Behind the Net (Pierre's POV) - Chapter 12
Title: Behind The Net (Pierre’s POV)
Author: shmorgenheigen
Chapter: Twelve
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Pierre/David
Word Count: 4855
Summary: This is a re-write of the story Behind the Net told from Pierre’s perspective; just a reminder that the original story was written in 2014 so that’s when this story is set. Pierre Bouvier is a high school senior living in Juneau, Alaska who lives a pretty remarkable life. Though he’s the most popular boy in school, the captain of the hockey team, dating the most popular girl in school, and is from a family that is rich beyond measure, Pierre can’t help the feelings of boredom and apathy that he struggles with on a daily basis. Through an unexpected twist of fate, his favorite target of bullying ends up becoming a more significant presence in his life and suddenly Pierre is left questioning everything he ever knew.
Disclaimer: Don't know, don't own, didn't happen!
Author's Note: Hey there! I have no idea if anyone will ever see this. I’m currently pregnant and spending a lot of time sick in bed and that led me to take a stroll down memory lane and read some of my old stories to pass the time. When I read Behind the Net, I was struck by how much untold story there is from Pierre’s side. I became obsessed with the idea of re-writing this story from Pierre’s point of view and before I knew it I had written the whole thing, which ended up being three chapters longer than the original story because he has so many thoughts, feelings, and experiences that David never knows anything about. So here it is! All twenty chapters posted at once. I haven’t posted on this page for 8 years at this point and the fandom is totally gone so I’m not anticipating that anyone will actually see this, but if anyone does happen to see and read this, leave me a comment and let me know!
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Pierre woke in his bed at some point late the next morning, having no memory of having gotten himself there. Memories of the day before played through his mind and Pierre was able to review them without panic. Instead, a deep feeling of depression had settled over him and though the morning passed into the afternoon, he made no move to get himself up. Pierre felt lost, as if everything was hopeless and there was no point in getting out of bed. What was the point? What was he going to do? He couldn’t see David, he couldn’t face Chrissy, he didn’t feel like seeing any of his friends from school, most of whom were on the ski trip anyway. What would he do or say even if he did hang out with anyone? Would he be able to get his emotions in check and pretend everything was normal? Somehow he didn’t think that was possible.
Suddenly Pierre found himself feeling incredibly alone. It had dawned on him that there was no one in his life he could talk to about everything he had put himself through and all of the things he was feeling. He certainly couldn’t tell his parents that he had realized he had feelings for another boy; he knew without question that they would not approve and would impress upon him his responsibility to not shame the family name. He most definitely couldn’t tell Chrissy that he was having feelings for someone else; the reason behind that one went without saying. What was he supposed to do, hang out with some guys from school and tell them that he was crazy for David and had messed up every last chance he had with him? News would spread through the school like wildfire and by the end of a single day everyone would know. It was with a touch of sadness that Pierre realized he didn’t have any real friends despite the fact that he was always surrounded by people in the halls.
He wondered what it would be like to be able to talk to his mother about these sorts of things and to have her support and love no matter what he had done or said. He tried to imagine it, what it would be like to have her sit on the edge of his bed and listen to his problems, to tell him she loved him and that everything would be alright, to give him advice that would warm him and make him feel like he was going to make it through his mess, despite the many mistakes he had made. The idea was so foreign to him that he struggled to see it, unable to hear what her voice would sound like saying those things to him, or what her comforting hand on his back would feel like. He found himself wishing more than ever before that she had been the kind of warm and nurturing mother that would help him through his problems.
With a sigh Pierre looked at his phone, seeing without a sense of surprise that he had 12 missed calls and 16 unread text messages from Chrissy. He read through her messages which ranged back and forth between worry, being supportive, being angry, and circling back around to worry again. He knew he was going to have to tell her something but he didn’t know what to say and so for the time being he simply put his phone down on his nightstand and rolled back over, shutting everything out and willing it all to just stop existing. He wished that time would just stop for a while so that he could get a hold of himself and figure out how he was going to handle the situation he had brought upon himself. He felt paralyzed by indecision, completely unsure of what he needed to do to fix his mess of a life and so he decided to just push it all to the side and ignore it for a while.
As night rolled around Pierre wandered down to the kitchen to find something to eat. He was aware that he hadn’t eaten since the day previously and that he needed something, but as he walked to the fridge and opened the door he stared hopelessly at its contents, suddenly feeling sick at the sight of food. He sighed and closed the fridge, moving over to the pantry where the same thing happened again. His eyes searched the contents, feeling completely put off at the thought of eating despite knowing that he needed to.
“You missed dinner,” a kind voice spoke from behind him. Pierre turned and looked, seeing their personal chef who looked to be about to head out the door, her purse slung over her shoulder and a jacket over her arm. “Do you want me to make you something before I leave for the night?” she offered kindly.
Pierre shook his head and gave her a forced smile back. “No, thanks,” he replied quietly, before seeing a bowl of fruit and grabbing a banana off the top. “Just a snack,” he added, holding the banana up in demonstration, before giving her a nod and heading out the door.
“Okay, have a good night,” she told him as he retreated out of the kitchen.
“Yeah, you too,” he responded quietly, before making his way back up to his room. There was part of him that wanted to turn around and try to talk to her, to confess all of his issues to someone who wasn’t personally invested in his life choices, but the inappropriate nature of that idea kept him from even considering it as a possibility. Suddenly he felt guilty when he realized he didn’t even know her name, though she had been working in his house for his family for as long as he could remember. When he had been a child he had grown up playing with the staff in his house but as he grew older the expectation to stop interacting with the staff made its way into his mindset and before he was even aware of the change he had stopped noticing them around the house at all. He couldn’t help but think if he had maintained a little bit of humanity, he might have someone around that he had a real relationship with.
The next couple of days went the same for Pierre. He spent his time holed up in his room, laying in bed, barely eating, and allowing his sorrowful thoughts to run rampant. He slept as much as his body would allow, trying to hide from the overwhelming feelings inside of him, unsure of how to solve his issues so doing his best to just shut them all out. After that first day Chrissy had stopped calling and texting, seemingly giving up on him for the time being. Pierre wondered what he would do if she broke up with him and how he would feel. Would he be sad? Though the thought made him feel guilty, he didn’t think that he would. He sent her a text on the second morning, telling her, “I’m sorry. I’m going through something right now. I need a little time.” When she texted him back not long after telling him that she would be there when he was ready, he felt even worse. He was using her and he knew it.
The fourth morning after his return he awoke to his bedroom door opening swiftly and the light being turned on over his head. Pierre squinted and glanced over at the open door, seeing his mother bursting in with a bright aura of energy surrounding her. Pierre groaned and rolled over, pulling his blanket over his head.
“Now now, you’ve been in here moping for days!” she called, her voice loud and cheery, theatrical in tone.
“I’m not moping,” he mumbled from under his blanket, though he knew it was a lie.
“Riiiight,” she responded, before grabbing his blanket and pulling it off of him with a flourish.
Pierre groaned again in irritation and grabbed his pillow, shoving it over his head, not wanting to deal with this energy in the slightest.
“It’s time to get up! The day is passing you by and you can’t possibly spend it wasting away in bed!” she said as she grabbed his pillow and tugged. Pierre held onto it as best as he could but after a struggle she ripped it from his hands and tossed it at the end of his bed. She clapped her hands together a couple of times. “Up, up, up! You’re not usually here this time of year and I’m going to take advantage of you while I have you!”
Pierre rolled over and looked up at her, his expression deadpan. “What did you have in mind, mother,” he asked, his voice monotone with frustration.
“Now, now, let’s not have an attitude,” she chided him.
Pierre sighed and sat up, kicking his legs over the edge of this bed and looking up at her, irritation still obvious on his features.
“I have some last minute Christmas shopping to do, and you have big strong arms that can carry my bags,” she said, really playing up her cheesy tone.
“Oh god, not that,” Pierre grumbled, and he turned to lay back down and roll away.
His mother grabbed onto his arm and pulled him back. “Oh yes, that. Plus, it’s not often I get to show my handsome son around town! We can have lunch at the country club when we’ve finished. I know Martha Beckett is going to be there with her son and you absolutely have to see how he’s grown. He’s become quite the young man, a really successful boy. He’ll be taking over his father’s business in the next several years, you know, and would be a great acquaintance to keep in your back pocket.”
Pierre sighed again but said nothing, recognizing that she wasn’t going to leave him alone unless he went with her and played his part. She wanted to be seen in public with him, to show him off and to brag about how he would be going to Harvard and would eventually take over his father’s surgical practice. He supposed he should have taken it as a compliment that she saw him as a shiny trophy to impress others with but all he really felt was exhaustion. “I’ve been feeling sick,” he lied. “I should probably just stay home.”
“Is that so?” she said, putting on an air of worry that Pierre knew wasn’t real. He could see that she didn’t believe him. “Should I call the family doctor? I’m sure he can make a house visit,” she continued. Again, from the tone of her voice Pierre could tell that she didn’t believe him and was using this as a way to call his bluff.
“No, we don’t need to call the doctor,” Pierre replied, his voice quiet in defeat.
“Oh good, then you’ll be feeling just fine for our little date!”
“Mom, I’m really tired. I just want to stay home,” he tried, allowing his exasperation and exhaustion to be heard in his voice.
“Come now, you can’t lay in bed all week. You’re going to have to get up and do something at some point. It’ll be good for you to get out and get some fresh air! I bet as soon as we start walking around shops you’ll start feeling back to normal in no time.” Pierre hated the way she talked when she was like this. She sounded like a middle aged theater director, her voice overly musical and exaggerated, every word spoken as over-the-top as possible. He found it exhausting. “Do you have a Christmas present for dear Chrissy?” she threw on, and immediately Pierre knew she had him.
He looked to the side, his eyes shifting slightly. “No…”
“Well come now, that won’t do! Did you two have a fight?” she asked, and Pierre shook his head in response. “Okay then, you need to get her something if you want to keep it that way! I certainly wouldn’t have forgiven your father if he didn’t give me something for Christmas. Come, I’m sure we’ll find something fitting for her while we’re out. Now get up, take a shower, dress in something fitting for a day out with your stunning mother, and meet me down at breakfast,” she demanded, and with a dramatic turn she walked out of his room, leaving the door open behind her.
Pierre stared after her for a moment before putting his hands over his face and laying back in his bed with an irritated growl. Leave no other option, it truly was the best way to get what you wanted out of someone. Heaving a heavy sigh of defeat Pierre got up and got himself ready. He put slightly more effort into styling his hair and actually ran a small amount of a loose hold pomade through his shaggy brown locks, knowing his mother would expect him to look the part of the perfect, handsome son. He dressed in a pair of medium tan khakis and a button down shirt in a soft blue color, even going so far as to put on a brown leather belt with a watch and a pair of shoes that matched. His small action of rebellion was that he left the top button of his shirt unbuttoned and rolled up the sleeves to just below his elbows, though he made sure they were rolled in a clean and crisp fashion so that she wouldn’t give him grief about it. He stopped and looked at himself in the mirror, knowing she would be pleased with his appearance.
And pleased she was. Pierre could tell how thoroughly his mother was enjoying herself as they went around the town, shopping in various shops, Pierre carrying all of her bags while she held his arm. Her eyes were on everyone that they passed, seeing who was watching them, making dramatic scenes over things she saw that she liked. She was truly in her element whenever eyes were on her and she knew it and put on a show at all times. Again, Pierre just found it exhausting. But still, he played his part and allowed her to parade him around, knowing he really didn’t have another choice.
Toward the end of their shopping trip she pulled him into a jewelry store and began to point out various items that she thought would be fitting for him to give to his girlfriend.
“This is pretty, I guess,” Pierre said, sounding uncertain of himself as he looked down at a necklace with a pink gem in it.
“What about a ring?” his mother pressed, grabbing his arm and pulling him over to a display of rings.
“I-I don’t know,” Pierre stuttered nervously, trying to pull himself away and back to the necklaces.
“Look at these stunning rings, Pierre!” she pressed on, refusing to release her grip on his arm and let him escape. “This one is lovely. Excuse me miss, can we please see this one out?”
Pierre grimaced slightly. “Eehhhh… I don’t know,” he continued as the store associate pulled the ring his mother had pointed to out of the case and held it out in front of them.
Ignoring Pierre’s hesitation his mother picked up the ring and tilted her head to the side as she regarded it. “Oh Pierre, she would love this!” she pressed, turning her gaze to look at him.
“I mean, I don’t know if she’s really a ring person,” he tried lamely, and before she could say anything else he pulled away from her and back to the necklaces. “What about this? I know she likes necklaces, and this one’s pink, she loves pink.”
His mother handed the ring back to the store associate and moved to look at what Pierre was pointing out, shaking her head in disapproval. “Oh, you can’t get her just any old gemstone,” she scolded him. “Diamonds, Pierre, you need to get her diamonds.”
“Y-yeah?” he asked, his stomach clenching nervously. He had never gotten her a real piece of jewelry before and Pierre wondered where the sudden push from his mother was coming from.
“Gemstones are for girlfriends that you see no future with. Diamonds are for future wives,” she told him with a nod. Pierre felt his heart rate increasing uncomfortably and he looked back at the necklaces in the case beneath him. “Has she given herself to you?” she asked, her voice hushed but insistent.
Pierre’s entire face flushed a deep red and his eyes shot open wide, turning to look at his mother in shock and embarrassment. “Mom!” he whispered frantically.
She regarded him for a second longer with an eyebrow raised before giving a nod. “That's what I thought. No, a simple garnet won’t do. It needs to be a diamond for the girl you’re going to marry.”
Pierre looked back at the case in front of him, horror and embarrassment coursing through him, unable to say anything in return.
“If you’d like, I do have a pink diamond in the store that we could easily set into a necklace for you, ma’am,” the store associate said, and Pierre’s face flushed harder. Had she heard the entirety of their conversation just now, including the part about Chrissy giving herself to him? Pierre wanted to find a large rock to crawl under and never come out.
“Now that sounds perfect!” his mother responded warmly. “How many carats, and what is the quality?”
“Let me go grab it,” the associate responded before disappearing into the back for a moment. She came back with a dark blue velvet tray on which a sparkling pink diamond was sitting. “It’s pear shaped, one carat, flawless clarity.”
Pierre took a steadying breath and moved to look at the diamond, admittedly impressed at how pretty it was.
“Now this is worthy of a future wife,” his mother said with an approving nod.
“Would you like to see some settings that this could fit into?”
“That would be lovely,” his mother said with a smile. “A ring, perhaps…?” she tried, looking over to Pierre.
Pierre felt his head swim and swallowed hard. “I think she’d like a necklace better,” he insisted.
“Okay, if you insist. Please show us some necklaces,” his mother finally gave in. Pierre felt relief wash over him. He was nowhere near ready to give his girlfriend a ring, especially not a ring that could very easily be seen as an engagement ring.
The store associate came back with several options and Pierre considered them all before he picked a simple platinum pendant setting on a short, delicate chain. There would be no other design elements; this setting would allow the diamond to be the star of the piece which felt fitting for such an extravagant stone.
After all was signed and paid for, his mother took her receipt and smiled at the associate. “How long will the setting take?” she asked pleasantly.
“Normally it would take a few weeks to receive it back but for your family, the owner will want to set this stone himself in house. I’m certain he’ll be finished with it tomorrow evening. He’ll want to be sure the young sir is able to give this to his special young lady by Christmas.”
Pierre felt himself squirm uncomfortably but this mother ate this news up, becoming extraordinarily pleasant. “Oh, we do so appreciate this shop and Mr. Douglas. Please give him our regards. We will have to bring him a famous Bouvier rum cake when we pick up the necklace.” Pierre fought against every instinct he had to roll his eyes, knowing that his mother would take credit for the recipe and the cake but that it would be baked by their personal chef, instead. She had for years boasted publicly about the Bouvier rum cake when in actuality she had never once made one herself.
As they exited the jewelry shop, Pierre’s mother wrapped her arm again around his own and allowed him to escort her down the sidewalk. She appeared to be on cloud nine, clearly very pleased with herself for the Christmas gift she had forced on her son to give to his girlfriend, even if it hadn’t been an engagement ring as she had been all too obviously trying to push for. “What do you say, are we ready for lunch?” She asked, her obvious pleasure almost unbearable for Pierre.
“Yea-” he started, before his eyes caught a stationary store across the street. “Actually, can we go in one more place before we go?” he asked, turning to look down at his mother.
“Of course!” she replied, sounding pleased that he seemed to want to participate for the first time that morning. He looked both ways for cars before escorting his mother across the street. Releasing her arm he opened the door and held it open for her, waiting for her to enter before following in behind her.
“Amelia, what a pleasant surprise!” a warm voice came, and Pierre found himself unsurprised that his mother was known in this store as well.
“Oh hello Edward,” she responded just as warmly, walking up to him where he stood behind the counter and taking his hand in hers. “How are Charlotte and the girls?”
Pierre wandered away, leaving his mother and the store owner to chat in their superficial way. He wasn’t sure why he had been drawn into this store, but the moment he saw it David’s face crossed his mind and he had felt compelled inside. He wandered down aisles, looking at fancy stationary and pens; he was struck by how incredibly expensive a single piece of paper could be and wondered how paper could possibly be worth that much. Still, he made his way through the store until he found a section that was geared toward drawing and he stopped to look at what was in front of him.
His fingers dragged over various pads of paper, some bound like a book while others were spiral bound. There were some papers that claimed they were for sketch, some for pen, some for watercolor, some labeled mixed media. Pierre felt overwhelmed at all the options but he had a deep desire from the pit of his stomach to buy something for David for Christmas, even if the other boy would refuse to talk to him.
“Are you looking for something in particular?” a male voice came from around the corner of the shelf and Pierre looked up, his cheeks flushing slightly.
“Oh, uh, I have a friend that draws,” he explained, feeling a little bit lame. “He usually just draws on notebook paper though so I was thinking it would be nice to get him a sketch book or something.”
“I see,” the man - Edward - said, before approaching the shelf that Pierre was looking at. “Pencil? Pen? A mixture of both?”
“Pencil,” Pierre replied, thinking back to the drawings he had seen in David’s binder. He remembered seeing color, however, and quickly added, “And colored pencils.”
The man nodded and grabbed two options, one spiral bound and one bound like a regular book. “These would be what you would want to get, then,” he explained, holding both out to Pierre.
“Which is better?” he asked with a tilt of his head as he regarded both. He had never been an artist so he couldn’t imagine which binding type David would prefer.
“The spiral bound tends to be most popular with artists for ease of use,” the man explained, and opening both books he demonstrated his meaning. “Case bound looks the nicest but the pad can only open and lay flat, which can be cumbersome and make it difficult to draw all the way to the edge of the page. The spiral bound can flip entirely around, making it much easier to use.”
Pierre nodded and grabbed the spiral bound sketch pad. “That makes sense,” he said quietly. “I think I’ll go with this one, then.”
“Excellent choice,” Edward responded, and Pirere looked at him with a smile. “Is there anything else you were looking at?”
“Maybe like… some nice pencils? And erasers?” Pierre asked, unsure of himself.
“Yes, of course,” he said, turning to look at the shelf behind them. “What type of drawing does your friend do?”
“Clothing design,” Pierre responded, earning another nod from the man in front of him.
“These are perfect options, mechanical. This one fits ultra fine lead which allows for very light, fine lines that can be erased without leaving marks behind. And this one is fitting for more sure lines, once the design is set and it’s time to finalize.” Pierre took both pencils from the man, trusting his expertise. “You’ll want some extra lead, of course,” he continued, grabbing refill lead packs for both, which Pierre also took gladly. “And these are the best artist erasers you can find. They’re slightly gummy and easy to work into any shape you want. We also have this one which has a very fine point and is perfect for perfecting the smallest details…” Pierre took everything the man suggested.
“What about colored pencils?” Pierre asked, looking up at the man with his hands full, now.
With another nod the man walked him a little further down the aisle, showing him several options for colored pencils. When Pierre asked for which ones were the best, the man picked up a large set of a specific brand and held it out to him. “You won’t find nicer than these,” he said, and Pierre took the pencils eagerly. “Now, if I can make one final recommendation,” the man started, and Pierre looked at him enthusiastically. “Does your friend have a portfolio to put finished works in?”
Pierre thought back to David’s notebook paper drawings shoved in his binder and shook his head. “Probably not,” he replied.
“Well, if your friend is serious about his art, a portfolio would be the perfect place to keep his finished pieces. Would you like to see some?”
“Please,” Pierre responded, nodding quickly. He followed the man down a neighboring aisle and looked at all of the options in front of him. Immediately he was drawn to a black, leather bound option and he picked it up, noticing how soft it felt in his hands.
“That is a great choice,” the man told him. “If you’d like, we can have it monogrammed with your friend’s initials.”
“Could that be done before Christmas?” Pierre asked politely.
“For your family, anything,” the man impressed upon him with a pleasant smile, and suddenly it dawned on Pierre why this conversation had been so helpful. He felt slightly uncomfortable at the realization but he smiled in return and gave a nod of appreciation. “Just choose the finish and we can have it finished for you tomorrow.”
“Finish?”
“We can do a simple imprint which will just be the same color as the leather, or we can add a foil. Gold and silver leaf are the most popular, but we can also do red or blue foil leaf as well.”
“Uh… Gold, I guess,” Pierre responded.
“Excellent choice, sir,” Edward told him, and again Pierre felt distinctly uncomfortable. He felt like his father, and he knew this man was looking at him as such. Still, he followed the man to the front counter and paid for the things he had picked out. “Would you like us to hold onto these items for you until tomorrow? We would be happy to package all of these items in a gift bag for you so that it’s ready to give to your friend for Christmas.”
“That would be great, thank you,” Pierre replied smoothly. His mother, who had been standing at the front waiting for him to return, smiled in a pleased way at her son’s behavior. She loved to see him playing the role that had been laid out for him.
They wrapped up at the shop and headed out, and suddenly Pierre found himself questioning what he thought was going to happen. David wouldn’t even look at me. Like he’s gonna forgive me just because I show up with a Christmas present? But in that moment he decided that he was going to apologize to David and he was going to try to salvage their friendship. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was going to say or how much of the truth he was going to reveal, but he knew he had to try something or he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. As much as he felt that he had done enough damage and should just leave David alone, he also felt like he couldn’t.
With that thought in mind, he allowed a fire to rekindle in his chest, determined that he was going to fix things one way or another. If he couldn’t, he didn’t know what he was going to do with himself.
Author: shmorgenheigen
Chapter: Twelve
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Pierre/David
Word Count: 4855
Summary: This is a re-write of the story Behind the Net told from Pierre’s perspective; just a reminder that the original story was written in 2014 so that’s when this story is set. Pierre Bouvier is a high school senior living in Juneau, Alaska who lives a pretty remarkable life. Though he’s the most popular boy in school, the captain of the hockey team, dating the most popular girl in school, and is from a family that is rich beyond measure, Pierre can’t help the feelings of boredom and apathy that he struggles with on a daily basis. Through an unexpected twist of fate, his favorite target of bullying ends up becoming a more significant presence in his life and suddenly Pierre is left questioning everything he ever knew.
Disclaimer: Don't know, don't own, didn't happen!
Author's Note: Hey there! I have no idea if anyone will ever see this. I’m currently pregnant and spending a lot of time sick in bed and that led me to take a stroll down memory lane and read some of my old stories to pass the time. When I read Behind the Net, I was struck by how much untold story there is from Pierre’s side. I became obsessed with the idea of re-writing this story from Pierre’s point of view and before I knew it I had written the whole thing, which ended up being three chapters longer than the original story because he has so many thoughts, feelings, and experiences that David never knows anything about. So here it is! All twenty chapters posted at once. I haven’t posted on this page for 8 years at this point and the fandom is totally gone so I’m not anticipating that anyone will actually see this, but if anyone does happen to see and read this, leave me a comment and let me know!
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Pierre woke in his bed at some point late the next morning, having no memory of having gotten himself there. Memories of the day before played through his mind and Pierre was able to review them without panic. Instead, a deep feeling of depression had settled over him and though the morning passed into the afternoon, he made no move to get himself up. Pierre felt lost, as if everything was hopeless and there was no point in getting out of bed. What was the point? What was he going to do? He couldn’t see David, he couldn’t face Chrissy, he didn’t feel like seeing any of his friends from school, most of whom were on the ski trip anyway. What would he do or say even if he did hang out with anyone? Would he be able to get his emotions in check and pretend everything was normal? Somehow he didn’t think that was possible.
Suddenly Pierre found himself feeling incredibly alone. It had dawned on him that there was no one in his life he could talk to about everything he had put himself through and all of the things he was feeling. He certainly couldn’t tell his parents that he had realized he had feelings for another boy; he knew without question that they would not approve and would impress upon him his responsibility to not shame the family name. He most definitely couldn’t tell Chrissy that he was having feelings for someone else; the reason behind that one went without saying. What was he supposed to do, hang out with some guys from school and tell them that he was crazy for David and had messed up every last chance he had with him? News would spread through the school like wildfire and by the end of a single day everyone would know. It was with a touch of sadness that Pierre realized he didn’t have any real friends despite the fact that he was always surrounded by people in the halls.
He wondered what it would be like to be able to talk to his mother about these sorts of things and to have her support and love no matter what he had done or said. He tried to imagine it, what it would be like to have her sit on the edge of his bed and listen to his problems, to tell him she loved him and that everything would be alright, to give him advice that would warm him and make him feel like he was going to make it through his mess, despite the many mistakes he had made. The idea was so foreign to him that he struggled to see it, unable to hear what her voice would sound like saying those things to him, or what her comforting hand on his back would feel like. He found himself wishing more than ever before that she had been the kind of warm and nurturing mother that would help him through his problems.
With a sigh Pierre looked at his phone, seeing without a sense of surprise that he had 12 missed calls and 16 unread text messages from Chrissy. He read through her messages which ranged back and forth between worry, being supportive, being angry, and circling back around to worry again. He knew he was going to have to tell her something but he didn’t know what to say and so for the time being he simply put his phone down on his nightstand and rolled back over, shutting everything out and willing it all to just stop existing. He wished that time would just stop for a while so that he could get a hold of himself and figure out how he was going to handle the situation he had brought upon himself. He felt paralyzed by indecision, completely unsure of what he needed to do to fix his mess of a life and so he decided to just push it all to the side and ignore it for a while.
As night rolled around Pierre wandered down to the kitchen to find something to eat. He was aware that he hadn’t eaten since the day previously and that he needed something, but as he walked to the fridge and opened the door he stared hopelessly at its contents, suddenly feeling sick at the sight of food. He sighed and closed the fridge, moving over to the pantry where the same thing happened again. His eyes searched the contents, feeling completely put off at the thought of eating despite knowing that he needed to.
“You missed dinner,” a kind voice spoke from behind him. Pierre turned and looked, seeing their personal chef who looked to be about to head out the door, her purse slung over her shoulder and a jacket over her arm. “Do you want me to make you something before I leave for the night?” she offered kindly.
Pierre shook his head and gave her a forced smile back. “No, thanks,” he replied quietly, before seeing a bowl of fruit and grabbing a banana off the top. “Just a snack,” he added, holding the banana up in demonstration, before giving her a nod and heading out the door.
“Okay, have a good night,” she told him as he retreated out of the kitchen.
“Yeah, you too,” he responded quietly, before making his way back up to his room. There was part of him that wanted to turn around and try to talk to her, to confess all of his issues to someone who wasn’t personally invested in his life choices, but the inappropriate nature of that idea kept him from even considering it as a possibility. Suddenly he felt guilty when he realized he didn’t even know her name, though she had been working in his house for his family for as long as he could remember. When he had been a child he had grown up playing with the staff in his house but as he grew older the expectation to stop interacting with the staff made its way into his mindset and before he was even aware of the change he had stopped noticing them around the house at all. He couldn’t help but think if he had maintained a little bit of humanity, he might have someone around that he had a real relationship with.
The next couple of days went the same for Pierre. He spent his time holed up in his room, laying in bed, barely eating, and allowing his sorrowful thoughts to run rampant. He slept as much as his body would allow, trying to hide from the overwhelming feelings inside of him, unsure of how to solve his issues so doing his best to just shut them all out. After that first day Chrissy had stopped calling and texting, seemingly giving up on him for the time being. Pierre wondered what he would do if she broke up with him and how he would feel. Would he be sad? Though the thought made him feel guilty, he didn’t think that he would. He sent her a text on the second morning, telling her, “I’m sorry. I’m going through something right now. I need a little time.” When she texted him back not long after telling him that she would be there when he was ready, he felt even worse. He was using her and he knew it.
The fourth morning after his return he awoke to his bedroom door opening swiftly and the light being turned on over his head. Pierre squinted and glanced over at the open door, seeing his mother bursting in with a bright aura of energy surrounding her. Pierre groaned and rolled over, pulling his blanket over his head.
“Now now, you’ve been in here moping for days!” she called, her voice loud and cheery, theatrical in tone.
“I’m not moping,” he mumbled from under his blanket, though he knew it was a lie.
“Riiiight,” she responded, before grabbing his blanket and pulling it off of him with a flourish.
Pierre groaned again in irritation and grabbed his pillow, shoving it over his head, not wanting to deal with this energy in the slightest.
“It’s time to get up! The day is passing you by and you can’t possibly spend it wasting away in bed!” she said as she grabbed his pillow and tugged. Pierre held onto it as best as he could but after a struggle she ripped it from his hands and tossed it at the end of his bed. She clapped her hands together a couple of times. “Up, up, up! You’re not usually here this time of year and I’m going to take advantage of you while I have you!”
Pierre rolled over and looked up at her, his expression deadpan. “What did you have in mind, mother,” he asked, his voice monotone with frustration.
“Now, now, let’s not have an attitude,” she chided him.
Pierre sighed and sat up, kicking his legs over the edge of this bed and looking up at her, irritation still obvious on his features.
“I have some last minute Christmas shopping to do, and you have big strong arms that can carry my bags,” she said, really playing up her cheesy tone.
“Oh god, not that,” Pierre grumbled, and he turned to lay back down and roll away.
His mother grabbed onto his arm and pulled him back. “Oh yes, that. Plus, it’s not often I get to show my handsome son around town! We can have lunch at the country club when we’ve finished. I know Martha Beckett is going to be there with her son and you absolutely have to see how he’s grown. He’s become quite the young man, a really successful boy. He’ll be taking over his father’s business in the next several years, you know, and would be a great acquaintance to keep in your back pocket.”
Pierre sighed again but said nothing, recognizing that she wasn’t going to leave him alone unless he went with her and played his part. She wanted to be seen in public with him, to show him off and to brag about how he would be going to Harvard and would eventually take over his father’s surgical practice. He supposed he should have taken it as a compliment that she saw him as a shiny trophy to impress others with but all he really felt was exhaustion. “I’ve been feeling sick,” he lied. “I should probably just stay home.”
“Is that so?” she said, putting on an air of worry that Pierre knew wasn’t real. He could see that she didn’t believe him. “Should I call the family doctor? I’m sure he can make a house visit,” she continued. Again, from the tone of her voice Pierre could tell that she didn’t believe him and was using this as a way to call his bluff.
“No, we don’t need to call the doctor,” Pierre replied, his voice quiet in defeat.
“Oh good, then you’ll be feeling just fine for our little date!”
“Mom, I’m really tired. I just want to stay home,” he tried, allowing his exasperation and exhaustion to be heard in his voice.
“Come now, you can’t lay in bed all week. You’re going to have to get up and do something at some point. It’ll be good for you to get out and get some fresh air! I bet as soon as we start walking around shops you’ll start feeling back to normal in no time.” Pierre hated the way she talked when she was like this. She sounded like a middle aged theater director, her voice overly musical and exaggerated, every word spoken as over-the-top as possible. He found it exhausting. “Do you have a Christmas present for dear Chrissy?” she threw on, and immediately Pierre knew she had him.
He looked to the side, his eyes shifting slightly. “No…”
“Well come now, that won’t do! Did you two have a fight?” she asked, and Pierre shook his head in response. “Okay then, you need to get her something if you want to keep it that way! I certainly wouldn’t have forgiven your father if he didn’t give me something for Christmas. Come, I’m sure we’ll find something fitting for her while we’re out. Now get up, take a shower, dress in something fitting for a day out with your stunning mother, and meet me down at breakfast,” she demanded, and with a dramatic turn she walked out of his room, leaving the door open behind her.
Pierre stared after her for a moment before putting his hands over his face and laying back in his bed with an irritated growl. Leave no other option, it truly was the best way to get what you wanted out of someone. Heaving a heavy sigh of defeat Pierre got up and got himself ready. He put slightly more effort into styling his hair and actually ran a small amount of a loose hold pomade through his shaggy brown locks, knowing his mother would expect him to look the part of the perfect, handsome son. He dressed in a pair of medium tan khakis and a button down shirt in a soft blue color, even going so far as to put on a brown leather belt with a watch and a pair of shoes that matched. His small action of rebellion was that he left the top button of his shirt unbuttoned and rolled up the sleeves to just below his elbows, though he made sure they were rolled in a clean and crisp fashion so that she wouldn’t give him grief about it. He stopped and looked at himself in the mirror, knowing she would be pleased with his appearance.
And pleased she was. Pierre could tell how thoroughly his mother was enjoying herself as they went around the town, shopping in various shops, Pierre carrying all of her bags while she held his arm. Her eyes were on everyone that they passed, seeing who was watching them, making dramatic scenes over things she saw that she liked. She was truly in her element whenever eyes were on her and she knew it and put on a show at all times. Again, Pierre just found it exhausting. But still, he played his part and allowed her to parade him around, knowing he really didn’t have another choice.
Toward the end of their shopping trip she pulled him into a jewelry store and began to point out various items that she thought would be fitting for him to give to his girlfriend.
“This is pretty, I guess,” Pierre said, sounding uncertain of himself as he looked down at a necklace with a pink gem in it.
“What about a ring?” his mother pressed, grabbing his arm and pulling him over to a display of rings.
“I-I don’t know,” Pierre stuttered nervously, trying to pull himself away and back to the necklaces.
“Look at these stunning rings, Pierre!” she pressed on, refusing to release her grip on his arm and let him escape. “This one is lovely. Excuse me miss, can we please see this one out?”
Pierre grimaced slightly. “Eehhhh… I don’t know,” he continued as the store associate pulled the ring his mother had pointed to out of the case and held it out in front of them.
Ignoring Pierre’s hesitation his mother picked up the ring and tilted her head to the side as she regarded it. “Oh Pierre, she would love this!” she pressed, turning her gaze to look at him.
“I mean, I don’t know if she’s really a ring person,” he tried lamely, and before she could say anything else he pulled away from her and back to the necklaces. “What about this? I know she likes necklaces, and this one’s pink, she loves pink.”
His mother handed the ring back to the store associate and moved to look at what Pierre was pointing out, shaking her head in disapproval. “Oh, you can’t get her just any old gemstone,” she scolded him. “Diamonds, Pierre, you need to get her diamonds.”
“Y-yeah?” he asked, his stomach clenching nervously. He had never gotten her a real piece of jewelry before and Pierre wondered where the sudden push from his mother was coming from.
“Gemstones are for girlfriends that you see no future with. Diamonds are for future wives,” she told him with a nod. Pierre felt his heart rate increasing uncomfortably and he looked back at the necklaces in the case beneath him. “Has she given herself to you?” she asked, her voice hushed but insistent.
Pierre’s entire face flushed a deep red and his eyes shot open wide, turning to look at his mother in shock and embarrassment. “Mom!” he whispered frantically.
She regarded him for a second longer with an eyebrow raised before giving a nod. “That's what I thought. No, a simple garnet won’t do. It needs to be a diamond for the girl you’re going to marry.”
Pierre looked back at the case in front of him, horror and embarrassment coursing through him, unable to say anything in return.
“If you’d like, I do have a pink diamond in the store that we could easily set into a necklace for you, ma’am,” the store associate said, and Pierre’s face flushed harder. Had she heard the entirety of their conversation just now, including the part about Chrissy giving herself to him? Pierre wanted to find a large rock to crawl under and never come out.
“Now that sounds perfect!” his mother responded warmly. “How many carats, and what is the quality?”
“Let me go grab it,” the associate responded before disappearing into the back for a moment. She came back with a dark blue velvet tray on which a sparkling pink diamond was sitting. “It’s pear shaped, one carat, flawless clarity.”
Pierre took a steadying breath and moved to look at the diamond, admittedly impressed at how pretty it was.
“Now this is worthy of a future wife,” his mother said with an approving nod.
“Would you like to see some settings that this could fit into?”
“That would be lovely,” his mother said with a smile. “A ring, perhaps…?” she tried, looking over to Pierre.
Pierre felt his head swim and swallowed hard. “I think she’d like a necklace better,” he insisted.
“Okay, if you insist. Please show us some necklaces,” his mother finally gave in. Pierre felt relief wash over him. He was nowhere near ready to give his girlfriend a ring, especially not a ring that could very easily be seen as an engagement ring.
The store associate came back with several options and Pierre considered them all before he picked a simple platinum pendant setting on a short, delicate chain. There would be no other design elements; this setting would allow the diamond to be the star of the piece which felt fitting for such an extravagant stone.
After all was signed and paid for, his mother took her receipt and smiled at the associate. “How long will the setting take?” she asked pleasantly.
“Normally it would take a few weeks to receive it back but for your family, the owner will want to set this stone himself in house. I’m certain he’ll be finished with it tomorrow evening. He’ll want to be sure the young sir is able to give this to his special young lady by Christmas.”
Pierre felt himself squirm uncomfortably but this mother ate this news up, becoming extraordinarily pleasant. “Oh, we do so appreciate this shop and Mr. Douglas. Please give him our regards. We will have to bring him a famous Bouvier rum cake when we pick up the necklace.” Pierre fought against every instinct he had to roll his eyes, knowing that his mother would take credit for the recipe and the cake but that it would be baked by their personal chef, instead. She had for years boasted publicly about the Bouvier rum cake when in actuality she had never once made one herself.
As they exited the jewelry shop, Pierre’s mother wrapped her arm again around his own and allowed him to escort her down the sidewalk. She appeared to be on cloud nine, clearly very pleased with herself for the Christmas gift she had forced on her son to give to his girlfriend, even if it hadn’t been an engagement ring as she had been all too obviously trying to push for. “What do you say, are we ready for lunch?” She asked, her obvious pleasure almost unbearable for Pierre.
“Yea-” he started, before his eyes caught a stationary store across the street. “Actually, can we go in one more place before we go?” he asked, turning to look down at his mother.
“Of course!” she replied, sounding pleased that he seemed to want to participate for the first time that morning. He looked both ways for cars before escorting his mother across the street. Releasing her arm he opened the door and held it open for her, waiting for her to enter before following in behind her.
“Amelia, what a pleasant surprise!” a warm voice came, and Pierre found himself unsurprised that his mother was known in this store as well.
“Oh hello Edward,” she responded just as warmly, walking up to him where he stood behind the counter and taking his hand in hers. “How are Charlotte and the girls?”
Pierre wandered away, leaving his mother and the store owner to chat in their superficial way. He wasn’t sure why he had been drawn into this store, but the moment he saw it David’s face crossed his mind and he had felt compelled inside. He wandered down aisles, looking at fancy stationary and pens; he was struck by how incredibly expensive a single piece of paper could be and wondered how paper could possibly be worth that much. Still, he made his way through the store until he found a section that was geared toward drawing and he stopped to look at what was in front of him.
His fingers dragged over various pads of paper, some bound like a book while others were spiral bound. There were some papers that claimed they were for sketch, some for pen, some for watercolor, some labeled mixed media. Pierre felt overwhelmed at all the options but he had a deep desire from the pit of his stomach to buy something for David for Christmas, even if the other boy would refuse to talk to him.
“Are you looking for something in particular?” a male voice came from around the corner of the shelf and Pierre looked up, his cheeks flushing slightly.
“Oh, uh, I have a friend that draws,” he explained, feeling a little bit lame. “He usually just draws on notebook paper though so I was thinking it would be nice to get him a sketch book or something.”
“I see,” the man - Edward - said, before approaching the shelf that Pierre was looking at. “Pencil? Pen? A mixture of both?”
“Pencil,” Pierre replied, thinking back to the drawings he had seen in David’s binder. He remembered seeing color, however, and quickly added, “And colored pencils.”
The man nodded and grabbed two options, one spiral bound and one bound like a regular book. “These would be what you would want to get, then,” he explained, holding both out to Pierre.
“Which is better?” he asked with a tilt of his head as he regarded both. He had never been an artist so he couldn’t imagine which binding type David would prefer.
“The spiral bound tends to be most popular with artists for ease of use,” the man explained, and opening both books he demonstrated his meaning. “Case bound looks the nicest but the pad can only open and lay flat, which can be cumbersome and make it difficult to draw all the way to the edge of the page. The spiral bound can flip entirely around, making it much easier to use.”
Pierre nodded and grabbed the spiral bound sketch pad. “That makes sense,” he said quietly. “I think I’ll go with this one, then.”
“Excellent choice,” Edward responded, and Pirere looked at him with a smile. “Is there anything else you were looking at?”
“Maybe like… some nice pencils? And erasers?” Pierre asked, unsure of himself.
“Yes, of course,” he said, turning to look at the shelf behind them. “What type of drawing does your friend do?”
“Clothing design,” Pierre responded, earning another nod from the man in front of him.
“These are perfect options, mechanical. This one fits ultra fine lead which allows for very light, fine lines that can be erased without leaving marks behind. And this one is fitting for more sure lines, once the design is set and it’s time to finalize.” Pierre took both pencils from the man, trusting his expertise. “You’ll want some extra lead, of course,” he continued, grabbing refill lead packs for both, which Pierre also took gladly. “And these are the best artist erasers you can find. They’re slightly gummy and easy to work into any shape you want. We also have this one which has a very fine point and is perfect for perfecting the smallest details…” Pierre took everything the man suggested.
“What about colored pencils?” Pierre asked, looking up at the man with his hands full, now.
With another nod the man walked him a little further down the aisle, showing him several options for colored pencils. When Pierre asked for which ones were the best, the man picked up a large set of a specific brand and held it out to him. “You won’t find nicer than these,” he said, and Pierre took the pencils eagerly. “Now, if I can make one final recommendation,” the man started, and Pierre looked at him enthusiastically. “Does your friend have a portfolio to put finished works in?”
Pierre thought back to David’s notebook paper drawings shoved in his binder and shook his head. “Probably not,” he replied.
“Well, if your friend is serious about his art, a portfolio would be the perfect place to keep his finished pieces. Would you like to see some?”
“Please,” Pierre responded, nodding quickly. He followed the man down a neighboring aisle and looked at all of the options in front of him. Immediately he was drawn to a black, leather bound option and he picked it up, noticing how soft it felt in his hands.
“That is a great choice,” the man told him. “If you’d like, we can have it monogrammed with your friend’s initials.”
“Could that be done before Christmas?” Pierre asked politely.
“For your family, anything,” the man impressed upon him with a pleasant smile, and suddenly it dawned on Pierre why this conversation had been so helpful. He felt slightly uncomfortable at the realization but he smiled in return and gave a nod of appreciation. “Just choose the finish and we can have it finished for you tomorrow.”
“Finish?”
“We can do a simple imprint which will just be the same color as the leather, or we can add a foil. Gold and silver leaf are the most popular, but we can also do red or blue foil leaf as well.”
“Uh… Gold, I guess,” Pierre responded.
“Excellent choice, sir,” Edward told him, and again Pierre felt distinctly uncomfortable. He felt like his father, and he knew this man was looking at him as such. Still, he followed the man to the front counter and paid for the things he had picked out. “Would you like us to hold onto these items for you until tomorrow? We would be happy to package all of these items in a gift bag for you so that it’s ready to give to your friend for Christmas.”
“That would be great, thank you,” Pierre replied smoothly. His mother, who had been standing at the front waiting for him to return, smiled in a pleased way at her son’s behavior. She loved to see him playing the role that had been laid out for him.
They wrapped up at the shop and headed out, and suddenly Pierre found himself questioning what he thought was going to happen. David wouldn’t even look at me. Like he’s gonna forgive me just because I show up with a Christmas present? But in that moment he decided that he was going to apologize to David and he was going to try to salvage their friendship. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was going to say or how much of the truth he was going to reveal, but he knew he had to try something or he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. As much as he felt that he had done enough damage and should just leave David alone, he also felt like he couldn’t.
With that thought in mind, he allowed a fire to rekindle in his chest, determined that he was going to fix things one way or another. If he couldn’t, he didn’t know what he was going to do with himself.