Funny How Love Is (Maylor AU)

Chapter 50

The headmistress stopped dead in her tracks.

Roger began to nervously mess with the frayed ends of his long scarf, avoiding her wrathful gaze and muttering unconfidently under his breath, "I-I just think it'd be a real shame if he found out about you sneaking around your place of work with one of your inferiors." Fury ignited in her sharp glare. "Or would it just make things even between you two?" he tacked on, finding a bit more strength as he went on to explain, head still down, "I mean, after all, he was cheating on you. The least you could do to get back at him would be to cheat on him too, right?"

"Are you trying to blackmail me, Taylor?" she sneered.

"I'm just saying, Chrissie..." Roger folded his arms over his bruised chest and swallowed the painful cry that wanted to emanate from the back of his throat, finally looking into her eyes that glowed with resentment, "...you're not the only one with leverage here."

A scornful tut slipped past her lips. "Says the cross-dresser with a black eye and a limp."

The blonde frowned and watched as the headmistress finally left his classroom, slamming the door on her way out. The force of her action knocked the small clock on the wall above the music instructor's desk from its hook, adding it to the mess of papers Chrissie had left behind. He plopped down on the piano bench and dropped his hands in between his knees, staring at the door as if Chrissie would come back and take his job away from him right then and there. However, thinking about it, he doubted she would. This whole thing depended on both of them being able to keep their situation under wraps and tell the same story when asked about it, so they were in this together, whether they liked it or not. They couldn't pull this off without one or the other, and so—

"—one wrong step and you're toast," Roger whispered to himself, seeing that his teasing remark to Brian didn't only apply to the professor.

*****

Half the day had passed by, the minutes dragging on like hours, and soon the university was flooded with students and professors trying to catch a quick bite or cup of tea before their next class. The crowded halls and courtyards burst with conversations and laughter. Even Brian and Chrissie found themselves in the mix, sharing lunch together and acting as though they hadn't just ignored each other for the better part of last week, or nearly broke up over the fact that the headmistress lied to the professor about being married—though she didn't technically lie to him, she just made a conscious effort not to mention it.

After a reluctant conversation that didn't sit well with either of them, the couple agreed to pretend like everything was okay, at least in front of their peers. It was true that their relationship had been kept a secret for its entirety, but that didn't stop their colleagues from making assumptions or spreading rumors. Everyone knew there was something different about the way they behaved around each other, and many speculated that they were having an affair—which, in a sense, they were. However, few knew that their affair had turned into something more serious, and even fewer—if any at all—knew that their relationship was in danger of falling apart. Even the reason for that wasn't certain, the two involved parties having different ideas about why they'd grown so distant, so disconnected.

Meanwhile, separate from everyone else, Roger had isolated himself in the bathroom, leaning over a sink and caking foundation on his face and neck in a desperate attempt to mask the bruises that seemed to be getting worse as the day progressed. His gaze anxiously shifted between the mirror and the door, worried someone might walk in on him. After all, it was a public restroom; a men's restroom, at that. Normally, he wouldn't mind such a walk-in; in fact, he was quite accustomed to it. The problem lied within the fact that it was rare for a man to be applying makeup in places like this, whereas in the places Roger was more acquainted with, it was an almost expected sight, sometimes even a turn-on. Here at the university, though, he doubted such a thing was acceptable by any means. Who knew what repercussions he would face if someone discovered him?

He took a painful step back—almost tripping over his scarf he'd dropped to the ground by his feet—and stared at himself in the mirror, examining his work. For the most part, the bruises had disappeared, especially the ones on his neck. The one around his eye, however, didn't seem to want to go away, peeking through the thick, heavy layer of foundation like a zit that refuses to be gotten rid of. He sighed in involuntary defeat and shoveled his belongings into his bag, scooping that and his scarf up from the ground and going to leave when the door clicked open, Roger's frightened eyes falling upon the student standing in the doorway.

"Ben," the music instructor muttered in astonishment, his body just as stiff as the other blonde's. He awkwardly slung his bag over his shoulder and hesitantly asked, "W-What are you doing here?"

The younger man—only by a few years—pointed to the stalls to his left, unable to formulate a verbal response. All he seemed to be able to do was silently stare at the man whose boyfriend he slept with weeks ago, his attention fixated on the discolored ring around the instructor's eye, and his mind screaming at him to just leave and find another bathroom.

Ben assumed the black eye came from a fight, and he wasn't wrong...entirely. He figured it was the blonde who initiated the quarrel, considering how upset he seemed to be when he walked in on him and his boyfriend that night, and that he attained the injury out of an act of self-defense from the opposite party.

You see, that was Tim's greatest quality—his ability to make others believe that he could do no wrong; that it was the world against him and he against it. However, that belief belonged to him too, and he'd seen things that way for so long that he became blind to any and all other possibilities.

For Tim, it all came down to a matter of doing what he needed to in order to survive, and that's how Ben saw it. How could he not after Tim cried to him about how awful his boyfriend was to him, describing the tumultuous and rocky slope the two of them were headed down and blaming it all on the blonde?

It's just that...I just wish he'd realized he's perfect just the way he is, you know? But he hates himself so much that he's always trying to be someone else; always trying to find something bigger and better than what he's got. I love him to death, I really do, but every time he walks through that door, I-I recognize him less and less. It's like he doesn't even want to be around me anymore. After all I've sacrificed to be with him, it's like he wants to get rid of me. What am I s'pposed to do?

The fake tears really sold it for Ben, as they did every guy he fooled around with while Roger wasn't home, and the young blonde left the flat that night thinking Tim wasn't the abuser, but the abused, and that Roger deserved that ring around his eye. Would he be able to stand up to Roger, though, if he were to come after him? He wasn't so sure.

"...right," Roger blurted out uncomfortably, nodding his head once before brushing past Ben out into the hallway, the student slamming up against the restroom door in fear. His sudden and abrupt reaction caught the blonde's attention for only a split second, his intrigue disrupted by him bumping into someone. He rattled off a quick apology—too panicked to take the time to see who it was—before adjusting his bag and rushing back to his classroom, his run unstable and causing more pain with each corner he turned and stairwell he descended.

He entered the room with a swiftness that resembled one of someone being chased by a murderer, and it wasn't until he turned around from closing the door that he noticed the person sitting at his piano, waiting for him.