Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own LOTF! Jack and Ralph would have soooo got together!

Kissing Mr Merridew

That sense of apprehension rippled down Ralph's back once more. It was a familiar feeling so Ralph knew it came to mean one thing: Jack Merridew was in his vicinity.

Ever since that fateful day 4 years ago when Ralph had returned to school and found Jack was there too, Jack had, well one could only describe it as stalking, yes been stalking him. He had watched his every twitch at school, had followed him home, and even in the dead of night, Ralph swore Merridew's eyes were staring back out of the darkness. And of course, the unpleasant things happened from time to time. His locker violated, his things strewn all over the floor, his boxers stolen and hung from the school flagpole, just beneath the Union Jack. Obviously no-one could prove it, hell they didn't even guess it might be down to the perfect innocent red headed choirboy. He'd hidden the savage and fooled the adults so well that they'd gone and made him Head Boy. One more thing to torture Ralph. One more thing to unleash the tyrant and the dictator.

Therapy didn't help either. They'd all experienced it. 2 weeks after the ordeal, the survivors had been chucked into an institution and grilled mercilessly. The littluns bleated at once. Ralph took a little coaxing but eventually the dam broke and all sorts of things poured out. Only Jack had remained silent. He'd tried to shut up Roger but as soon as Ralph mentioned the death of Simon, he broke down in tears and told them all. How he and Simon had loved each other, the grief of his passing, the agony of whether he participated or not, the anger towards the littluns and how they could be so happy while Simon no longer lived. And after all the emotions had ebbed, Jack stood up and uttered a stony apology. Ralph was the only one in a fit state to see through it.

It was Simon that Ralph was musing on, when his form tutor entered and he stood in respect. After that, they were all treated to an assembly, being serenaded by the choir. Guess who had secured himself a solo and yet another award after the performance. And as the others moaned about the next two periods of maths, Ralph climbed the stairs to the Art Block. It was here that his therapy with his supervisor Miss Grady had started two years ago. A kind, gentle woman, Ralph had harboured a long since buried crush on her. But as he got older, he realised his insecurity and inability to trust even his own parents. And now he'd sunken into the pit of paranoia. Today, he hardly heard her words as she handed him oil paints and a picture of a boy and an angel, its caption reading 'Tobias and the Angel.' Ralph put his pencil to canvas.

2 weeks later, another blow struck him. He was sitting in his form room, reading Coral Island, when one of Jack's (Or as Ralph thought of him: Jackass) lackeys wandered over and slapped a newspaper into his line. A line of neat handwriting hovered just above the title, which happened to be 'The Sun', that only said 'Page 3, Ralphie.' He glanced over at Merridew, who was probably laughing his hairy arse off at the idea of messing Ralph up even more. Complying for now, Ralph turned to the page indicated to be greeted with some dead eyed woman flashing her large jugs at him. But that was not what caught his attention. The title below the picture read 'Troubled Teen Commits Suicide.' The first word? Roger. Ralph felt as though a rug had been yanked from under his feet. Surely not Roger? He scanned the article. Apparently Roger had been living in hell for the last 4 years, drinking, taking drugs, searching for some kind of release. The suicide note was simply 'I'm Sorry, Simon.' Ralph felt on the edge of a breakdown. Slowly so as not to let anyone think anything was wrong, he calmly got up, packed away and headed for the Art Block.

Though Roger hadn't found his calling, Ralph had understood himself more as he painted. He could find answers and patterns he didn't know he knew until he'd painted them. Random things connected and made sense. And so it was with a sense of some understanding that Ralph finished off his masterpiece with a few deft strokes. Satisfied at last, he covered the painting with a sheet and cleaned up. With a final glance back at the hidden canvas, he walked away.

The monster entered quietly. There was no need as it was deserted anyway. It looked around before its hungry eyes rested on the sheet, in one fluid movement; it turned and yanked it away. The canvas spoke to it; indeed it was one of the few that could understand the piece in its purest form. For other, untrained eyes, it would resemble a boy, an angel and a few weird symbols. For it, the face of Piggy stood out as Tobias, Simon represented the angel. Bizarrely, Tobias/Piggy was holding a conch in his right hand and a pig's head in his left. Simon the angel held nothing but his expression was of understanding, patience and innocence. The background was an island, with a mountain, plenty of trees and a platform of a rock. Another disturbing detail was the inclusion of a face covered in war paint peeping among the trees and a hint of smoke coming from the forest. It grinned evilly and replaced the sheet. It had just looked into Ralph's mind and soul.

Ralph came back to look at the painting time and time again, just look. He had no friends to drag him away. Merridew had made sure of that. Speaking of Merridew, he'd discovered a new way of making Ralph squirm in discomfort. Every time they passed or when he got close enough, he'd reach out and purposefully brush Ralph's hand. Ralph couldn't hold in his disgust and pulled his hand away. This in turn made Jack grin. Ralph had no idea why this amused Jack this much. The next time it happened, Ralph was going to have a hard time not chopping Jack's bloody hand off.

Miss Grady interrupted Ralph's train of thoughts, in which Daydream-Ralph was just about the chop Daydream-Jack into tiny pieces. She said something about his painting winning a school prize. Ralph nodded and smiled mechanically. He was in one of his little absent moods, when he felt detached and at peace. She walked back out and Ralph was left alone with his thoughts again.

A prize? Of what significance was a prize? Pre Island Ralph would have been over the moon. Post Island Ralph scoffed at the mundaneness. He used to think that grownups could do anything they wanted and knew everything. His parents dismissed it as a phase. Let's see what they would do if pursued by a savage disguised as an angel. Ralph chuckled without amusement. His parents would call the police and have Jack thrown into prison. If that were possible. A perfect, charming, choir singing Head Boy stalking a messed up artist undergoing therapy? The police would probably laugh and turn away. No, this would have to be settled school boy to school boy.

Ralph continued his visits, falling into a schedule; which would prove disastrous. It was a sunny Friday afternoon so while his classmates ran around outside kicking a ball; Ralph climbed the steps to the Art Block yet again. His subconscious released a sense of apprehension again but his conscious quashed it. He turned into the room. A redhead stood, observing every detail of the work for the second time. Ralph considered running before Jack saw him, but only for a moment. His legs carried him in.

"Interesting, Ralphie, very interesting," murmured Jack. He turned. At present, his face was blank. Ralph betrayed nothing. Jack stepped lightly towards him.

"Why did you give Piggy the head?"

"It's irony, I suppose."

"Hmm."

Jack leant in closer. Ralph again betrayed nothing but a slight twitch of his fingers. He steadied himself for what he was about to do. He closed the gap between their faces and brushed Jack's lips with his own.

"You can't run forever, Jack."

Startled, Jack drew away. Confusion flitted across his freckled features. And as if to complete this weird role reversal, Ralph grinned like the savage. Jack, dazed and shocked, leaned in again, brushed past Ralph's cheek and whispered,

"I have one thing to say to you."

"What?"

"Don't start what you can't finish."

With that, Jack slammed Ralph against the nearest wall, hands pinned and kissed him like the animal he was. Ralph resisted at first, biting his teeth together but Jack gnawed his lower lip, drawing blood. Unwillingly, Ralph opened his mouth. Jack was in at once, flicking the roof of Ralph's mouth with his tongue. After he'd grown used to the initial weirdness, Ralph got into it and responded with much vigour, drawing quiet moans from Jack. They ground their hips together, as one, their hands exploring. Suddenly, Jack drew away. The boys gazed at each other, breathing heavily. Eventually, Jack whispered again,

"This is not over."

He flicked Ralph on the nose and walked out, his hands in his pockets. Ralph stood there for a long time, his hands still splayed across the wall, in a crooked Vitruvian Man.

Sucks to psychological warfare.

Years later, Ralph reclined in his armchair, gazing at the mantelpiece. Decades upon decades of memories were photographed: Him and Jack kissing, their first home, the rings on their fingers, both of them dressed in a sexy maid or nurse outfit. It was 3 weeks since Jack had flown to Italy and still no word. He must be having a cracker of a time. Ralph looked back as the letterbox rattled and some envelopes thudded on the mat. He rushed over and fumbled through them until he found one with Jack's handwriting. Hungrily, he opened it. He read the letter inside and sat back down on the armchair, tears falling fast. Jack was engaged. He was never coming back. He had left Ralph, smashed his heart to pieces. And finally, after 15 years of Jack's games, Ralph was broken like he intended. Every kiss, every touch, every time they'd made love had been a lie.

Sucks indeed to psychological warfare.

Aaaaah! I feel like crying now! By the way, it was Jack that crept into the room. How was it, people? xxx