Mea Culpa

Mea Culpa - Chapter 2

by Imogen
pairings: Orlando/OC, Viggo/Orlando
Feedback: Feed me!!

WARNINGS: attempted suicide, domestic abuse, violence, language, slash, n/c

A sudden calm settled over Orlando as he felt his head thud against the floor. It was finally over. He would have smiled if he could. Contrary to popular belief, his life didn’t flash before his eyes; there was no tunnel of light and pearly white gates. It was ... nothingness, calm, still, quiet. It was perfect.

He was so lost in this perfection he wouldn’t have heard the front door open, or Dom call out to him. He felt like he was swimming. An overwhelming sense of relief flooded him. The still functioning part of his brain was rapidly declining but he idly wondered if Dom and Elijah would hate him. Sam and his mum flashed in his mind, their grief stricken faces; he didn’t want them to feel sad, he wasn’t. No, death held no fears for Orlando. It never had, not since ... not since ... no, Orlando wasn’t going to let him haunt his last few moments of life. But that’s why this was happening, wasn’t it?

The pain had become so constant, so unbearable, that this was his only way out. His death was his last gift to Elijah, Dom, to his family. To Viggo. Yes, even now it all came down to the poet who’d touched his soul and shattered his heart. His love for Viggo had killed him, literally. But ironically, his death bought (or brought?) Viggo life. And he would never know. Never know what Orlando had done or why. Perhaps there was a twisted element of cruelty in it. Viggo would suffer after his death, undoubtedly blame himself, and he would never know why. That would haunt him.

Yes, cruelty played a part in it, but love was the bigger reason. His love for Viggo. He drove him when all else failed, yet his love for the man had been his death warrant. By holding his heart so completely, Orlando had been unable to fully give himself to another. He’d tried; God knows he had. He’d tried with Kate, he tried with Mark, but it was never enough. He always found himself wondering, wishing - what if Viggo had stayed, or he’d fought harder. What if he’d never run out. Had he been a coward? He’d called Viggo a coward, but was he any better? He’d tried to love Kate and Mark, really he had. With Kate it was easier. She didn’t expect his heart and soul. Mark ... Mark was different. He was different from Viggo, different from Kate. Mark had expected Orlando’s love and soul, had wanted to claim them and when Orlando hadn’t been able to give enough of them, Mark had become angry.

Orlando felt his limbs spasm. It had to be getting closer now. He wasn’t sure what he’d taken or how much. It was irrelevant at this point. He knew that if the drugs didn’t work, he’d use the knife. Two quick slashes would seal his fate. He’d already slashed one, as a precaution. It had hurt, but pain was of little consequence any more. His battered body had accepted it, not trying to fight anymore. It was as if it understood. He was tired. Tired of fighting, of surviving, of hiding. His body understood this. It stopped fighting, quietly accepting defeat. Even as his strength was dwindling, he knew he should fight. Orlando had never accepted defeat before, not even when he broke his back. But that was just his bones. Broken s cos could be mended, even a broken heart could heal given time, wasn’t that the saying? Time heals all wounds? Perhaps. But what about a shattered soul? A fractured psyche – how did you fix them?

The truth was there was no cure for Orlando now. He was broken beyond repair; no one could help him now, least of all himself, and he wouldn’t even if he could. There was nothing left to save ... Mark had seen to that. What did he have left, what could he return to, who would want him now? Mark wanted Orlando; he always wanted him. Mark was always there, he’d never leave, and Orlando knew that now. It didn’t matter if Orlando tried to run away or changed the locks, Mark would find him and punish him. It was only when Mark’s threats extended to his friends that he knew something had to be done. This was his last stand against Mark, his final act of love to his friends. His death would guarantee their safety. Mark would never threaten them again, and Orlando would be free. He wouldn’t be broken and torn. Even now, after all that had happened, there was still some small part of Orlando that fought, a stubborn mulish streak that refused to accept defeat. That kept Orlando’s mind whirling, but it was too late.

The pills and the loss of blood could not be fought. He felt a small smile twitch his lips, as he saw Viggo, could feel himself in his arms, safe and loved. No one would hurt him ... he was home. As Orlando’s life-consciousness drifted away, he didn’t hear Dominic come in, or him call out. The footsteps on the stairs went unnoticed as Dom continued to call out his name. He didn’t see Dominic’s face he gazed down on his fallen friend.

Dom cursed silently as he fumbled with the front door. He’d lost track of the number of times he’d told Orlando to fix that damn thing. The door jarred slightly and as Dom stumbled in, he was immediately hit by how quiet the place was. Normally Orli had some sort of music in the background, or something was on, either the TV or radio, or Orli on the phone ... something to symbolise life, but now there was nothing. That worried Dom slightly. He sometimes felt like an over-protective mother hen. He knew that despite his appearance, Orli had never truly gotten over Viggo. At times Dom found he hated Viggo; he’d caused Orlando such misery and ruined all Orlando’s future relationships. Dom wasn’t blind. He knew Orlando was holding back, first with Kate and now with Mark. To the common observer, Orlando loved Mark, and he’d loved Kate. He was everything a loving and affectionate boyfriend should be, but Dom knew better. No matter how good an actor Orli was - just for reference, his acting was ‘good enough’ to win two Oscars in four years - he couldn’t hide his heart; it was in the eyes, those eyes that had captivated so many people. It pained Dom to see the permanent linger of sadness in them, and now pain had become a permanent feature. His eyes had dulled. Oh, they could shine, but that glow was gone.

He knew something wasn’t right between Mark and Orlando. Elijah, in particular, was edgy around Mark. At first, Dom had believed it was some misplaced loyalty to Viggo. Elijah was a hopeless romantic, although he’d deny all knowledge, to keep up his ‘macho’ image. He’d been devastated when Viggo and Orlando broke up. To Elijah, Orlando and Viggo symbolised a perfect match, soul mates, destined lovers, the gay Romeo and Juliet, only without the tragic death/feuding family’s saga. Whatever they’d been called, they just ... fit together. Elijah had been hostile to Kate at first, being rude and blunt and taking every opportunity to mention Viggo’s name. That had angered Dom. As much as he’d wanted Viggo and Orli to work, it hadn’t and Elijah was only upsetting Orlando, which was the last thing he wanted to do.

It was only when Kate had taken it upon herself to talk to Elijah that things had become better. Elijah was forced to admit she was not an Orc, and killing her would severely damage his friendship with Orlando. So when Mark had come along, Dom had forced Elijah to be polite and friendly, although Elijah had never quite warmed to Mark in the same way he’d done with Viggo, and eventually Kate, who shared a mutual love of loud music much to Dom’s despair, but with Mark, Elijah was, well, distant. Polite, friendly even, but never warm or affectionate.

Dom forced his mind back to the present and wondered if Orlando was still asleep, which was unlikely. Orlando, to his eternal bemusement was an early riser, always had been. That was another thing he’d shared with Viggo.

"Orli? You up mate?” yelled Dom. "Come on you lazy arse, Elijah’s going to be freaking out if we don’t get to his place soon."

Surprised that he got no reply, he poked his head into Orlando’s bedroom - no sign of him there. The bed was still made, rather neatly as well, and Orlando wasn’t in the adjoining room either. He knew the kitchen was empty, as he would have seen Orli as soon as he walked in. Getting rather annoyed, he began a ‘search for Orli’. Coming to the bathroom, Dom paused. As much as he loved Orli, he didn’t really fancy interrupting his friend on the bog or in the shower. Some things were better left unseen. Despite this, there was something nagging at the back of his mind ... an unaccountable worry. He couldn’t hear any water running. Taking a breath, he pushed the door open – and felt his heart stop.

Orlando, his best friend, was lying sprawled on the bathroom floor, not moving. Not thinking, he ran to Orlando and shook his friend, getting no response. He then noticed the bottle in Orlando’s hand, and another resting beside it; both were empty. As if that wasn’t enough, a kitchen knife lay splattered in blood, and Orlando’s right wrist was drenched in the crimson liquid.

"Oh fuck, Orlando wake up, please!!! Oh God what have you done?!” Dominic cried as panic gripped him.

Was Orlando dead? He grabbed his friend and placed his trembling figures on his neck, desperately trying to find a pulse. Dom’s knowledge of first aid was basic and he struggled to remember. It’d seemed so pointless back then, and now confronted with his dying, or dead, friend, Dominic was lost. Pushing Orlando’s dark hair back, he felt how cold Orlando’s face was; his lips were turning blue. There was no chest movement. In desperation, Dom ran into Orli’s bedroom and grabbed the phone, silently thanking God it was cordless as he punched in 911.

"911 emergency response."

"I-I need an ambulance, my friend’s not breathing," Dom whispered, feeling as if all the air had been sucked out of his lungs.

"OK, have you checked his airways, cleared any blockages?”

No, I’ve been too numb with fear, Dom thought to himself. "N-no, I can’t see anything. H-he’s not moving ... I can’t get a pulse. There’s empty bottles everywhere ... he’s taken an overdose of something, a-and there’s a knife, he ... he cut himself on one of his wrists, it’s covered in blood ... he’s not moving," Dom choked out.

"Right, I know you’re scared but you have to stay clam. First, you need to check your friend’s windpipe, in case he’s swallowed his tongue, or if there’s anything else blocking it."

"I can’t feel anything, his tongue’s still in his mouth."

"Right, that’s good. Make sure you keep putting pressure on his wrist wound; try to stop any additional blood loss. Does it look as if he’s broken anything? Any bones?"

"I don’t think so."

"Right, I need you to try and put him in the recovery position. Do you know how to do that?”

His mind was blank. Dom managed to form some vague negative response. The calm soothing voice on the end of thone one guided him, coaxing him through the steps.

"The ambulance will be there shortly. Try and find out what your friend has taken. It’ll help the Paramedics when they arrive. Stay by your friend; even if he can’t hear you, try talking and comforting him.“

Dom nodded as he gazed at Orlando, tears streaming down his face.

“You’re gonna make it Orli, things will be OK, I promise. I’ll keep you safe, just please get through thi
“
“Heellloooo!” Oh no, Elijah! What the hell was he doiere?ere? Why couldn’t he wait at home damn it?

“L-Lijah, I need you to go home, g-go home for a while OK?” Dom yelled his voice trembling. He couldn’t let Elijah see his friend like this. Elijah was too sensitive; he felt people’s pain, and to see Orlando like this, it would destroy him.

"Dominic you cunt, we need to get going. You still got a hangover?”

“Elijah. GO home,” but it did no use.

Elijah wasn’t easily swayed and was quickly bong ung up the stairs, two at a time. He was bursting with excitement until he heard a sniff ... was Orlando crying? It was coming from the bathroom - mumbled words he couldn’t hear properly. He pushed the bathroom door opened and simultaneously dropped the wine bottle. It wasn’t the shattering bottle Dom heard; it was Elijah’s hoarse cry. Within a heartbeat, Elijah was by Orlando’s side, hysterically shaking his friend.

“What the hell happened?!? Orlando?? Orlando wake up, please ... oh shit ... Orli ...” More shaking. “This isn’t funny Orlando, wake up. Come on, stop being an ass. Dom ... w-why won’t he wake up? Why are his lips blue? You can’t die Orlando; you’re my friend, you can’t die on me ... why ... why did you hurt yourself ... oh shit please..”
Elijah whimpered as he slumped down, grabbing Orlando’s cold hand. He shuddered at the coldness. His eyes became hard as he looked at Orlando’s bloody wrist.

"The ambulance is on it’s way, just ... stay here.” Elijah stared at Orlando for a moment, seemingly not believing. He shook his head. “Oh God Orli, what did you do? How could you?” he cried as he grabbed Orlando’s still hand. It was too cold, too still. That was all wrong, Orlando was never cold.

Turning to Dom, his eyes pleaded for answers that he couldn’t give.

"He ... he ... an overdose," Dom whispered, indicating to the bottles around him.

Trembling, Elijah picked up one of the bottles, trying to decipher exactly what Orlando had taken. Sentrax - a migraine medication. He felt his stomach twist. ‘Warning: do not exceed recommended dose. Can cause severe side effects. Overdose can result in death.’ Well they’d got that right. As his hand clasped around the bottle, he felt his anger rise. He wanted to shatter the bottle, destroy the object that was trying to claim his friend’s life.

"You fucking planned this didn’t you?” yelled Elijah, looking at his fallen friend. “You knew if the pills didn’t work you’d use the knife. How can you be so selfish? Why didn’t you come to us? Why didn’t you tell us?? Why did you hurt yourself ... don’t you care about your friends? Why, fucking WHY?!?”

He was pushing Orlando in a desperate attempt to deny the obvious. Part of Elijah’s shattered mind would not accept the scene before him.

“Elijah! Shut the fuck up,” growled Dominic. He hated to be so harsh with Elijah, but he was clearly bordering on hysteria.

Large fat tears rolled down Elijah’s cheeks, the anger dissipating as quickly as it had come. “S-sorry. I’m scared."

“So am I.”

***

Elijah had slipped outside for another cigarette, ing ing Viggo on his own with Orlando. What could be better, or worse? When Orlando had apparently woke up, he’d been in so much pain the doctors had given him a large amount of morphine. The numerous sedatives were keeping him unconscious, keeping the pain at bay. He wasn’t quite sure when Elijah had slipped out. He was too busy crying over his own stupidity, his own selfishness.

He’d given up the best thing in his life and let him be broken, by his boyfriend of all people – the one who should love him unconditionally. But Orlando had been betrayed. Twice. Both Viggo and Mark had betrayed him, both had hurt him, bruised him. Viggo was just as guilty of inflicting wounds on Orlando as Mark. To know he was the source of Mark’s abuse ... it was such a horrifying concept. To abuse someone whom you claimed to love was unthinkable, but to know he’d been the catalyst - that was unbearable. Unconsciously he took Orlando’s hand, gently squeezing it.

He’d long since become accustomed to the quiet beeps and whirls of the machines, although it still agitated him that Orlando’s life was dependant on machines. He was still largely unaware of the extent of Orlando’s injuries and couldn’t work out if he was relived or angry about that. It was obvious there was more than Orlando’s attempted suicide to contend with. Something had happened sho bef before. The bruised eye alone would testify to that, as would the bruises along his neck and shoulders. What else had this monster done to Orli? How far had he gon
V
Viggo knew little about abusive relationships, and only then it was for female abuse victims. While abuse was horrible, no matter what sex a person was, help was there for the female victims. People could understand, sympathise, empathise with females, but men? What help was there for male abuse victims? It seemed a foreign concept, a man being abused, to be beaten and hurt. Men were strong and they could protect themselves. That what society said. He squeezed Orlando’s hand. It didn’t matter anymore. Because when Orlando recovered, not if – but when he recovered - he was going to take care of Orlando. He’d make sure people knew about male abuse. He refused to let anyone suffer as Orlando had.

Lord knows how long Orlando had been suffering in silence. Mark and Orlando had been together about four years, and before that, Orlando and Kate had lasted two years. He didn’t know when the abuse had started and wasn’t sure whether to ask Dominic or not. What could Dom say that would make Viggo feel remotely better? Viggo couldn’t stand the thought that Orlando had been abused - that his own boyfriend had hit him, hurt him. He didn’t want to think about the pain his love had had to endure because Viggo had left him. It was Mark’s jealousy of Viggo that had caused him to lash out at his lover.

Pausing for a moment, he looked at Orlando and gently ghosted his hand over Orlando’s face, lingering silently on the bruised areas. Not wanting to frighten Orlando, even in his unconscious state, he quickly pulled back.

“You scared me so much Orli. I thought you were dead. I know that both Dom and Elijah were terrified. Dom found you ... he saved you, and Elijah ... they both sat with you. When I heard you’d tried to kill yourself, I couldn’t breathe. I just wanted to know why. I think I do. Dominic told me about Mark.”

Here Viggo paused. It felt strange saying the abuser’s name. It was such a normal name. He knew two Mark’s and both were friends. There was nothing ‘evil’ about it; it didn’t come with connotations like Jel oel or Lucifer. It was just an ordinary name. Mark had appeared to be an ordinary guy. Pleasant, funny, congenial. He didn’t sparkle like Orlando, but then, no one could ever quite match Orlando Bloom. He was in a class of his own, and always would be.

"I’m so sorry. I never wanted this to happen. I ... I just wanted you to be happy. I thought if I left you’d have more of a chance, be with someone nearer you’re age ... someone like Kate. There was no censure when you were with Kate. She was right for you. I didn’t want you to sr anr any homophobia; I didn’t and I didn’t want Henry to. More than anything I was sacred, scared of you, scared of my feelings. I couldn’t understand why things were so ... perfect. It was like I couldn’t accept it. When I was with Exene, we fought so much, even when we first married. I loved her, I still do as a friend, but with you ... everything just fit perfectly. I was so scared I’d lose you, or that you’d grow bored ... or that the press ... o-or the anti gay stuff would get to be too much. So I bailed. God, I’ve never forgiven myself for that. I know you probably don’t believe me, but I never stopped loving you. I hated Kate for being with you; I hated Mark for the same. I never imagined he’d hurt you ... please believe that. I swear if I ever see him I’ll tear him limb from limb. I know it won’t make things right - nothing craserase what he’s done - but I want to help you. I to to make you feel loved again.”

How much or little Elijah and Dominic knew about Orlando’s abuse was unknown, and he didn’t want to insult or upset his friends, plus he wasn’t sure if it was his place. He was Orlando’s ex after all. He’d had little contact with Orlando or the other hobbits for over five years now and he wasn’t sure how friendly Dom and Lij were feeling towards him right now. Hell, he didn’t even know why Dominic had phoned him. But the fact that Dom had phoned him had to say something, right? That he trusted Viggo enough around Orlando, to offer help and comfort to his broken friend or ... or perhaps Dominic wanted it to truly sink in how much Viggo had damaged Orlando, what the ultimate result of his cowardice was. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know which one Dominic thought but it still chilled him.

He gazed at Orlando; despite his injuries, he was still beautiful. Most of the scars and bruises would fade, and the cuts would heal. There would be little that would mar Orlando’s physical perfection, or stand out as a visual testimony of the abuse and horrors Orlando had suffered, at least to the common observer. But Viggo would know, as would Dom and Elijah. Viggo didn’t know if the rest of the Fellowship was aware of what had been happening, but it was likely that Billy would know something, or possibly Ian, maybe even Beanie. Viggo couldn’t ask them. It wasn’t his place, he dhe desperately wanted Orlando to know his friends were there for him. If they knew, no doubt the entire Fellowship - plus Liv, who was an honorary member - not to mention Samantha and Sonia Bloom, would spare no time or expense to be by Orlando’s side, to show their love and support. Undoubtedly, Orlando needed the Fellowship and his family to aid his recovery, but Viggo didn’t know how to go about it.

No doubt Orlando, when he was awake, would despise Viggo if he told anyone about the abuse. It would be hard enough on Orlando knowing that his ex-lover knew about it, let alone his friends, who had last seen Orlando as a vibrantly, lively perfect being, not the pain ridden, broken young man who was laying before him now. Would Orlando blame himself, using the twisted logic of the abused, believing he’d somehow deserved it, and had left Mark with no option?

He caressed Orlando’s hand, who seemed to whimper slightly. Although Viggo was sure it was the drug effects, he caressed Orlando’s hand gently but firmly, and Orlando seemed to relax again.

"Shhh, you’re OK Orlando; you’re safe here. No one’s going to hurt you. Mark’s gone and he’s never coming back, I promise. I want you to get better. I’ll help you ... whatever you need."

As far as Viggo was concerned, the day Mark had first hit Orlando, he’d signed his death warrant. Now he’d dug his grave and Viggo was going to enjoy making sure he stayed there, because there was no way that he was ever, ever going to let Mark come anywhere near Orlando again. No, he’d never let anyone hurt Orlando again. Painting, acting, poetry – those were all secondary jobs. From now on, his only aim, his primary goal, was to look after Orlando, and God help anyone who tried to stop him.

TBC in chapter 3

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