was far older than the rest of us, but I liked him. He could bring the characters to life with his voice, sometimes he would even act them out as he read. He was so imaginative, so full of life…but grandfather took that from him too.
I snuck into his room and said nothing more than that one question. I just stared at him, unsure of what to say. He told me that it was late, that I had to go to sleep. I left him, but I didn’t go to my room. I fell asleep at the foot of his door, my hands readily clenching the knife I stole back from grandfather.I did the same thing every night for a solid month.
Things changed around the house ever since that day I found Orlando in the woods. Grandfather isolated Orlando away from us younger ones. I was mad. I liked Orlando more than my own brothers and sister. Now Grandfather treated him like venom, as if he would somehow tarnish and contaminate us. He didn’t treat Orlando horribly, he didn’t reduce him to manual work or punish him severely…but he did pull him out from school. I wondered why. Orlando wasn’t stupid and I knew he liked going to the university, so why did Grandfather suddenly make him stop? I got my answer soon enough, and I ran straight to Orlando.
“Is it true?” I demanded, “Grandfather pulled you out because he was ashamed of you?”
Orlando dropped the book he was reading and looked straight at me. He said nothing.
“But what did you do?” I asked, coming closer to him until I sat beside him, “You’ve done nothing wrong. Orlando, what did you do to make him so mad?”
“Don’t worry yourself about it,” He answered simply, picking the book back up. He smiled weakly at me and held up the book so I could see, “Would you like me to read to you?”
He was trying to change the subject, and as much as it annoyed me, I played along. I wasn’t listening much to the story he read, but I did hear how weak and strained his voice was. He kept reading and reading, not wanting to stop. He read from an old book, one of my favorites from when I was younger. It was a story about a princess who was locked in a tower by an evil sorcerer. I knew the ending by heart. The princess would be rescued from her prison by a prince. I looked at Orlando as he read the story, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he saw himself in that story. It was a silly, childish thought, but I thought it anyway. Grandfather was locking him away in this prison called home, and no matter how much I wanted him to escape I knew that dragons and evil knights would be waiting for him outside. I was only a kid, I wasn’t a knight, and I certainly wasn’t a heroic prince. I looked at Orlando once more before I finally fell to sleep, my thoughts conjuring up an imaginary hero and a wonderful castle far, far, away. A hero who would rescue Orlando from this place and take him away into a castle he could call a home.
In spite of Orlando’s efforts, I learned the truth. Suddenly I was angry, not just at grandfather, but also at him. But more than anyone else, I was mad at myself. I learned the truth slowly, and sometimes painfully. I overheard the hired help speak about it one night when I was going down the stairs for some water. That’s when I found out why Orlando was in the woods with that man. My cousin was looking for me. He wanted to find me, and that vile man followed him until he saw his chance. I listened to the maids whisper about what a pity it was that Orlando should suffer that way. And while I listened to their voices, I learned what rape was and what it meant for someone like my cousin. I ran into my room and hid beneath the covers of the bed feeling sick and disgusted, not only by what happened to Orlando, but by how stupid and cowardly I was for not helping him sooner.
For the next month, Orlando was shut away from the outside world. I tried to convince him to sneak out with me, but he refused. That didn’t stop me. I climbed out of my window again and headed for town. I brought a handful of chocolates from the store. I bought them for Orlando, they were his favorites and I thought that maybe he would smile more after he had some. The store keeper gave me back the money, I was surprised and tried to pay him again but he refused. He said that the chocolates would be a gift for Orlando. I reluctantly accepted, and with a hesitant smile he told me to bring Orlando to town next time, everyone missed him. I nodded and headed out the door. That’s when I heard laughter coming from across the street...and they were saying Orlando's name.
I stopped and looked at the group crowded outside the foul liquor store. And I wished I had brought my knife with me. The man was right there, the same one who I stabbed, and he was laughing with his arm wrapped around a woman with a painted face.
“I’m so glad you’re finally out of the hospital sweetie,” The tramp said as she kissed his cheek, “It must have been horrible being attacked like that.”
“If that happened to me, my father would sue the fuck out of them,” A friend of theirs joined in, “You should have pressed charges,”
“Nah,” The bastard said, “I’m just glad that crazy fag is far away from me. Although I should have seen it coming. That faggot practically dragged me into the woods and begged me to fuck him. Hell, he probably wouldn’t care if I fucked him right in the middle of that fucking birthday party!”
“But you wouldn’t do that would you?” The woman pouted her blood-red lips, and my own mouth twisted into a sneer.
“Of course not,” He lied, “But Orlando was begging me to just take him, hell he even ripped both our clothes off. When I tried to get away, he stabbed me…with a knife! I got away though. I think they put him in a mental asylum. Serves the lunatic right!”
“They should have locked him up in there. Remember how those guys teased him in campus? It was the most hilarious thing I’ve ever seen! He acted like they were going to kill him. I’m glad they pulled him out of university! The faggot idiot!” The other man said, puffing out a cloud of smoke as he laughed.
“And you know what else the insane bitch did?” The liar said with a disgusted smile, “He had the nerve to accuse me of raping him! He's such a pathetic fag…”
I ran towards them when I heard their laughter. I didn’t think that they were older and stronger than me, I didn’t care. All I cared about was landing a punch to knock that smug smile off that bastard’s face. And I did. Twice.
“You lying bastard!” I never cursed aloud before, and it felt good. He staggered back, cursing and raising his hand to strike me when he drew back, recognition in his eyes.
“I’ll kill you,” I told him boldly, wishing that I really could.
“Hey,” His tramp pushed me back, “Shut your mouth you crazy little bitch!”
“Stop talking to yourself,” I snapped. The makeup on her face looked like it was ready to melt. I turned to the lying bastard again.
“I saw what you did,” I said to the man before me. My fists were curled and shaking.
“Shut up kid!” He barked at me, "You don't know what you're talking about. Fuck off!"
“No, I won’t, not until you tell everyone the truth!”
“Listen,” He grabbed me by the shoulders before I could get away. I felt sick when he touched me, and I tried not to cry, “The truth is, your cousin is a faggot slut who thought he could seduce me. The only reason why he’s not in prison or in an asylum is because of your Grandfather’s money. Understand that bitch?”
“Orlando isn’t crazy! I saw you! I stabbed you because you were hurting him!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. People began to turn their heads at us, “You’re a liar. Orlando told you to stop, but you didn’t listen. You hurt him…you rapist!”
He nearly struck me across the face, but before he could the owner of the candy store came running out, threatening to call the police. I took advantage of their shock and fear and I ran as fast as I could back home. Even now, I can’t believe how mad I was as I ran into the house and slammed my bedroom door shut. I forgot all about the chocolates and just screamed into my pillow until it was soaked with spit and tears. I felt like the entire world was against me…me and Orlando. I sobbed and wailed into the sheets and blankets of my bed so much and finally I didn’t care if anyone heard me or not.
That wasn’t the last time I saw the man who hurt my cousin. To my shock and complete frustration, Grandfather still carried business with his father as if nothing happened. What made it worse was that the bastard himself was invited to our house for dinner often. Orlando hid away from them while they ate, and I went with him. I wondered how Grandfather could endure those men as guests, knowing what they did to Orlando. I wondered how Orlando could accept it. I never left Orlando’s side when our enemy was inside the house, and I always had my Swiss knife by my side, ready to defend. I even slept in Orlando’s room sometimes, just to make sure. It was a strange arrangement. He was over twice my age, and yet he tolerated my silly fears. He would still read me those stories I loved years ago, not because I wanted to hear them again, but because he wanted to escape. He wanted to be anywhere but in his prison.
I asked myself how he could stand being trapped in the house. I wondered why he couldn’t just visit the town once. I kept pestering and begging him until I got my wish. I was so happy and excited when he finally agreed to go with me. And then I became anxious and worried. What if those idiots were there again? What if they tried to hurt him? I took my knife, just in case.
Fortunately, I didn’t need it. The trip was better than I hoped for. Orlando smiled when he saw his old classmates and friends again. And for one afternoon, he was back to his old self. The brightness returned to his face, and life came back to his eyes. He was beautiful, and the only person who was happier than him was probably me. We returned to all the shops we used to visit together, and we laughed with the vendors who gossiped kindly about the new businesses that recently opened. They were very kind, but there was also something…careful about how they spoke, as if they were trying to control what they said for fear that they would offend Orlando somehow.
“You should come by more often,” An old friend said playfully as she fixed the flowers into lovely arrangements, “What do you think?”
“They’re nice,” I said, touching the blue and yellow flowers. The lady added some white flowers into the mix, “Who are they for?”
“I have to deliver these to one of the new business owners on this street,” She answered with a smile, “He owns a studio. You should come with me when I take these to him. He’s a spectacular artist, he can draw, paint, carve or sculpt anything you wish. These flowers are my thank you gift to him for helping me when I moved to a larger store, and they also serve as my official welcome gift for him."
“Can we go?” I asked Orlando excitedly. I loved to draw and paint. Once I had my own watercolor set that I hid in my room. Grandfather found out and threw it away, along with my drawings, “Please, we still have time before Grandfather gets back. And I have never been in a real studio before…”
“You should come Orlando,” The florist sided with me, “I bet you’ll like him.”
With him being out voted two to one, we headed for the studio. When my foot stepped through that door I instantly went to see the paintings. They were beautiful and I dragged Orlando around with me, pointing at the scenes and bright colors that fascinated me. Our florist friend laughed at how easily amazed I was, looking back I guess I would have laughed at myself too. I turned my attention to the sculptures and carvings and then back to the paintings. I looked to see if Orlando found it as wonderful as I did. He kept staring at a certain painting. I didn’t think it was one of the best ones, personally. But he seemed to be enchanted by it. It was a beautiful moonlight night, with a simple house perched on the top of a hill, light coming warmly from within. I was about to ask him what he was thinking when our friend called out delightfully to a man we never met before.
“Orlando, this is the man who owns this studio. Most of the paintings here are his. Aren’t they just magnificent?”
Orlando nodded with a small smile. I stood beside him and looked at the man before us. He wore something that looked like an apron, and it was drenched with dried paint. He was a much older man than Orlando, but he was still undeniably handsome. Not the take-your-breath-away, striking, unbelievable kind of handsome…but the kind that makes you feel at ease, the kind that makes you want to trust.
He returned Orlando’s frail greeting with a smile of his own. I liked how he smiled, it wasn’t at all forced or fake. It was warm.
“Orlando Bloom,” My cousin said, and for the first time he was the first to extend his hand in greeting.
“Viggo Mortensen,” The artist replied. Their hands touched and after a moment, Orlando calmly pulled away.
We returned home an hour later than we planned. Whenever we tried to leave, Mr. Mortensen would have something else to show us. He was very kind, and funny too. I’ve never meet someone his age joke and smile as much as he did. He showed us where he worked. We saw the unfinished portraits of his customers, and piles of paint and brushes waiting to be used. Mr. Mortensen would satisfy my curiosity with his answers, and eventually to my surprise, Orlando began speaking to him as well. I smiled at how at ease my dear cousin was around this man. He was still a bit hesitant at first, but it was better than the silence he usually held.
That night, Grandfather had visitors again. Like always, I stayed in Orlando’s room until they left. I told him that I liked Mr. Mortensen. He said that he liked him too. He didn’t say anything more after that. He just drifted off to sleep. And from what I can tell, it was the most peaceful rest he had in a long time.
We began to visit the town more often, and I was proud of Orlando’s progress. We snuck out together like bandits escaping from prison. He laughed again, and I felt as if the cousin I knew finally came back. We never failed to visit Mr. Mortensen’s studio, and he never failed to entertain us. Whenever we came, he had something new to show. Soon our visits with him became the highlight of our week. The more I saw Mr. Mortensen, the more I liked him. He made Orlando happy, and that in turn, brightened me. To be honest I was a bit jealous. Before, Orlando would only speak with me…now it felt as if he spoke only with Mr. Mortensen. I and Orlando used to be able to communicate with each other without words, just a single glance and we would instantly know what the other felt…it was a special gift between us…but now Mr. Mortensen seemed to have developed that skill as well. I watched them intently during one visit. They moved differently around each other and I couldn't really describe it. Once I thought that Viggo’s hand lingered too long on Orlando. My cousin didn’t seem to mind, in fact I think he smiled a little…but I’m not sure.
I woke up one night to find Orlando’s room empty, and the window was wide open. I stuck my head outside just in time to see him running to the road that lead towards town. I fell asleep waiting for him. When I saw him the next day, he said nothing about his midnight escape. Even when I brought it up, he gave me a strange look and said that I might have just imagined it. I know he didn’t mean it, but his words hurt me. I felt like he was calling me a liar.
He kept sneaking out in the middle of the night until it was almost every night that I saw him disappearing into the darkness. I said nothing about it to Grandfather though, my trust in that man was nearly gone. One night, my curiosity and frustration drove me to follow Orlando. He was keeping a secret from me, and we never kept secrets from each other. It wasn’t fair. I wanted to know what he was doing, where he was going, and why he was keeping it from me. I was quiet and careful as I followed him in the darkness, and my heart beat raced wildly as I followed his trail like a spy. To my surprise, he headed into the alley that leads to the back of Mr. Mortensen’s studio. I followed fearfully, cursing myself for not thinking of bringing even a tiny light to guide me. The back door of the studio was shut when I finally found it, and I heard voices coming from the inside. I stood outside, unsure of what I heard them saying. I waited for what felt like hours, staring at the door, wondering if I should knock or if I should just open it. I grew impatient and wrapped my fingers around the knob, twisted, and slowly pushed inside. There was nothing there.
I stepped inside, there were sounds coming from the next door I saw at the far end of the room. I saw dim light glowing softly from the cracks of the door. I recognized the voices, and I could understand them vaguely. Moans, gasps, and light cries came from them. I heard one word, clear and unmistakable.
“More…”
It was Orlando’s voice.
More? I thought to myself. More of what? There was another cry, one of triumph and pleasure. My heart raced as I raised my hand against the door and gently pushed. I placed my right eye to watch them from the tiny slit of the door. I stepped back, my hands at my mouth to stop the cry that nearly escaped.
From the dim light that surrounded them, I could see Orlando, his body glistening with heat and sweat, his face twisting in painful pleasure. I blinked when I saw his long, slender legs wrapping around another man’s waist, his eyes fluttering and his hands gripping the man’s hair, forcing him into a crushing kiss. The man responded with such force and power that Orlando gasped ,his breathing ragged and desperate for air. I watched in horror and strange guilt as Orlando took the man’s hand and guided it to places I thought no man should touch another. I took another step back as Orlando cried in abandon, his head falling back to reveal the layer of sweat that ran from his face and neck. The other man began to pound against him wildly, robbing him of breath between passionate cries.
“Viggo…Viggo…”I heard Orlando’s voice panting madly, his cries growing into a strong scream as they embraced each other tighter. Mr.Mortensen was all over Orlando, on his lips, on his thighs, in between his legs...
“Faster…faster! Please…please…don’t stop! Don’t stop! Viggo! Viggo!!”
The next thing I knew, Mr. Mortensen pulled away from Orlando. I couldn’t see his face, but I could see my cousin’s, and there was hurt and confusion written in his eyes. For a moment I thought Mr. Mortensen hurt him just like that other man, and it made me sick. I was about to run in right then to snatch Orlando away, but then he began to speak.
“Why? What happened?” Orlando asked softly, “Did I do something wrong?” I blushed when I saw their full nakedness and I looked away, heat suddenly on my face from embarrassment.
“Viggo…” I heard Orlando’s voice call out again. I watched them once more. I saw Orlando’s hand on his lover’s face, bringing their lips closer for a kiss, “Why did you stop?” Viggo said nothing, he only kissed him again. This time it was soft and tender.
“Are you getting tired of me?” Orlando asked, his voice suddenly small and quivering, so light that I could barely hear it, “Is that it? You’ve grown tired of having me?” I wanted Viggo to say something. My cousin was retreating back from him, and I was afraid that he was hurt, that he was scared.
“I knew it...It was only a matter of time before you needed a replacement,” Orlando said weakly, trying to smile even as his mouth trembled, “I understand…I can’t give you what you need, what you deserve…not when someone else has taken it from me…”
“I love you,” Viggo said, cutting off his words. I gasped and quickly bit my lip. Orlando said nothing, he only looked straight into the man’s eyes. I could tell he was searching for something, and whatever it was, he must have found it. The next second Orlando spoke again.
“Say it again,” Orlando whispered, “Please…don’t lie.”
“I love you,” Viggo answered, louder and clearer than before. "Orlando I love you.”
“Then why did you stop?” Orlando asked, “Why won’t you take what I freely offer?”
“I said that I love you,” Viggo said, caressing the dark curls from my cousin’s deep eyes, “I love you…I love making love to you. I love holding you, seeing you smile…everything about you…Even the things that-”
“Even though you know what they did to me? What this entire town thinks of me?” Orlando finished, “Viggo…They won’t stop talking about us. You don’t know what it’s like. I do. I know how it feels knowing that others see you as nothing more than...nothing more than walking sin and disgrace. No matter what I do, no one believes me…not even my own grandfather defends me. He defends that bastard and his father instead…Viggo, I don’t want you to feel what I did…You don’t know how it feels..."
“But I know how it feels when you’re in my arms…and I want more than just a few stolen hours in the night. I want you…” Viggo said, “I believe you. I love you…”
I stepped back from the door, and their voices faded away. I caught a glimpse, just one more glimpse of their embrace and the passionate kiss that followed. I turned away and headed out into the night.
I told no one of what I saw. I never looked at Orlando or Mr. Mortensen the same way again. I knew that I should have stopped them. I was raised to hate and fear people like them…men who found pleasure in each other. But it was more than pleasure they shared. Pleasure was cheap and fleeting compared to what I saw in their eyes as they looked at each other. Pleasure would have taken what it wanted, pleasure wouldn’t care if pain came with it. But they cared…they loved. And I can’t help but smile as I remembered how Mr. Mortensen said Orlando’s name…It wasn’t just a simple call, or even a mark of identity, it was sweetly and lovingly spoken, and it made me feel like his name was safe on Mr.Mortensen's lips.
So I helped them. I never actually told them I was helping, but I never told grandfather, and that would be enough…or so I hoped.
Orlando spent nearly a week in darkness, locked away in a windowless room. Grandfather found out Orlando's secret and he was beyond enraged. What hurt the most for me, was that the person who told him was none other than the one who had caused so much suffering in Orlando’s life. I wondered how he found out, but that didn’t really matter. Orlando was completely trapped in the house, and there was no escape. I heard him through the door, we would talk. I read from our book of fairy tales until my mouth ran dry. I wanted him to hear those stories, I wanted him to hear something other than Grandfather’s furious curses and insults. Orlando was to remain isolated until the arrangements were all settled. He was to be sent far away from us, to relatives I’ve never heard of and to a place I’ve never been to. I didn’t want him to leave. He was my only ally and best friend. I didn’t want him to be locked away…but what could I do? I was only ten. All I could do was read to him, to talk to him and to lie and say that everything would be okay.
The day came closer. It was the night before Orlando would be sent away. I saw them packing his things together. Grandfather said he would be gone until he gained his sanity and became a man again. I wanted to tell Grandfather that he should be a man too, maybe then he could tell others to do the same. And I did. I was punished, and I gladly took it.
After the pain died down from my back, I crept outside of my room, my Swiss knife encased in my hand. There was rain, lots of it. It came down mercilessly, and even from within the house I could hear the wild howling of the wind and the trees that rattled their branches outside the window. Thunder rolled against the sky, lighting shot blots of light to guide my way to the dark door which imprisoned my cousin. I didn’t think of waking him up, I started on that lock right away, jabbing and twisting it with the blades of my Swiss knife. It went on for nearly an hour, amazed and grateful that I haven’t been caught yet. The thunder deafened the picking of the lock, and the lighting ceased, swallowing me in protective darkness.
With a small triumphant cry of joy the lock finally gave way. I tossed it out and nearly tore the door open. I called out to Orlando. The next minutes were a blur to me. He was soon back in his room, a small bag strapped to his back, his body climbing out of the window into the raging storm outside.
“Wait!” I cried before he began to descend. I rushed back to my room and returned, a book in my hands, “Take it with you…don’t forget me.”
He smiled as he took the precious book, the one we spent so much time reading over and over again. He looked at me, and I wasn’t sure if it was rain or tears in his eyes. I reached into my pocket and brought a small object to sight, offering it with an open hand.
“Take this too…I don’t need it anymore,” I said against the thunder. My mouth began to quiver when his warm hands wrapped around mine, the knife resting between.
“I’ll miss you,” He said simply. This time I knew those were tears that fell from his face. I began to cry too, realizing that this would be the last time I might see and touch him again. I hugged him suddenly and cried, kissing him on his cheek.
“Promise to take care of yourself okay?” I sobbed, “And don’t lose that knife…I want to see it again someday…”
“I promise,” He replied, kissing me on the top of my rain soaked head, “I’ll see you again. I promise...”
But he never did…at least not yet. I never forgot him, and I thought of him so much that I almost didn’t miss him. I wasn’t even worried. He had my knife with him, and I had a feeling…no, an assurance that wherever he was, Mr. Mortensen was with him too. He would be okay.
It was nearly seven years later when I saw him again. It was late spring, and I was once again climbing out my room through the window. Grandfather lost his mind soon after he lost his business. Nasty courtroom battles were his main staple of the last few years, along with raising debts, failing businesses, and fragile health. When the court took away his properties and estates, we were left with only the old country house, and even now I'm certain that soon we will lose that too. Grandfather’s health seemed to shut down when all he worked for was taken from him. He lives in denial you see. No one in our family can bring themselves to remind him how far we all fell, no one can convince him that our lives had changed, that we were no longer amoung the powerful elite. He still speaks as if his rich old friends were there for him and he still spends money like it falls from the sky. His treatment of us only worsened, he knew nothing else but to frustrate and degrade what is left so his so-called family. Even to this day he refuses to acknowledge Orlando as anything more than our family’s greatest disgrace. I won’t say all the horrible things he called Orlando… they were all lies anyways, so why waste my time repeating something that isn’t true?
I fled far from town, far enough to be away from anyone who might try to bring me back to my Grandfather and his constant bickering. I wandered for who knows how long, and finally I came to the next town. It was far bigger and busier than my hometown, with roads that lead to the outside world. I ventured to the outskirts of the town, over to where the woods grew thick, wild and beautiful. I kept walking through the meager trail, a few travelers passing pleasantly by with polite nods and greetings. I walked until I came to a hill. I stopped and looked at it curiously, trying to understand the nagging tug of familiarity inside me. On top of the hill, a simple yet beautiful house rested. The sunset was disappearing on the horizon, and the night began to fill the sky with luminous stars. The house glowed with warm light from within, as soft and gentle as a painting…
I heard someone call my name, and my heart leapt when I recognized Orlando’s voice. He called my name again. I couldn’t see where he was. I nearly called out to him when a small child suddenly popped from the trees behind me. The child stared curiously at me for a second with a smile I knew well. She stepped close to me, and my eyes grew wide when they fell to the book she held with tiny hands. Before I could ask for her name, I heard Orlando’s voice calling out mine. The child turned to the sound, glanced once more at me, and obediently followed the call. I stepped behind a tree, watching as the child raced up the hill into the arms that used to hold me. I could hear the child laughing delightfully as Orlando carried her in his secure arms. I could hear his laughter as well, and I smiled so much that it nearly hurt. Cautiously I crept closer to them, wanting to see but not wanting to be seen. I followed them until they reached the front of the house, and then I fell back under the shadow of the trees.
The girl leapt from Orlando’s arms into Mr. Mortensen’s. Soon she was sitting on his lap, her small hands flipping through the pages until it came to her favorite story. She pointed at it with pleading eyes. I closed my eyes when I heard Orlando’s voice breathing life into the characters. Mr. Mortensen’s voice joined him, and soon they were both pouring life into the story as one. I saw them kiss once more after the story ended, and I heard the child’s delighted clapping. Orlando took her into his arms again and with Viggo beside him, he walked into their home, safe and secure from any harm.
I wanted to rush in and show myself, but I held back. I didn’t want him to see me just yet. I didn’t want to tell him about what happened to our family. I wanted our reunion to be happy and joyous, I wanted to tell him that our Grandfather accepted and loved him still…and until that happened I would not show myself. I would not ruin his happy ending.
With a soft farewell I turned from the house, the lights within gently dimming. Years ago, I would have rushed in and tried to ‘save’ him. I would have tried to take him back, to keep him close and safe. But now I must truly let him go. Not from my heart, he’ll always be there and nothing can change that. I needed to let go of that foolish belief that he needed me, a pestering, outspoken girl by his side to protect him. I had to leave him now, I had to give Mr. Mortensen his rightful place. I glanced once more at that simple house, and suddenly I was a child once again. The house took on a new fascination…in my mind and heart, it was the castle from that land far, far away…I felt something spill from my eyes as I smiled. I wish that everyone would share the same ending... Orlando found his freedom and a great prince that loved him more than I may ever know. And all I had left to do was to walk away and leave them to their happy ever after. And I did.
The End
Title: Will You Remember?
Author: Cesi
Disclaimer: This is pure fiction. If I really had any control over Viggo and Orlando, I wouldn’t be writing…I’d be watching = ) *evil laugh*
Summary: Sometimes remembering is the most you can do, and all that is takes is to simply let go. VM/OB ?/OB
Characters: Viggo, Orlando, original characters
Feedback: I would love to hear from any of my readers = )
Ratings: PG 13
Warning: Nongraphic rape
Status: Complete
A/N: My very first one shot. Enjoy! = ) Just one warning…rape, but not graphic. OB/unnamed ; OB/VM
The last time I tried to kill a man I was ten years old. I would have let that sick bastard drown in his blood too, if it wasn’t for Orlando. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have run away from my own party, but I couldn’t help it. What kind of children’s party had more adults and cocktails than kids and cake? As soon as I saw my chance, I ripped off that hideous pink dress they forced me to wear, undid the annoying clips on my hair, and threw away those blistering god-damn shoes. After I shed that atrocious mockery of childhood, I snuck out of the window of my room and climbed down until I was close enough to jump safely on the ground. I’ve done this for nearly every single birthday, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years, and I was becoming very good at it. Mouse…Orlando used to call me that, it was his little nickname for me. Not that he was mean or anything. You see, he was my favorite cousin. And he taught me everything I knew.
I snuck into the woods of our country home, the latest addition to our grandfather’s property. That man had so many houses and estates that I can’t even remember them anymore. But I remember this one, because I almost killed. And I still wish I did.
Strangely enough, I don’t remember much. Sometimes I wished that I would just forget it completely, but I wasn’t that lucky. I remember playing with my Swiss army knife, the one I stole from my brother. I remember hearing things that a child shouldn’t hear. I saw a man, the son of one of grandfather’s business partners. I saw him on the forest ground, and beneath his near-naked body was Orlando. I was an idiot child. I just froze in place, watching as that man touched my cousin in places that shouldn’t be touched, kissing him as if he were hungry for skin and lips. And Orlando was screaming. I was frightened. I never heard him sound like that. He screamed and pushed the man away from him, telling him to stop. The man kissed him again, and again Orlando tried to push him away. The man struck his hand across Orlando’s face. A second later Orlando was screaming as the man began to press himself violently against him, fast and mercilessly.
The next thing I can remember, my knife was sticking out from the bastard’s leg. And then I stabbed him again. I kept stabbing even when Orlando tried to pull me away. I only stopped when I saw the blood coming down Orlando’s thighs. Orlando saw my face, and he reached out for his clothes, trying to cover his nakedness. He wouldn’t look me in the eyes. I didn’t say anything. I watched him bury his face into his hands, and I saw the tears that slipped away. I never saw him cry before. I began to cry too.
I didn’t want to leave him with the other man, but I had to get help. I ran into the party, the knife at my hands, my clothes soaked with blood. I screamed at the top of my lungs that Orlando was hurt. Grandfather came and told me to stop screaming. I told him what I saw, and I showed him the knife. I had no idea what they were doing. All I knew was that the man was hurting Orlando, and that I needed to save him.
As soon as grandfather heard my story he locked me up, took my knife and threatened me to never speak of it again. I was confused.
“But he’s hurt!” I cried, my hands forming angry fists, “Why won’t you help him?”
“You’re only a child, and I won’t have you accusing our guests of such things! Especially the son of my wealthiest client. Not another word from you! You saw nothing!”
“But I did! He was hurting Orlando…I heard him screaming and he was bleeding! I saw it Grandfather!”
“I’ll deal with this mess, keep away from matters you don’t understand, child.”
‘Child’. He said it like a profane curse. I wanted to rip the knife from his hands, just so I could stab him too. But I didn’t. Looking back, I’m glad that I didn’t. There was someone more fitting than me, someone who I would soon meet.
I snuck into Orlando’s room the night he returned from the hospital. I asked if he was okay. He said yes. He was lying. Not that he was terrible liar, actually he could make anyone believe whatever he wanted them to. But I had a special gift in deciphering his words, and I knew him so well that once I believed I could even read his thoughts. He was an actor you see, or at least that’s what he wanted to be before grandfather extinguished his dream. I remember how Orlando used to read to me and my siblings. He was far older than the rest of us, but I liked him. He could bring the characters to life with his voice, sometimes he would even act them out as he read. He was so imaginative, so full of life…but grandfather took that from him too.
I snuck into his room and said nothing more than that one question. I just stared at him, unsure of what to say. He told me that it was late, that I had to go to sleep. I left him, but I didn’t go to my room. I fell asleep at the foot of his door, my hands readily clenching the knife I stole back from grandfather.I did the same thing every night for a solid month.
Things changed around the house ever since that day I found Orlando in the woods. Grandfather isolated Orlando away from us younger ones. I was mad. I liked Orlando more than my own brothers and sister. Now Grandfather treated him like venom, as if he would somehow tarnish and contaminate us. He didn’t treat Orlando horribly, he didn’t reduce him to manual work or punish him severely…but he did pull him out from school. I wondered why. Orlando wasn’t stupid and I knew he liked going to the university, so why did Grandfather suddenly make him stop? I got my answer soon enough, and I ran straight to Orlando.
“Is it true?” I demanded, “Grandfather pulled you out because he was ashamed of you?”
Orlando dropped the book he was reading and looked straight at me. He said nothing.
“But what did you do?” I asked, coming closer to him until I sat beside him, “You’ve done nothing wrong. Orlando, what did you do to make him so mad?”
“Don’t worry yourself about it,” He answered simply, picking the book back up. He smiled weakly at me and held up the book so I could see, “Would you like me to read to you?”
He was trying to change the subject, and as much as it annoyed me, I played along. I wasn’t listening much to the story he read, but I did hear how weak and strained his voice was. He kept reading and reading, not wanting to stop. He read from an old book, one of my favorites from when I was younger. It was a story about a princess who was locked in a tower by an evil sorcerer. I knew the ending by heart. The princess would be rescued from her prison by a prince. I looked at Orlando as he read the story, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he saw himself in that story. It was a silly, childish thought, but I thought it anyway. Grandfather was locking him away in this prison called home, and no matter how much I wanted him to escape I knew that dragons and evil knights would be waiting for him outside. I was only a kid, I wasn’t a knight, and I certainly wasn’t a heroic prince. I looked at Orlando once more before I finally fell to sleep, my thoughts conjuring up an imaginary hero and a wonderful castle far, far, away. A hero who would rescue Orlando from this place and take him away into a castle he could call a home.
In spite of Orlando’s efforts, I learned the truth. Suddenly I was angry, not just at grandfather, but also at him. But more than anyone else, I was mad at myself. I learned the truth slowly, and sometimes painfully. I overheard the hired help speak about it one night when I was going down the stairs for some water. That’s when I found out why Orlando was in the woods with that man. My cousin was looking for me. He wanted to find me, and that vile man followed him until he saw his chance. I listened to the maids whisper about what a pity it was that Orlando should suffer that way. And while I listened to their voices, I learned what rape was and what it meant for someone like my cousin. I ran into my room and hid beneath the covers of the bed feeling sick and disgusted, not only by what happened to Orlando, but by how stupid and cowardly I was for not helping him sooner.
For the next month, Orlando was shut away from the outside world. I tried to convince him to sneak out with me, but he refused. That didn’t stop me. I climbed out of my window again and headed for town. I brought a handful of chocolates from the store. I bought them for Orlando, they were his favorites and I thought that maybe he would smile more after he had some. The store keeper gave me back the money, I was surprised and tried to pay him again but he refused. He said that the chocolates would be a gift for Orlando. I reluctantly accepted, and with a hesitant smile he told me to bring Orlando to town next time, everyone missed him. I nodded and headed out the door. That’s when I heard laughter coming from across the street...and they were saying Orlando's name.
I stopped and looked at the group crowded outside the foul liquor store. And I wished I had brought my knife with me. The man was right there, the same one who I stabbed, and he was laughing with his arm wrapped around a woman with a painted face.
“I’m so glad you’re finally out of the hospital sweetie,” The tramp said as she kissed his cheek, “It must have been horrible being attacked like that.”
“If that happened to me, my father would sue the fuck out of them,” A friend of theirs joined in, “You should have pressed charges,”
“Nah,” The bastard said, “I’m just glad that crazy fag is far away from me. Although I should have seen it coming. That faggot practically dragged me into the woods and begged me to fuck him. Hell, he probably wouldn’t care if I fucked him right in the middle of that fucking birthday party!”
“But you wouldn’t do that would you?” The woman pouted her blood-red lips, and my own mouth twisted into a sneer.
“Of course not,” He lied, “But Orlando was begging me to just take him, hell he even ripped both our clothes off. When I tried to get away, he stabbed me…with a knife! I got away though. I think they put him in a mental asylum. Serves the lunatic right!”
“They should have locked him up in there. Remember how those guys teased him in campus? It was the most hilarious thing I’ve ever seen! He acted like they were going to kill him. I’m glad they pulled him out of university! The faggot idiot!” The other man said, puffing out a cloud of smoke as he laughed.
“And you know what else the insane bitch did?” The liar said with a disgusted smile, “He had the nerve to accuse me of raping him! He's such a pathetic fag…”
I ran towards them when I heard their laughter. I didn’t think that they were older and stronger than me, I didn’t care. All I cared about was landing a punch to knock that smug smile off that bastard’s face. And I did. Twice.
“You lying bastard!” I never cursed aloud before, and it felt good. He staggered back, cursing and raising his hand to strike me when he drew back, recognition in his eyes.
“I’ll kill you,” I told him boldly, wishing that I really could.
“Hey,” His tramp pushed me back, “Shut your mouth you crazy little bitch!”
“Stop talking to yourself,” I snapped. The makeup on her face looked like it was ready to melt. I turned to the lying bastard again.
“I saw what you did,” I said to the man before me. My fists were curled and shaking.
“Shut up kid!” He barked at me, "You don't know what you're talking about. Fuck off!"
“No, I won’t, not until you tell everyone the truth!”
“Listen,” He grabbed me by the shoulders before I could get away. I felt sick when he touched me, and I tried not to cry, “The truth is, your cousin is a faggot slut who thought he could seduce me. The only reason why he’s not in prison or in an asylum is because of your Grandfather’s money. Understand that bitch?”
“Orlando isn’t crazy! I saw you! I stabbed you because you were hurting him!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. People began to turn their heads at us, “You’re a liar. Orlando told you to stop, but you didn’t listen. You hurt him…you rapist!”
He nearly struck me across the face, but before he could the owner of the candy store came running out, threatening to call the police. I took advantage of their shock and fear and I ran as fast as I could back home. Even now, I can’t believe how mad I was as I ran into the house and slammed my bedroom door shut. I forgot all about the chocolates and just screamed into my pillow until it was soaked with spit and tears. I felt like the entire world was against me…me and Orlando. I sobbed and wailed into the sheets and blankets of my bed so much and finally I didn’t care if anyone heard me or not.
That wasn’t the last time I saw the man who hurt my cousin. To my shock and complete frustration, Grandfather still carried business with his father as if nothing happened. What made it worse was that the bastard himself was invited to our house for dinner often. Orlando hid away from them while they ate, and I went with him. I wondered how Grandfather could endure those men as guests, knowing what they did to Orlando. I wondered how Orlando could accept it. I never left Orlando’s side when our enemy was inside the house, and I always had my Swiss knife by my side, ready to defend. I even slept in Orlando’s room sometimes, just to make sure. It was a strange arrangement. He was over twice my age, and yet he tolerated my silly fears. He would still read me those stories I loved years ago, not because I wanted to hear them again, but because he wanted to escape. He wanted to be anywhere but in his prison.
I asked myself how he could stand being trapped in the house. I wondered why he couldn’t just visit the town once. I kept pestering and begging him until I got my wish. I was so happy and excited when he finally agreed to go with me. And then I became anxious and worried. What if those idiots were there again? What if they tried to hurt him? I took my knife, just in case.
Fortunately, I didn’t need it. The trip was better than I hoped for. Orlando smiled when he saw his old classmates and friends again. And for one afternoon, he was back to his old self. The brightness returned to his face, and life came back to his eyes. He was beautiful, and the only person who was happier than him was probably me. We returned to all the shops we used to visit together, and we laughed with the vendors who gossiped kindly about the new businesses that recently opened. They were very kind, but there was also something…careful about how they spoke, as if they were trying to control what they said for fear that they would offend Orlando somehow.
“You should come by more often,” An old friend said playfully as she fixed the flowers into lovely arrangements, “What do you think?”
“They’re nice,” I said, touching the blue and yellow flowers. The lady added some white flowers into the mix, “Who are they for?”
“I have to deliver these to one of the new business owners on this street,” She answered with a smile, “He owns a studio. You should come with me when I take these to him. He’s a spectacular artist, he can draw, paint, carve or sculpt anything you wish. These flowers are my thank you gift to him for helping me when I moved to a larger store, and they also serve as my official welcome gift for him."
“Can we go?” I asked Orlando excitedly. I loved to draw and paint. Once I had my own watercolor set that I hid in my room. Grandfather found out and threw it away, along with my drawings, “Please, we still have time before Grandfather gets back. And I have never been in a real studio before…”
“You should come Orlando,” The florist sided with me, “I bet you’ll like him.”
With him being out voted two to one, we headed for the studio. When my foot stepped through that door I instantly went to see the paintings. They were beautiful and I dragged Orlando around with me, pointing at the scenes and bright colors that fascinated me. Our florist friend laughed at how easily amazed I was, looking back I guess I would have laughed at myself too. I turned my attention to the sculptures and carvings and then back to the paintings. I looked to see if Orlando found it as wonderful as I did. He kept staring at a certain painting. I didn’t think it was one of the best ones, personally. But he seemed to be enchanted by it. It was a beautiful moonlight night, with a simple house perched on the top of a hill, light coming warmly from within. I was about to ask him what he was thinking when our friend called out delightfully to a man we never met before.
“Orlando, this is the man who owns this studio. Most of the paintings here are his. Aren’t they just magnificent?”
Orlando nodded with a small smile. I stood beside him and looked at the man before us. He wore something that looked like an apron, and it was drenched with dried paint. He was a much older man than Orlando, but he was still undeniably handsome. Not the take-your-breath-away, striking, unbelievable kind of handsome…but the kind that makes you feel at ease, the kind that makes you want to trust.
He returned Orlando’s frail greeting with a smile of his own. I liked how he smiled, it wasn’t at all forced or fake. It was warm.
“Orlando Bloom,” My cousin said, and for the first time he was the first to extend his hand in greeting.
“Viggo Mortensen,” The artist replied. Their hands touched and after a moment, Orlando calmly pulled away.
We returned home an hour later than we planned. Whenever we tried to leave, Mr. Mortensen would have something else to show us. He was very kind, and funny too. I’ve never meet someone his age joke and smile as much as he did. He showed us where he worked. We saw the unfinished portraits of his customers, and piles of paint and brushes waiting to be used. Mr. Mortensen would satisfy my curiosity with his answers, and eventually to my surprise, Orlando began speaking to him as well. I smiled at how at ease my dear cousin was around this man. He was still a bit hesitant at first, but it was better than the silence he usually held.
That night, Grandfather had visitors again. Like always, I stayed in Orlando’s room until they left. I told him that I liked Mr. Mortensen. He said that he liked him too. He didn’t say anything more after that. He just drifted off to sleep. And from what I can tell, it was the most peaceful rest he had in a long time.
We began to visit the town more often, and I was proud of Orlando’s progress. We snuck out together like bandits escaping from prison. He laughed again, and I felt as if the cousin I knew finally came back. We never failed to visit Mr. Mortensen’s studio, and he never failed to entertain us. Whenever we came, he had something new to show. Soon our visits with him became the highlight of our week. The more I saw Mr. Mortensen, the more I liked him. He made Orlando happy, and that in turn, brightened me. To be honest I was a bit jealous. Before, Orlando would only speak with me…now it felt as if he spoke only with Mr. Mortensen. I and Orlando used to be able to communicate with each other without words, just a single glance and we would instantly know what the other felt…it was a special gift between us…but now Mr. Mortensen seemed to have developed that skill as well. I watched them intently during one visit. They moved differently around each other and I couldn't really describe it. Once I thought that Viggo’s hand lingered too long on Orlando. My cousin didn’t seem to mind, in fact I think he smiled a little…but I’m not sure.
I woke up one night to find Orlando’s room empty, and the window was wide open. I stuck my head outside just in time to see him running to the road that lead towards town. I fell asleep waiting for him. When I saw him the next day, he said nothing about his midnight escape. Even when I brought it up, he gave me a strange look and said that I might have just imagined it. I know he didn’t mean it, but his words hurt me. I felt like he was calling me a liar.
He kept sneaking out in the middle of the night until it was almost every night that I saw him disappearing into the darkness. I said nothing about it to Grandfather though, my trust in that man was nearly gone. One night, my curiosity and frustration drove me to follow Orlando. He was keeping a secret from me, and we never kept secrets from each other. It wasn’t fair. I wanted to know what he was doing, where he was going, and why he was keeping it from me. I was quiet and careful as I followed him in the darkness, and my heart beat raced wildly as I followed his trail like a spy. To my surprise, he headed into the alley that leads to the back of Mr. Mortensen’s studio. I followed fearfully, cursing myself for not thinking of bringing even a tiny light to guide me. The back door of the studio was shut when I finally found it, and I heard voices coming from the inside. I stood outside, unsure of what I heard them saying. I waited for what felt like hours, staring at the door, wondering if I should knock or if I should just open it. I grew impatient and wrapped my fingers around the knob, twisted, and slowly pushed inside. There was nothing there.
I stepped inside, there were sounds coming from the next door I saw at the far end of the room. I saw dim light glowing softly from the cracks of the door. I recognized the voices, and I could understand them vaguely. Moans, gasps, and light cries came from them. I heard one word, clear and unmistakable.
“More…”
It was Orlando’s voice.
More? I thought to myself. More of what? There was another cry, one of triumph and pleasure. My heart raced as I raised my hand against the door and gently pushed. I placed my right eye to watch them from the tiny slit of the door. I stepped back, my hands at my mouth to stop the cry that nearly escaped.
From the dim light that surrounded them, I could see Orlando, his body glistening with heat and sweat, his face twisting in painful pleasure. I blinked when I saw his long, slender legs wrapping around another man’s waist, his eyes fluttering and his hands gripping the man’s hair, forcing him into a crushing kiss. The man responded with such force and power that Orlando gasped ,his breathing ragged and desperate for air. I watched in horror and strange guilt as Orlando took the man’s hand and guided it to places I thought no man should touch another. I took another step back as Orlando cried in abandon, his head falling back to reveal the layer of sweat that ran from his face and neck. The other man began to pound against him wildly, robbing him of breath between passionate cries.
“Viggo…Viggo…”I heard Orlando’s voice panting madly, his cries growing into a strong scream as they embraced each other tighter. Mr.Mortensen was all over Orlando, on his lips, on his thighs, in between his legs...
“Faster…faster! Please…please…don’t stop! Don’t stop! Viggo! Viggo!!”
The next thing I knew, Mr. Mortensen pulled away from Orlando. I couldn’t see his face, but I could see my cousin’s, and there was hurt and confusion written in his eyes. For a moment I thought Mr. Mortensen hurt him just like that other man, and it made me sick. I was about to run in right then to snatch Orlando away, but then he began to speak.
“Why? What happened?” Orlando asked softly, “Did I do something wrong?” I blushed when I saw their full nakedness and I looked away, heat suddenly on my face from embarrassment.
“Viggo…” I heard Orlando’s voice call out again. I watched them once more. I saw Orlando’s hand on his lover’s face, bringing their lips closer for a kiss, “Why did you stop?” Viggo said nothing, he only kissed him again. This time it was soft and tender.
“Are you getting tired of me?” Orlando asked, his voice suddenly small and quivering, so light that I could barely hear it, “Is that it? You’ve grown tired of having me?” I wanted Viggo to say something. My cousin was retreating back from him, and I was afraid that he was hurt, that he was scared.
“I knew it...It was only a matter of time before you needed a replacement,” Orlando said weakly, trying to smile even as his mouth trembled, “I understand…I can’t give you what you need, what you deserve…not when someone else has taken it from me…”
“I love you,” Viggo said, cutting off his words. I gasped and quickly bit my lip. Orlando said nothing, he only looked straight into the man’s eyes. I could tell he was searching for something, and whatever it was, he must have found it. The next second Orlando spoke again.
“Say it again,” Orlando whispered, “Please…don’t lie.”
“I love you,” Viggo answered, louder and clearer than before. "Orlando I love you.”
“Then why did you stop?” Orlando asked, “Why won’t you take what I freely offer?”
“I said that I love you,” Viggo said, caressing the dark curls from my cousin’s deep eyes, “I love you…I love making love to you. I love holding you, seeing you smile…everything about you…Even the things that-”
“Even though you know what they did to me? What this entire town thinks of me?” Orlando finished, “Viggo…They won’t stop talking about us. You don’t know what it’s like. I do. I know how it feels knowing that others see you as nothing more than...nothing more than walking sin and disgrace. No matter what I do, no one believes me…not even my own grandfather defends me. He defends that bastard and his father instead…Viggo, I don’t want you to feel what I did…You don’t know how it feels..."
“But I know how it feels when you’re in my arms…and I want more than just a few stolen hours in the night. I want you…” Viggo said, “I believe you. I love you…”
I stepped back from the door, and their voices faded away. I caught a glimpse, just one more glimpse of their embrace and the passionate kiss that followed. I turned away and headed out into the night.
I told no one of what I saw. I never looked at Orlando or Mr. Mortensen the same way again. I knew that I should have stopped them. I was raised to hate and fear people like them…men who found pleasure in each other. But it was more than pleasure they shared. Pleasure was cheap and fleeting compared to what I saw in their eyes as they looked at each other. Pleasure would have taken what it wanted, pleasure wouldn’t care if pain came with it. But they cared…they loved. And I can’t help but smile as I remembered how Mr. Mortensen said Orlando’s name…It wasn’t just a simple call, or even a mark of identity, it was sweetly and lovingly spoken, and it made me feel like his name was safe on Mr.Mortensen's lips.
So I helped them. I never actually told them I was helping, but I never told grandfather, and that would be enough…or so I hoped.
Orlando spent nearly a week in darkness, locked away in a windowless room. Grandfather found out Orlando's secret and he was beyond enraged. What hurt the most for me, was that the person who told him was none other than the one who had caused so much suffering in Orlando’s life. I wondered how he found out, but that didn’t really matter. Orlando was completely trapped in the house, and there was no escape. I heard him through the door, we would talk. I read from our book of fairy tales until my mouth ran dry. I wanted him to hear those stories, I wanted him to hear something other than Grandfather’s furious curses and insults. Orlando was to remain isolated until the arrangements were all settled. He was to be sent far away from us, to relatives I’ve never heard of and to a place I’ve never been to. I didn’t want him to leave. He was my only ally and best friend. I didn’t want him to be locked away…but what could I do? I was only ten. All I could do was read to him, to talk to him and to lie and say that everything would be okay.
The day came closer. It was the night before Orlando would be sent away. I saw them packing his things together. Grandfather said he would be gone until he gained his sanity and became a man again. I wanted to tell Grandfather that he should be a man too, maybe then he could tell others to do the same. And I did. I was punished, and I gladly took it.
After the pain died down from my back, I crept outside of my room, my Swiss knife encased in my hand. There was rain, lots of it. It came down mercilessly, and even from within the house I could hear the wild howling of the wind and the trees that rattled their branches outside the window. Thunder rolled against the sky, lighting shot blots of light to guide my way to the dark door which imprisoned my cousin. I didn’t think of waking him up, I started on that lock right away, jabbing and twisting it with the blades of my Swiss knife. It went on for nearly an hour, amazed and grateful that I haven’t been caught yet. The thunder deafened the picking of the lock, and the lighting ceased, swallowing me in protective darkness.
With a small triumphant cry of joy the lock finally gave way. I tossed it out and nearly tore the door open. I called out to Orlando. The next minutes were a blur to me. He was soon back in his room, a small bag strapped to his back, his body climbing out of the window into the raging storm outside.
“Wait!” I cried before he began to descend. I rushed back to my room and returned, a book in my hands, “Take it with you…don’t forget me.”
He smiled as he took the precious book, the one we spent so much time reading over and over again. He looked at me, and I wasn’t sure if it was rain or tears in his eyes. I reached into my pocket and brought a small object to sight, offering it with an open hand.
“Take this too…I don’t need it anymore,” I said against the thunder. My mouth began to quiver when his warm hands wrapped around mine, the knife resting between.
“I’ll miss you,” He said simply. This time I knew those were tears that fell from his face. I began to cry too, realizing that this would be the last time I might see and touch him again. I hugged him suddenly and cried, kissing him on his cheek.
“Promise to take care of yourself okay?” I sobbed, “And don’t lose that knife…I want to see it again someday…”
“I promise,” He replied, kissing me on the top of my rain soaked head, “I’ll see you again. I promise...”
But he never did…at least not yet. I never forgot him, and I thought of him so much that I almost didn’t miss him. I wasn’t even worried. He had my knife with him, and I had a feeling…no, an assurance that wherever he was, Mr. Mortensen was with him too. He would be okay.
It was nearly seven years later when I saw him again. It was late spring, and I was once again climbing out my room through the window. Grandfather lost his mind soon after he lost his business. Nasty courtroom battles were his main staple of the last few years, along with raising debts, failing businesses, and fragile health. When the court took away his properties and estates, we were left with only the old country house, and even now I'm certain that soon we will lose that too. Grandfather’s health seemed to shut down when all he worked for was taken from him. He lives in denial you see. No one in our family can bring themselves to remind him how far we all fell, no one can convince him that our lives had changed, that we were no longer amoung the powerful elite. He still speaks as if his rich old friends were there for him and he still spends money like it falls from the sky. His treatment of us only worsened, he knew nothing else but to frustrate and degrade what is left so his so-called family. Even to this day he refuses to acknowledge Orlando as anything more than our family’s greatest disgrace. I won’t say all the horrible things he called Orlando… they were all lies anyways, so why waste my time repeating something that isn’t true?
I fled far from town, far enough to be away from anyone who might try to bring me back to my Grandfather and his constant bickering. I wandered for who knows how long, and finally I came to the next town. It was far bigger and busier than my hometown, with roads that lead to the outside world. I ventured to the outskirts of the town, over to where the woods grew thick, wild and beautiful. I kept walking through the meager trail, a few travelers passing pleasantly by with polite nods and greetings. I walked until I came to a hill. I stopped and looked at it curiously, trying to understand the nagging tug of familiarity inside me. On top of the hill, a simple yet beautiful house rested. The sunset was disappearing on the horizon, and the night began to fill the sky with luminous stars. The house glowed with warm light from within, as soft and gentle as a painting…
I heard someone call my name, and my heart leapt when I recognized Orlando’s voice. He called my name again. I couldn’t see where he was. I nearly called out to him when a small child suddenly popped from the trees behind me. The child stared curiously at me for a second with a smile I knew well. She stepped close to me, and my eyes grew wide when they fell to the book she held with tiny hands. Before I could ask for her name, I heard Orlando’s voice calling out mine. The child turned to the sound, glanced once more at me, and obediently followed the call. I stepped behind a tree, watching as the child raced up the hill into the arms that used to hold me. I could hear the child laughing delightfully as Orlando carried her in his secure arms. I could hear his laughter as well, and I smiled so much that it nearly hurt. Cautiously I crept closer to them, wanting to see but not wanting to be seen. I followed them until they reached the front of the house, and then I fell back under the shadow of the trees.
The girl leapt from Orlando’s arms into Mr. Mortensen’s. Soon she was sitting on his lap, her small hands flipping through the pages until it came to her favorite story. She pointed at it with pleading eyes. I closed my eyes when I heard Orlando’s voice breathing life into the characters. Mr. Mortensen’s voice joined him, and soon they were both pouring life into the story as one. I saw them kiss once more after the story ended, and I heard the child’s delighted clapping. Orlando took her into his arms again and with Viggo beside him, he walked into their home, safe and secure from any harm.
I wanted to rush in and show myself, but I held back. I didn’t want him to see me just yet. I didn’t want to tell him about what happened to our family. I wanted our reunion to be happy and joyous, I wanted to tell him that our Grandfather accepted and loved him still…and until that happened I would not show myself. I would not ruin his happy ending.
With a soft farewell I turned from the house, the lights within gently dimming. Years ago, I would have rushed in and tried to ‘save’ him. I would have tried to take him back, to keep him close and safe. But now I must truly let him go. Not from my heart, he’ll always be there and nothing can change that. I needed to let go of that foolish belief that he needed me, a pestering, outspoken girl by his side to protect him. I had to leave him now, I had to give Mr. Mortensen his rightful place. I glanced once more at that simple house, and suddenly I was a child once again. The house took on a new fascination…in my mind and heart, it was the castle from that land far, far away…I felt something spill from my eyes as I smiled. I wish that everyone would share the same ending... Orlando found his freedom and a great prince that loved him more than I may ever know. And all I had left to do was to walk away and leave them to their happy ever after. And I did.
The End