Mea Culpa 9/? part A

[imogen-lily.livejournal.com]

N.B. Due to the size of this chapter I've had to split it into two parts



Three days. Three days had passed since he had woken up and was expected to join the real world; so here he was, just released from hospital, naturally under the close supervision of Mr. Wood and Mr. Monaghan and sitting in Elijah's spare bedroom. For the past three days, he'd endured medical experts, poking him like some rare specimen, `umm-ing' and `arrr-ing' while scribbling notes. You'd think they'd never dealt with a nutcase before! He sometimes wondered if he'd developed an extra arm while he was unconscious, because frankly he couldn't see anything remotely remarkable about himself or his situation.

There'd been tests, lots of them; one of the doctors had explained they were all routine, especially in his…'circumstances'. If his blood pressure wasn't being measured, it was his temperature, or his adrenaline levels, or something else. It grated his nerves and had taken all of his restraint to not just tell them to sod off. But Orlando Bloom was polite, his mum had made sure he always minded his ‘p's and q's', brushed his teeth and respected his elders.

Even as a grown man he'd held these lessons close to him, though much good his manners had done around Mark. He could just see it now: "Mark, would you mind, please, not hitting me tonight?" Somehow he didn't see that having much effect, but then begging or screaming hadn't helped much either. So he allowed the doctors their examinations but he was always relieved when Dr McCoy came back. She was human and he liked her.

Orlando got the feeling that she dealt with similar cases and didn't seem at all phased that she was treating an 'abused faggot' – other people had the most charming phrases. He was also more than a little relieved that she'd seen past the whole 'celebrity' label. He wasn't a Hot Celebrity or an Oscar Winner, he was simply Orlando to her and that was something he'd been thankful for. Even if he hadn't liked her as a person, he would have liked her from the sole basis that she signed his release form and granted his freedom from the white-walled hell. Despite his tendency for broken bones, Orlando didn't like hospitals, he never had. Even from childhood, they had seemed to be a dark forbidding place, with a lack of warmth. He could still remember his visit to his Dad in the hospital; the doctors had seemed so large and alien in their white coats.

Orlando's then four-year-old mind hadn't understood that the doctors were trying to save his father. He had just wanted his Daddy back, to read him a story and to hug him, but that had never happened. He never saw his Daddy again and from then on Orlando had decided that hospitals weren't a nice place. Even now, he maintained that belief, so it was with no small relief he'd left the hospital after a few heartfelt words with Dr McCoy. She'd had a quick talk with Dominic and Elijah too, but Orlando hadn't asked what over. The worst bit was facing Viggo again; after his rather spectacular breakdown that first evening, he'd been embarrassed and reluctant to see Viggo again. He could become accustomed to Elijah and Dom's ever-hovering presence and accepted it gratefully, but Viggo was a different matter. After that first visit, he hadn't wanted Viggo around, made excuses to Dr McCoy or `fell asleep'.

Strangely, Dominic had seemed rather saddened by his behaviour, but hadn't remonstrated with him for it. Viggo on the other hand hadn't been so complacent and had spent time sitting in a chair gazing into space or reading, while Orlando had awkwardly fiddled with his blanket feeling like a disobedient child being chastised by a very patient parent. Viggo hadn't seemed to mind the silence, but it had haunted Orlando. With Viggo, so much had been left unsaid or undone and to even begin, where to start was an unimaginable task.

Nothing in his relationship with Viggo had ever been simple, not even the damn silences. Because of the way Viggo looked at Orlando, his penetrating eyes, a small quirk of the lips, furrowing of the brow – they all spoke to him in ways that would take Shakespearian monologues to explore the true depths. Orlando had almost demanded Viggo be removed from his room, but he felt awful as his mind had drifted back to when Viggo had comforted him, how his hand had felt on his hair, the gentle yet strong movements, so familiar yet utterly foreign now, but not forgotten…no never forgotten. He could not forget Viggo's touch, how his body melded into Viggo's.

That night, Viggo's touch hadn't hurt, it hadn't burnt his flesh or made him panic, but the following morning everything had changed and Viggo was no longer a source of comfort but once again a source of endless pain, because it had reawakened his longing, his long- suppressed love for Viggo, and Orlando couldn't handle that, not right now. When Viggo discovered Orlando's forthcoming release (God that sounded like prison), he'd immediately gone to him. Viggo was quiet, even for him, but there was a distinct pain in his eyes. Now that Orlando wasn't in `Mortal Peril', Viggo could leave…again. No, that wasn't fair. Viggo had been under no obligations to visit at all.

It appeared that under the combined pressure of Elijah and Dominic, Viggo had been forced into accepting that sleep – in a proper bed - was needed and Orlando had agreed with them on that. Viggo had gone far beyond his duty where Orlando was concerned, so he had not been there the hour he was finally released from hospital. Elijah had insisted they go to his house as a refuge; Orlando's own house was forbidden ground now, not that Orlando could have faced going back there, not after last time.

Despite the feeling of relief, he worried over putting Elijah out, but his friend had simply waved his hand dismissively uttering "Mi casa es su casa" with a blinding grin and Dom rolling his eyes at Elijah's obvious preening over his clearly extended vocabulary. Orlando had almost laughed; it was almost as if they were back in time. Almost. Dom had offered to go back to his house and collect his stuff and Orlando wanted to suggest going with him but had kept silent, because to his own mortification he was scared. Scared of going back into his own house because of what might be waiting for him when he returned.

He wasn't sure whether to be worried or not over the lack of contact from Mark; if nothing else Mark would have made an excellent spy – he always knew where Orlando was, even when Orlando hadn't told him. But he hadn't heard from him, not a peep or a threat and in some ways Orlando found that a lot more frightening, because he was now waiting. Waiting for the next phone call – with alternating threats and pleading. He was waiting to receive either a bunch of flowers, a punch in the face or his friends' bodies and the worry was slowly draining him. In hospital he'd been protected, Dominic and Elijah had been close by, they'd never once left his side, and as Dom promised, they still wouldn't. Although no one said it, the terror of Mark returning lingered over them all.

A horrible voice whispered was it really any safer at Elijah's house? After all, Mark had found him there before; he'd find him again. Only this time it would be much worse, because Viggo was around and he'd tried to escape. Mark wasn't stupid, he would know why Orlando had tried to kill himself, and that was unacceptable. He could still remember Mark's face as he stood at the door - that had been the deciding moment. Orlando had known that Mark had won then.

After an eternity of staring at the wallpaper's innocent floral designs morphing into strange evil shapes he almost wished he were back at the hospital. He was aware that he was open to criticism for taking the bed of a really sick person. He had chosen to do this to himself and as such was undeserving of sympathy.

No one had forced him to give up. Besides, what was a little `wrestling' between guys, just guys being guys - they loved it rough didn't they? there was no need for him to go overboard. It was undeniably his fault; he'd let Mark hit him, he'd let him continue, and covered up for him. He could've left at any time, but he chose to stay because he didn't know what else to do. He couldn't bear the idea of being alone again, of being deserted, so he'd stayed, been the loyal boyfriend simply because he lacked the capacity to do anything else.

He often wondered how other people did it – picked themselves up and got on with life. How did one do that when life had become a visible wreckage? Everyone knew women were abused – they deserved and got sympathy. They had people on their side to fight for them, quite rightly too. All the help in the world wouldn't change the fact that he was the one who needed to start living again. How did women do it, pick themselves up and carry on? He'd read such triumphant stories even before he met Mark; women enduring appalling treatment, yet refusing to be crushed; fighting back and surviving.

He remembered once reading that victims of abuse needed to feel needed – wanted and appreciated. He had no one who needed him, relied on him. If anything, people felt it was their duty to take care of him. He wasn't blind. He'd seen the worried expressions and carefully chosen words, spoken as if one wrong word would tip him over the edge. Was he that… delicate? Men weren't supposed to be delicate; they were tough, they were fighters. He couldn't recall seeing a `Warning: Handle with Extreme Care' on his forehead lately, but then he'd never had a 'please hit me' label when Mark was around either.

Dom and Elijah's worries were justified and he hated himself for that. He didn't want to die again, not entirely; it was difficult to explain but the curiosity still pricked him. All he'd wanted was peace, an oblivion that had been denied him and he had to wonder what that would have felt like. Would Dom and Lij have hated him? He'd never know exactly what their faces were like when they found him and he had no wish to know. He didn't want his friends to be put through the trauma of his death had he succeeded but he hadn't been thinking of them at that moment.

He'd been selfish with that final swallow of the pills, with the slit of the wrist. No thought for his friends who had suffered along with him, stood by his side, tried to protect him; yet they had not gone through the pain, felt Mark's blows to his face and body. Hadn't felt each searing pain as Mark had forced him… nor heard the hate-filled words snarled at him, each one stabbing him in the heart.
They hadn't watched Mark crumble after his blinding rages, how he'd sobbed and begged him, his eyes boring deep into Orlando's, searching for something that was beyond anyone's power to give. They had not looked into the eyes of a man who was so close to falling, was already falling into an endless abyss.

When Orlando saw such torment, such raw agony and fear in Mark's eyes…his physical pain seemed to dull in comparison to the tortured soul before him, a torture which he had, in part, brought about. After all, cuts and bruises healed, a black eye could be covered up. Mark had needed him, and no matter what Dom and Elijah had said, they hadn't seen Mark during these times. It was the quiet moments, when Mark held him and whispered in his ear…he whispered his fears to Orlando, how he was scared of himself, of losing Orlando. At those times, Orlando knew it was the real Mark who had returned, the man he had fallen in love with and during those times Mark protected him, so it was only fitting that Orlando upheld his side - no relationship was one-sided, he knew that. But it was more; though Orlando could never admit it out loud, he wanted to protect Mark.

All his life people had seen him as fragile and delicate. It was as if people couldn't bear to let Orlando take care of himself because he'd screw up, oh *poor* Orlando he can't make coffee or turn on a computer – he's so precious, so cute, so delicate we *must* protect him! Even Viggo had protected him, wrapped him into his arms and chased away the demons that would seek to threaten his lover. Viggo protected him from all the nastiness in the world, Kate had even protected him from harsh reality...then Mark came along. Mark wasn't the protecting sort; he stepped back, allowed Orlando to fall, and fall he had.

As their relationship progressed something had shifted, the balance of power that was once so equal between them had been altered, after Mark had begun to fall apart after he struck Orlando, he had tried to soothe him and the strange sensation of Mark clinging to him, begging him to stay, apologies spilling from his mouth. It had struck Orlando then that Mark needed him, that Mark needed protection, to be saved and cared for; this had been such a revelation that at that moment he'd sworn to protect Mark, to be his saviour. That is what kept Orlando at Mark's side, even more than the threats and overwhelming fear; and the fear was not for himself, but that he would lose Mark.

How could he explain that to his friends? That his desire to protect Mark outweighed even his gripping fear of the man; how would they understand that? There were times, at the worst moments, when Orlando believed that Mark had been possessed, the hateful things he had spat out, and his vindictive cruelty. Mark had used him, and Orlando feared he had lost the battle, but then Mark would always seem to return, just for a little while, offering him hope. The hope had slowly decreased over the years and yet he'd still foolishly clung to his beliefs, to the hope that had worked its way into his heart. And during the bad times soft voices would taunt him that he deserved it, he'd colluded in making Mark what he was. He had sculpted Mark, created this monster and this was the penance that he would carry with him.

He tried to dismiss the thoughts, the insidious words, but it was useless. Four years of poison had worked its way into his subconscious and taken root. Orlando had begun to see himself as dirty, as a worthless whore. He'd tried to stop; he'd dressed more `appropriately', rejected certain roles, and kept his distance from his friends, even his family! But Mark's `warnings' had got worse and the voices began to slowly grow louder. At times Orlando wondered how he had survived, especially the last grim two years. Dom had told him it was due to his strength and he'd almost laughed at that. Strength? What strength was that – the strength that couldn't protect Mark, or that caused him to swallow the pills, or how about the strength that had prevented him from leaving Mark or calling the police.

He wanted to rage at why fate chose to torment him; why had he been put at the whims of some cruel entity? Did his life serve as an endless source of depraved amusement for the higher powers? He hoped someone was getting a kick out of it.

Moreover, a part of him was angry with Dominic’s presumptuous, seeking help from an ex, one that still held such power over Orlando. Everyone assumed the power was in Mark's hands, but it was Viggo who was the real danger. If people thought that Mark was a demon, than Viggo was an incubus for Orlando. Viggo had slowly, piece by piece, sucked the soul from Orlando. That could be the only reason why he no longer felt anything deep inside; it had happened so gradually he'd never noticed until it was too late, as with everything in his life.

Or maybe his soul wasn't completely vanquished, but buried deep, twisted and bruised. Oh what pure poetry he could think up in the depths of his despair, perhaps he was the true successor of poets like Byron and Shelly. Orlando Bloom, the original Tortured Soul, kin to poets and painters through the ages, but the hold these artists had on those around them - like Viggo. Viggo…bloody *Sodding* Viggo! Arrgh! Why did everything have to keep coming back to his bloody ex? He shouldn't…didn't need Viggo's help to start his life again. He'd managed before without Viggo. Yep, you've been really great these past few years and gee, everyone knows what a tough-nut you are now, you sure don’t need Viggo a sarcastic little voice in his head needled.

Why couldn't he drive it into his thick skull that Viggo was his EX – as in *former* boyfriend, they didn't even keep in contact – hadn't since the break-up. Viggo didn't love Orlando anymore, didn't want him, and why would he? Why would anyone want him anymore? He was `used goods', a `marked man', so to speak. His visit had been purely an act of charity; he'd come because Dom has asked him. End of story. But just why Dominic had rung Viggo in the first place was beyond his comprehension and he felt a little anger for his friend's decision.

Hell, Dom had comforted him through most of the emotional turmoil after Viggo's departure. Surprisingly even Elijah had seemed to (very) reluctantly acquiesce to Dominic's rather ad hoc decision; Elijah's attitude in refering towards Viggo in the past few years had been decreasingly civil, and now both his friends seemed suddenly ready to welcome Viggo back into the fold.

His trail of thought was interrupted by a soft knock on the door, as Elijah poked his head round, and seeing Orlando was awake, smiled. Without being invited (hey it was Elijah's house) he came in with a tray of something hot.

"You've been up here for hours Orlando, even you need food" he smiled encouragingly as Orlando wrinkled his nose at the tray. It felt strange to think of something so… incredibly mundane. The basic things of life had seemed to slip away, he'd forgotten how to enjoy even the simplest things in life and felt a wave of guilt when he caught Elijah's proud smile.

"I actually made this stuff myself Orlando, c'mon I need you to eat it, the bloody pan nearly burnt me. I've suffered for you" he grinned, as he adopted a wounded expression which was ruined by his wiggling eyebrows and without thinking Orlando laughed, the sound took them both by surprise. Then as the other meaning of Elijah's `suffering' sank in, he suddenly slammed his mouth shut. Noting his friend's sudden change in demeanour, Elijah placed the tray on the floor and sat down on the bed, wanting to comfort Orlando, but not quite sure how.

Everything was so different now, there was no Mark to fight off - The bastard seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth - and there was a broken Orlando to deal with. Knowing that such an innocent sentence could bring such pain to Orlando…Elijah didn't want that. He didn't want to be careful what he said and did around Orlando. He loved him, and part of that meant being himself. "I didn't mean…"

"I know Lij. It's not your fault; don't blame yourself. You and Dom have been amazing…where is he anyway?" Orlando asked, forcing himself to make eye contact with Elijah. It was so much easier to avoid looking at people now; it had become a survival method. Mark had seen it as flirting... as provocative and Orlando had such beautiful eyes, dangerous eyes... It was a long time since he'd used that nickname. It reminded him of when everything had been so simple. Not perfect, but just…better.

"I sent the git home, he needed some sleep. I tell you without his beauty sleep, Dom's just a big hag" Elijah leaned in as if telling Orlando some great secret conspiracy. "But we already knew that" he smiled at Elijah and for a second everything was right in the world.

Not wanting to miss the opportunity, Elijah lifted the tray back up, thrusting it under Orlando's nose in a vain attempt at encouragement; Orlando barely stifled a sigh, which Elijah noticed. "Look Orlando, not to get all `sargent major' on you, but I'm not leaving until you eat it! Oh and I know you're not hungry but your still gonna eat this"

"Elij-"

"No, Orlando! I don't care what you say or think, I'm not sitting around while you practically disappear inside your clothes, 'cause you will if we let you, and you know that. Just…please eat it Orlando, if not for you than for me, my hand's blistering already," he added in softer tone as he held up the hand with a barely visible red mark.

"If I eat the damn thing, will you stop babbling?"

"Yep!" Elijah smirked knowingly. With more than a little reluctance, Orlando began to eat the soup. Elijah knew, given half a chance, Orlando was as likely to throw the soup out the window and Elijah was ultimately prepared to force-feed him.

"It's good" admitted Orlando, still hesitating over each spoonful. Elijah didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"Course it is, it's homemade. None of that processed crap for you my dear Mr Bloom."

"Wait…you made this?! Lij, you can barely boil water!" Orlando exclaimed, his forehead crinkling, both the soup and pain momentarily forgotten, while Elijah's face took on an expression of feigned hurt.

"You wound me Orlando Bloom! I've been honing my skills to perfection-" he said, and grinned at Orlando's arched eyebrow. "OK so I didn't actually make it, but it is homemade. Just not by me, and I did cook it! I tell you soup's a bitch to cook, the stuff gets everywhere" he groused.

Orlando's lips quirked a little at hearing Elijah's rambling monologues. There was a comfort in that, a long forgotten consistency.

"Thanks Elijah" he murmured, a small smile tingeing his lips, as he looked up and Elijah felt a tingle of warmth run up him. He couldn't really remember the last time Orlando's had smiled. To simply see that again was thanks enough. He didn't need to hear the words, because he knew that there were simply no words that could ever fully explain their feelings.

As Elijah began to wave off the thanks, Orlando shook his head and butted in. "No, no I mean it. It's not the soup, although it was really good, but, it's for everything you've done, you've gone through, you and Dom. You're a true friend Elijah, I'm really lucky to have you. I know I don't tell you enough and I'm not easy to deal with right now, but I don't… I don't know what I'd do without you guys…I think I wouldn't…" he never finished his sentence as tears began to well up in his eyes and his words were choked off.

Elijah was torn between flinging his arms around his friend and rushing off to get a machine gun and finish off Mark in pure 'Rambo' style. But to even offer any sort of physical comfort seemed almost… taboo. He didn't know how Orlando would react, but undoubtedly, it would not go down well. While the logical part of Elijah's brain understood that Orlando had almost been conditioned to deal with any touches as threats, his emotions failed to take that into account.

He hated that Orlando flinched at a raised voice, that he was unsure whether to touch Orlando. He hated that he didn't know what to do or how to help. "It's OK Orlando, we're here and we always will be. I wish I could make you believe that Orlando. I wish I could gut Mark too" he added in a murderous undertone, hoping Orlando didn't hear.

The last thing Orlando needed was Elijah having violent tendencies. Yes, shocking wasn't it? That sweet, innocent Elijah could imagine violence, would consider using it and normally they'd be right. Elijah didn't want to think he was violent, to face the possibility that he'd enjoy hurting someone (no matter how much of a malevolent bastard) frightened him. The fact that he was even craving any violence disgusted him, how could he even think of violence at a time like this? And yet he was busy imagining various `death scenarios' for Mark!

He was supposed to be better than Mark, have a higher moral code. If he wished for Mark's suffering, his death, did that make him any better? Yet he couldn't help it. This man… monster, had caused Orlando to suffer beyond measure. Not only had he abused Orlando, which was unforgivable, but also he had degraded his friend in the worst way possible.

Elijah could barely bring himself to think the words. Raped. Mark had repeatedly raped Orlando, while they were together. He'd abused Orlando's trust, his heart and his body and that was something Elijah would never forgive or forget. All this time Orlando had kept silent, never told him, or Dominic and part of him was furious. They'd known about the other abuse, why did Orlando think this would have made any difference? But even as those thoughts formed, he realised their falsehood.

His brain seemed to dredge up long forgotten memories of his `gay Romeo and Juliet' (he still smiled at that name.) How Orlando had… well…sparkled when Viggo came by. His face would light up with pure joy. Despite his nickname for them, there hadn't been a desperate passion about them (oh there was definitely passion. He'd heard it in the trailer. Multiple times.) but no one would have doubted their love, certainly he hadn't.

He remembered how angry he'd been when Viggo had broken up with Orlando, how he'd muttered curses under his breath, as he'd rocked his sobbing friend.

Then came Kate, the up-and-coming actress. Pretty, bubbly Kate, whom he'd disliked (not hated, Mr Monaghan!) She'd been too cheerful to be human. She'd seemed like a Stepford Wife (it would've been perfect for her 1000 mega-watt smile. Dominic, of course, didn't see the funny side of that observation.)

He hadn't trusted her with Orlando's heart, and she wasn't Viggo. She didn't make Orlando sparkle, and he'd worried she'd too merrily trample on Orlando's heart in her desire to date Mr Celebrity, but his fears had proved unfounded. She'd cared for Orlando, providing, more than once a shoulder to cry on or a sympathetic ear. She'd been gentle with Orlando, never pushed him just…been there, and kept him safe. He remembered when he'd come in once, to discover her and Orlando baking, both covered in chocolate spread and icing they made quite a scene. But Orlando was laughing, a laugh that made his eyes crinkle up and Elijah almost cried seeing Orlando that. From then on, he'd trusted her.

Now there was Mark; Mark who had swept Orlando off his feet with his winning grin and out-going personality. Everyone had told Elijah to grow up, to stop being brattish. Mark was charming, he was funny, he loved Orlando…maybe he had, Elijah couldn't honestly say for sure. At times, long ago he might have, but now? What Mark had done, that wasn't love. It was obsession. It was lust, cruelty. It was a thousand things but was never love.

Orlando was torn. He knew how much hatred Elijah was harbouring for Mark. The dislike had been instantaneous on both parts. Elijah saw a cold, controlling standoffish prick, while Mark saw an excessively irritating motor mouth. At first Orlando had dismissed it as a `clash of personalities' but now…he found himself wondering if Elijah would be tempted to…seek revenge. The idea was so ridiculous he pushed it away. He knew Mark was suffering as greatly, no doubt more so than he was.

"Elijah…what am I going to do?" the question didn't surprise Elijah yet there was a terrible innocence to it; an innocence, which had been brutally ripped away and could never be replaced. For once Elijah didn't answer straight away. The pleading tone had begged for an honest answer, yet the eyes, they wanted lies, lies which Elijah desperately wanted to give his friend.

It was only now he began to realise, he wasn't fully Orlando anymore, because `Orlando' would never have ended up in this situation. Everyone thought Orlando was perfect, well here was undeniable proof he was an utter screw-up. "You're going to get better. You're going to stay here, stuff your face so that your clothes fit you again. Me and Dom are going to take you places, have fun and we can even visit your mom and Sam, if you like" they both knew he'd avoided the real question.

"I…I'm scared Elijah…I'm scared he'll come back-" Both knew who Orlando was referring to, and Elijah could understand Orlando's fear because he shared it. Truthfully, a part of him had half expected Mark to crash into the hospital. The fact that he hadn't worried Elijah more, because it probably meant he was bidding his time, waiting to get Orlando alone. He shuddered at the thought. Of course, there was always the distant possibility that Mark had left Orlando for good but he'd lost any real optimism years ago. Men like Mark didn't just `leave', they didn't `give up'.

He'd seen the fire that had burnt in Mark's eyes, the obsessive desire to possess completely. There was no love in his feelings towards Orlando, of that Elijah was positive. Despair wasn't one of Elijah's strong suits. He was willing to do anything within his power to stop Mark's return becoming a reality. To keep Orlando safe, however, meant keeping him as far away was possible from his familiar surroundings, maybe with the help of a certain Dane, a couple of restraining orders and a dozen or so bodyguards.

"But my stuff, I have to get it, my keys, everything's there Elijah. He'll be looking for me, he'll know what I did, just like… last time" the words trailed off as Elijah repressed a shudder. That night still chilled him. It'd been the night that he'd truly failed Orlando…

TBC in part B