Chapter 30 #2
“Oli, it’s okay. We’ll make a decision soon, and, until then, I have strategies. If things get really bad, then I’ll bring forward my next psych appointment.”
Maybe I’m being selfish, but what I really want, even need, is for Oliver to come out at work. I would never pressure him, but I do feel alone. Walking down the corridors feels like standing naked on stage under a spotlight. I imagine everyone thinking, oh he’s the gay teacher.
Yesterday, Oliver and I talked more about him coming out, and he’s almost there. I mean, I get it; he’s only recently discovered he’s bi and some people take years to come out at work. And with all this bullshit going on, I think it’s making it a thousand times harder for him.
“I just wish I could do more.”
“No more depressing stuff,” I say, planting a smile on my face. “Finish your lunch so we have time to make out before the bell goes. Let’s focus on the positives—you get to rail me raw all weekend.”
Oliver’s eyes widen, then he’s up on his feet. “Fuck lunch.”
Still lightheaded from Oliver practically ravaging me on his desk, I arrive a little late to my classroom. While I’d prefer to fantasise about how we’ll spend the weekend, I force myself to shift back into teacher mode. Straightening my jacket, I take a deep breath and enter the room.
Immediately, I know something’s wrong. All the students are quiet.
Like dead quiet. Some look embarrassed, others are smirking, and some look horrified, but all of them are sitting stock still.
I slow, stopping halfway across the room, trying to figure out what’s going on.
“Has something happened?” I ask. “I usually need to tell you all to be quiet.” It’s only then that I notice most of their eyes are focused behind me, on the whiteboard.
I turn to see what all the fuss is about, expecting to see a crude drawing of a dick or some swear words.
Instead, blood drains from my face and adrenaline floods my body, leaving me paralysed. In huge, black letters across the whiteboard, it says, Mr Sinclair is a fucking faggot!
The room tilts, nausea gripping my stomach. There are a few snickers behind me, then a girl’s voice coming in and out.
“Mr Sinclair, are… okay? It… here when… arrived. We didn’t… what… do.”
I twist towards the voice and register its Lee, a lovely year eleven student. Embarrassingly, my eyes fill with tears and I’m helpless to move or act.
“Mr. Sinclair, would you like me to remove it?” she says, standing up. “But maybe take a photo first so you have a record of it.”
“Yeah, Mr. Sinclair, take a photo,” says Vanessa, sitting beside her. “You might be able to match the handwriting and find out who did it.”
Then Lee’s walking towards me. “It’s disgusting. You shouldn’t have to put up with homophobic dickheads.” She stares up at me, her eyes wide with concern. “Mr. Sinclair, please, take a photo so we can wipe it off.”
I blink, not wanting to cry in front of my class, then pull my phone out and snap two photos. Lee and Vanessa start removing it, while students whisper behind me.
“Please start on chapter six of your textbook,” I finally say without turning to face them. My voice is small, and I hear the shame in it. Then, before I completely break, I walk out of the classroom.
I run down the corridor, tears falling, my vision grotesquely distorted.
I need Oliver.
I fucking need Oliver.
But, in my panic, I cannot remember his timetable. Should I head to the gym, or the oval, or his office? I shouldn’t have left my class unattended, and I’ll be in trouble for that. It’s failing my duty of care. Fuck. Where is Oliver?
Since his office is closest, I try there first, bursting in without knocking. My eyes land on him, registering the shock in his eyes, but it’s too late. The panic attack sucks all the air from my lungs and I gasp, body collapsing to the floor like a house of cards.
“Huxley! What’s happened? Oh my God, breathe angel, breathe with me.”
Oliver’s face enters my vision, but he’s blurred and faint, like a ghost. I try to remember the grounding technique, blinking, registering Oliver’s eyes and mouth… But I can’t fucking breathe, my heart racing so fast I think I’ll die. I’ll die right here on the floor of Oliver’s office.
“Angel, listen to my voice. Come on, in slowly for one two three four and out, one two three four. You can do it, Hux. Come on. Again.”
I will myself to focus on Oliver’s voice, trying so desperately to breathe with him.
“That’s it, angel, keep going. In and out slowly. I’m here. You’re safe.”
I have no idea how much time passes, but, ever so slowly, Oliver’s face comes into focus. My chest loosens and my body stops shaking violently. The memory, the humiliation of what happened, returns. Tears continue to fall. I must look insane.
“That’s it, Hux. You’re safe. I’ve got you, angel.
” Oliver’s arms tentatively wrap around me, then he pulls me into his lap.
There we stay, as I continue to cry, face buried into the crook of his neck.
Oliver rocks me and rubs circles on my back, and, eventually, my heart slows and the tears subside.
“Can you talk about it?” he asks, pulling back and cupping my face in his hands. I nod, covering my snotty nose. Oliver reaches up and grabs the tissue box off his desk so I can wipe my face.
“I left my class of year elevens unattended,” I say, voice breaking.
Oliver immediately pulls his phone from his pocket and calls the office. “Hi Beryl. Mr Sinclair is very ill. Can you please find someone to take over his year eleven maths class? Send them over immediately.”
Oliver pauses while Beryl replies, then continues, agitated. “I don’t have time to explain, Beryl. It’s an emergency and I’m taking care of it. You need to send someone there immediately to cover the class. Thank you.” Oliver ends the call, slipping his phone back into his pocket.
“Do you think you can stand?” Oliver asks, but he’s already pulling me to my feet, arms tight around me. He helps me sit in his desk chair, then drags the other one over so he’s seated facing me. “Tell me what happened, Hux.”
I don’t think I can explain it without crying again, so I pull my phone out and open the photo gallery, passing it to Oliver.
At first, he doesn’t speak. His hands shake, then his breathing becomes laboured, his broad chest heaving as if he’s run a marathon. His face changes from fearful white to the blood red of anger, and, finally, his eyes close.
It’s hard to watch Oliver battle his rage, especially knowing I am the cause of it.
He lost this battle with Reece, and I fear he will lose it again.
For a moment, I deeply regret bringing this to Oliver, for I don’t know where he will lay the blame or where his rage will land.
Williams? Jake and Troy? Bob, or even Jake’s father? Or maybe the whole damn lot of them.
Perhaps I’m overreacting. And Oliver too.
Isn’t it just a stupid teenage prank? Only words designed to unsettle me or make me move along to another school.
Kids wrote crueller things about me on the toilet walls in high school, so why does this feel worse now I’m an adult and in a position of authority?
I should’ve laughed it off with the class.
Should’ve made a joke and not let them see my pain.
Fuck!
Embarrassment rears up. I’m so fucking stupid. And weak. I’ve given them exactly what they wanted. “I should go back to my class,” I say, standing.
Oliver’s eyes shoot open and he’s on his feet too. “You are not going back into that classroom. Was it one of the year eleven students?”
“I don’t think so. They seemed shocked.”
“Is it still there on the fucking whiteboard?” Oliver’s voice is laced with barely contained anger.
“No, Lee and Vanessa wiped it off for me.”
“So it was Jake or Troy then, wasn’t it?”
“I don’t know,” I say, shaking my head. “Probably. But they’re back on the team so I don’t know why. I guess they blame me for all their problems.”
“We need to go and see Williams and report it. He cannot ignore this. This is blatant discrimination and cannot be tolerated. Do you want to go now, or after classes finish? I have a class soon but fuck it.”
“I can go on my own, Oliver. You don’t need to come.” Even as the words tumble out of my mouth, I know they’re not true. I want Oliver there. I need him standing beside me as a fellow queer man. As my boyfriend.
He pulls me into another hug. “You’re not going on your own. Not this time. Let’s go now.”
After a hurried walk across campus and into the main building, we stop short of Williams’s office and face each other. We quickly discuss how to approach it but can’t seem to come to a clear decision.
“Do you want me to do all the talking?” Oliver asks. “I can explain what happened.”
I inhale deeply, my breath shuddering out. I’m still not really regulated. “Doesn’t that make me look like I can’t stand up for myself? That I’m too soft, too gay.” The words come out sharp and accusingly.
“Hux,” Oliver says, voice softening. “That’s not what I was implying. I just thought it might make it easier for you. You speak, and I’ll back you up. Okay?”
“Okay. Let’s get this over with.”
Nausea hits hard once Oliver knocks. We wait for a response, Oliver’s hand briefly resting on my lower back before we enter.
My mind seems to disconnect from my body, and it’s like I’m observing myself from above.
Even with Oliver standing beside me, I feel alone, still that fifteen year old boy who doesn’t belong anywhere.
Williams frowns, his eyes narrowing as they track from me to Oliver and back. “Afternoon, gentleman. Take a seat. What can I do for you?”
“We’d rather stand,” Oliver says, then looks to me.
I unlock my phone, where I’ve left the photo open, and pass it to Williams. “That was on my whiteboard when I returned after lunch.” I try to keep my head held high even though my entire body is shaking.
Williams grimaces. “Well, that is rather unsavoury, isn’t it?”
“It’s a little more serious than that,” Oliver replies curtly, placing his hands on his hips.
“Now let’s not get too carried away just yet.” Williams stands up and passes my phone back without even making eye contact. “Oliver, I don’t know what’s gotten into you this year. And I must say I don’t care for this headstrong, quick-to-temper behaviour.”
I may as well be fucking invisible at this point.
“Mr. Williams. Sir,” I say, trying to assert myself.
“This was intended to incite hate and aggression. It’s homophobic, plain and simple, and we do have laws in this country against this type of conduct.
” My voice quivers and I fucking hate it.
I try to push on. “It’s obvious Jake and Troy are responsible, and I expect this matter to be dealt with.
I should not be subjected to this in my place of employment. ”
“You okay?” Oliver asks, his hand landing on my shoulder.
The action reads my mate at the pub. The touch is too firm, and too casual, and the first signs of anger flare in my gut. “I’m fine, Oliver,” I spit out, not even looking at my boyfriend.
“No, you’re not fine, nor should you be. Mr. Williams, you have a duty of care to your teachers to protect them from this form of abuse. You need to speak to Jake and Troy and remove them from tomorrow’s game. If they did this, they must be expelled.”
“Now let’s not jump to conclusions. We have no evidence it was one of those boys, so we won’t be removing them from the game, let alone talking about expulsion.”
Oliver places his hands on the desk and leans forward. “Well, I won’t be a part of the footy team until this is investigated. And how do you plan to support Huxley through this? You’re allowing students to discriminate against a gay teacher. You do realise that’s illegal, don’t you, sir?”
Williams and Oliver continue arguing but my mind is drifting, barely understanding their words.
Oliver is trying to defend me but hearing him talk about discrimination against a gay teacher as if he isn’t a queer man himself hurts in a way I cannot fathom.
It hits somewhere deep inside my chest, like lead spreading through my arteries and hardening my heart.
“You’ll be hearing from me, Mr. Williams,” Oliver yells, jolting me back to reality. “Come on, Huxley. Let’s go.”
I follow Oliver out, then continue on my own while he stops and speaks to Beryl at the administration desk. I’m halfway back to the sport and science building before he catches up.
“Hux, are you okay? We have to fight this. I’ll start making calls this afternoon and find us legal representation.”
Coming to a halt, I turn abruptly to face Oliver. “Us? Where was the us, Oliver? Because I heard you talking about a gay teacher. Last time I checked, you were a queer man, too. Do you have any idea how alone I felt in there while you, my boyfriend, talked to Williams about me?”
Oliver’s eyes widen, but I’m not finished. “Did it ever occur to you that Troy and Jake idolise you, and maybe if you were out and proud they wouldn’t act this way?”
Oliver’s face crumbles, his eyes filling with tears. Instantly, I regret every word I’ve said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Please, I’m sorry.”
Oliver doesn’t respond, just stares, a tear trailing down his cheek. I can’t do this right now. I can’t be here. “I need to be alone right now,” I tell him. Then I’m running. Running far away from this Godforsaken school.