12. It's All Coming Back to Me

“I see a pattern here, and I don't know if I like it.”

Rev. Eckhardt Weber said this as he cleaned and tied the bandages around the wound on Joseph's right foot. They were in the hygiene chambers of the college's chapel. The young doctor had decided to tell the reverend some things about what had happened a few days ago in his home, as he was feeling like the guilt and doubt would drive him mad if he kept it to himself.

He trusted the priest; although he would not reveal *it all*, the man had taken an oath to keep all confessions made to him a secret, the same way Joseph had taken one to care for any person in need.

“Now that you say that...I feel even more stupid." Joseph covered his face with his hand, hiding a grimace of pain. "What do you think I should do, Reverend?"

The priest finished his work, resting Joseph's foot on his thigh as he sat on the ground. His clerical robes were set aside on a side table that also held a towel and some antiseptic medicine. He looked up at Joseph, shrugging:

"Why not apologise to him?"

*It's so easy for him to say that.*

"B-But what if he doesn't accept it?"

"Well, that's on him. The bravest man is always the one who takes the first step to make things right."

Joseph nodded silently.

"Also...you need to address this belief you have about yourself, that no one likes you."

The boy’s eyes widened.

“W-What do you mean?”

"Whoever guards his mouth preserves his life; he who opens wide his lips comes to ruin. It's written in Proverbs 13." The man stood up, drying his hands on a towel. "If you keep repeating things about yourself, good or bad, you shall get their confirmation, for this is how the Law of God works."

“B-But...no one likes me!”

"Although he is no saint...this boy seems to like you... And what did you do? You found a way to push him away in order to *confirm* that he, too, shall not be fond of you."

Joseph raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips, completely lost.

"I don't understand, Reverend."

"You will." The man smiled, helping him to put on his boots and stand with his crutches. "Just apologise and let things fall into place, at the right time."

The doctor left the chapel, doing his best to balance himself and his backpack with the pair of crutches. As if his foot wasn't bad enough, he was also having a hard time with his hands, irritated from having to support all that weight on two sticks.

"Guess my left foot is my only functional limb now..." He forced a smile to his face to dull the pain, ignoring the mocking laughter from the other boys on the way to the Common Hall.

He came to school the way the prince had ordered him to, including renting the carriages so he wouldn't have to walk any more than the necessary. It wasn’t because he was afraid of whatever had appeared at that day... Damn, he wasn't even sure if that thing was real! Rather, it was because seeing that area again would just make him think more and more about his misfortunes.

"Hey, Selden, besides being a molly and a freak, are you a cripple now, too?"

"I think he was trying to frig with his feet, since his hands are ruined, but his c*ck is so flaccid, he broke his foot instead!"

A cacophony of repulsive laughter filled the garden. Joseph knew it was Honza Dvorák and Filip Svoboda with their mates; he refused to raise his head and give them the satisfaction of his acknowledgement.

The main subject on his mind at that moment had a name, and it was called “Tariq Ali Bashir Von Schwarzenber-Schlanger”.

The prince’s words kept repeating, like a loop, in his mind...

*My father adopted me...*

*I know WHAT I am...*

*They refused to share their tables...*

*Nobody will never respect you for free...*

*You are the first person who respected me...for free...*

Joseph paused for a bit, swallowing. He remembered what the reverend had said, about being careful with your words, for they have the power to turn what you say into reality.

*I wonder what he’s going through... Did I destroy his already small hope of finding sympathy, as much as I'm destroying my own?*

*You'll understand.*

It had been three days after they’d argued since he had seen the prince, save for their shared classes. Even then, they didn't exchange any words, only a few glances. Tariq, being Joseph’s pupil, had to sit close to him during his first year.

The prince's gaze seemed lost, his eyes a little swollen. Four times Joseph noticed him staring at him, but he didn't have the energy to meet his eyes then. And not on the second day, nor on the third...

*I said I can't handle seeing people suffer... Then I acted like an asshole to someone who was just trying to be nice...even if it was in a twisted way.*

It was the fourth day. Again, they were in their Rhetoric I class. Again, he was by Joseph’s side.

However, the prince's head was lowered now, and he wasn't staring at Joseph anymore.

Professor Schebert didn’t have his paddle... Maybe he wasn't so fond of it after having a taste of it to the face. The man was roaming around the classroom, checking on everyone's textbooks to see if they had good etiquette.

*Aren't you being paid to give REAL lessons, Professor Doughnut?*

Joseph smiled, remembering that day...

It was *wrong*, but...he had deserved it. Again, Joseph’s heart became heavy... Certainly the one who had saved him deserved better treatment.

*I need to settle this already. But how?*

In the beginning, the prince wouldn’t stop staring at him... But now, he seemed to be doing his best to avoid even acknowledging the doctor's presence. And Joseph couldn't blame him... If a person looks at you and every time you notice it, you turn your face away, what sort of message are you communicating to them?

There was another thing holding him back from taking the first step... Larger than shame, larger than fear.

Pride.

Joseph hadn’t realised at first, but he was fearful of a possible rejection of his apology, and the humiliation that came with it... So much so that the everlasting uncertainty about whether it would happen or not seemed far more appealing.

His mouth went dry and his hands began trembling again. His heart was beating so fast that he could see his robe pulsing as he looked at his textbook, open to a page about Aristotle's three fundamentals of persuasion... *logic, pathos* and *ethos*.

*This is like a bucket full of shit... The more you kick it, the more it stinks...*

The young doctor swallowed, raising his head and taking a deep breathe.

*Professor Schebert won’t be at our table for a bit longer...*

It was now or never.

Joseph touched the prince's arm with his right hand.

The other boy looked at him, his mouth open and eyes wide. He looked down at the doctor's hand and a faint glow of blush illuminated his face.

"Y-Your High-ghness... I… P-Pleas-"

Joseph was interrupted when Honza stretched his legs, resting them on Tariq's shoulders, just like he had done to Joseph nearly four days ago. The prince turned around with the eyes of an infernal beast, shoving Dvorák's leg with all his strength.

Unfortunately, the aforementioned boy dodged the blow and it hit Joseph's wrist instead.

The doctor heard a *crack* from inside his hand. He pulled away out of instinct, but it was already too late. The wave of agonizing pain shot through his arm, all the way up to his elbow.

"Ah! A-Ah..." He’d never felt anything like it... The pain was so great that he wanted to cut his whole arm off to stop it.

He looked around, and saw Filip Svoboda standing up and the professor rushing over, his face redder and sweatier than ever.

“YOU BROKE HIS HAND, YOU DELINQUENT! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?! GO TO THE DEAN'S OFFICE! NOW!”

Then Joseph saw the prince...

He was frowning and pale, his mouth open as he stared at the professor.

"I'm... It wasn't my fault, he-"

The prince tried to explain, but the professor grabbed his arm, forcing him to leave the room.

"GET OUT, YOU ANIMAL!"

"Hey, don't blame me, N*gger Prince... You punched him because you wanted to!" Dvorák raised his hand, laughing loudly. "What antics! Ahahahaha!"

Joseph could hear the laughter of all his friends, except for one.

His eyes became blurry when he saw his hand hanging at an odd angle. It was indeed fractured. The boy kept taking deep breaths to avoid fainting in the classroom, until he felt someone holding his waist and his left arm, gently pulling him from his school desk.

"Come on, I'll take you to the infirmary."

That typically squeaky voice, now sounding calm and steady, belonged to Filip Svoboda. Somehow he had already managed to haul Joseph out of his seat and to his feet. The young doctor’s jaw dropped as he stared at Filip, too shocked and terrified to even try to break free from his grip. He turned his head and noticed Honza's amusement was gone, giving way to a deformed face mask of pure disgust and hatred as he glared at the two boys.

All the doctor could focus on was Svoboda pulling his left arm over the back of his neck, holding his waist and supporting his weight so Joseph's feet barely had to touch the ground as they walked away from the classroom.

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