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Rescue. [Aug. 26th, 2005|07:51 pm]
St. Bartholomew's

st_bartholomews

[truly_bohemian]

Gosh, quite a bit tonight!


The next day brought rain. A great torrent of it, falling like an avalanche against the school’s windows.
 
Melchett leant on the window frame, looking out at the storm. It was the first storm of the term, and they were not even a week in. Melchett felt it was as if his feelings had slipped from him, and projected themselves onto the outside world. His heart was a storm, he could feel it. It had never felt this way before, just as, a few weeks ago, it had never felt the ecstasy and awkwardness of love. Although, really, this was just another side of love that he hadn’t been prepared for. This time, though, he wished that it would leave him in innocence. Simplicity was empty and easy.
 
Therefore, he did not love George Colhurst St. Barleigh anymore.
 
This was what he had repeated to himself, ever since he had stalked sorely to the Nurse’s rooms the day before. He did not love Barleigh. He could not love Barleigh. What was there in a love that was not requited? The storm inside him whispered encouragingly that there was nothing but hurt. Melchett bolted straight towards the escape route… Until he thought about George again. Soon he discovered that not only was love one of the hardest things he’d ever walked blindly into, it was also one of the most difficult things to walk blindly out of. He couldn’t help but love every perfect inch of George. He would always be perfection to him.
 
Melchett sighed heavily. Love was impossible. Not loving was impossible. What could he do? He couldn’t continue with all this self-denial… could he? Maybe he could live in Blackadder denial? No, that wouldn’t work either. Well, maybe he could do it just for a little while…
 
A few days ago he had happily watched George playing footer on the grounds. In his mind, the other boys had been beasts and dragons, whilst he had swept from the room, to his beloved’s aid. Directly afterwards such thoughts had been dismissed as girlish and the kind of thing Melchett’s sister talked about. Still, he had searched the library that day, thinking it rather unfair that stories seemed always to include one boy and one girl. Melchett had spent his lunch hour searching for a book that would break the mould. If not, he and George would. George would be the young Lord, rescued, by Melchett, from the clutches of… Well, whatever he was in the clutches of. What was wrong with that? That would show the world what true love was.
 
Bitterly though, Melchett admitted that George was not the one who needed rescuing. But, Melchett thought, maybe that was exactly how it worked! Maybe this was how he could save himself, through the rescue of another, of the one he loved. George would save him, as soon as he could rescue George. His heart would feel love again, and he would tell George, and everything would be right for them. That’s how it worked! They would save each other!
 
But, of course, George couldn’t help Melchett when he was not in love with him. And, besides, what effect could stories and day-dreaming possibly have on reality?


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