Chapter Text
"What do you do… when you've become your own abuser?"
The good people of DRAAG chime in immediately, bless their hearts. As always Carol is asking questions, so terrified the poor woman is of getting things wrong. Solidarity usually falls to Trevante, well before all the questions are answered. (It really is shocking—almost embarrassing—how all the things Robert thought were so special are in fact nothing new to him.) Then Bob's on sympathy duty, then in come Karla and Sharon with advice, then a joke from Caitlyn, then Mark's words of encouragement and an awkward side hug from Rebecca, good job everyone, great session, jolly good show, now let's get backstage and do some quick changes before Act Two—
—except it all rings hollow today.
On some level Robert has always understood that no one really understands.
"…guys," he finally works up the courage to murmur, once everyone's finished giggling at Sharon's anecdote. "I—thank you. Thank you all, really, I-I wouldn't… be where I am if it weren't for any of you—"
"That makes two of us," Trevante offers optimistically.
"Three, actually," says Carol, and once again this shit keeps going on until Robert is convinced any second these people are going to pile their hands together and chant their own group's name and burst into third-act song and dance. Maybe the universe is trying to tell him something. Maybe he's better off not saying it at all, it dawns on him, if he really admits to his horrible thoughts and his wretched, evil actions, they'll kick his fetid teeth in—
"—but that's not… really what I mean," he hears himself saying, before he has the chance to stop it.
The room falls silent and stares. Bob leans forward; Mark leans back.
"…Do you mind telling us what you do mean, Robert?" Mark asks him, and for a split second he sees in Mark's eyes the cold grey gaze of the headmaster whose cane nearly tore him in two.
Robert takes a deep breath.
He tells them about James.
"Carol… I remember what you said, about not thinking you deserve healthy love. Yes, I listened. A little. As best I could, given the circumstances—I—I mean, I didn't really listen, I just caught a few seconds before I burst in the door—I'm still sorry for that, by the way—"
"Oh my God," she murmurs into her hands, "just stop apologizing."
"…yeah." He's about to do it again. He catches himself.
How can I be so meek and apologetic with all these people, Robert thinks, but not with the one person who ought to matter the most?
He goes on.
"Well… obviously James and I have been together for a while, you all know that. We've been seeing one another… honestly, far longer than I expected… he's got the patience of a saint, but—the other day… I finally saw what happened when… that patience runs out."
Karla looks distraught. "Oh, sweetie, I'm so—"
"No, it was my fault—"
"Hey, hey, don't let him get in your head," Trevante begins. "Remember what happened last time?"
"Yeah, don't tell me I have to kick his ass, too." Rebecca fiddles with the zipper of her coat. "I was just coming around to him—"
"God, can you all please just listen to me!"
Another penetrating silence. Robert's getting sicker with guilt by the minute. He hears a murmured "We're listening" from one corner of the room, a sneeze towards the back.
"…thank you," he says. "Just… just let me talk. Please. None of you would be coming to my defense if you'd been there. I was the one who got frustrated, I was the one who trashed the dining room, I—I was the one who… raised my voice…
"At first… you know, typical… honeymoon period… crap. I was obsessed with him, he was obsessed with me, blah, blah, you all saw it, we all thought I'd found Prince Charming and we'd ride away into the sunset. And… now that that's passed… we both want to settle into a—a rhythm of sorts, I suppose, and we both have very different ideas of that. That's the problem. He has a normal idea of that sort of thing… my idea of it is…"
Carol meets his eyes. "…the other shoe dropping?"
Robert reflexively passes an aggravated hand through his hair. "I told you I—actually… yeah. That's… exactly it."
Rebecca's head is on his shoulder when he continues. "Naturally, I get suspicious. He must be planning something awful if he hasn't laid a hand on me this entire time. Or, maybe, he's just a shit owner… sorry… you know what I mean… he either can't or won't train me, and I don't know what's worse. So I… and… I understand if some of you are angry with me for this… I tried to bully him into treating me the way I'm used to. Because he must have some limit. No one's an infinite wellspring of mercy and compassion.
"As it turns out, he did have a limit… but it didn't appear to me like I thought it would. What I did backfired. When I realized he wouldn't hit me, or—or do anything worse, when I saw that all I'd done was hurt him, and for nothing…" His fingertips drift to his mouth. "Suffice it to say… I think we're still together, but it's been… tense. I haven't been able to look him in the eye since."
No one says a word.
He figures this is it.
"No, Robert—" Mark stands. "Please, stay, it's okay, we can discuss this—"
"Isuddenlyhavetopeeverybadly!"
He nearly slips on his way out.
The Livespring Church is absolutely nothing like the churches Robert grew up visiting. The first time Bob led him to it—albeit inadvertently—he'd been incredulous. It had looked so… brutal. Imposing. So disgustingly geometric, neither holy nor homely, more like a Soviet edifice—though Robert knows better now than to say such a thing aloud…
It is this harsh building, with its hurricane-proof walls and stadium seating, that he clings to in his desperation.
"Are you listening?" Robert whispers to the cold bathroom wall. God has not watched him for a century. As far as Robert is concerned, he's as likely to find Him here, or maybe in the toilet bowl in the next stall like an unwanted fetus, as he is anywhere else. "I-I know it's been a long time… but You guided me to DRAAG—I think it was You—so—I figured—maybe You're still listening? Look, I'm grateful to be alive, uh, I think, even though I'm… kind of an abomination by now… I'm grateful for my friends, I'm grateful to be rid of—of him, and I'm so, so grateful for my boyfriend, please, Lord, show me a sign, show me how to be good and make him love me again and I swear to You I'll never ever eat barbecue on a Friday again, or frankly any other living thing for that matter—"
Someone knocks on the door. Rebecca, probably. Given that he damn near has a heart attack right then and there.
When Robert opens it, the same warm wave of admiration that struck him that bloody night in Mulate's surges over his body again. She's so kickass, he thinks, such a rulebreaker, so cool, way too cool for a shitbag like him who can't even be trusted with the nicest man on Earth—
"You—you shouldn't… be here," he stammers, like an idiot.
Rebecca smirks. "Says who? The law?"
Robert is too gobsmacked to laugh.
"I know you're not actually pissing—"
He sighs and drags himself back to the meeting. Whatever awaits him there, it beats the indignity of being led like a lamb.
"—hey! Hey! Robbie, wait for me, c’mon!"
When Robert shuffles back into the room, his tail between his legs, life has gone on as it so often does. This time it's Trevante's turn. It's a shame, it really, really is, that Robert isn't in the right state of mind to listen, because he's sure he might learn something if only he could. All he can think to do now is stare at the wall and perfunctorily make the same noises everyone else is making and wait and wait and wait until Mark kicks him out. Probably. That's probably what'll happen.
"…huge weight off my shoulders," Trevante is saying, gesturing with his hands to demonstrate the sheer size of this burden. "Not having to clean up after someone. Being able to go places without feeling like I've got a damn kid with me, you know?" He bursts out laughing. Karla does, too. "It was really like that! Like having a six-foot-five kid! 'Stay where I can see you,' 'Let it go, he didn't mean it…'"
"Yeah, yeah," Karla cackles, yes-anding like a pro. "'Don't act up, just this once, and I might have a treat for you when we get home…'"
The circle laughs uproariously. Robert merely sits and sweats.
They're talking about me.
His time is coming. Mark is opening the floor for somebody else. Oh, Jesus, now Rebecca's looking at him, and now Trevante, and now they're all looking, no no no no no, I take it back, I'm not…
"…Ready to hear us out now?" Mark asks, with the impossible gentleness of someone determined to not disappoint a very sick man.
But Robert nods. Because he has to. It's the right thing to do. Abusers don't care to hear how abusive they are. So he's still bad, but if he does this, he's not… Dracula bad.
Right?
That's how this works, isn't it?
Carol shrugs. "It happens. Someone's been sticking his claws in your brain and swirling it around for a good hundred years, you're not gonna be stable. I mean, I was someone's puppet for a fraction of that and I still freak out and punch walls sometimes."
Caitlyn looks frightened. "You… punch walls—?"
"Hey, hey, hey." Mark gestures urgently. "This is a non-judgmental space."
Caitlyn apologizes, but she still inches her chair away when neither Carol nor Mark is looking. Robert has a feeling he'll remember that.
Bob leans forward again. "Have you apologized to him?"
"Kind… of? More than once… really I think apologize is putting it lightly, it was more like… groveling…"
"And did it solve the problem?" asks Mark.
The question is so absurd Robert explodes into laughter, even as he knows it makes him a freak. "Of course not! But—you have to understand—I thought he would be grateful—he ought to be grateful—GOD DAMN IT, WHY ISN'T HE GRATEFUL!"
Robert's voice ricochets off the walls. As soon as he's able to see through a cloud of hot tears, he finds himself alone—the rest of them have huddled away from him, some of them shaking, one or two sniffling. His breathing picks up. They're treating him like some kind of monster, which he is, but they're his friends, they promised to always be there for him, but how dare you believe anyone could be there for you, stupid boy, don't you know the only one who really cares for you is—
He has to go. Again. The tears pour freely down his cheeks as he realizes the world in which he can show his face is getting smaller and smaller.
Before Mark can pull him back in, into this liars' den full of pieces of shit who hate him, Robert is gone.
He has to solve this on his own.