Mea Culpa 2/?

[imogen-lily.livejournal.com]

Mea Culpa 2/?

Author: Imogen

Disclaimer: I don't know any of the actors here sadly. It's all lies and fiction. Sniff

Pairing: Orlando/OC, Viggo/Orlando (implied Kate/Orlando)

Rating: NC-17

Summary: abuse wreaks everyone's lives, who picks up the pieces?

Warning: This fic deals with domestic violence/abuse and it's ramifications. If anyone finds this upsetting please don't read. There will be violent scenes in it, I'm not going to sugar coat them, but I'm not trying to go for gore (that’s not my thing).

Feedback: please it's vitally important over this. You can e-mail me at: bageria8@hotmail.com. I’ll always respond to questions etc.

Chapter Warning: this chapter deals with attempted sucide. Is this upsets anyone, please don't read further.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed Ch 1, it was greatly appreicated. As usual, please tell me what you think

chapter 2

as he felt his head thud against the floor. It was finally over. He would have smiled if he could. Contrary to popular belief, his life didn’t flash before his eyes; there was no tunnel of light and pearly white gates with long lost relatives waiting with open arms. It was ... nothingness, calm, still, quiet. It was perfect. He was so lost in this perfection he wouldn’t have heard the front door open, or Dom call out to him. He felt like he was swimming. An overwhelming sense of relief flooded him. The still functioning part of his brain was rapidly declining but he idly wondered if Dom and Elijah would hate him.

Sam and his mum flashed in his mind, their grief stricken faces; he didn’t want them to feel sad, he wasn’t. No, death held no fears for Orlando. It never had, not since ... not since ... no, Orlando wasn’t going to let him haunt his last few moments of life. But that’s why this was happening, wasn’t it? The pain had become so constant, so unbearable, that this was his only way out. His death was his last gift to Lij, Dom, to his family. To Viggo.

Yes, even now it all came down to the poet who’d touched his soul and shattered his heart. His love for Viggo had killed him, literally. But ironically, his death brought Viggo life. And he would never know. Never know what Orlando had done or why. Perhaps there was a twisted element of cruelty in it. Would Viggo suffer after his death, blame himself and he would never know why. That would haunt him. Yes, cruelty played a part in it, but love was the bigger reason. His love for Viggo. He drove him when all else failed, yet his love for the man had been his death warrant. By holding his heart so completely, Orlando had been unable to fully give himself to another. He’d tried; God knows he had. He’d tried with Kate, he tried with Mark, but it was never enough. He always found himself wondering, wishing - what if Viggo had stayed, or he’d fought harder. What if he’d never run out of Viggo’s flat...all the ’what ifs’ and ‘could’ve been’s’ had circled his mind, torturing him.

He’d called Viggo a coward, but was he any better? He was taking a coward’s way out, after all, if he was stronger he could’ve fought harder, could have stood up for himself, but it was all too late now, and it was all his fault. He’d tried to love Kate and Mark, really he had. With Kate it was easier. She didn’t expect his heart and soul, she just accepted what he could give and that was enough, but Mark ... Mark was different. He was different from Viggo, different from Kate. Kate had been sweet and warm, shielding him from the harsh world, not asking for more than he could give (which had been precious little) but Mark had wanted… expected Orlando’s love and soul, had wanted to claim them and when Orlando hadn’t been able to give enough of them, Mark had become angry.

Orlando felt his limbs spasm. It had to be getting closer now. He wasn’t sure what he’d taken or how much, he hadn’t stopped to look at labels, just grabbing bottle after bottle, desperate to dull the pain. It was irrelevant at this point, whatever it was, it had ‘done the job’. He knew that if the drugs didn’t work, he’d use the knife.
Two quick slashes would seal his fate.

He’d already slashed one wrist, just as a precaution. Even in his semi drugged state, Orlando had winced in pain as the blood seeped out the wound, running down his wrist, Orlando had still been staring at his wrist when his legs had buckled, head crashing on the floor, he’d hit something on the way down he was sure. It didn’t matter though; he was too tired to fight, to stop the flow of blood, the concoction of drugs slowly weaving through his jangled system. Unconsciously he cradled his wrist.

It had hurt, but pain was of little consequence any more. His battered body had accepted it, not trying to fight anymore. It was as if it understood. He was tired. Tired of fighting, of surviving, of hiding. His body understood this. It stopped fighting, quietly accepting defeat. Even as his strength was dwindling, he knew he should fight. Orlando had never accepted defeat before, not even when he broke his back. But that was just his bones. Broken bones could be mended; even a broken heart could heal given time. What was that the saying? ‘Time heals all wounds’ right? Perhaps. But what about a shattered soul? A fractured psyche – how did you fix them?

The truth was there was no cure for Orlando now. He was broken beyond repair; no one could help him now, least of all himself, and he wouldn’t even if he could. There was nothing left to save ... Mark had seen to that. What did he have left, what could he return to, who would want him now? Mark wanted Orlando; he always wanted him. Mark was always there, he’d never leave, and Orlando knew that now. It didn’t matter if Orlando tried to run away or changed the locks, Mark would find him and punish him. It was only when Mark’s threats extended to his friends that he knew something had to be done. This was his last stand against Mark, his final act of love to his friends. His death would guarantee their safety. Mark would never threaten them again, and Orlando would be free. He wouldn’t be broken and torn.

Even now, after all that had happened, there was still some small part of Orlando that fought, a stubborn mulish streak that refused to accept defeat. That kept Orlando’s mind whirling, but it was too late. The pills and the loss of blood could not be fought. He felt a small smile twitch his lips, as he saw Viggo, could feel himself in his arms, safe and loved. No one would hurt him ... he was home. As Orlando’s life-consciousness drifted away, he didn’t hear Dominic come in, or him call out. The footsteps on the stairs went unnoticed as Dom continued to call out his name. He didn’t see Dominic’s face he gazed down on his fallen friend.

Dom cursed silently as he fumbled with the front door. He’d lost track of the number of times he’d told Orlando to fix that damn thing. You’d think any self-respecting Oscar winning actor would be living in a nice Beverley Hills mansion fully equipped with every creature comfort. But oh no, Orlando had to be awkward and live in a bloody ancient flat. Stupid down-to-earth flower loving git. Would it kill him to play the ‘spoiled celeb’ card once in a while?

The door jarred slightly and as Dom stumbled in, he was immediately hit by how quiet the place was. Normally Orli had some sort of music in the background, or something was on, either the TV or radio, or... something to symbolise life, but now there was nothing. That worried Dom slightly. He sometimes felt like an over-protective mother hen, at one time if anyone had suggested that he would have laughed it off, but now… ‘mother hen’ might not have been how he’d describe it, but he worried constantly, and just recently that worry had turned into downright fear. Orlando was slowly slipping away from them and Dom couldn’t stop him. The idea of loosing his friend gnawed at Dom day and night.

Elijah was no better, hovering around Orlando, trying everything he could think of to bring their friend back, to remind him of something to go on living for, to fight for but it wasn’t working.

Dom knew that despite appearances, Orlando was fading. Oh he smiled for the cameras, showed the side everyone wanted to see, believed in: the happy talented star with the devoted boyfriend and the media lapped it up. Dom wanted to scream, yell at them they were mistaken, force them to see the truth about Orlando’s life but he knew that would break what remained of Orlando’s fractured spirit, he would loose Orlando’s friendship if nothing else if he told anyone.

Orlando wanted the world to believe he was in love, and was loved by Mark, who knows; maybe Orlando had convinced himself along the line somewhere, because when Elijah tried to get Orlando to face up to things, their formally solid friendship had almost been cast aside. It broke Dom’s heart to see Orlando clinging so desperately to such a twisted relationship. Why couldn’t he admit the truth about Mark when it was so obvious to those around him, why was Orlando so blind as to believe Mark loved him?

Orlando had whispered once that he’d loved Mark, that he couldn’t abandon him, not like Viggo had abandoned him. Silently Dom had cursed Viggo while wanting to yell that what Orlando had had with Viggo, that was love, not this farce with Mark, but he’s bit his check so hard he’d tasted blood. Orlando wouldn’t have listened, simply nodded, a ghastly fake smile plastered on his face.

To the common observer, Orlando loved Mark, and he’d loved Kate, (who was imminently more worthy of Orlando’s affection in Dominic’s opinion, even Elijah had to concede that). Orlando was everything a loving and affectionate boyfriend should be; tender, loving, affectionate. He held Mark’s hand, supported his boyfriend’s choices, soothed his temper and ‘rolled with the punches’ and it made Dom sick to his stomach that the world could be fooled by Orlando’s acting abilities, he was sickened that people could be so blind. He wasn’t fooled, nor had been Elijah or Billy or any of the Fellowship, each had voiced their concerns which had been swiftly dismissed with a trembling smile and a wave of the hand. It hadn’t fooled them, they were his Fellowship, they loved Orlando, knew him. No matter how good an actor Orli was - just for reference, his acting was ‘good enough’ to win two Oscars in four years - he couldn’t hide his heart; it was in the eyes as the cliché went, those dark, amazing eyes that had captivated so many people, that told you so much.

It pained Dom no end to see the permanent linger of sadness in them, and now pain and despair had become a permanent feature. His eyes had dulled. Oh, they could glint when Orlando smiled, although those days were practically over now, but that special glow was forever gone. His mind drifted to Mark and Orlando. There was no doubt in his mind that they were headed for disaster, that that Orlando, as usual, would bare the brunt of it.

Elijah could barely restrain himself around Mark, Dominic could almost see the former hobbit’s fingers itch to repay the damaged done to Orlando, but Dom knew that Elijah would never have the chance, there was a reason both of them could still see Orlando, after how everyone else had been discarded, and if they wanted to help Orlando, they had to play by Mark’s rules. For now. But then Elijah had always been edgy around Mark…even before all this happened. At first, Dom had believed it was some misplaced loyalty to Viggo. Elijah was a hopeless romantic, (although he’d deny all knowledge, to keep up his ‘macho’ image.)

He’d been devastated when Viggo and Orlando broke up, almost as much as Orlando. Dom could still remember how Elijah had attempted to soothe the sobbing, almost hysterical Orlando, while tears ran down his own cheeks, a look of furious betrayal in his eyes. Elijah had admired Viggo, looked up to the man as a leader, someone he’d trust with his life, but Viggo had betrayed that had hurt Orlando, his Orli who he loved like a brother. Elijah had never forgiven Viggo for that and shot Billy and Sean A hateful looks whenever one had suggested trying to heal the rift between them and Viggo.

To Elijah, Orlando and Viggo had symbolised a perfect match, soul mates, destined lovers, ‘the gay Romeo and Juliet’ as he’d once drunkenly christened them (only without the tragic death/feuding family’s saga, naturally). Whatever they’d been called, they just ... fit together.

When Kate had come along Elijah had been hostile, rude and sullen, acting very much like a teenage brat meeting his parent’s new girlfriend. He’d taking every opportunity to mention Viggo’s name, re-calling little anecdotes or comparing Kate to Viggo, contrasting their apparent different ‘levels’ of love for Orlando. That had angered Dom. As much as he’d wanted Viggo and Orli to work, it hadn’t and Elijah was only upsetting Orlando, which he knew was the last thing Elijah wanted to do, not even a quiet word from Billy and a rather angry word from Beanie could seem to placate Elijah. The situation went on for over a month before it was sorted out. Ironically it was Kate herself who, at her wit’s end, had taken it upon herself to talk to Elijah and after a heartfelt discussion of her love for Orlando and several rounds of beer (on her tab) Elijah was forced to admit she was not an Orc, and killing her would severely damage his friendship with Orlando.

So when Mark had come along, Dom had forced Elijah to be polite, although Elijah had never warmed to Mark in the same way he’d done with Viggo, and eventually, Kate, who shared a mutual love of loud music much to Dom’s despair, but with Mark, Elijah was always distant and wary, never warm or affectionate. Dom forced his mind back to the present and wondered if Orlando was still asleep, which was unlikely. Orlando, to his eternal bemusement, was an early riser, always had been. That was another thing he’d shared with Viggo.

"Orli? You up mate?” yelled Dom. "Come on you lazy arse, Elijah’s going to be freaking out if we don’t get to his place soon. We’ll be lucky if he doesn’t send a Missing Persons Squad after us. Orli, can you hear me? Orli??" Surprised that he got no reply, he poked his head into Orlando’s bedroom - no sign of him there. The bed was still made, rather neatly as well, and Orlando wasn’t in the adjoining room either.

He knew the kitchen was empty, as he would have seen Orli as soon as he walked in. Getting rather annoyed, he began a ‘search for Orli’. Coming to the bathroom, Dom paused. As much as he loved Orli, he didn’t really fancy interrupting his friend on the bog or in the shower. Some things were better left unseen. Despite this, there was something nagging at the back of his mind ... an unaccountable worry. He couldn’t hear any water running. Taking a breath, he pushed the door open – and felt his heart stop. Orlando, his best friend, was lying sprawled on the bathroom floor, not moving. Not thinking, he ran to Orlando and shook his friend, getting no response. He then noticed the bottle in Orlando’s hand, and another resting beside it; both were empty. As if that wasn’t enough, a kitchen knife lay splattered in blood, and Orlando’s right wrist was drenched in the crimson liquid.

"Oh fuck, Orlando wake up, please!!! Oh God what have you done?!” Dominic cried as panic gripped him. He should’ve seen this coming. He knew how things between Orlando and Mark stood. How could he have been so stupid? Why didn’t he act sooner? Why?! Was Orlando dead?

He grabbed his friend and placed his trembling figures on his neck, desperately trying to find a pulse. Dom’s knowledge of first aid was basic and he struggled to remember. It’d seemed so pointless back then, and now confronted with his dying, or dead, friend, Dominic was lost. Pushing Orlando’s dark hair back, he felt how cold Orlando’s face was; his lips were turning blue. There was no chest movement. In desperation, Dom ran into Orli’s bedroom and grabbed the phone, silently thanking God it was cordless as he punched in 911.

Please don’t die Orli. Please don’t die please. Please pleasepleaseplease. Pick up the phone you fucking wankers. Orli’s dying, don’t die Orli…please… pick up Goddamnit! Pi-

"911 emergency response."

"I-I need an ambulance, m-my friend’s not breathing," Dom whispered, feeling as if all the air had been sucked out of his lungs.

"OK, have you checked his airways, cleared any blockages?”

No, I’ve been too numb with fear, Dom thought to himself.

"N-no, I can’t see anything. H-he’s not moving ... I can’t get a pulse…I can’t find one... There’s empty bottles everywhere ... Oh God…he’s taken an overdose of something, a-and there’s a knife, he ... he cut himself on one of his wrists, it’s…it’s covered in blood ... he’s not moving" Dom choked out, tears streaming down his face as his fingers danced over Orlando’s still face. Dom bit back a wrenching sob as he felt the coldness of Orlando’s features. This couldn’t be happening. Orli was a fighter, he wouldn’t give up…he wouldn’t…

"Right, I know you’re scared but you have to stay clam. First, you need to check your friend’s windpipe, in case he’s swallowed his tongue, or if there’s anything else blocking it."

"I-I can’t feel anything, his tongue’s still in his mouth."

"Right, that’s good. Make sure you keep putting pressure on his wrist wound; try to stop any additional blood loss. Does it look as if he’s broken anything? Any bones?"

"I…I don’t think so."

"Right, I need you to try and put him in the recovery position. Do you know how to do that?” His mind was blank. Dom managed to form some vague negative response. The calm soothing voice on the end of the phone guided him, coaxing him through the steps.

"The ambulance will be there shortly. Try and find out what your friend has taken. It’ll help the Paramedics when they arrive. Stay by your friend; even if he can’t hear you, try talking and comforting him.” Dom nodded as he gazed at Orlando, tears streaming down his face. Dom reached out, stroking Orlando’s hair, words sticking in his throat. Gazing at Orlando, Dom found he couldn’t remember when Orlando had last looked this peaceful, it almost looked as if he was sleeping…

“You’re gonna make it Orli, things will be OK, I promise. I’ll keep you safe, just please get through this, just stay with me…please”

“Heellloooo! Anyone in?” Oh no, Elijah! What the hell was he doing here? Why couldn’t the little arse wait at home damn it?

“L-Lijah, I need you to go home, g-go home for a while OK?” Dom yelled his voice trembling. He couldn’t let Elijah see his friend like this. Elijah was too sensitive; he felt people’s pain, and to see Orlando like this, after everything else they’d been through, it would destroy him.

"Dominic you cunt, we need to get going. You still got a hangover?”

“Elijah. GO home,” but it did no use. Elijah wasn’t easily swayed and was quickly bounding up the stairs, taking two at a time. He was bursting with excitement until he heard a sniff ... was Orlando crying? Elijah immediately felt his chest tighten while a surge of hatred flowed through him but this was almost immediately replaced with an all consuming fear. Orlando didn’t cry, at least not any more. What had happened to him?

Something was wrong, very wrong he could just feel it. It was coming from the bathroom - mumbled words he couldn’t hear properly.

He pushed the bathroom door opened and simultaneously dropped the wine bottle. It wasn’t the shattering bottle Dom heard; it was Elijah’s hoarse cry. Within a heartbeat, Elijah was by Orlando’s side, hysterically shaking his friend.

“What the hell happened?!? Orlando?? Orlando wake up, please ... oh shit ... Orli ...” More shaking. “This isn’t funny Orlando, wake up!! Come on, stop being an ass. Dom ... w-why won’t he wake up? Why are his lips blue? You can’t die Orlando; you’re my friend, you can’t die on me ... why ... why did you hurt yourself ... oh shit...please…” Elijah whimpered as he slumped down, grabbing Orlando’s cold hand. He shuddered at the coldness. His eyes became hard as he looked at Orlando’s bloodied wrist.

"The ambulance is on it’s way, just ... stay here.”

Elijah stared at Orlando for a moment, seemingly not believing what was in front of him. He shook his head. “Oh God Orli, what did you do? How could you? We we’re trying to help you…why couldn’t you have fought harder? We could’ve helped you! We fucking tried to…why did you keep pushing us away? WHY?!” he cried as he grabbed Orlando’s still hand. It was too cold, too still.

That was all wrong; Orlando was never cold, never still. This wasn’t real, it couldn’t be. Orlando was too much of a fighter to quit now. They had all fought, they was nothing else to do. If Orli had just held on a little bit longer, they could’ve done something, got him away. They could have…could have…but would probably never get the chance. Orlando was dying. And Elijah couldn’t stop it. He hated himself.

Turning to Dom, his eyes pleaded for answers that he couldn’t give. "He ... he ... an overdose," Dom whispered, indicating to the bottles around him. Trembling, Elijah picked up one of the bottles, trying to decipher exactly what Orlando had taken. Several of the bottles had worn labels peeled off. How long had Orlando kept these? Only one label appeared to be intact: ‘OxyContin’ he felt his stomach twist at the drug name.

While Elijah didn’t pretend to be a connoisseur on drugs therapies, he knew that OxyContin was Bad. It was what Orlando used when his back badly seized up. It tended to leave him semi-coherent whenever he took it. He wasn’t surprised Orlando had it. Between his former back injury and Mark, it was a wonder he didn’t end up living off the stuff. Perhaps he had been. Elijah shudder, it was a sickening thought. He gazed at the label and almost snorted at the information displayed in large bold letters:

‘Warning: do not exceed recommended dose. Can cause severe side effects. Overdose can result in death.’

Well bravo, what do you know, they’d got something right. As his hand clasped around the bottle, he felt his anger rise. He wanted to shatter the bottle, destroy the object that was trying to claim his friend’s life. "You fucking planned this didn’t you?” yelled Elijah, looking at his fallen friend.

“You knew if the pills didn’t work you’d use the knife. How can you be so selfish? Why didn’t you come to us? Why didn’t you tell us?? Why did you hurt yourself ... don’t you care about your friends? Why, fucking WHY?!?” He was pushing Orlando in a desperate attempt to deny the obvious. Part of Elijah’s shattered mind would not accept the scene before him.

“Elijah! Shut the fuck up,” growled Dominic, one arm grabbing Elijah’s fists, while he other attempted to soothe an unconscious Orlando. Elijah looked startled by Dom’s harsh language to him. Dom swallowed and gently realised Elijah’s hands which immediately went to gently cup the face of their fallen friend. He hated to be so harsh with Elijah, but he was clearly bordering on hysteria. Large fat tears rolled down Elijah’s cheeks, the anger dissipating as quickly as it had come.

“S-sorry. I’m scared."

“So am I.”

***

Elijah had slipped outside for another cigarette, leaving Viggo on his own with Orlando. What could be better, or worse? When Orlando had apparently woke up, he’d been in so much pain the doctors had given him a large amount of morphine. The numerous sedatives were keeping him unconscious, keeping the pain at bay. He wasn’t quite sure when Elijah had slipped out. He was too busy crying over his own stupidity, his own selfishness. He’d given up the best thing in his life and let him be broken, by his own boyfriend of all people – the very person who should love him unconditionally. But Orlando had been betrayed. Twice. Both Viggo and Mark had betrayed him, both had hurt him, bruised him, just because Viggo had never raised his hand to Orlando, didn’t mean he was any the less guilty of inflicting wounds on Orlando as Mark.

Elijah’s words still made him cringe…Mark was responsible for why Orlando was here, and so was he. To know he was the ultimate source of Mark’s abuse ... was such a horrifying concept he couldn’t bare to think about it, because of Orlando’s love for him…him that had got Orlando hurt. To abuse someone whom you claimed to love was unthinkable, but to know he’d been the catalyst - that was unbearable. Unconsciously he took Orlando’s hand, gently squeezing it. It was unbelievable that Orlando still did…or had…loved Viggo, after everything he had done to Orlando, that he still loved Viggo, loved him enough to drive a wedge between him and Mark, enough for Mark to be jealous of an ex-boyfriend. Jealous? Ha, oh the irony. To think he cursed Mark’s very existence on a daily basis, because Mark had the only thing…only person in the world Viggo wanted…needed, and he couldn’t handle it. To think that he was jealous of a middle-aged artist who spent his time unable to create because he’d foolishly given up everything he believed in, in one fell swoop. How did things get so irrevocably fucked up?

He’d long since become accustomed to the quiet beeps and whirls of the machines, although it still agitated him that Orlando’s life was dependant on machines. He was still largely unaware of the extent of Orlando’s injuries and couldn’t work out if he was relived or angry about that. It was obvious there was more than Orlando’s attempted suicide to contend with. Something had happened shortly before. The bruised eye alone would testify to that, as would the bruises along his neck and shoulders. What else had this monster done to Orli? How far had he gone? Viggo knew little about abusive relationships, and only then it was for female abuse victims. While abuse was horrible, no matter what sex a person was, but help was there for the female victims. People could understand, sympathise, empathise with females, but men? What help was there for male abuse victims?

It seemed a foreign concept, a man being abused, to be beaten and hurt. Men being hurt was funny. Especially gay men, they were just pansies weren’t they? After all, 'Real Men' were strong and they could protect themselves. That what society said, what they were taught to believe. No one could understand that a man could be frightened, that they could be hurt, abused. Men were the abusers, they hit, hurt people, didn’t feel anything, wouldn’t talk about emotions or feelings, because they didn’t have them, didn’t understand them. Who made all this bullshit up?

There was nothing funny about violence, people laughed when a man gets hit over the head by a rolling pin with his wife…but what happens when the wife really hurts him, when she pulls his hair out or throws sharp objects at him. What happens when a gay man’s boyfriend punches him, pushes him down stairs and breaks his ribs. People ignored it, the police had no idea how to handle it, they made jokes. Viggo had learnt, if there’s something humans can’t deal with, they make jokes, that’s how they cope...deal whatever you wanted to call it, how people survive. But Viggo knew life should be more than just survival. No one deserved to ‘survive’ through life.

He squeezed Orlando’s hand. It didn’t matter anymore. Because when Orlando recovered, not if – but when he recovered - he was going to take care of Orlando, make up for all the years of neglect Orlando had suffered, to make amends for every tear Orlando had shed. He’d make sure people knew about male abuse, to stop it being a joke, he owed Orlando that much. Would people still laugh seeing Orlando like this? Somehow things didn’t look as funny when someone you loved was hooked up to a respirator. He refused to let anyone suffer as Orlando had, Orli didn’t deserve this, but then who did?

No one deserved abuse, no matter what choices they made. But for this to happen to Orlando of all people…Orlando his beautiful Orli, who was so loving, so open…it was wrong, evil to do what Mark had done. Lord knows how long Orlando had been suffering in silence, it must be silence surely? How long could Dominic and Elijah have known? Had they done anything, had they stood by and let Orlando be hurt, pretend it wasn’t happening? No they would never do that, they loved Orlando too much. But how had it happened then? They practically lived with Orlando, it was impossible they hadn’t noticed, Elijah knew, and Dominic wasn’t blind.

Why didn’t they do anything, done something - anything? Had Mark threatened them too? All of Orlando’s friends…Liv, Eric, Billy, Karl, Beanie, Johnny, Kate, Ian…the list was endless…had none of them noticed, weren’t there always signs in this sort of thing? Why hadn’t they got Orlando away, why hadn’t this Eric guy done something, he claimed Orlando was like a brother to him, or Sean or Karl – they were big and they loved Orlando, they were his friends and had always looked out for him so why the fuck hadn’t they helped?!

Not once had anyone mentioned anything to him, not once! All the times he’d seen Sean or Ian even Liv, they’d kept quiet, was it some strange taboo about abuse, or mentioning Orlando’s name in his presence? If he had known, if someone had just told him, he would have…would have come, surely they knew that…he would have…would have beat Mark to a bloody pulp, then handed him over to the Fellowship to finish off. Was that why no one had said anything, or was it simply Orlando a better actor than anyone had ever given him credit for and fooled everyone?

Mark and Orlando had been together about four years, and before that, Orlando and Kate had lasted two years. He didn’t know when the abuse had started and wasn’t sure whether to ask Dominic or not. What could Dom say that would make Viggo feel remotely better? Viggo couldn’t stand the thought that Orlando had been abused - that his own boyfriend had hit him, hurt him. He didn’t want to think about the pain his love had had to endure because Viggo had left him. It was Mark’s jealousy of Viggo that had caused him to lash out at his lover.

Pausing for a moment, he looked at Orlando and gently ghosted his hand over Orlando’s still face, lingering silently on the bruised areas. Not wanting to frighten Orlando, even in his unconscious state, he quickly pulled back. “You scared me so much Orli. I thought you were dead. I know that both Dominic and Elijah were terrified. Dom found you ... he saved you, and Elijah ... they both sat with you. When I heard you’d tried to kill yourself, I couldn’t breathe, I wanted to die myself. I just wanted to know why. I think I do. Dominic told me about Mark.” Here Viggo paused. It felt strange saying the abuser’s name. It was such a normal name. He knew two Mark’s and both were friends.

There was nothing ‘evil’ about it; it didn’t come with connotations like Jezebel or Lucifer. It was just an ordinary name. Mark had appeared to be an ordinary guy to everyone. He didn’t sparkle like Orlando, but then, no one could ever quite match Orlando Bloom. He was in a class of his own, and always would be. Pleasant, funny, congenial. That was the general impression he’d got from people, it hadn’t made him feel any better at the time. A horrible feeling of guilt swamped him, he’d wanted Mark to be horrible, for people to hate him. A small, selfish part of him, that Viggo refused to acknowledge, didn’t want Orlando to be happy in this new relationship, to be happy with someone that wasn’t him. He didn’t want people to tell him how good Mark was for Orlando…but God he never wanted it to be this way…had never wanted Orlando to be hurt. Had he wished this on Orlando? Was it possible?

"I’m so sorry, please believe me. I never wanted this to happen, I swear. I ... I just wanted you to be happy, really I did. I thought…I guess, that if I left you’d have more of a chance, be with someone nearer your own age ... someone like Kate. There was no censure when you were with Kate. She was right for you, everyone loved you together. I didn’t want you to suffer any homophobia; I didn’t want to and I didn’t want Henry to go through that. More than anything I was sacred, scared of you, scared of my feelings. I couldn’t understand why things were so ... perfect. It was like I couldn’t accept it.

“When I was with Exene, we fought so much, even when we first married. I loved her, I still do as a friend, but with you ... everything just fit perfectly. I was so scared I’d lose you, or that you’d grow bored ... or that the press ... o-or the anti gay stuff would get to be too much. So I bailed. God, I’ve never forgiven myself for that. I know you probably don’t believe me, but I never stopped loving you. I hated Kate for being with you; I hated Mark for the same. I never imagined he’d hurt you ... please believe that. I swear if I ever see him I’ll tear him limb from limb. I know it won’t make things right - nothing can erase what he’s done - but I want to help you. I want to make you feel loved again.”

How much or little Elijah and Dominic knew about Orlando’s abuse was unknown, and he didn’t want to insult or upset his friends, plus he wasn’t sure if it was his place. He was just Orlando’s ex after all, and the one who broke Orlando’s heart not to mention he wasn’t sure how friendly Dominic and Elijah were feeling towards him right now, which he guessed was more along the ‘despising’ route.

Hell, he didn’t even know why Dominic had phoned him in the first place, surely there were other members of the Fellowship he could’ve have rung first, that he could tolerate looking at for longer than five seconds, why bother him? It wasn’t as if he could change anything now, they should have just left him to paint, to try and get on with his semblance of a life…stopping his trail of though Viggo mentally shook himself. God when did he become so selfish? Viggo was mortified with himself.

One of the most important people in – or rather, out, of his life was potentially dying and all he could do was bitch that his estranged friend had taken it upon himself to call Viggo. But the fact that Dominic had phoned him had to say something, right? That he trusted Viggo enough around Orlando, trusted him to offer help and comfort to his broken friend, was he the only one Dominic had phoned? Did Dom trust him that much…or ... or perhaps Dominic wanted it to truly sink in how much Viggo had damaged Orlando, what the ultimate result of his cowardice was. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know which one Dominic thought but it still chilled him.

He gazed at Orlando; despite his injuries, or perhaps because of them, he was still beautiful, nothing could ever convince Viggo otherwise, these bruises, the scars, though mostly hidden by clothes and tubes, were a testament to the love Orlando bore his friends, the lengths he would go to protect them, they reminded Viggo just how remarkable this man was, how worthy of love he was. His gazed raked over Orlando

Most of the scars and bruises would fade, and the cuts would heal given time. There would be very little that would mar Orlando’s physical perfection, or stand out as a visual testimony of the abuse and horrors Orlando had suffered, at least to the common observer. But Viggo would know, as would Dom and Elijah. Viggo would never forget where these scars were, each precise location would be burned into his memory. A part of him longed to inflict the same injuries to Mark, in exactly the same places. He pushed down the rising fury that threatened to engulf him. Now was not the time for foolish thoughts of retribution. Orlando needed him now, needed to be reminded he wasn’t alone.

Viggo desperately wanted to ring each of the Fellowship, demanding…begging to know what they knew. Billy must know something, he was a hobbit, Dominic and Elijah told him everything, or even if they hadn’t he would’ve guessed. Billy wouldn’t have judged Orlando, he had to know something…or Sean, Orlando had kept in close contact with him after Troy, or Ian, he knew Orlando spoke to him on the phone…or…God help him, Kate would do! Anyone who could tell him when this started…why….he just wanted to know why…he wanted answers, felt he deserved them for seeing Orlando like this.

If he had the nerve, he would ring them all at that moment, bring them to see Orlando, to show his Orli he wasn’t alone…no… not his Orli. Not anymore, he’d made sure of that, Orlando was Mark’s now, as good as branded property. Where did that thought come from? Viggo didn’t want to ponder too deeply, whenever his thought it always lead to disaster, thinking was what made him break up with Orlando. Viggo had learnt that pondering was extremely dangerous. No, it wasn’t his place, but he desperately wanted Orlando to know his friends were there for him. If they knew, no doubt the entire Fellowship - plus Liv, (who was an honorary member at her own insistence. You just didn’t argue with an elf princess) not to mention Sonia and Samantha Bloom, would spare no time or expense to be by Orlando’s side, to show their love and support, and their bond to their beloved Orlando only strengthening their determination. Viggo, of all people, knew how easy it was to want to protect Orlando, to shield him from harm. What a complete fuck-up he’d made of that.

Undoubtedly, Orlando needed the Fellowship and his family to aid his recovery, but Viggo didn’t know how to go about it. Was it even his place to do so? What rights did he have as an estranged ex-boyfriend? No doubt Orlando, when (not if) he was awake, would despise Viggo if he told anyone about the abuse, he would probably hate him for knowing about it at all. It would be hard enough on Orlando knowing that his ex-lover knew about it, let alone the Fellowship, who had, no doubt, last seen Orlando as a vibrantly, lively perfect being, not the pain ridden, broken young man who was laying before him now.

He had barely seen Dominic since his arrival, the man being kept behind by doctors updating Orlando’s condition. Elijah had only told him bits and pieces. Not enough to form a whole picture of what had happened. Viggo had no idea how long the abuse had been going on for, or indeed how much anyone knew about it. No one seemed very inclined to give Viggo at information at the moment, simply stating Orlando’s condition was ‘critical but stable’ how that was possible, he wasn’t sure. He’d lost track of the hours he’d been here, gazing at his former lover. Time was easy to forget when looking at him. It didn’t stop his acute unease though, he’d given up looking at the clock, realising it wouldn’t do any good. How long would Orlando be like this? Would Orlando drift into a comatosed vegetative state? No…the idea of that was too horrific…Orlando wouldn’t give up, not without a fight. He was the strongest person Viggo knew and if Orlando couldn’t fight this time, Viggo would fight for him, along with Dominic and Elijah, they would fight until Orlando was strong enough to fight for himself.

Despite himself he glanced at the clock, the ticking seemed louder than the various machines. When was he going to wake up? When? He had to know Orlando would wake up, that he was be alright, that Viggo could start making his amends. Reaching out he tentatively ran a hand through Orlando’s hair, some of the ends had dried blood on that the doctors had missed, Viggo winced. He was almost surprised when Orlando didn’t stir. Pushing away the tears forming in his eyes, he gently pushed Orlando’s hair from his eyes, ran his thumb over the bruised eye, the recently stitched cut along his jaw line. How long would he be like this for? How serious were his injuries? Viggo knew the basics extent of his injuries, but what about the hidden ones? How hard had he hit his head on the floor? What would happen when he woke, would he suffer brain damage, loss his memory…how would Orlando be when he woke?

Would Orlando blame himself, using the ‘twisted logic of the abused’ as Viggo had heard of it; believing he’d somehow deserved it, and had left Mark with no option? He caressed Orlando’s hand, who seemed to whimper slightly. Although Viggo was sure it was the drug effects, he caressed Orlando’s hand gently but firmly, and Orlando seemed to relax again.

"Shhh, you’re OK Orlando; you’re safe here. No one’s going to hurt you sweetheart…no one, I swear. Mark’s gone and he’s never coming back, I promise. I want you to get better. I’ll help you ... whatever you need, I’ll stay here, however long you want. I swear. Just…stay with us Orli, Dom and Lij need you…I need you, please don’t go…please?" the last few words came out in a chocked gasp and Viggo desperately tried to push down the sobs threatening to burst forth. As far as Viggo was concerned, the first time Mark hit Orlando; he’d signed his death warrant.

Now he’d dug his grave and Viggo was going to enjoy making sure he stayed there, because there was no way that he was ever, ever going to let Mark come anywhere near Orlando again. No, he’d never let anyone hurt Orlando again, not while there was a single breath in his body...never again. Painting, acting, poetry – those were all secondary jobs. From now on, his only aim, his primary goal, was to look after Orlando, and God help anyone who tried to stop him…

TBC…