Chapter Text
"Charlie Spring!" Mr. Lange looked up from his papers, dropping his yellow highlighter to give Charlie his full attention. "Welcome back to Hamlet House!"
"Hi, Sir." Charlie tried to look happy to be back, but all he could muster was a weak smile.
To put it plainly – Charlie did not want to be there. He had spent the better part of the last year in and out of hospital and various inpatient programmes. So much so, that he had missed too much of school to be able to keep up. He argued as best he could, tried to negotiate with catching up through summer, but it was no use. He had to repeat Year 11 to be able to sit his GCSE’s.
His only solace was that the school took pity on him and had allowed him to be in a form group with his sister, as all of his friends had left him for pastures new. The traitors.
“And Tori Spring. Glad to have you back,” Mr. Lange said to Tori who had followed Charlie into the classroom. The teacher's enthusiasm had waned to a tight smile. “I’ve sat you both by the window back in the corner there.” Mr. Lange points in the vague direction, and Tori makes her way there without a word to their now shared form tutor.
When Charlie found out that he would probably have to repeat school, he was mortified. First he was known as the ‘gay kid’; a disgusting parasite that walked the corridors of Truham, praying on the male student body for his own gratification – or at least, that was how he was made to feel. First it was name calling, people avoiding eye contact, then it was the odd push and shove as he walked by. Not long after that, he began to be ostracised: told he wasn’t allowed in the changing rooms, in the toilets, in the lunch hall. He wasn’t allowed to touch or be near some boys, otherwise said boy would violently retaliate. Charlie had been kicked, punched, slapped, and once some sixth formers even saw fit to extinguish a cigarette on his skin. ‘Burn the faggot like he’ll burn in hell’, they said.
Charlie’s mental willpower to withstand such torture only lasted so long, of course. By the time the school faculty had gotten wind of the situation, it was too late. Charlie didn’t want to be here anymore; he had started to believe the words he had heard too often from his tormentors.
The first cut was an accident. Some boys had put chewing gum in his curls, and instead of asking for help and increasing his own embarrassment, Charlie attempted to cut it out himself. The gluey clump binded to the ringlets behind his ear, and his vision was getting blurry with tears as he tried his best to look at what he was doing in the mirror. With a pair of scissors he hacked away at his hair and had caught his ear lobe. The cut was tiny, but deep enough for blood to drip onto his shoulder. For a moment, Charlie had stood in front of the mirror, watching the droplets fall. He was mesmerised. For the first time in so long, all of the thoughts in Charlie’s head stopped. Neurons that once fired in panic and self-loathing, now shifted their focus to the slight sting on his ear. The blood was such a deep red, building and getting thicker on his lobe, before dropping under its own weight.
The second time Charlie cut himself, it was out of curiosity. He wanted to know if his brain would silence again, if he could find the same sense of relief he did the first time. He got his answer as soon as the razor broke the surface of his skin. After that, Charlie’s fate seemed sealed. He told himself it was no different to drinking or smoking, or any other unhealthy habits people pick up. At least this way he wasn’t harming anyone else, and no one would care that he was harming himself.
That was the beginning of how he would become known as the ‘crazy kid’. At some point, Charlie developed an eating disorder. He’s not sure when it started; part of him thinks it was always there, lingering in the background and waiting to be activated. Even as a child, his mother would claim him a fussy eater. One particularly hot day, when Charlie had not eaten for three days, he collapsed during P.E. The teachers at the time assumed Charlie had overheated and began to pull off his jumper to cool him down, in front of his entire P.E. class and baring his scars to the world. It didn’t take long for the whole school to speak of the scars on Charlie’s arms.
Things moved pretty quickly after that, the jig was up and Charlie was forced to face his own demons head on. Teachers told doctors, who told parents, who told more doctors. The end result was Charlie’s first inpatient stay at a mental health facility. So in summary, Charlie was not only the ‘gay kid’, but the ‘crazy kid’. Now, Charlie’s final title of humiliation: ‘the repeater’. The term brought connotations of low intelligence and poor performance, two things which Charlie Spring did not possess. He was actually a very bright young man, often excelling his peers in exams and projects.
Charlie felt like the trio of reputations he now possessed would follow him around for his whole life. He saw no hope or positivity in any of them. It just was what it was. All he had to do was survive the year, and he could join Isaac at the local college to complete his A-levels. Tao had gone to the media college a few towns over to be with Elle.
After completing the necessary chit-chat with his form tutor, Charlie made his way to join Tori at their desk. He kept his head aimed towards the floor, watched his own feet move and tried to be as small as possible in the large room full of chattering students.
Neither Spring sibling spoke during form. That was one of the special things about their relationship. They could be each other's person without verbal communication. One look in the eye, and Charlie could convey to Tori all of his insecurities and anxieties; and Tori could understand them.
“What do you have first?” Tori asked once the bell signalling the first lesson sounded.
“P.E.,” Charlie answered tight-lipped.
“Want to skive?”
Tori wasn’t one to skive off lessons. It wasn’t that she was a goody-two-shoes, it’s just that the hassle of getting caught skiving wasn’t worth it. Tori was all for the easy life.
“No, it’s okay. Mum will be checking up on me.”
Charlie got up and headed towards the changing rooms of the sports hall. He tried to look at things positively – the hardest bit of his week was happening first, and so he was just getting it out of the way.
As he entered the changing room, he looked for a familiar face among the crowd of strangers. It wasn’t that he was looking for a friend, it was that he was looking for the worst of those who tormented him. He was looking for who to avoid.
A space appeared in his viewline that was in the corner, and the person next to it was someone he recognised, but in a good way.
“Charlie,” Christian McBride smiled at Charlie as he spoke. “Glad to have you back, mate.”
“Hi Chris.” Charlie settled his stuff down and kept himself facing the wall as he changed. He still felt very uncomfortable in changing rooms, the feeling of not belonging, and being somewhere wrong, still lingered.
Christian McBride was a very cheerful boy in the year below Charlie – although, now he supposes he was actually in the same year as Charlie. They made idle conversation a few times in Charlie’s old form group. Nothing ever seemed to bother Christian, he always had a sunny disposition. Even when Charlie had once witnessed some older boys teasing him for never having kissed a girl, Christian still put a positive spin on the situation and told the boys he was worth the wait.
Without an offer or a request, Charlie stuck by Christian as they made their way out onto the playing field. Maybe this wouldn’t be as bad as he thought. If he could stay low and out of the way, seemingly blending in by talking to Christian throughout, he could make it to the next class without being the centre of attention… maybe.
“Line up!” Called a voice Charlie didn’t recognise, followed by the sharp shrill of a whistle. When he looked up to the source, he suddenly felt a bit flushed. There was a man, standing tall in the middle of the field, whistle in one hand and clipboard in the other. He had form fitting jogging bottoms on, and a sports polo which emphasised impressive muscles and made Charlie’s mouth water. Dirty blonde hair swooped down over his head, framing an exquisitely freckled face. He wasn’t sure whether to be pleased about this development and potential distraction from his woes, or panicked that he would now have to make a fool of himself in front of an adonis.
“I am Mr. Nelson, and I am your new P.E. teacher. As this is the first lesson of the year and I don’t know any of you, we are going to start with a fitness assessment, so that I can ascertain what level you are all at.”
Charlie’s stomach sank into his feet – this was what he was afraid of. He wasn’t allowed to exercise to the extent he would usually, it was one of the conditions of his release and continued monitoring of his recovery. Charlie loved to run, loved to feel the burn in his legs as he pushed himself. He used to run until his body gave out, relishing in the adrenaline it caused to run through his veins. While most would think this as healthy behaviour, Charlie’s doctors did not; at least not to the same extent Charlie was used to. Over exercising caused weight loss, which was not acceptable. Over exercising could be used as a way to hurt himself if done to the extreme. So Charlie had to monitor himself, and had to restrain himself. Not to mention, his body was still in recovery from the damage he had caused.
Since coming home, he was allowed timed runs in the park, and usually under the watchful eye of his overbearing mother. Charlie understood it, he did. And he accepted it. Coming a long way in the last year, Charlie didn’t want to take any backwards steps. All of the teaching staff knew of course, knew Charlie’s problems – some even knew parts of his recovery plan. But this new guy… he wouldn’t know, not unless someone had told him.
That began Charlie’s first real panic of the school year. What if someone hadn’t told him? Would Charlie then have to tell him? If he didn’t, Mr. Nelson wouldn’t understand Charlie’s physical limits. But something inside Charlie didn’t want Mr. Nelson to know, didn’t want to reveal to this perfect embodiment of man how weak and pathetic he was.
Charlie kept quiet and didn’t say anything. Either Mr. Nelson knew or he didn’t, but Charlie couldn’t face such an awkward conversation with someone that made Charlie blush this much.
“We will start with 200 metre runs, then push-ups, then free-throws, then penalty kicks and finally some pull-ups. So you best start stretching! Four at a time. First up, Anthony Boler…” Mr. Nelson continued to list off names in what seemed to be alphabetical order within their class. This meant Charlie had some time to try and think about this.
In what felt like only a minute of rumination and going back and forth through potential scenarios, Charlie heard his name be called for the last group to begin. He settled on sticking to the parameters of his recovery plan: slow and steady run, allow your heart rate to rise but don’t break too much of a sweat. At least he could handle the free-throws and penalty kicks with some ability.
Charlie let himself drag behind the other three boys during the 200 metres, focusing on his breathing, monitoring his heart beat that he had become accustomed to hearing thump in his ears.
“Come on, Spring! You can do better than that!” Mr. Nelson called over the field, answering Charlie's earlier question of if the teacher knew of Charlie’s situation – seemingly not.
Something in Charlie didn’t want to disappoint Mr. Nelson, so he went a little faster. However, once he started to hear the thumping in his ears get louder, he panicked and slowed down again, fretful he pushed too much. Charlie finished in fourth and made his way over to the others to begin push-ups. As he lowered himself to the ground, he caught Mr. Nelson’s eye – he was scowling.
“Spring, you aren’t even breaking a sweat after that run. This is a fitness test. How can I see how fit you are if you don’t push yourself?”
Charlie felt like a deer caught in headlights. Everyone around him knew of his physical and mental woes, or some depiction thereof. He didn’t want to tell this beautiful, yet stern, man that he was so pathetic he wasn’t even allowed to exercise properly, especially not in front of everyone. He wished no-one knew sometimes – this being one of those moments.
“Well?” Mr. Nelson was clearly waiting for an answer, but Charlie just stuttered. “I expect to see some effort, Charlie.” And with a shake of his head, Mr. Nelson took his pen back to his clipboard and motioned for Charlie to begin his push-ups.
Mr. Nelson seemed to be paying extra attention to Charlie now. The other boys next to him were pumping themselves to and from the ground at speed, only one was beginning to slow. But Charlie knew he couldn’t do that, he couldn’t push himself that much, couldn’t allow himself to feel the burn in his arm muscles.
“Come on, Charlie! Don’t be lazy!”
Mr. Nelson knelt down to the ground by Charlie’s head now, the close proximity adding pressure on Charlie he didn’t need. Charlie continued to lower himself to the ground steadily before raising back up, counting his breaths again to keep his body from succumbing to the pressure and overworking.
“You aren’t even trying Charlie,” Mr. Nelson spoke in a quieter voice now that only Charlie and the boy next to him on the ground would be able to hear. Mr. Nelson sounded disappointed and annoyed, which made Charlie feel like he’d been naughty.
But I haven't been naughty, Charlie thought. I’ve been strong. I knew the limits of my recovery and I stuck to them. I didn’t put how far I’ve come in jeopardy.
The thoughts gave Charlie a new outlook on Mr. Nelson. Though he still didn’t want to tell him why he couldn’t go full throttle, Charlie was angry that Mr. Nelson just thought the worst of him. Wasn’t a teacher supposed to encourage their students and support them? Why was Mr. Nelson making Charlie feel like a small child, showing him up in front of peers and calling him lazy? Charlie all of a sudden seethed.
How fucking dare he.
Throwing the basketball into the hoop and kicking the footballs at the net allowed Charlie to release some of his resentment out in a more agreeable fashion, and he was beginning to feel better knowing it was over soon. But then the pull ups started and Mr. Nelson was straight on at Charlie again.
“No letting me down, this time Charlie,” Mr. Nelson said in a clipped tone as he settled at Charlie's feet on the floor, crouching on his knees. From this angle, Charlie could see down the neck of Mr. Nelson’s polo and caught a glimpse of chest hair over his pectorals. “I’m going to stay here to make sure you put the effort in this time.”
Charlie’s throat let out a low growl in annoyance and frustration, but it caught Mr. Nelson’s attention, whose eyes went wide with disbelief. “Why don’t you put some of that anger into these pull-ups Charlie? And stop wasting both our time.”
As he did his first pull-up, Charlie came closer to Mr. Nelson and let his anger vocalise. “I’m not wasting my time. I’m doing what I can,” Charlie strained the words out in a brusque tone.
“Charlie, look at everyone around you. Everyone has done, apart from you. Everyone is sweating their arses off, apart from you. Everyone has given me 100%, apart from you.”
Charlie was livid, but stubborn. He knew he could end this tirade the new teacher was inflicting upon him by just simply saying, ‘I can’t exercise too much or my stupid brain will use it as a way to punish myself’ – or something a little less dramatic. But why should he? Charlie thought. This guy had clearly made up his mind that Charlie was idle and a trouble-maker, when he didn’t even know him.
Having had enough, and not wanting to let Mr. Nelson succeed in making Charlie disrespect his own boundaries, Charlie got up and left – consequences be damned.
“Charlie Spring! Get back here right now!” Mr. Nelson shouted at him.
Charlie just kept walking, fighting the urge to turn around and scream ‘No’. He soon arrived in the changing room, the clock on the wall reminding him there was still another twenty minutes of the P.E. lesson. Needing something to soften his rage, Charlie decided to jump in the showers while no one was around and soothe his skin instead, which had by now heated with contempt.
The hot water pounded Charlie’s body, turning it red. He knew this was another limit he was closing in on, another way to fire his neurons onto a pain to distract his thoughts. So Charlie turned the temperature down on the water, letting it cascade over his head and run down his bare torso. He focused on the feel of the water over his skin, and the sound of it hitting the cold tile floor.
Charlie still felt angry, but it was more manageable now. Still the image of Mr. Nelson kept popping into his head.
The way Mr. Nelson’s brows furrowed in disappointment when he looked at Charlie. The hard set of his jaw as he clenched his mouth shut, clearly biting back his words. The deep chocolate brown of his eyes that seemed to ignite as Charlie pulled up into his personal space. The glint of red that shined in his hair when the sun caught it. The way the sleeve of his polo strained against Mr. Nelson’s biceps…
Charlie bit his lip as he had an unexpected urge to run his tongue over the muscles of Mr. Nelson’s arms. Then he hated himself slightly for thinking of his teacher in that way. Sure at first, all Charlie could think about was how fit he was, but that was before the new teacher showed his true colours to Charlie.
Someone needed to tell Charlie’s body that though, because he already had an unavoidable situation going on…
Charlie tried to think of all the reasons he hated his new P.E. teacher. The way he made assumptions, the derogatory way he spoke to him, the way Mr. Nelson made Charlie feel like he was being a naughty boy.
“Ungh…” Suddenly Charlie’s cock was throbbing untouched and Charlie ached to touch himself.
The urge to pleasure himself sparked confusion within Charlie’s mind. Why was thinking about how much he hated Mr. Nelson turning him on so much? Why did he secretly crave to be naughty for Mr Nelson; to push him further and further until Mr. Nelson spoke the scolding words he was clearly holding back earlier. What would Charlie have to do to make him give up his professional demeanour? Charlie wanted to ruin him.
Finally giving in, Charlie began pumping his cock roughly. He kept his head under the shower spray to muffle the grunts escaping his mouth.
“Fuck you, Mr. Nelson… Ahh. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
Charlie’s mind was swimming with visuals of what he could drive Mr. Nelson to do if he was naughty enough. Would he shout at Charlie? Would he give him detention or make him do laps? Would he humiliate him in front of his class? Would he spank him?
“FFUUUUCCCKKKKK!”
The thought of being so naughty he caused the straight-laced and stern Mr. Nelson to spank Charlie was the final push before Charlie began coming against the shower wall.
Charlie turned the water off and covered himself with a towel as he allowed his breathing to return to normal. Not long after, he heard the sound of his classmates returning from the field. As he stepped through the shower curtain, loud and angry footsteps entered into the shower room.
“Charlie Spring. Get dressed and be in my office in the next five minutes.” Mr. Nelson left as soon as he’d given his command. Charlie felt the anger rise again, dimming his embarrassment at the thoughts that he just got off on.