Guidance (closed for ericrodman101) [M/M]

[ericrodman101]

Gerry watched Toby eat. So the kid wasn't happy with the short rations. Already learning something from sad old Gerry, eh?

He ate the sandwich he'd kept for himself. Toby eyed that greedily. We gotta do something about the way you live kid, Gerry thought. This crazy arrangement just isn't going to do.

He wondered if this was how it was going to be, every morning until....what? Toby graduated? As if that was going to happen given how he treated classes. He'd finish at the end of May but it wouldn't be graduation. Toby would be lucky to get a certificate of attendance.

Or maybe he'd just up and leave. Gerry was surprised every minute Toby bothered to stay. It was like finding and feeding a wild animal. They stayed while the food supply held up. But cut it off, and they'd be off.

And then there was the third option. Excluded or arrested. Given the record this seemed very likely. One assault with a bottle was bad enough. A second would get Toby time inside. Gerry and the school, and all the gooders he could muster, wouldn't convince the police a second time to keep Toby out of jail. And then what would happen. Graduation to the hardest, harshest state university of them all. The county correction centre. Gerry had no interest in anyone ending up there. No matter what they did.

Toby had his eyes shut. Gerry could see how tired he was.

"Hey, Toby, I've got a gym mat curled up back here somewhere."

Gerry fetched the mat, unrolling it in the middle of the room.

"You sleep there if you want. When the nurse comes in I want her to look at your eye and nose. And she might let you sleep on the bed in the clinic."

Toby opened one eye and watched him suspiciously.

"And no fucking with the nurse. Mrs Bachelor isn't a pushover like good ole Gerry. You fuck with her and it'll be your balls need looking at."

 

[tamgreen]

Toby hesitated, looking at the mat and not moving toward it yet, though it looked much more inviting than this cheap public school chair. He waited until Metzler was back on his side of the desk before standing up and shuffling over to the mat.

"I know not to fuck with a nurse," he retorted. "No nurse ever fucked with me. Besides... they carry needles."

He stooped down to shift the mat over, not liking the idea of sleeping in the center of a room. He'd feel too exposed. Instead, he pushed it right up against the wall, almost against the door, so he'd be able to get out easily if necessary. Finally, he curled up on the mat with his back hard up against the wall and his backpack against his front, curling himself around it.

Toby shut his eyes and for a few minutes listened to the quiet noises of Gerry Metzler going about his work. The subtle tapping of keys on his laptop keyboard. An occasional shuffling of papers. They were neutral, non-threatening noises that proved somewhat calming. The boy took little time to fall asleep once he'd decided he was safe for now - his body had adapted to short, intense bursts of sleep. He seemed to be as defiant in sleep as he was in waking - his young brow remained furrowed, his mouth drawn up into a little frown, even as he softly snored. His hands did not give up their tight grip on his backpack.

It was only the eventual ringing of Metzler's phone that pulled him swiftly awake again.

 

[ericrodman101]

Gerry did his best to work, but his attention was drawn to Toby, sleeping on the gym mat. The boy snored, curled up tightly, hands gripping the backpack. His daughter Charlotte, he remembered, slept like a star fish, arms and legs spread wide, taking up all the space. And Andrea, his wife, how did she sleep? It seemed so long since she'd been away - only three days? - and so long before that they'd had any memorable contact. Even when they slept in the same bed there seemed to be a wall between them, as if never touching was the goal, never feeling the warmth of skin, or the scratch of a nail. And in any case, since Andrea had started her high powered job and began keeping such irregular hours, she and Gerry had slept in separate rooms. 'So as not to wake you', Andrea said. Gerry felt he'd been clinging to the side of the bed, literally and metaphorically, for longer than he cared to calculate.

An hour went by, Gerry forgetting his work and just staring at the kid. All the mouthy rebellion was gone, just a tired, dirty, 18 year old, clinging to everything he owned maybe, finding comfort on the hard gym mat.

Gerry heard a noise outside and watched Mrs Bachelor, the school nurse, lumber across the grounds. Nurse Bachelor. 'Bachelor of Frankenstein' the better read students called her. Tall, square set, hair visible on her upper lip even from this distance, Gerry often wondered about the identity of the man with whom she'd made six children.

And even as he listened for her to walk down the corridor and open the clinic, Gerry's cellphone rang. Toby stirred, waking swiftly as if alert to danger, and opened a wary eye at Gerry. The counsellor raised his eyebrows in apology.

"I'm at work....early. I know. Things I need to get done before school....tomorrow? OK. See you then."

"Andrea," he said to Toby. "My wife. "She's away at a conference. Home tomorrow."

He heard Mrs Bachelor opening up next door.

"The nurse is here, Toby. Seeing as you're awake you should see her before the rush. She can take a look at your face, and maybe find you somewhere more comfortable to rest for the next hour."

He looked down at Toby's worn running shoes.

"And she keeps a stock of shoes. Good brands. Barely used. The seniors donate them when they upgrade. Ask her about the shoes and pick a new pair."

 

[tamgreen]

Toby rubbed his eyes, trying to wake himself up and follow what the counsellor was telling him. Andrea - wife. Nurse. Face. Rest. Shoes.

He looked down at his feet, at his ancient, cracked, ratty sneakers that left his socks wet whenever it was raining. The soles were worn almost through - really, they were garbage, and he could hardly argue with an opportunity to replace them with no expense or hassle. Thanks to his joke of an upbringing he often resented charity even when it was obvious he needed a lot of things, but hey, he'd taken sandwiches from the counsellor - he could take shoes from the nurse.

"Okay," he mumbled, bracing against the wall as he pushed himself into an upright position and slung his backpack over one shoulder.

He glanced aside at Gerry and paused, debating over whether to say something. What though? Thanks? See you later? Fuck you? Toby had no idea what he wanted to express. He had conflicting desires to prove he was a garbage human being, and that he was actually not. Maybe he was a dangerous thug who would never go anywhere in life, and the only small satisfaction he might get was in crashing and burning in the most spectacular way possible and taking others down with him as he went. Or maybe he wasn't beyond redemption. Maybe he actually wanted to finish school and wrench himself free from the stubborn grasp of the desperate, filthy, drug-addled world he was born into and that seemed determined to cling to him with sticky, poisonous claws. Maybe he wanted to take a pen from the guidance counsellor's desk and just jam it right through the man's eye, and get himself a life in prison, where he'd get three square meals a day. Or maybe he'd just end up blowjobbing for cash like whatever-his-name-was had suggested, if that was a thing he could even do at all.

In the end, Toby found that he didn't actually want to be a complete dick to Gerry. He couldn't say he liked the guy, and certainly not that he trusted him, but he was surprised to find that he didn't entirely dislike nor entirely mistrust him. Instead of saying anything at all, Toby rolled up the gym mat and placed it on the man's desk before leaving the office, letting that suffice for whatever he might want to express.

The nurse was a real battleaxe, built like a tank and with a face like a frying pan. In another era she'd probably have a cigarette hanging from the corner of her mouth while she worked. Toby didn't mind her at all - she got right down to business and didn't bring any feelings, advice, or admonishments into it. She didn't ask who'd blackened his eye, or who'd left that fresh cigarette burn on his wrist. She didn't ask him if everything was okay at home, or tell him to quit getting into fights. She just got her work done, without any special gentleness.

"Hey, uh...," he began once she'd finished looking after his wounds. "Metzler said you had... shoes? I think mine are shot."

"In the cabinet," Mrs. Bachelor grunted, gesturing across the small room. "If you need something, take it. And mind you, I said need. It's not a shopping spree."

"I get it," Toby sighed, opening up the indicated cabinet. He browsed through the collection of gently used sneakers, looking for something in his size, and finally selected a pair that fit comfortably. His old ones went straight into the trash.

He also found a few packs of brand new socks and underwear, and he slipped some of these into his backpack as well.

Soon he was deeply asleep on an infirmary bed that was thin and hard, but far more comfortable than the plastic playground tunnel he slept in last night. For the next couple of merciful hours, the boy was untroubled.

 

[ericrodman101]

Gerry spent the rest of the day on autopilot. Nothing unusual in that. Thirty years guidance counselling in the same school. Or one year repeated thirty times, as he'd joked often enough. He'd pretty much seen it all, done it all, rinse and repeat until he retired.

Still, something about Toby had piqued his interest. Gerry couldn't put his finger on it. Plenty of hard cases had darkened his door before. Some he helped. Some he watched grow up, improve and leave renewed. Some went from school to prison, some were killed at their own hands or others. Some even came back later to thank him. And those for whom saying 'thank you' was a bridge too far, would visit and hang around, signalling by their presence that being around meant they weren't revolted by Gerry and might even feel warmth.

What would Toby's fate be? Who could tell? Gerry checked in with the nurse later in the morning. He'd taken shoes and underwear - good. He needed them. Mrs Bachelor was a hard case too, but her heart was in the right place. 'You're doing him good,' she said. 'Just having a place to lie down and fresh food. That's as much as you can do until he asks for more.'

'More?' Gerry asked, but Mrs Bachelor just raised an eyebrow. Was it her 'you're getting involved' eyebrow? He couldn't tell and he didn't ask.

That night Gerry reheated the last of the leftover lasagne. It was unpalatable, but he washed it down with another evening of porn on the flatscreen. Andrea would be home tomorrow. What to do about Andrea? It wasn't like he was shitty to her. Maybe they'd just grown too far apart. Too used to each other. Sharing the house, but not much more.

Gerry resolved to do something special for Andrea, but what? He fell asleep on the sofa again with his pants around his knees.

 

[tamgreen]

Toby had been surprised to find that Metzler had let him sleep through their session, and the nurse hadn't bothered him either. Perhaps even the adults recognized, for once, what he really needed. The uninterrupted rest in a safe space actually set his day on a better track than usual. It was by no means a good day - no school day was - but it was an improvement over the previous one. He managed to avoid any fights, even though some girls told him he was "gross", and actually made some progress in some of his assignments.

At the end of the school day the boy found himself pausing as he passed by the guidance counsellor's door. He was sure Metzler must be in with someone else. He didn't know why he ought to care at all. Giving himself a little push, he left the school and headed for the bus stop.

Toby was reluctant to go home the day after one of his mom's 'parties'. He knew what to expect, and he wasn't disappointed. Or, to be more accurate, he was exactly as disappointed as he had ever been. The apartment looked like a tiny excerpt from the day after Woodstock - filth and disaster. He could barely take three steps into the apartment without risking stumbling over something. Empty bottles. Drug paraphernalia. Even used condoms. The place needed a fucking hazmat team. But no one was going to clean it - Toby knew that from experience, too. No one except him. Mom would just disappear for a while to avoid anything resembling a responsibility, and he'd get fed up enough to shovel everything into trash bags.

How is it that I'm the fucking adult here?

Toby noticed there were still people here - a few deflated-looking bodies in various states of undress, sprawled here and there, including two on the couch - his couch - looking dead to the world. What if any of them were actually dead? He didn't want to go near them. He decided before taking one more step into the apartment that he would come back tomorrow, and then call the police if need be. He just didn't have the wherewithal to deal with this today. Maybe he wouldn't deal with it ever again. Maybe he'd just officially move out. Not that he had anything to move. He just had to walk out the door and not come back.

Once more Toby wandered the city, unsure what to do with himself, or where to go. He went to the public library again and stayed until he got too hungry to concentrate on anything else.

He thought of Gerry Metzler again as he resumed his wanderings. Why was he thinking of Metzler? He wondered what Gerry was doing right now. Eating dinner maybe. With his wife. No, wait - he'd said his wife was away, returning tomorrow. Would Gerry be at home alone? Would there be anyone else with him? Was he lonely?

Toby tried to whisk these thoughts from his mind and turn his energy to obtaining sustenance. How desperate was he? He'd done plenty of shoplifting. He'd dumpster dived. He'd pushed younger kids around and stolen from them. He hadn't yet gotten desperate enough to seek actual help, but he found himself wandering by a youth shelter. It promised a hot meal, a bed, and a welcoming, judgment-free environment for anyone under 25. He stood for a long time on the sidewalk, considering going in.

He couldn't. For some reason, he just couldn't. He walked away, and instead ended up swiping a couple of Snickers bars from a corner store and sleeping in the park again.

He fell asleep thinking of Metzler again, and that gym mat in his office, wishing he had it right now.

 

[ericrodman101]

Gerry woke slowly. The alarm hadn't sounded. His back was uncomfortably twisted and his feet tangled. Some minutes passed before it dawned on him he'd slept on the sofa for a second night. He tried to recall yesterday evening. Lasagne he could remember. Indeed, the encrusted plate lay alongside the sofa, more than faintly smelling of leftovers. And porn he could remember, on the flatscreen. That was becoming the norm. Although he couldn't recall anything he'd watched.

"Trouble with porn, it's all the fucking same," he said to himself and the empty room.

Gerry sat up, stretched his legs and kicked off his pants. He rubbed his eyes so hard they hurt, then let the watery fog clear. He was staring down at his gut. Pale and hairy. Bigger than he remembered it. And his cock peeking out anonymously from somewhere below his navel. Red and ugly. Smaller than he remembered it.

Instinctively he reached a hand down and stroked himself. No reaction. He belched and stroked some more, but his heart wasn't in it.

Jesus. Andrea was coming home this morning. The room was untidy. Not a complete shambles, but a bigger task than he cared for before work. He found his watch. Cutting it fine. And....something else...somebody else...

Toby would be expecting breakfast.

Toby. Probably sleeping at the side door of the school, cold and hungry.

For the first time today, Gerry felt animated. Stand, stretch, plates in the dishwasher, plump the cushions, dirty clothes in the wash...Andrea can add hers later.

Gerry was buying sandwiches and OJ at the gas station before he remembered his other task for today. Something special for Andrea. To make amends. To spark up their love life. To show he was the man she'd married.

Looking around, the gas station offered no clues about what to do for Andrea. Flowers? Dinner maybe? A weekend away? Gerry purchased breakfast and strode to school purposefully. By the time he arrived, Gerry had resolved to take half a day, go home at lunch and surprise her...with 'mad, passionate love making'. Fuck. He'd said it out loud, and looked around in case he'd been overheard.

 

[tamgreen]

Toby was indeed dozing at the side door of the school when Gerry arrived. He'd been there a while - Gerry wasn't as early as last time. This morning he'd been woken in the park by a beat cop and sent aggressively on his way - probably this meant he couldn't sleep in the same place again.

Only the third day, and they seemed to have settled into a routine. When Gerry arrived, Toby silently trailed him inside, and took his breakfast, which would be both breakfast and lunch for him. He didn't eat any yet, instead opting to place the sandwich and juice in his backpack and only eat them when he got too hungry to think.

There was still time before their scheduled appointment, even if it was only a little. Toby would sleep through as much as he was permitted. Gerry had offered the gym mat again, so the boy unrolled it, once more squeezing himself up against the wall near the door and hugging his backpack.

Please, he silently begged as he closed his eyes. Just let me be. Maybe I can get through the rest of this year on sandwiches and naps.

But he couldn't seem to doze off. He was anxious and unsettled, knowing he had no place to sleep tonight, unless he wanted to go back to his mother's nightmare dumpster of an apartment, or to go to some fucking shelter for loser kids. Both options were equally horrid.

 

[ericrodman101]

When Gerry saw Toby asleep on the step he felt a surge of optimism, if that was the right word for it. He didn't know why, just felt it. Someone to care for maybe. He said 'hi' in as upbeat a tone as he thought was allowable, but Toby was silent and detached as he followed Gerry inside. When they'd settled in the guidance office, Gerry offered Toby the food, and sat down to eat his own breakfast. Still Toby was silent. Gerry watched the kid place the food in his backpack, unroll the gym mat, and lie down.

For all his low expectations, Gerry was annoyed at such indifference. But even as he craved conversation and acknowledgement, Gerry could read the signs. Toby was not for talking today.

He was quiet and still, but Gerry could tell the boy wasn't sleeping. Toby's breath was short, and Gerry watched as he tensed and turned. Was he anxious about something? Unsettled, well, more than usual? Had he done something to upset him, Gerry asked himself.

And then it dawned on him. Music. Nat King Cole. 'Straighten up and fly right.' That might break the ice.

Gerry booted up the office computer, typed in 'youtube' and found the song. The Nat King Cole Trio. He pressed play. The guitar, piano and double bass struck up, and the gentle music, soft and mellow, filled the quiet room.

 

[tamgreen]

Toby heard the familiar notes, and for a moment he felt a small flood of warmth and familiarity. During that brief moment, he was brought back in time to when that song had first been played for him. That time he'd actually kind of liked a teacher, had enjoyed hanging out with him, chatting and having snacks, while the music played. Nat King Cole, Ella Fitzgerald, Ray Charles... so many artists Toby never otherwise got a chance to hear. It was relaxing. It had been, at least, until that fucking asshole just walked out and never came back.

The pleasant memory was immediately knocked aside in favour of the unpleasantness it had become. His eyes flew open, and he quickly stood, leaving his backpack lying on the mat.

"Turn that off!" he exclaimed. "I don't like it!"

Clenching his jaw, he glared across the desk at the counsellor, who seemed calmly curious at his reaction, and made no move to do as he said.

"I said, TURN THAT SHIT OFF!" Toby yelled, his fists tightening.

He hated this. He hated Gerry Metzler. He hated himself for ever trusting anyone even a little, for letting his guard down the tiniest bit. He hadn't realized he'd started to actually relax around Metzler, and this was a chilling reminder

"Why don't you FUCKING LISTEN?!" Toby screamed.

Straighten up and fly right
Cool down, papa, don't you blow your top

Toby gritted his teeth and charged toward the desk, grabbing for the laptop, not even caring what consequences there might be for smashing the fucking thing against the wall.

 

[ericrodman101]

Gerry found the music so soothing that he expected Toby to feel the same. After all, the kid was familiar with the song and had quoted it back to him more than once. Toby's violent reaction caught him completely by surprise. Gerry leaned back in his chair, arms outstretched, instinctively distancing himself. Toby yelled, stood and rushed at the desk, screaming at Gerry to listen. But listen to what? Fuck! If only he had time to ask. If only Toby gave a little. If only...

His arms flailing wildly, Toby grabbed the laptop. Gerry tried to grab it back, but Toby held it tight and backed off, swearing and screaming. Gerry was on his feet now, coming round to Toby's side of the desk as if in slow motion.

"Hey. Toby. Hey...give it to me. You're going to damage it."

Gerry could hear himself stating the obvious as if it was someone else speaking. And he knew the laptop was replaceable. It seemed a waste to see it dashed into pieces, if that was Toby's intention, but worse things had happened in this room.

"Give it to me," he said more sternly, but to no effect. The laptop, Gerry concluded, might just have to be collateral damage in order to get to the bottom of what was really going on.

As he advanced, Toby retreated, no less enraged, but somehow moving into the corner as if under siege. Gerry knew the boy's reputation. He'd read the file. Assault with a bottle. And who knew what else? If Toby wanted to attack him in this rage, Gerry knew he'd have to fight back.

But Toby didn't attack him, just kept shuffling backwards, laptop in one hand waved above his head, spitting oaths and glaring. Gerry could see the laptop smashing against the wall in another step or two, and decided, given Toby's disadvantage in the corner to make one last grab for it.

But the kid eluded him, and as Gerry foresaw, the laptop hit the wall and dropped onto the floor. With Toby's hands both free, however, Gerry pressed forward, hoping to disarm the boy in a bear hug. He reached out to embrace Toby who at the last second twisted so that Gerry enfolded him tightly but mostly side-on.

For a long, quiet moment the two men breathed hard. Gerry could smell the street on Toby, his unwashed hair and sweaty neck. He searched for the right words to mollify the boy, even as he felt Toby begin to struggle, forcing Gerry to hold him as tightly as he could.

"What the fuck, Toby," he said. "What have they done to you?"

 

[tamgreen]

Toby didn't know what to do with the chaos inside of him - he wanted to lash out at the man, to hit him, to hurt him, but he didn't get a chance. Metzler grabbed him, pinning his arms down, so he couldn't fight. At first this made him want to scream, but instead he just tensed up and breathed.

The man was warm and solid, arms unyielding. He smelled like detergent or something.

The longer he stood still, the more Gerry's grip on him seemed to relax. As soon as he felt those arms loosening, he growled and thrashed, like a mad dog trying to get free of a leash, and this just made Gerry's grip tighten again.

He repeated this several times, calming and then lashing out again, forcing the man to hang tightly onto him. Over a few minutes, his frantic breathing slowed, but he didn't stop putting up a fight anytime Gerry gave him room to.

What the fuck indeed, Toby.

"Nobody's done anything," he muttered after a long silence, finally answering the man's question. "Nobody... anything. Nobody ever does anything. Nobody gives a fuck, so don't tell me you give a fuck. Anyone who even pretends to just... goes away."

 

[ericrodman101]

Gerry held on tight. Just when he thought Toby was settling, the kid would struggle again, admittedly declining in intensity each time.

"Hey...Toby...be calm. You're safe here."

Toby responded verbally and violently, but amongst all the 'fucks' Gerry heard the vital message, the root of the problem. 'Anyone who even pretends to give a fuck just goes away.'

What to do? It was no time for platitudes, or hasty decisions. Gerry knew that the most he could do for today, and for who knew how long, was just be there. Be there for Toby, however much the mouthy, shitty kid didn't care for it. For sure, Fillmore had its hard cases. They'd slouched and shimmied and spat their way through Gerry's office for thirty years. Some were repairable, some were lost causes, most were just mixed up, or suffering some half-related issue which manifested in bad behaviour. He just had to find out what. Some had even caused Gerry to lose his head and even his heart, in a paternal sense, before he'd done what he could and they'd moved on.

Was Toby one of those? One he could help? Or at least cushion, take the strain, and steer a little.

Gerry heard himself saying 'shhhh' as if he was talking to a much younger child. And then repeating 'you're safe here'. Toby seemed to be settling, struggling less, speaking more softly, almost under his breath. Did Gerry keeping holding on, or let go? Jesus....what to do?

 

[tamgreen]

Shhhhh.

The soothing noises tickled Toby's ears, stilling him for the time being. When they both quieted, he could hear and feel his own heartbeat throbbing in his ears.

There was so much of a fight inside him all the time - the regressive side of him that just wanted to hide itself in any safety and warmth that was presented to him, however temporary; the feral side of him that remained in defensive mode, fighting and resisting everyone and everything; and the maturing side of him that reached for intimacy - these personas clashed against one another, and usually the beast won, being the most aggressive, but perhaps, for the moment, it needed a rest. Perhaps it sensed it did not need to be in full protective mode right now. There was someone else protecting him right now.

Just for now. Just for an hour every school day. It would never be enough, but it was something.

When Gerry's grip on him loosened again, Toby turned fully to face him, grabbing onto the man's shirt with tight, tense fists and pushing at him with small fists and sharp, skinny shoulders, as if in some sort of halfhearted wrestling hold. He felt Gerry push back, just to avoid getting shoved against the wall, and for a minute or two they just grappled, not with any real violence. Toby was just hanging onto the connection, looking for that tight grip that made him feel like there might actually be something real and solid and safe in the world.

"You... fuck," he murmured pathetically, without any venom.

 

[ericrodman101]

Gerry played it by ear as Toby's rage subsided. He was good at settling young people, a good listener and didn't take things personally. Helping them find something beyond their expectations and which challenged their hatred for the world was where he strived to be. Toby was a special challenge, but as the seconds ticked by, Gerry could feel something changing.

He 'shushed' Toby a second time, and so wanted to pat his head and stroke his hair, but decided it was a risk too early to take. Toby's breathing slowed and he stopped struggling. Gerry loosened his grip, little by little, until his hands lay lightly upon Toby's shoulders with no pressure. Toby turned, still raging inside, faced Gerry and grabbed at the older man's shirt, then made small fists and tapped Gerry's chest. Gerry wasn't fearful. He could feel the tightness in Toby had evaporated and this was just some remnant acting out of belligerence.

But as Toby pushed, Gerry almost lost his footing, and pushed back. They grappled a little, not in anger, almost warmly. For a moment Gerry imagined them falling onto the mat and wrestling like father and son. Not that he had a son, but he'd seen other men playfully manhandling their teenage sons. It made his heart leap, just thinking it might be possible with Toby, with anyone.

"You...fuck," Toby murmured, unable to complete a sentence. He might as well have said 'I surrender' such was the look and tone of resignation he gave.

"You're good," Gerry said, laying his hands again on Toby's shoulders and making serious eye contact. "You're safe here. Anytime you want. Yeah?"

And as he waited for Toby to signal that he understood, Gerry remembered the promise to himself to leave early and surprise Andrea. Indeed, he felt so pleased at having made some sort of breakthrough with Toby, that thoughts of an afternoon with Andrea, just the two of them doing whatever came naturally, filled him with optimism.

 

[tamgreen]

Toby looked startled by the eye contact, but once it had been initiated, he couldn't seem to tear himself away. He felt insecure and exposed, as if caught with his pants down. He might as well have been made of glass - it seemed the man could see right through him, right through to every embarrassing, ugly truth.

After a tense minute, he finally registered Metzler's words: "You're safe here. Anytime you want."

What?

Toby shook his head slowly, and then faster, his brow furrowing stubbornly, jaw clenched.

"No. Not anytime!" he retorted. "Don't tell me stupid shit you don't mean! I can only be here til my forty fucking minutes are up. Then you're with other people. And then you leave. It doesn't mean a thing - you just do your job and then you're gone."

Could he really blame the guy though? And wasn't forty minutes every weekday still better than his mom usually managed? Well, for Toby, this wasn't a time for logic. The guy had barely started trying to help, and Toby had already decided to be pissed at Metzler's imagined failure.

 

[ericrodman101]

Of course, Toby was right. Who was Gerry to promise he was here for the kid 'anytime'? They had forty minutes together in the mornings. School mornings only. And that was only until Gerry or someone in higher authority decided otherwise.

So for the rest of the long week Toby was on his own. And didn't it show? The kid was a mess, physically and mentally. A mess of aggro and letdowns. And abuse, Gerry expected. Certainly neglect.

Toby's words brought Gerry down off his high as quickly as his holding the boy close had put him up there.

"I know," Gerry said. "You're right. I've over promised."

He stepped back to give Toby room and to show he was no threat.

"I am here at school for you whenever you want. You don't have to talk. You don't have to like me, or do anything I say. But I can help. Honestly I can. And I can leave you alone. Whatever you want."

 

[tamgreen]

When Gerry let go of him, Toby almost charged forward like a tiny linebacker to get back into the grapple, but he finally came to terms with how weird this was, and instead shrank back, leaning against the wall and hugging himself instead. He could still detect the man's clean scent lingering in his nostrils, and he was aware of how he himself must smell. He hadn't been in the apartment long enough in the past few days to shower, or even to get some clean-ish clothes.

He felt disgusting. He was disgusting. Maybe if he actually did go home, and braved the hazardous post-party cleanup, he could also clean himself up a little. But the thought of being in that apartment again caused panic to well up in him like vomit. What if those people were still there? What if that man was still there? What if everyone was gone, including his mother, and he had to spend another few days or weeks wondering if she would ever come back, and what would happen to him if she was dead, and never even said goodbye?

If he ditched her first, she wouldn't have a chance to ditch him.

Toby shivered, and his chin trembled ever so slightly.

"How?" he demanded, trying to push anger ahead of everything else roiling inside him. "Tell me. Tell me how, realistically, you can possibly help. Besides tossing me one fucking sandwich a day, which, believe me, does not go very far. Am I supposed to talk about my fucking feelings? How does that solve anything?"

 

[ericrodman101]

Gerry found himself torn. Thirty years a guidance counsellor, yet Toby was testing him. Not intellectually. Teenagers were all about pushing limits and buttons. No, it was an emotional test. Just when Gerry thought he'd made progress and Toby was softening, the next innocuous thing would push him back over the edge again. Toby's highs were high and his lows were low, and they followed one after the other so rapidly that Gerry felt like a punching bag.

He was confused about a few things too. The idea of surprising Andrea had enlivened him. And he laughed inside at the coy way he even described it to himself. Surprise? He meant go home early, and fuck Andrea. Make up for all the time they hadn't fucked. Show her he was still a real man and not just the guy who dropped dirty underwear on the bathroom floor and farted under the duvet.

It was physical intimacy he missed. A warm body alongside. Flesh on flesh. Not that he and Andrea were demonstrative. They had a love life, they fucked, but just not recently. And Andrea was very conservative in the bedroom department. Anything vaguely 'off Broadway' and she recoiled. Missionary all the way. Thank Christ for porn.

Holding Toby had confirmed how much he missed physical contact. You didn't touch the students as a rule. Even if it didn't lead to anything officially complicated, it still gave the wrong signals. Yet it was so natural, such an ordinary human response. Called for more often than not, yet assiduously avoided. Just holding Toby, feeling the kid's warmth and humanity as he relaxed into him, gave Gerry a thrill he could feel but decided it was better not to describe.

And fucking Andrea had to be today. Now or never. If he didn't go home today when his mind was made up and she was tired and sleeping off the trip home from the conference, it wouldn't happen. Gerry knew himself well enough to know his resolve was a fickle thing. If not today, then never.

Yet he'd promised Toby to be there anytime, and already acknowledged it was a qualified promise. That might explain the most recent of Toby's angry outbursts. But not the next, Gerry decided. Whatever made Toby angry now would be overwhelmed by some new trigger in ten minutes.

And now Toby was asking a real question. Not recoiling, not spitting in his face, not curling up on the gym mat and trying hard as he could not to speak. A question. How? How does talking solve anything? It was guidance counselling 101. Gerry answered that question everyday. With success mostly. But now he was invested somehow. Toby was not some dumb jock or knocked up teen whore, bashing people mindlessly or opening her legs to rebel against a comfortable middle class braindead lethargy. Toby had real problems, and maybe not a lot of time left to fix them before he descended into personal destruction.

What the fuck do I say?

 

[tamgreen]

Toby stared, helplessly waiting, feeling life drain from him with every passing moment that Metzler failed to answer his question. The strange, surreal wrestle/embrace seemed to have awoken him a little, and created an unintended thread of connection. Now he was retreating back into himself.

I can help, the man had insisted. Honestly I can.

Honest indeed. The man had fuck all. Toby was angry at himself more than he was angry at the man. Some tiny piece of him had decided, despite himself, to give the man a ghost of a chance - of course he'd end up disappointed. Toby knew he was an idiot - his grades clearly showed this. But when it came to trusting people, he thought he'd learned more by now.

"Typical," he spat. "Fulla' shit, like everyone else. You get a paycheck for this? Standing there like a moron? I could do this job. If someone gave me a paycheck for this fucking waste of time, I'd at least give a hungry kid more than one sandwich!"

 

[ericrodman101]

Something in Gerry snapped.

"Fuck it, Toby. Just fucking shut up for a moment."

Gerry stepped away, giving them both room. He thought about sitting at his desk, but standing gave off a better vibe. He folded his arms.

"So I'm no magician. I can't wave a magic wand and fix your shitty life. And I'm no mind reader either. You want me to help you, then talk to me. Tell me what's wrong, what you want to change, and then we can work on it together. I mean look," he said, pointing at Toby's feet. "Yesterday you came in here in shoes that were more hole than sole, and today, well look. That's gotta be an improvement. And nearly as good as a magic wand."

Turning, he stared out the window for a moment. Gerry could hear Mrs Bachelor next door through the thin wall. He guessed she'd heard every word of his outburst.

"You know," he said, his back still towards Toby, "maybe you need to go back in to see Mrs Bachelor. She'll have a change of clothes for you too. And she will show you where to take a shower. Clean yourself up and come back when you've calmed down so we can have a proper talk instead of us yelling at each other."

Gerry looked at Toby, trying to gauge the kid's reaction. He wanted just a flicker of self-recognition.

"Sure the world is shit, Toby. I know that. Not because I have a tough life. You're right. I get a paycheck for this. The world is shit because kids like you tell me. Or if they don't tell me, I know just by looking. At kids like you. I know Toby, I know you are hungry and tired, and no one gives a fuck."

Now he turned and walked to the chair behind his desk, sitting and continuing.

"But you give a fuck or you wouldn't be here telling me what you think. And I give a fuck, whether you want to believe it or not. I don't have to. I get my paycheck whether you feel better or not. Mrs Bachelor gets her paycheck, everyone at Fillmore gets their paycheck. So do yourself a favour Toby. Do what everyone else in this fucking shitty world does. Take advantage of it. OK?"

Gerry looked down at his desk. He knew if he looked up Toby would see the emotion in his face, his eyes. He felt his voice starting to waver.

"Go next door. Ask Mrs Bachelor for a shower and a change of clothes, then come back and see me. Before twelve. Because, yes, I promised you anytime, but today anytime ends at twelve."

His throat was dry and he coughed, hearing the strangled sound he emitted as much as feeling it. And he sensed Toby moving towards the door.

"And eat your fucking sandwich!"

 

[tamgreen]

Toby actually had nothing to say this time. He didn't expect this tirade from the man, and bits of it actually affected him enough that for a moment, just a brief moment, he actually looked like a guilty pup, his brown eyes growing large beneath his overgrown, shaggy hair.

Do yourself a favour... take advantage.

And why shouldn't he? Why hadn't he? He'd taken shoes. He'd taken food. But still he resisted so much that was offered to him. He slept in a park rather than going to a shelter that would have welcomed him. Was being literally a bum somehow a better image than being someone who might accept a little charity? Was being a failure all on his own something he could be proud of, and asking for help something to despise?

Toby didn't consider a lot of these things under normal circumstances. He didn't take the logical path - he lived reactively, instead of proactively, and he'd been called on it. He followed the whims of his volatile moods, the same way his mother did, even though he resented and was undeniably damaged by her inconsistency and wild lifestyle. Wouldn't doing better than her be the perfect rebellion?

And now Gerry actually seemed upset with him. Toby felt embarrassed, off balance, and this time lashing out wouldn't save him. He didn't know what to do except shut the fuck up and walk away.

He slipped out the door and shut it quietly behind him.

Toby didn't know what to say to the nurse, but she seemed to have expected him - she even had a bin of clothes for him to sort through. It took him a while to find something to reasonably fit his small, thin frame, but he managed to settle on a pair of jeans and a dark gray t-shirt that were much better quality than what he'd been wearing all week.

The shower was strange and sterile, more resembling a safety shower that might be found in a lab than anything homey, but there was soap and he got clean in a hurry. The warm water was intensely refreshing. He washed his hair three times over, feeling as if he were washing away a fair amount of the stress of the past few days.

Mrs. Bachelor told him there were laundry machines in one of the staff rooms and that she could wash his old clothes for him - he could pick them up at the end of the day.

"Don't make a habit of it," she warned before he left. "This isn't a laundromat. There are other places you can go."

"I know," Toby mumbled, which was as well as he could manage for thanks.

He lingered in the hallway for a few minutes outside Gerry's door, feeling unaccountably nervous. His clothes were as casual and generic as they could get, but somehow he felt "dressed up", and dreaded being looked at.

After eating the sandwich he'd stashed in his backpack - the whole thing - he had no excuse for delaying any further. He turned the handle and reentered the counsellor's office as quietly as he had left earlier that morning. Looking somehow reduced in a properly fitting gray t-shirt, with his damp hair tousled after a hasty towel dry with no combing, Toby stepped in, set and slunk to the chair in front of Gerry's desk as silently as if he hoped not to be noticed at all.

After a minute of silence, Toby pulled his knees up to his chest and curled up in a protective posture.

I get my paycheck whether you feel better or not, the guy had said, and damn if he didn't have a point. Toby hated that he had a point, hated that he couldn't argue. But he'd just have to man up and deal with it, he supposed.

"Everything is wrong," he finally muttered, staring at Gerry's desk. "I want to... not fail. And to... to not be stressed out every minute of the day. I don't know how to fix anything."

 

[ericrodman101]

Gerry spent the rest of the morning attending to mundane administrative matters. After the harsh words, and then telling him straight, Toby simply slipped out the door without a hint of bravado, or surliness, or disdain. Gerry listened to Toby and Mrs Bachelor although he couldn't make out the words. And then when the sound of the shower running came to him, Gerry was unnerved at how images of Toby washing himself kept popping into his head. It wasn't like Gerry to think about naked young men washing. He was used to the male form, of course. He showered with men at the gym, and he watched porn. Was Toby cut or uncut....? Fuck! What am I thinking?

And then it went quiet next door and Gerry was distracted by paperwork. He almost didn't notice Toby slip back into the room until the kid was sliding into the chair opposite. The boy muttered, Gerry struggling to hear. He couldn't help but check the clock on the wall behind Toby. Quarter to twelve. Gerry was determined to leave at midday for Andrea's surprise. Not that she was expecting him. That was the surprise.

Concentrate, Gerry. Concentrate. Toby was saying how everything was wrong and he didn't want to fail.

"I don't know how to fix anything," Toby said.

Not for the first time this week, Gerry was shocked. Having tried everything by the book and finding nothing worked, Gerry had almost lost his temper earlier. And yet any regret over yelling at Toby was subsumed by joy. The kid was opening up, telling him what was wrong, sharing his feelings. Gerry hadn't imagined they'd get here so quickly, if at all.

And fuck it! Fuck! He was leaving in fifteen minutes.

"Toby," Gerry began, then stopped, knowing he had to get this right, whatever right was. He had to get away yet leave Toby with something to hang onto until tomorrow. "Toby, I'm glad you don't want to fail. That's a good way to feel. You can fix things. Not now, not today, not even this week. But you can start today. And whatever you think of me, I can help. Do you understand? I can help you learn how not to fail, how to succeed, how to work out what you want and work out how to get there. I'm not going to fuck you around. It isn't easy. But look. New shoes. A wash...." Gerry noticed how Toby's freshly clean black hair fell over one eye almost...what was the right word...coquettishly?....Jesus...."I know you're feeling a little better just for having washed. Yeah?"

He looked hard for Toby to nod agreement. Was that a shake of the head?

"We're not going to run before we can walk. You're making progress. Go to class this afternoon and think about what the teachers say. Do the lessons tell you anything about succeeding? Anything useful for the future? And then tomorrow morning we can talk about what to do next. A plan of action maybe. Or if that's too much, just a talk. Yeah? How does that sound?"

 

[tamgreen]

Toby blinked slowly and let the counsellor's words wash over him. It was all so fucking sensible. Clearly something he lacked in his life. Not that he actually had much hope that taking these small, sensible steps would bring any dramatic improvement to his life. There was so much that couldn't be undone.

"Kay," he mumbled, still tightly curled up in the chair. "We'll see."

He lifted his head enough to see the clock on the wall. Gerry had to leave soon. It made him feel a little anxious, yet he couldn't think of anything to say to the guy. What more could he get out of this, with so little time left?

"Do you... have anything else to eat?" he asked hesitantly.

It was almost a physical effort to ask for this, as well as to look at the man. Gerry actually looked really sincere - Toby wasn't sure if this meant he was falling into some kind of trap, or if the guy might actually be for real, but he definitely felt a little flutter deep in his stomach that wasn't entirely bad.

 

[ericrodman101]

Gerry didn't want to declare victory just yet. Toby's rage calming, his talking about feelings, was just the end of the beginning. Perhaps this was just resignation. Surrender. And it didn't surprise Gerry that Toby wanted food. Sleep, shelter and food. Toby was like a wild animal on the lowest rung of self actualisation. His needs were basic.

"Sure," Gerry said, rising and gathering his things. "I gotta go now, but follow me down to the vending machine and we'll see what they've got."

With his laptop and papers in his bag, Gerry smiled at Toby and watched the boy stand. He was clearly rung out. The stress and emotion had taken its toll, on top of the hunger and lack of sleep, and Gerry could see the rest of today would be another long stretch for Toby. But he wasn't the boy's keeper. The other teachers would watch out for him, some more closely than others. No, school wasn't the problem. Toby was inside the building which was nine tenths of winning that argument.

After school was the problem. The time between one school day and the next. Where did Toby go at night? Who was he with? Was he safe or in danger? Gerry felt more comfortable now that left to his own devices, Toby would be back tomorrow. But he could only guess from the files and what little Toby had implied, that Toby's out-of-school circumstances were dire. Tomorrow, Gerry resolved, I'll talk about what happens at home, and if and when the boy is ready, I'll make a home visit.

They walked along the corridor to the vending machine by the door where Gerry had found Toby sleeping on the step. Toby selected a sandwich and a drink, and Gerry paid. The man didn't know if the kid had money and he didn't ask.

"Eat that and go to class," Gerry said. "You've done well today. We've both had a good day. I'm sorry I have to go now, but I will see you in the morning."

He clapped his hand on Toby's shoulder, hoping for a smile.