Hide the Truth From My Eyes

And now, 10 years later, here we were. I was sitting on a public bench, a devastated, sobbing Jamie in my arms and a quite stunned Ian near me. Jocko had had to turn back because of the epidemic.
Lee was certainly infected too, and Jamie had made three panic attacks ever since we had left the hospital. Why wasn't I breaking down like him I don't know. I assume that again it's the Richardson blood. 

We didn't know anything. They were in the hospital locked up in quarantine, and we sat there doing nothing. Jamie was losing his mind at least. 

I thought of Sophie back in the little house of Cardiff we all shared. She had no idea. No idea. 
That house, we lived up to seven in it. It had four tiny rooms (that were basically just a wardrobe and a bed, no more room), two little bathrooms, an office and a living room with open kitchen. 

Oh we were so very fucking poor. Wales was in an economic breakdown. I worked at an office, Mike in a Tesco as a cashier, Lee was a bartender, Jamie an Art teacher, Ian was a second-zone graphic designer and his lover Sean was a bus driver, hence why he was in Scotland, he was driving a coach around there for a month.

Jamie was the one that had got a job that was as close as possible to what he wanted go be. He taught to both annoying kids and interested older students. Still the pay was ridiculous. Ian had a pay that varied month by month. But what was sure was that we could never afford a bigger house. Just the bills, a bit of clothes, food, insurance, the car and a week of holidays. But we didn't care. We had our loves. 

All day while sorting papers in the grey-carpeted office, all I thought about was the dark-eyed beauty that would be there when I would come home. About how we would kiss and tell our day and cuddle or about the passionate love we'd make. On my desk, the little picture of me hugging Mike in Newport a few years ago was delivering all about my sexuality and companionship but my boss was very tolerant, he was a supporter of our cause. Not some employees though.

Nor my family, nor Mike's. We had both been barred off the testaments. Disowned. No one wanted to see us. Not really a surprise. It was working class. 
But whatever they said I was still a Richardson. Except I was gay, yes sir. 
And that I couldn't be arsed to protect my soulmate. Great.

--

The day after was Monday. And we had to go to work, Lee and Mike or not. So I rubbed Jamie's back and braced myself to look strong, to look like all that wasn't affecting me though it was obvious it did. It broke my heart into the littlest pieces.
And so I went to work.

I pushed the door open and walked to my desk, putting my bag delicately on the table. The photograph was here and I took it in my hands. How I was hugging forcefully his shoulders, the little smile he cracked, his head resting on my shoulder.
The image of him white and plugged to machines invaded my head. I shook it away and sat, getting out my work.

--

Jamie's POV

I didn't sleep at all. How could I? How seriously could I sleep when Lee was either in some weird coma or vomiting his guts out or anything? He wasn't okay, that was all that counted in my head. When I came back to my room, his boxers from last night were there on the ground, as well as his scarf and his The Police shirt. I picked up the thing. It was one of his favourite tee-shirts, I had bought it for him with the integral discography of that band, when we were 18. 

It smelled of him, of his deodorant, of his shower gel. Of his goddamn sweat, and still I held the stupid shirt against my chest. I had been crying for so long in Stu's arms, that I seemed to come to an ocular dryness.

So I sat there in silence, the shirt in my hands, staring at our bed. The sheet that covered the mattress was stained in blood. Too rough fucking. That night I felt so guilty. Lee kept repeating it was his fault and that he had been asking for it but I couldn't not feel responsible from the fact his arse was friggin' bleeding. We were both kind of very passionate in bed. Which led to frequent and various insults when fucking. It didn't mean we didn't love each other unconditionally. If you saw us in everyday life, you wouldn't be able to tell I had the nasty habit of calling him a whore and a slut when it came to sex. I think it excited him to be fucked with hatred. 

But when something like that happened or even when the sex was finished, those personas fell off and we were back to a very loving and caring couple. 
Just those little incidents made me feel horribly guilty. 
And now he was in hospital, away from me and maybe dying. 

I pressed his tee-shirt to my chest and closed my eyes. I stayed like that until it was time to go to work. 11AM that day.

I dressed up with my black, outstretched skinny jeans, a white short-sleeved shirt and a black tie, took my coat and my bag and got to the bathroom. I looked horrible. I searched for my razor on the tablet. I spotted it, trying to ignore Lee's that was put just next to it. I got rid of my morning stubble, brushed my long hair until it was silky at the touch and tied it into a ponytail, splashed some water on my face again and rushed out of the house without eating.

When I arrived into the staff room, that was almost funny how my friends immediately noticed something was wrong. 

"Jamie? Is everything okay?" Anna, a Math teacher asked me.

I sat on a chair and looked at the coffee machine. Damn, even that reminded me of him. If it didn't feel like my eyes would be dry forever I would have been crying my eyes out. But I just shook my head. No. Nothing was okay.

"What's wrong?"

"Lee."

"Lee? What happened? Has he left you?"

"NO! No, he would never ever do that. No." My heart had gone upside down at the thought only. Which meant he had been back in its normal situation for a second.

"So what?"

I just stared at my lap. The image of him puking in those toilets, his gingerish-and-peroxide hair falling inside invaded my mind and I pressed my hands against my eyelids, whimpering. I felt Anna's hand on my shoulder. 

"Jamie, what's happening?"

"Y-y'know... Th-there's this epidemy, and, Lee... Lee got in-infect-infected." I stumbled on the words as I felt my eyes finally sting a little. "He's in a bad, bad, very bad state." My voice started to strangle in my throat. "They put him in quarantine and we don't even know if the thing is mortal or even-- I don't even know, he could be fucking d-dead!" I managed to choke out. 

Anna pulled me into a hug, as well as Ray, my other friend, the other art teacher. I did all I could to not start crying as their arms wrapped around me but I failed. I burst into tears. 

--

My first class was with year 11's. Just the ones that had picked Arts for the GCSEs. I knew them, they knew me and globally a lot liked me. They were interested in what I said at least.
When I came in they immediately saw something was up. Maybe my red, poofy eyes and my trembling legs.

"Is everything okay Mr Oliver?"

"Yes Angela..."

"You're sure?" a guy asked.

I stared at the desk. Why lie? The kids, if I knew them right, were not going to let go. I sighed.

"Well my partner is very sick, and in quarantine, and well, that's all. Let's get on with the lesson." I said quickly

"She's gonna be okay?"

"It's he. I don't know. I don't even know in which state he is now" I said blankly, trying to not let any emotion filter. He can be dead for all I know, I wanted to say. But I didn't. 

There were a few whispers in the class, I caught the words "gay" and "terrible". I couldn't be bothered by what they were saying now anyways. 
I just started the class.

I lasted four hours and a half. 
I lasted four hours with the good ones, and half an hour with the bad ones. Them didn't pay attention at my reddish eyes. I couldn't blame them, I didn't wanted them to do so.
I broke down just in front of them, for no real reason, for once they were silent, I just collapsed on my knees and burst out crying. 

And the little motherfuckers laughed.