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Charlie Dalton was not stupid. That was the whole point wasn’t it? Charlie wasn’t stupid, so he had the misfortune to end up at Hellington instead of some normal high school where he could sit back and get easy As. At this point Charlie wasn’t sure if he knew anything about himself beyond the “smart” label. And really, what did that even mean when he was surrounded by the new generation of lawyers and doctors and whatever else his friends would end up stuck as. Compared to the rest of Wellington- hell, even just compared to his own friend group, Charlie's brains were nothing out of the ordinary.
The most important things he knew weren’t from school anyway. Excluding Mr. Keating’s class, of course but that hardly counted as school anyway. At this present moment there were only three rules that mattered: don’t cut too deep, don't get blood on anything important, and don’t get caught.
Every Tuesday and Thursday Cameron had debate club after classes, giving Charlie the room to himself. An hour and a half of what he told his friends was “me time.” usually followed by a wiggling eyebrow and a scarlet flush from Anderson. What really happened was a little more complicated, and not something that they would ever find out about.
Not while Charlie had anything to say about it.
This semester Charlie had gotten stuck with the noisiest roommate ever. Combine that with his limited alone time, and he had to make his little “sessions” count. It was a tedious game of how much relief he could fit in while still having enough time to clean up after himself before Cameron got back.
For a while Charlie had quit. With Mr. Keating came his first actually interesting class in years. And then he had Dead Poets Society to look forward to. But recovery didn’t stick. It never did. And it now was getting to the point where only twice a week was not going to be enough. Today was Thursday, which meant once Cameron came back he would have to wait five days before he could cut again. He needed to make this one good enough to last.
That’s when he broke the first rule.
Twenty minutes before Cameron was supposed to return, Charlie had long since run out of room on his left arm. If this kept up he would probably have to start in on his thighs again next week, but for now he settled for his other arm. The lines coming from his non-dominant hand were less even. But he had to do enough to last him through the weekend. He glanced at the clock, took a deep breath. Just three more. He had time.
He hadn’t thought it through much farther than that.
When Cameron returned, Charlie was sitting at his desk, calmly conjugating latin verbs. In the back of the wardrobe, there was an old pencil case full of paper towels, wraparound bandages, and razor blades. His arms ached , but he felt so light.
Behind him, Cameron switched out his books and lingered by the door, waiting for Charlie to join him so they could walk to study group together. “You coming?”
Charlie looked up at him, and the corners of his vision felt a little shimmery. That probably wasn’t good.
“Hmm?”
Cameron rolled his eyes, “Study group?”
“Right.” Charlie turned back to the desk to gather his books, but froze when he noticed a stain the size of a dime on the inner sleeve of his jacket. That was two layers of clothing and the bandages. That definitely wasn’t good.
“Come to think of it, I'm not feeling so hot,” Charlie said, praying that Cameron would take the hint. “Might be better if I stay behind this time around.”
It was a horrible lie. Maybe if Charlie had tried it on one of the others they would have called him on it. But this was Cameron so he was in the clear.
“Alright then,” was all he said before turning and leaving Charlie alone again.
Some sick part of him saw the privacy as an opportunity to squeeze in a few more cuts, but the bloom of blood on his sleeve had already doubled in size, and the usual post-cut clarity had turned into more of a dull sheen.
Charlie’s hands curled around the edges of his desk, causing more cuts to open and ooze unger their wrapings. “Shit! Shit shit shit-” at each word he shook it, only stopping when his poetry book fell off with a thud.
Sucking in deep breaths, he went to pick it up, watching as a little scrap of paper fell from the pages. It was a folded sheet dated with the first day of school, back when Charlie had assumed that notes would be necessary for the class. All that he’d written was “Keeting’s office hours: every day 3:30-6:00, no appointment needed.”
He stared at it for what felt like a long time. Then glanced at the clock.
If there was anyone that could help him…
But Charlie wasn’t stupid. He knew what adults thought of this kind of thing. To go to Keating now would be to ruin one of the only good things that he had at this goddamn school. His heart started to beat faster, and he could practically feel the blood running through it, and then out of his body.
Did he really have a choice?
Charlie stepped away from the desk, trying to think, but he felt unsteady on his feet. If he wanted to do anything, it would have to be soon. What would they do to him if he was found like this, bleeding out in his dorm room?
Keating was the lesser of the two evils.
Before he overthink it, Charlie forced himself out of the safety of his room and down the hall, to Keatings classroom. By some miracle the halls were empty, and he didn’t break his stride until he made it to the closed classroom door. Through the window he could see the familiar classroom, and felt the panic in his chest die down just a bit. This place was good. This place was safe. In the corner, a door was open, revealing a broom closet sized space overflowing with books, he could just make out Mr. Keating's leg stretched out to the side of a large desk.
The walk from his dorm to the classroom was by no means a hard one, but Charlie was starting to feel light headed, the stain on his sleeve was now the size of a grapefruit. Once Mr. Keating saw him, it would be out of Charlie’s hands. He took a deep breath and opened the door before his anxiety sent him running back to his room.
There was a shuffle from the office, and a moment later a familiar face was leaning into the doorway. It seemed to blur before him. Maybe he was fucked up enough that he wound’t register how awkward this was.
“Mr. Dolton!” Keating smiled, “A pleasant surprise, come in.”
Charlie navigated his way through the desks to the front of the room. About halfway through he misjudged, and the corner of one of them ended up in his thigh.
Mr. Keating’s smile disappeared “Mr. Dolton?”
“I think I fucked up.”
Charlie vaguely registered that he probably shouldn't swear in front of a teacher, but the thought disbursed when Keating appeared at his side and guided him into a chair inside the office.
“What’s happened?”
Charlie’s eyes were burning, which was almost as stupid as the fact that he was here in the first place. He stared at the floor and held out his blood soaked sleeve in answer.
“Are you injured?”
Charlie nodded.
“Then why not go to- '' Charlie could practically hear the gears click into place. “Ah, I see.” somehow, the teacher’s tone had turned even softer than before. Maybe Charlie was at least a little glad that he had come here.
Keating rolled his chair to the other side of the little room, then scooted it back with a first aid kid almost as big as the one in the nurse's office cradled in his lap.
“I’ll help you if I can,” Keating said, “but only if you agree to let me take you to the hospital if that isn’t enough.”
Charlie nodded, still not looking up. It’s not like he really had much of a choice.
“Alright then.” Keating set the first aid kit on the desk and pulled out a handful of supplies. Charlie vaguely wondered why he seemed so comfortable with this, then looked down again before Keating could catch his eye. His tears were getting dangerously close to spilling over.
He slipped his left arm out of his jacket, then pulled it off the other one, then hesitated.
“You can set that down anywhere.”
“I don’t want to get blood on your stuff.” Charlie said. His voice was low but strangely even.
“I think we’ve got bigger things to worry about at the moment.”
Even so, Charlie took care to set the jacket down stain side up on a nearby chair.
“Can you get your sleeves up by yourself?”
Charlie nodded, but then hesitated. No one had seen his bear arms in years. Even he didn’t like to look at them if he could help it.
“If I’m gonna help, I gotta see, Son.” The title sounded so soft coming out of his mouth. So different from the way Charlie's parents said it, that the tears finally made it out of his eyes and onto his cheeks.
“This is so stupid.”
“It most certainly is not.”
That made Charlie sob harder, but it made him feel better too.
With Keating's help he managed to get his right sleeve up, the fabric stuttering along the damp bandages.
“May I?”
Charlie nodded, not trusting himself to speak again, and one of Keating's hands came up to steady him while the other one unwrapped the clumsily placed bandages. Underneath was a mess. Most of the cuts had managed to seal themselves like they normally did, but the last three, near the middle of his forearm, were still weeping generously. Keating pulled a wad of gauze from his desk, and pressed down hard.
“Let me know if I’m hurting you.”
Charlie snorted, then froze as he saw Keating’s brow furrow.
“I bet you think I’m as dumb as they come.” he said, using his free hand to wipe his nose.
“This probably wasn’t the best choice,” Keating said, nodding to his arm, “but I’m glad that you ended up here and not in an ambulance.”
“Guess I got a little too ballsy.”
He could practically feel Keating's eyes moving up and down his arm, even with the cloth covering most of it, there were still years worth of scars on display. Charlie waited for the hammer to drop, for Keating to demand to see every inch of torn skin he had to offer, but all the teacher said was, “I think the bleeding’s stopped.”
The rag was lifted, and Charlie saw that the cuts weren't as bad as he’d first feared. They weren’t good, that was for sure, but nothing he hadn’t seen before. Was this all an overreaction?
“Oh, I’ve had way worse than that.”
Keating gave him a look that made him think that probably wasn't the best thing to say, then turned to pour rubbing alcohol onto a cotton swab. Cleaning them out now was going to hurt like a bitch.
“Do you do this often?”
Charlie hesitated. The cat was already out of the bag, but maybe there was still some room to play it cool.
“Not too often.” not as often as he’d like.
Keating brought the cloth down gently onto Charlie's arm, and he felt a stab of pride when he didn’t so much as flinch.
“Do your friends know?”
“No.”
“Parents?”
“No…”
Keating pulled the swab across his arm carefully, cleaning the blood with remarkable efficiency.
“You’re not going to tell them are you?”
It was Keating’s turn to hesitate. Charlie felt his heart sink.
“Technically I have to, but there’s a grace period. We don’t have to deal with that tonight.”
Was he planning on this to be an ongoing conversion?
Charlie was quiet as his teacher pulled the cloth away, and returned with a type of bandage that he didn’t recognize, long and thin, more like tape than anything else. He watched him place them over the three largest cuts, then return with more of the same wrap-around-bandages that Charlie was used to.
“I can do that part myself,” Charlie said.
“I’m sure you can.” Keating agreed, wrapping the arm snugly before he could argue more.
Keating finished, but didn’t move to put the kit away. “Are there any others?” He looked pointedly at Charlie's other arm.
“No?”
Keating raised an eyebrow, “Wanna try that again?”
Charlie cursed softly before rolling up his other self. He unwrapped and offered the arm to Keating for inspection, thinking it would look like nothing after the last one. But without the extra blood to hide them, the sheer number of scars was alarming, even to Charlie.
Keating repeated the same process of cleaning and wrapping without so much as a flinch. Without the urgency of deep cuts, Charlie had time to notice each gentle touch. The action was so vulnerable he felt claustrophobic.
“Come to me,” Keating said, securing the bandage around his arm. “Next time you feel like doing this.”
Charlie pulled his arm away and reached for his jacket. He didn’t like making promises that he knew he would have to break.
“Yeah okay.” he stood to go. Anything would be better than being trapped with those eyes.
“I’m gonna need better than that.”
Charlie pulled in a deep breath, “fine, I will.”
Keating smiled, and it was so warm and real that Charlie had to turn away.
“And Charlie?”
He turned, hardly registering the use of his first name before he was pulled into a hug. “Someone always cares.” Mr Keating assured him, “Even if you can’t always see them.”
Under normal circumstances, Charlie would never allow himself to believe that. But he melted into the embrace anyway. And there, safe in a real life adult’s arms, he thought, maybe it might be true.