Follow The Rules

Get to practice

Oh god, you're so beautiful." The hot body above him panted, nuzzling into his neck before licking a long his collar bone. His hands had been re cuffed above his head, and he was lying on his back, knees bent to his chest, sweaty hands keeping them in place.

"f*****g hell." Lips crushed against his own, tongue forcing his lips a part as he let out a sob of pain, embarrassment, shame, everything.

"Shhh, beautiful." A hand ran through his hair, that was plastering itself to his forehead. A shudder ran through him which earned a strangled moan from the body above him.

"It's okay." He continued. Hot breath on his face, the smell filling his nostrils.

"It will be our little secret."

Oliver awoke panting, dripping in sweat and tangled up in his bed sheets. A dream. It was just a dream.

But it wasn't just a dream, was it? It was a memory.

It was still dark outside and he rolled over to peer at his alarm clock. 4:37. He still had two hours before he had to get up and go to school, but there was no way he'd be able to get back to sleep now. He pulled the sweaty bed sheets off him and kicked them to the end of his bed, willing his body to cool down.

He lay there for about an hour, just staring at the ceiling, and was surprised when he found he was thinking about nothing. But once this realisation occurred he remembered what it was he was glad to have not thought about so he ended up thinking about it all again. By five thirty he decided to give up and climb out of bed and get ready for school.

Again, he showered for a lot longer than he meant to, scrubbing every bruise, cut and wound, trying to get clean. When a knocking came from the door he was glad that this time, it wasn't his mother.

"Mr. Oliver." Maria called. He couldn't help the smile that broke out on his face at the sound of her voice. She was an older woman, and he had told her a countless amount of times to just call him Oliver, but she had always insisted in 'addressing him properly' which was ridiculous. She had always been there and looked after him like her own son, yet from the day he can remember he had always called him Mr. Oliver. Once when he was three, she had had to explain that 'Mr.' wasn't actually a part of his first name. "Is everything alright?"

He quickly shut off the shower and jumped out, calling out an "I'm fine" in response.

"Okay, well, your uniform is out here when you're ready for it sweetheart." And her feet padded away from the door. Usually, he would have just wrapped a towel around his waist and gone into his room then and there. Maria had most likely changed more of his dirty nappies than his mother had, so it wasn't like she hadn't seen anything before. But now he had something to hide. He waited until he heard his bedroom door close before going out into his bedroom and changing into the clothes she had left. It had always felt absurd to have someone wait on him the way Maria and the rest of the staff do. He had never done anything to deserve their service. Especially now.

Would Maria even look at him if she knew?

He made his way downstairs to the kitchen where he saw his father for the first time since they had arrived home, sitting at the dining table, reading the paper and a cup of coffee steaming next to him on the table. Tentatively, he sat down opposite the man who peered over his paper and when he noticed that it was his son sitting, staring at the table in front of him, afraid to look up, he placed the paper down on the table.

Oliver could tell he wanted to say something by the way he constantly took in deep breaths, held it for a moment before letting it go dejectedly.

"Oh my poor boy." Maria came wailing into the room. She placed a bowl of weetbix on the table in front of Oliver before bragging his face in her hands and moving it around to inspect the bruise. "Your mother told me what happened. I'm so sorry." Oliver's heart stopped. His mother told her? Well this certainly wasn't the reaction he had expected from her.

"Uh-," Oliver started, not sure where he was going with the word, but luckily, his father chimed in.

"Yes, it wasn't a very good ending to our trip, that's for sure." Trip? What trip? What was going on? Oliver looked to his father for answers, but he had picked up his paper again and was paying no attention to him. "But I thought Norma asked you not to mention anything, Maria." He continued.

"I know, but look at this." She was still holding his head in her hands and she shifted his head so that his father had a better angle of face. He looked up for a moment, eyes flicking to the bruise on his face before quickly going back to the paper. "A small bruise? Small? That woman needs a lesson in what small means." Only Maria would be able to get away with both disobeying his mother's orders and talking about her like that, but Norma owes Maria an awful lot, so she'd never do anything.

"You must've been so scared, sweetheart." She continues, running a hand through his hair gently. It had always surprised him how much more motherly Maria could be towards him than his own mother.

"Um, yeah I guess." Oliver said dumbly, still looking to his father for some sort of answer.

"But so brave." Maria added. "It will be quite a story to tell. Stopping a woman from getting mugged. You're such a good kid." Maria squished him into a big hug that he really would prefer her not to do, but since he wouldn't have minded before, he guessed he just had to let it happen. A mugging. It was a pretty convincing lie if the black eye was all anyone saw. But he'd never been able to lie to Maria. She saw right through him.

"Maria." His father said sternly. "Drop it. Please."

"Of course, Mr. Tyler." She released him from the hug, smiled down at him and gently pinched his cheek – the one that wasn't bruised – which was a thing that she had done to him all his life.

Perhaps if his parents enforced the whole not talking about it thing, then he'd never be lying to her, he'd just let her believe what she had been told. It was a good lie for school as well, because although his uniform hid the rest of the wounds, as long as he kept his jumper on to cover his wrists, there wasn't much he could do about his black eye. People would notice. Teachers. A mugging sounded good to Oliver.

Oliver thought about eating his breakfast, but again, thought better of it than putting food in his stomach and left his father to read his paper in peace.

He was still much earlier than he usually was, but he didn't mind. He decided that he'd prefer the walk to school rather than driving. He had always walked before he had passed his driving test, and sometimes he missed it. The simple idea of being out in the fresh air called to him. He was completely aware that he had decided to walk the day he had been kidn*pped, but if he didn't walk now, he knew he probably would never do it again. What were the chances of that happening again?

He listened to his music up loud, blocking out his fears, however he couldn't help but continually look over his shoulder, just in case.

It seemed strange that the hallways that only two day ago seemed normal, now felt cold and distant. He ignored the casual 'hi's' and 'hellos' that classmates called out to him and made a straight bee-line to his locker.

"Ollie." The voice from behind his open locker door made his jump, slamming the door closed to find his friend Matt, shocked by his response. "Woah dude, sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

"No you're fine, sorry." He said taking a deep breath in and out and pulling out his head phones. What had gotten into him? He had to relax if he was going to pretend things were back to normal. Maybe it was friends that he needed to get there. Surely they would take his mind off it all.

"Right, well you know that lab assignment due in today for psych?" Matt said, leaning against the other lockers as Oliver fiddled with the combination on his locker again. Oliver knew the assignment, but he hadn't done it. It was almost complete, he had just planned on finishing it last weekend. Last weekend.

"Uh, yeah?"

"Well I was wondering if at lunch, I could, you know, look yours over." What Matt really meant was copy some of, no, most of his work. He'd been doing it since they had started high school, but Oliver didn't care. Matt had been his friend since middle school, they were both on the football team together and while Matt was good at sports, academically, he wasn't that bright. His father was just as strict as Oliver's though, and keeping up his grades was important. Oliver understood and helped him with his work wherever could after Matt had come to school once with a split lip.

"Ah, sorry man." Oliver said, pulling his English books out for his first period. He genuinely felt guilty about saying no, but there was no way he could help him today. "I, um, haven't done it."

"You serious?" Matt laughed out loud before looking back at his friend. "Ollie, you haven't not handed in anything since I've known you."

"Yeah I know. I was just a little busy this weekend. Didn't get the chance to finish it." Ollie explained, finally turning to face his friend. The amused expression on his face dropped instantly.

"Holy s**t, Ollie." Matt said pushing Oliver's head to the side to get a better look at his face now that he'd noticed the bruise. Oliver forced himself not to pull away. "What happened?"

"Mugged." Oliver tried to laugh it off, but his ribs hurt too much to laugh and just settled for a forced smile. "Impromptu trip away. The guy clocked me." He tried to refrain from as many details as possible to not get caught up in a lie. He was glad he had this excuse preplanned. He would never have been able to make up the lie on the spot.

"Jesus." Matt sighed, "You okay?"

"Yeah." Oliver nodded before closing his locker. If Matt thought that was bad, then Oliver thought he should see the rest of him. But that could never happen. Ever. "I gotta go to class." And without letting his friend reply, he hurried down the crowded corridor and headed for class.

All day people gave him weird looks and he heard people whispering about him in class. He chose seats in the back of the room, mainly, for some odd reason, so that nothing could sneak up on him from behind. He didn't participate in class and instead spent most of the time doodling in his sketchbook which in itself brought back too many memories. B was the only one who'd seen inside these pages. He pushed the thought aside because it helped to push thoughts aside more than bringing them back. What shocked people the most was when he had to say that he hadn't done his homework.

He dreaded psychology the most. It was his last class of the day. This assignment was an important one, and Mr. Hughes was by far his favourite teacher, teaching his favourite subject. It was a fascinating class and Mr. Hughes always managed to make his classes fun and often interactive. Now he hoped they wouldn't be.

"So," Mr. Hughes began the class brightly once everyone was seated. Again, he took a seat in the back and got out his sketchbook while Matt took the seat in front of him, giving him a wary glance that communicated 'we're both f****d' as he sat down. What Matt didn't know was that Oliver's memories of quite literally being f****d overrided his fears of not completing his homework.

Mr. Hughes began strolling down the aisles, collecting people's assignments as he continued his introduction to the class.

"I'm looking forward to reading these assignments." He said cheerfully. Mr. Hughes was always cheerful. How he did it, Oliver didn't know. Surely there were days he didn't want to be teaching kids psychology at high school. "Once these are graded we can start on our new topic of memory, which I'm sure you'll all appreciate when it comes to the test." A few students chuckled as Mr. Hughes stopped at Matt's table.

"Your assignment, Mr. Yates."

"I haven't done it." Matt mumbled, keeping his head down and fiddling with his pen. Oliver stopped doodling as he watched his friend be questioned by Mr. Hughes, as was the rest of the class. Mr. Hughes looked down on him for a moment before letting out a disappointed sigh.

"See me after school Matthew." He said softly before moving onto Oliver's desk, hand outstretched awaiting the homework. Oliver stared at the back of his friends head that was still downcast in embarrassment as the classes attention turned to Oliver.

"I don't have it either." Oliver expected the gasps and shocked faces of his friends, but when his eyes flickered to his teacher he felt an overwhelming sense of guilt. He hadn't even guessed that the reason Oliver hadn't handed him anything was because he hadn't done the homework.

Oliver felt the teacher eye the bruise under his eye before nodding. "See me after class as well, Oliver." Was all he said before moving on to the other students. Oliver returned his attention to his sketchbook and tuned out the rest of the class. His teacher was doing his usual thing because every now and then Oliver would be drawn back to reality by the class erupting into fits of laughter. Even Matt who had an impending fate similar to Oliver's because of incomplete homework seemed to be enjoying the class. Oliver felt so out of place surrounded by happy, enthusiastic students, and the fact that even if he had been listening, the simple act of laughter would have reminded him of what happened when pain shot through his stomach and ribs. He felt more alone than ever, knowing that none of them could have any idea what was going on in their heads and none of them ever will. He hated every single one of them for it.

Before long the bell was signalling the end of the day, and while all the other students eagerly packed their belongings, Oliver and Matt were less enthusiastic. Almost everyone had gone by the time the two of them made their way up to Mr. Hughes desk.

"Boys." Mr. Hughes greeted, the tone of disappointment already evident in his voice. Neither of them said anything. "I have to say, I'm surprised." He looked to Oliver with these words, but Oliver looked away, half wishing he could just explain himself to get rid of the guilt he was feeling. He hated disappointing people, especially his favourite teacher, and he had disappointed his friend by not being there for him. He had screwed everything up.

"Now I understand you both have busy schedules with sports, but I can't let this slide." Again the boys were silent. "Matt, I'm going to give you until Wednesday to get this assignment to me, and if you do, I might not drop it a letter grade." Matt looked up, nodding eagerly, and Oliver wondered why this bargain was only made to Matt. "Wednesday, Matt. I mean it, not a minute later."

"Yeah, definitely." Matt smiled eagerly.

"Give me a minute with Oliver."

"Yeah, sure, no worries." Matt was practically already out the door with enthusiasm. "Thanks Mr. H. You're wicked. See you at practice, Ollie." f**k. Football practice.

Oliver had completely forgotten. Mr. Hughes paused for a minute, listening to Matt disappear within the crowd of students leaving the school for the day. Oliver shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably as they waited in silence, and although Oliver wasn't looking at his teacher, he could feel Mr. Hughes watching him carefully.

"What's up, Ollie." He finally said, his voice was still light and gentle, but there was an undertone of seriousness that drifted through it and Oliver could practically taste the curiosity. He knew this sort of question was coming. He had seen the bruise and had failed to hand in homework he was usually on point with.

"Look," Oliver said, wanting to end this line of questioning as soon as possible to avoid thinking about the answers. The real answers. "I'm sorry I haven't got the assignment, stuff just... came up this weekend and I didn't get a chance to finish it. I can try to get it to you by Wednesday and I don't care if you have to mark me down because it's late, it's just-,"

"Hey, hey. Slow down." His teacher said standing up from his seat to lean over the desk towards Oliver. Oliver didn't even realise he had been speaking quickly, and he instinctively took a step away from his teacher, wanting to keep a fair amount of distance from everyone.

"Ollie," Mr. Hughes sighed, "you're my best student, but to be honest with everything you do, I'm surprised this hasn't happened sooner." Oliver looked at him in confusion and was met with a warm smile before his teacher took his seat again. "I'm giving you until the end of the week to get the assignment in, just don't tell Matt. I can't be seen playing favourites." Oliver nodded dumbly, not sure what to make of it. He knew Mr. Hughes liked to him. Usually he was a very active member of the class, with Mr. Hughes and himself having banter over something ridiculously nerdy like brain cells or something, but now he didn't see the point. Eventually he was able to verbalise his thanks and went to leave the room when Mr Hughes called out to him.

"You know Ollie, if you ever need to talk about something. Anything at all, then you can always talk to me. I teach psychology remember, I'm practically a therapist, just paid less." The man smiled at him, but it seemed to be a kind of sad smile, like he knew something was going on with him. Something worse than a mugging. Oliver didn't have too much time to think on the subject before Mr. Hughes turned his attention to the work he had been grading at the end of the class.

"Get to practice, Ollie." He said without looking up, but Oliver nodded anyway before he turned to leave.

Fuck. Practice.