A Vulnerable Heart - Abby Robinson

A Vulnerable Heart by Abby Robinson

Copyright © 2015 by Faye Lee All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a

book review or scholarly journal. First Printing: 2015 ISBN 978-1-326-34959-2

Chapter One Owen crept across the hallway as quietly as he could. Through his parents' open bedroom door he could see his mother curled up on her side under her duvet with her mousy blonde hair sticking out from the top of her cocoon and the top of a dark purple bruise just visible on her temple, too. Owen shook his head disdainfully and made an even more concerted effort to be quiet. He padded down the stairs on his tiptoes and sat on the part of the stair that didn't creak in order to put on his shoes. When his shoes were tied and he'd managed to

pick up his rucksack without making a sound, Owen breathed a sigh of relief that he'd managed to get through the morning without awakening the beast. Well... almost. Suddenly Owen's father, Matt White, appeared at the doorway wearing nothing but beerstained undershorts and a scowl. His stout, hairy stomach rested on his waistband and his face was covered in a thick, bristly blonde stubble. His eyes squinted against the dim light of the hallway as though he were staring into the sun and one hand was pressed against his temple and that tell-tale scar of an old injury. "You!" he growled, slurring his words in such a way that Owen couldn't tell if

he was hungover or still drunk. "You owe me rent." Owen fixed his bright blue eyes on the tattered grey carpet and shrugged helplessly. "It's a standing order, Dad. It should be in your account." "It wasn't there last night." "Well, maybe it's there now." "Are you giving me lip?" The young man rubbed his face tiredly with his hands and shook his head with a weary sigh. "No, Dad. I'm just saying." Matt grabbed his son by his shirt and pulled him up from the step. He pushed Owen's back up against the hallway wall menacingly and Owen kept his face turned away and his eyes down. Matt

pinned Owen against the wall with a heavy hand over his chest and jabbed a finger threateningly in Owen's direction as he spat out his words on boozy breath. "Listen here, fag. I'm not keeping you for free." Owen held up his hands in a submissive gesture and suddenly he realized what had happened. "It was a bank holiday," he said softly. "What?" "A bank holiday," Owen repeated quietly. "The b-banks won't have processed it." A fist flew into Owen's stomach without warning, but Matt's palm against his chest stopped Owen from doubling

over, although the punch knocked the breath from him. "Don't you talk back to me." "I'm j-just saying." "Don't." The helpless son gritted his teeth together to stop his jaw from trembling and his words from spilling out. There was no use arguing with his father. The year before Owen had been born, Matt had been a warehouse worker and had suffered a head injury when a shelving unit had collapsed on him and shattered his skull. Owen's mother, Louise, often told her son that Matt had never used to be violent; it was the injury that had given him his temper. Owen could only take her word for it because all he'd

ever known was violence from the man. In that moment he tried to pull himself away from his father's grasp and pick up the bag that he had dropped when he'd been hit in the stomach. All the while he looked anywhere but at his father. In his experience, eye contact was taken as a challenge and Owen didn't want to confront Matt in any way. Matt let his son go with a contemptuous scowl and slunk away once more to his filthy sofa and sports shows. Owen walked out the door and began to head to 24/7 Fitness, the gym where he worked. He used the walk as an opportunity to gather himself. Things were bad enough at work without showing up trembling and upset. Owen

was nineteen years old and he hated that he still lived with his parents, but he was not academically gifted and had no qualifications to his name. He couldn't afford to live alone on his salary as a receptionist and with his father draining him dry with demands for rent and ‘keep’, Owen couldn't see much hope in the near future of being able to save enough to get away. At last the receptionist arrived at work and put his bag under the counter. He turned on the computers, checked the phone for messages and filed away a few loose papers on the desk. He was busy bustling around with his morning arrangements when someone suddenly knocked on the counter to get his

attention. Owen looked up and immediately felt his heart skip a beat. The feeling of instant attraction was so uncomfortable and unwanted that Owen had to clear his throat and shuffle a few more papers before he could bring himself to look up again at the person on the other side of the counter. David was the new twenty-three year old personal trainer, new in town and eager to get started. It was clear that he took care of himself. David had thick, dark hair that was just long enough for him to run his fingers through as he looked curiously around his new place of work and his face wore a ready smile. He had a chiselled jaw and a strong

nose. He appeared as though someone had sculpted him rather than he had been born of flesh and blood. The strong pectoral muscles of his chest were clearly visible under the taught fabric of his sports shirt and his biceps rippled with every movement of his arms, but he wasn't stocky. He was lean and taut like a panther. He was handsome in a classic way, like the old movie stars and so strong and masculine that Owen could barely look at him without blushing. "H-hello," Owen greeted him shyly, looking down at the counter as he spoke and only occasionally shooting an upwards glance at the new employee. "D-David, right? Chris left a note somewhere..." Owen took a deep breath

and tried to swallow back his nervous stammer. "Do you know where you're going?" "Chris said to ask at reception." "Sure," Owen nodded. "Are you teaching a class or sc-scheduled for the gym right now?" "I've got personal training slots until three and then I'm teaching boxing until five," David told him. "I guess I'm starting in the gym. I've only been here once for the interview and that was in Chris' office. Could you show me around a bit?" "Sure. I'll t-take you downstairs." Owen cast a glance outside to see if Katie was anywhere around and when he saw the other receptionist chatting on her

mobile phone by the entrance he felt it was alright to leave his station. David followed his gaze and his eyes settled on the petite figure of the cute blonde out front. "Who's she?" he asked with interest in his voice. "Katie." Owen told him flatly. "She's a right p-pain in my ass." "Aren't all women?" David chuckled. Owen smiled shyly, shot a timid glance up at David, who was just a few inches taller than him, and then quickly looked away as that blush tinted his cheeks once more. He felt sure his throat was swelling up. He was so nervous to be around someone that attractive, but he didn't want it to show. Owen always felt

it a victory if he could go even a single hour without someone labelling him as gay. He gestured for David to follow him and headed through the swing doors down the stairs that lead to the gym downstairs. Upstairs were the fitness rooms for classes and group workouts. "You can't get lost," Owen narrated in a friendly but reserved voice, "it's just down the stairs and through those doors there. M-Mike will be in. He'll get you started with all your gym stuff." The receptionist quickly turned on his heel and was about to walk away when David stopped him with a hand on his shoulder and a friendly chuckle. "Hey, I didn't catch your name." Owen grew even redder. The flush

was spreading all the way from his collar bones to his ears and he had to clear his throat a couple more times to answer. "Owen." David held out his hand confidently to him and Owen tried to make his handshake strong when he took it. "And I'm David," the personal trainer replied. "It's good to meet you, Owen." Owen tried to give a friendly smile in return, but he was more preoccupied with getting away as soon as possible. The last thing he wanted was for Mike or Rich or any of the other trainers to see him getting flustered over the new guy or it would start off a whole new regime of mocking and teasing that Owen didn't

want to follow him around for the next God knows how long. He knew that he would have to stay away from David if he wanted to protect himself from people making fun. The new employee wasn't sure what to make of Owen. He couldn't tell if the fair-haired receptionist with the floppy fringe and striking blue eyes didn't like him at all or liked him too much. It was clear what the other trainers thought of Owen, however. David had lunch with Mike and Rich that day and the shy receptionist soon came up in conversation. "Did you meet Owen?" Rich said teasingly with a big goofy grin as he took a ravenous bite of his sandwich. Rich

was a rather tall and lanky guy, whose height made him seem to fold in too many parts when he tried to sit on the grass outside the gym. He had dull blonde hair and slightly vacant eyes. "The receptionist?" David replied. "Yeah. He seemed alright." "Did he get all funny with you?" Rich asked. "Funny how?" "You know, all red and stuttering - ‘gg-guys, could you please, erm, could you bring up your, erm, your reports, erm, please’," Rich imitated in a high-pitched falsetto voice. "He gets like that around all the guys. Never the girls. Camp as a row of tents." "I didn't notice anything," David

replied flatly. Of course he had noticed; both the stutter and the fact that Owen seemed... different. At the time he hadn't been sure whether Owen had disliked him or fancied him, but it was clear now that the receptionist was gay. "You will," Rich predicted. "Watch out for it next time you speak to him. ‘Erm, David, could you please, erm, please, could you, erm... I mean, could you...’ God, it's unbearable sometimes. Like, get a fucking sentence out, you know?" "He spoke fine to me," David insisted. "Maybe you're not his type then," Mike giggled. The third personal trainer had a buzz cut and a very large and angular chin that made him seem almost

cartoonish. "I think Rich is his type. He's a mess around you, isn't he, Rich? The only other person I've ever seen stammer and swoon like that is Katie when that weightlifter comes in." "The Australian one? Yeah, she's crushing hard on him..." The conversation moved on, but David was left feeling uncomfortable about how the other employees had spoken about the softly-spoken blonde receptionist who appeared harmless to David. In the days that followed he witnessed more of the ways that they teased Owen and tried to make him uncomfortable. They would deliberately wind him up by giving him the wrong paperwork so that he'd have to ask them

to amend it and would then pretend they didn't understand when he began to stammer out an explanation and would laugh amongst themselves as Owen grew red and embarrassed. Even the girls were just as bad. Owen worked on different days with either Katie or Helen or both. The two girls got on like a house on fire, but they always seemed to be irritated by Owen's presence on the occasions when the three worked the busiest shifts together or grew snappy and impatient with Owen if they were left to work the front desk with him alone. "For fuck's sake, Owen!" Katie hissed at her co-worker on one occasion. "I can't even read this. What am I meant to

do with it? I'm just going to have to rewrite the whole thing. I don't know why you even bother. I've told you before that you should just leave the written stuff to me. Otherwise, it just has to be done twice." "You were on lunch," Owen defended himself timidly. "Was I meant to make the customer wait until you got back?" "I don't know, Owen," Katie sighed impatiently, "maybe you should just find a job where you don't need to be able to read. I mean, seriously, this looks like it was written by a five-year old." "Sorry..." Owen murmured. After a few weeks of working at 24/7 Fitness, David decided that he wanted to make up his own mind about Owen,

rather than just following the trend to hassle him. One afternoon he asked Owen if he wanted to eat lunch with him by the tennis courts. Owen's expression at the invite was as if he had been asked to accept a knighthood and he looked confused. "Why?" he asked suspiciously. "Why do I want you to eat lunch with me?" David asked uncertainly. "Does there have to be a reason?" For once Owen looked at David properly and fixed him with a brief but intense stare to try and assess his motivations. At last he shrugged and picked up his rucksack. He emerged from behind the counter and gestured for David to lead the way. The two made

their way to the grassy hill overlooking the tennis courts outside and sat side by side chewing on their sandwiches. For a while they said nothing to one another. Owen kept his gaze fixed on the two middle-aged women playing tennis in front of them and didn't attempt to start a conversation and David felt like small talk would seem condescending. At last he just came out with it. "Those other guys give you shit," he blurted. "Why?" "I'd imagine it's because I take naked pictures of them in the locker room and make erotic scrapbooks," Owen replied, deadpan. David's eyebrows shot up in shock and he leaned back a little, but began to

laugh when he saw Owen's expression break and a small, wry smile appear on his lips. Owen shot David a sideways glance and a slightly longer smile confirmed that he was joking. The receptionist then sighed and held up his hands in a despairing gesture. "I dunno," he said at last. "It's just lads being lads, isn't it? Guys rib each other all the time. It's harmless." "You think they're funny?" David asked with surprise. Owen shook his head. "No," he said, "but I don't think they mean any harm. You've just got to take it in good humour. They're just mucking around." "Well, you're a good sport about it," David said with an uncertain tone

lingering in his voice. "I'd get pissed and knock their teeth out if they were talking like that to me. Doesn't it get you wound up when they're making fun of your stammer and stuff?" "I only get the stammer because I'm wound up," Owen replied. "I'm fine until I get flustered or nervous and then suddenly I can't get my words out. They think it's funny, which is why they do it. It's my own fault for letting myself get wound up in the first place." "Do you want me to have a word with them about it?" David offered. "I could tell them to knock it off?" "God no!" Owen replied quickly. "That's the worst thing anyone could do. It's best they think it doesn't get to you,

you know? I mean, it doesn't get to me. Not really." "You're a better man than me then," David told him. "My girlfriend teases me about the way I shave - she hates if I get any stubble at all - and it winds me up. I mean, she's a massive pain in the ass. She'll nag about it until I snap, but I snap pretty quickly. What I'm saying is that I don't know how you keep your temper." "I'm not angry," Owen shrugged. "You're not?" "No. I'm... offended? No, that's too strong a word," Owen replied. "I'm... fed up." "Well, the offer's there anyway," David repeated, "if you want me to have

a word with them. I don't like the way they wind you up about your stammer and the gay thing. It's a dick move. You're not provoking anyone." "There's no point making a fuss," Owen said calmly. "You can't change the way those people think. Even if I stop that stuff coming out their mouths it will still be in their heads, so what's the point? Let them go on about the stammer and... the gay thing." Owen said the last part with a little amused smile on his face. He liked the way that David said it. It made it seem like a cute little quirk of his rather than a massive, significant flaw. He didn't know if David had guessed that Owen was gay from his uncontrollable blushing or from locker

room talk, but he was pleased that the personal trainer didn't seem too bothered by the fact. It would be good to have an ally at that place. "What about you?" Owen asked, changing the subject. "What were you doing before you came to us?" "I was working as a personal trainer in Bramfort. My Mum moved here to be close to her sister - my parents got divorced last year - so I tagged along." "You live with your Mum?" Owen asked with interest. "Lame, I know," David chuckled. "I'm a bit old, huh? Twenty-three. Tanya's been going on at me about moving in together, but I just don't know if I feel it. She's a bit clingy and she never stops

nagging." Owen smiled sympathetically. "Have you been together long?" "Coming up two years." "Wow. It must be getting serious." David shrugged nonchalantly. "She's alright. I'm not sure if I'm with her for the right reasons to be honest. I'm thinking about ending it." "But she wants to move in?" "I know. Nightmare, right? But then every time I think about ending it I can't think of a reason that's good enough," David tried to explain. "Tanya's hot and friendly and fun. All my mates say I'm batting out my league, but I just feel like she's a bit... meh. Christ, that makes me sound like a dick, doesn't it? I mean, I'm

not the world's biggest romantic, but if I'm gonna settle down with a chick I at least want to feel a little excited about it and I just don't. That spark or whatever they call it just isn't there." "Then end it," Owen shrugged. "The spark matters. If it didn't then you can bet that I'd be dating women." "Have you always known?" David asked curiously. "That I was gay?" Owen clarified. "Oh yeah. Definitely." "Wow. Certain, huh?" Owen laughed at himself and began to blush because he'd admitted it so readily. "I dunno," he mused, "I tried looking at girls that way, but it just didn't do anything for me. When I was twelve I

got my hands on a girly mag and had a look through to see what it was all about and I just didn't get it." "You were more a Men & Motorcycles kind of guy?" David teased gently. Owen laughed. David's teasing wasn't cruel or mocking, but friendly and honest. Owen didn't mind talking about it when the conversation was friendly and sincere. "Right," he smiled. "You chose a hard enough place to come work, didn't you?" David chuckled. "I mean, working here with all these ripped guys would be like me working at a strip club." Owen's smile was a little mischievous in response. David had to laugh at it.

Owen was so often shy and flustered, but a little mischief suited him. The receptionist shot David a very quick, but playful glance. "It's not always so bad," he said cheekily. "One of the only perks of the job." "There don't seem to be many," David said more seriously. "I've seen Katie hassling you about paperwork or something. What's that about?" Owen sighed heavily and lay back on the grass to stare at the sky. His hand remained by his side twisting a blade of grass between his fingers and he cocked his head to one side pensively as he spoke. His light blonde fringe covered most of his bright blue eyes and shielded

them from the glare of the sun. "I'm dyslexic," Owen confessed. "Badly. I can't really read or write. I mean, I can, but it's not good. Mostly I get by just by recognising the format of the forms. Even shop signs and stuff, I only know by the brand image. I try really hard to write well when I fill out a form, but sometimes I have to just... fake it. Like a doctor, you know? I just pretend my writing's that bad so people don't know. God, I don't know why I'm telling you this." Owen sat up suddenly, his face creased with anxiety and he looked at David pleadingly. "Please don't tell anyone." "I won't," David promised him. "Why don't you tell Katie that?"

"They don't need any more ammunition," Owen sighed. "Between the stammer and the gay thing they've got enough to throw at me. I don't want to put ‘illiterate’ into the mix." He sighed heavily again. "I don't know why I'm talking about this. It makes it sound like I go home and cry about it every night. I don't. Most of the time it doesn't even bother me. I mean, it's irritating, sure, but it doesn't really matter to me." David put a comforting hand on Owen's shoulder and felt sorry for the receptionist when the contact caused him to tense up. "It's alright if it bothers you," David told him firmly. "It would annoy the living hell out of me." He lifted his hand

from Owen's shoulder and gave him a few, strong brotherly pats on the back. "You'll be alright, mate," he promised him. "Shall we go back in?" The personal trainer stood up and held out his hand to Owen to help him up. Owen accepted it and stood. He brushed the grass from his trousers and then felt his ears flush when he realized he was still holding David's hand. He pulled his fingers away, cleared his throat and began to head back inside.

Chapter Two Owen leaned over the sink in the employee's bathroom in a panic and watched his blood stain the ceramic. His nose had been bleeding ever since his father had smashed his face as he left for work and hadn't stopped bleeding after his arrival. His shift started in five minutes and Owen couldn't get the bleeding to subside. He gripped the edges of the sink helplessly and lifted his gaze to his own reflection, feeling shame twist his stomach into knots when he saw his eyes turning black. He knew that he was too old to still be getting

knocked around by his Dad, but no matter how many years passed, Owen was always a scared little kid when it came to Matt. The bleeding receptionist jumped when the door swung inwards and he prayed that it wasn't Mike or Rich. He breathed a small sigh of relief when he saw it was David and then lifted up his hands in an exasperated gesture. "Fuck, Owen..." David muttered, staring in horror at all the blood. "It looks like a scene from Psycho in here." He turned around and locked the main door to the bathroom so that nobody else would come in and see Owen in a state. "What happened?" "I t-t-tr.... I t-t-tr..." Owen stammered.

He let out a long, frustrated breath. All he wanted to do was pretend that he had tripped and that everything was fine, but his stupid nervous nature wouldn't allow him to speak for himself. David's face was instantly understanding and he came over to stand beside Owen. He put one hand on his back and with the other gently tilted the receptionist's head backwards. "Pinch the bridge," he instructed. "Trust me. I've broken my nose playing rugby enough times to know." "It's n-n-not b-b-" "It's broken," David insisted. "So are you going to tell me what happened? Was it Rich? I will punch his fucking lights out, I swear to God. Tell me who

did it, Owen. I will beat the shit out of them." Owen leant back against the bathroom wall with his head against the tiles and simply shook his head. "I fell," he managed to say. "No, you didn't," David retorted. "You're stammering. You stammer when you're nervous. You're nervous because someone clearly punched you in the face. Hard, by the looks of it. Was it Rich? I reckon he's been on the 'roids. It gives people a bad temper, that stuff. He's looking proper pumped. Did he do it?" "I f-f-" "Fell. Got it," David repeated sourly. He kicked the wall out of anger. The sound made Owen jump and he looked

around quickly to see David pacing furiously. David told him to keep his head back. "I don't know why you're protecting whoever did it, Owen," he said in a furious voice. "The coward doesn't deserve your protection. Which of those pumped up jocks socked you? Seriously, I will rip their throats out... Making a few jokes is one thing, but hitting you is just taking it too far. I should have said something when they were taking the piss, but I didn't know that they'd take it further. I'm sorry Owen, I should have stood up for you." Owen was touched by David's sincere concern and he placed a hand on David's shoulder to reassure him. The bleeding had subsided just enough for him to be

able to lower his head down once more. "I'm alright," he promised. "There's nn-n-.... fuck it... there's n-no need to gget upset." "You didn't fall, Owen," David said in a softer voice. "Why won't you tell me what happened?" "I just d-don't want to talk ab-about it, OK?" Owen beseeched him. "Listen, my s-stammer is clearing up. I'm alright. Just flustered." "And covered in blood," David said pointedly. Owen looked down at his crimson-drenched shirt and his expression was so utterly exasperated that David could only laugh with sympathy. "Look," he said gently, "I've got a spare shirt in my kit. Give me a

sec. I'll grab it for you." "Thanks, David." The victim cleared the blood from his face whilst David went to get a new shirt and replayed the morning's events in his mind as he washed away the last of the crimson from his skin. It had all begun when the telephone had rung. Owen hadn't been able to find the handset and Matt was highly sensitive to noise since his head injury. Of course, Matt blamed Owen for the pounding in his head and gave Owen a pounding in return. He hadn't been punched, in fact, but Matt had slammed his son's face against the kitchen counter. Owen shuddered as he remembered the sound of his nose crunching on the marble. He

tightened his grip on the sink and shut his eyes tightly. He'd give anything for just one day of peace; where nobody bothered him, nobody hit him, nobody called him names or laughed at him behind his back... all he wanted was just one happy day. David came back with a spare shirt and Owen changed into it. Owen's skinny frame was swamped by a shirt that was meant to cover muscles and Owen laughed at himself, lifting up his arms to chuckle at the oversized sleeves. "Guess I've got to bulk up a bit, huh?" "You should," David encouraged. "I could teach you to box, too." He mimed throwing a few punches. "You could do with learning a bit of self-defence. You

should come to one of my classes." "I think I've been beaten up enough for one day," Owen chuckled shyly. David's face instantly became serious. "So it's true," he said, "one of them did it?" Owen cast him a grateful, but weary look and he simply shook his head. "It was no-one you know." "Locals?" "I don't want to talk about it." "You should report it to the police," David urged him. "It's a homophobic attack. That's a - what d'you call it? - a hate crime." "Why do you think it's got anything to do with ‘the gay thing’?" Owen asked with amusement.

"Hasn't it?" David asked uncertainly. Owen shrugged. "I don't think so." "You don't strike me as the sort to cause trouble." "I always attract it somehow." David sighed heavily and held up his hands submissively. "I'll stop with the interrogation," he promised, "just swear that if it's any of these guys - or anyone else - and it's getting out of control, that you'll come to me, OK? I've got your back." "I appreciate it, David," Owen said sincerely, "but I don't need protecting. I'm fine." "Clearly." The personal trainer tried to swallow his sarcasm and took one last moment to

check over Owen's face for any remaining blood. He wet his thumb under the tap and wiped away one last smudge from Owen's neck. Owen instantly grew red and turned his head away, taking a shy step back. David respectfully kept his distance. He felt bad for Owen that he'd been tormented so much that he couldn't even be comfortable near other guys now. He wanted to mention it, but didn't quite know how to phrase it. "You know I'm cool with it, right?" he said tentatively. "With ‘the gay thing’?" Owen asked with amusement. "Yeah," David nodded. "I know you get wound up a lot by the other guys, but

you don't have to be weird around me. We're mates. You don't have to get all flustered because I'm standing next to you or take one of your crisps or whatever. Just chill out, yeah? We're cool. I'm not reading into it, if that's what you're thinking. Just be yourself, man, don't be so jumpy." "I'm jumpy?" "A little, yeah." "Sorry." "You don't need to be sorry," David said with exasperation, "you just need to be comfortable." "I am... comfortable," Owen said uncertainly. "Around you, anyways. You're not like the other guys. You don't have to be a jerk to prove you're ‘a real

man’." "Well, they're all dicks," David proclaimed matter-of-factly. "They're too afraid to get to know you in case the stigma rubs off. The thing is, they're the ones who made the stigma in the first place. I just can't be bothered with all that shit. I think you seem like a chill guy and I'd like to be your mate, if that's alright." "That's alright," Owen laughed, a little bewildered. The two exchanged smiles; David a loud, boisterous grin and Owen, a shy, but thankful smile. The two left the bathroom and Owen returned to his desk. Even though the day had started off so terribly, he felt a warm sensation tingling inside him to know that David had

chosen to take him under his wing and to not follow suit after the others and treat him like shit just because. It had been a long time since Owen had had a friend. Who'd have known that a guy so strong, attractive and masculine would ever click with a weedy little wimp like Owen? Owen felt privileged to have been selected by David as a friend. It felt like an honour to him and the happiness that swelled up inside him every time that he thought of David's kindness carried him through the day. After the episode in the bathroom, David made even more of an effort to reach out to Owen. He could see that a lot of people gave Owen a tough time and he could also see why. Owen was so

meek that it could almost make you uncomfortable. The way he couldn't meet your eye or instinctively stepped back if you got too close made him seem strange and distant. His long, floppy blonde fringe covering those incredible electric blue eyes made him seem angelic and almost too innocent. His soft-spokeness and that stammer that appeared whenever he was nervous or overwhelmed meant that his voice got lost amongst the banter and boisterousness of the gym. Even the girls joined in the lads' chat with friendly flirting and teasing glances from the reception desk to the trainers, but Owen just didn't fit in with the rhythm of the place. In a place where everyone cared

about strength and fitness, Owen's natural timidity and quietness made him stand out in the wrong way. The other employees just blamed all of Owen's shyness and softness on ‘the gay thing’ and assumed he was just effeminate, but David had the feeling that the causes for Owen's quietness ran deeper than that and he didn't want to be just another athletic bastard putting him down. Instead, he made a point of hanging out around the reception desk on his breaks to chat with Owen and get to know him a bit better. The more time that David spent with him, the more he liked the guy. Owen had a dry, sarcastic wit that David found particularly funny, but he was also bright and articulate; although

these qualities most often got lost beneath his shyness in company. "You're hanging around Owen a lot," Rich teased David one day, "sure you're not on the turn?" David dug his elbow into Rich's rib in playful retaliation. "Come off it, Rich. Do I seem bent to you?" "Nah. I've seen Tanya. She is fit." "You think she's fit when you see her hanging out by the entrance? Imagine her naked on a bed. You don't have the first idea, mate," David grinned. "You're a lucky guy." David always became more boisterous around the other personal trainers. It was just lads being lads, as Owen would say, but secretly, David

enjoyed the quiet company of the receptionist far more because their conversations ran deeper and they trusted each other. Their friendship was based on more than just banter and who could lift the most. "Have you always lived in this area?" David asked him with interest one day. "Oh yeah," Owen nodded. "I live just down that road there. Chester Street. Number ten. I've lived in that house my whole life." "Number ten, hey? Maybe I'll drop by sometime. We can watch a film or something." Owen's face had lit up with excitement and then quickly turned dark and he pulled a face. "My house sucks,"

he'd said. "Maybe I'll come to you." "Sure." Despite the fact that Owen had tried to put David off, the trainer still decided to swing by Owen's house one day on his way back from the shops. The high street was to the south of the gym and David lived to the north of it. Owen's house fell almost precisely halfway between the two and David more or less passed it on the walk from the town home. It was a quiet Tuesday evening when David strolled up to Owen's house on a spontaneous visit. When he reached number ten Chester Street he took a moment to stand back and look at where his colleague lived. It was a small semidetached house with an overgrown front

garden and tired brickwork, but David could see how such a low-key and modest home could be where someone like Owen lived. It was while David was looking at the house that movement in the downstairs living room window caught his eye. He glanced over just in time to see Owen pinned to a wall by a strong man who had his hand around Owen's throat and was viciously shouting at him, although David couldn't hear what was being said. He watched in horror to see Owen do nothing but stand there helplessly with his face turned away as the man threatened him. All David could do to help was knock on the door. The man that answered was the man

whose fingers had been around Owen's neck. David's blood boiled at the sight of him. The man's fair hair and blue eyes were enough for David to guess that this was Owen's father, but that was where the similarities ended. Matt was broadshouldered and a good half-a-foot taller than Owen. Whereas Owen often still appeared to David as a teenager, his father was most certainly a man and a strong one, too. It was in David's instinct to throttle this guy in return, but he knew it wouldn't be what Owen wanted, so he forced himself to hold his tongue even as his hands curled into ready fists at his side. "Is Owen in?" he asked briskly, before he could demand what the fuck this guy

had been doing with his hand around Owen's neck. David recalled not so long ago when Owen had been huddled over the employee's bathroom sink with a broken nose and could now guess at what had really happened. Matt cast David a brief, disinterested look and disappeared into the house, calling out to Owen with a voice that was still full of rage. Owen came to the door and was shocked to find David there. He immediately turned red and self-consciously tugged at the collar of his shirt to try and pull it up over his neck, although the pink imprints of Matt's fingers were only just starting to fade. "You wanna go out somewhere?" David asked him pointedly.

Owen nervously turned to look back over his shoulder and nodded quickly. He pulled on his shoes, grabbed his keys and wallet from the windowsill and followed David out the door. He strode on quickly with his head down and cheeks burning. "You know I saw that, right?" David told him bluntly. "Is he the guy who broke your nose?" The receptionist said nothing, but David could see him grit his teeth and could tell that he was touching a nerve. Owen was striding so far ahead that David had to jog to catch up with him. He caught up and grabbed hold of Owen's shoulder to pull him to a halt. Owen stopped walking, but still shifted

uncomfortably on the spot with visible agitation. He kept his head lowered and his eyes fixed on the ground which made his fringe cover his eyes completely. "C-c-c...c-c-c..." Owen began to stutter out with a guarded expression on his face, "c-c...c-c... fuck it." The victim looked helplessly up at the sky and ran his hands through his hair in despair. He looked all around him as though searching for an escape and then began to walk on again, but slowly enough now that David could keep up. David laid a reassuring hand on Owen's shoulder to calm him down. "It's alright, Owen." "N-n-no," Owen managed to blurt out, "I d-d-d... I d-d-d..."

"Didn't want me to see?" David guessed. Owen's hopeless eyes briefly caught his and Owen gave one small, ashamed nod. "I told you that you didn't have to be weird around me, right?" David reminded him. "I told you we were mates? Well, this counts. You don't have to feel bad about it. I'm not going to tell anyone." The two carried on walking for a while in silence. David didn't know what to say and Owen could barely speak at all until he'd calmed down. "Is that your Dad?" David asked. Owen didn't respond. David tried again. "It's your Dad, right? Has he always

been like that? Hey, Owen, mate, talk to me." "I d-don't want to t-talk about it," Owen said intensely, holding up a hand to hold off David's questions. "Please jjust let it go." "I think your stammer's calming down," David commented awkwardly. "That's good." He paused for just a moment and then carried on with his questions. It wasn't in his nature to let things go. David knew how to hold a grudge and he also had a temper. He did not like what he'd just seen and he wanted to get to the bottom of it. "Did he get violent with you when you were a kid? Owen? Owen, tell me. You should go to the police. I'd come with you. I'd

tell them about your broken nose. I was there. I'm a witness. And I just saw that, too. We could get him arrested. Does anyone else know? How bad is it? Are you safe, Owen?" "J-Jesus, David!" Owen exclaimed. "I d-don't want to talk about it, OK?" "I don't like it," David told him flatly. "I don't like that you let him do that." "Let him?" Owen repeated emotionally. "I d-don't let him do shit. He just does it." "I'm sorry," David said softly. "I didn't mean it like that. I just mean that I don't like it." "I don't like it either." "Why don't you leave?" "Because I'm a broke, illiterate, st-

stammering moron with nowhere else to go," Owen retorted self-deprecatingly. He stopped walking again, shook his head as though shaking himself out of a trance and began to speak again. "Sorry," he said quietly. His voice returned to its usual barely audible meekness. "Nobody likes to hear someone feeling sorry for themselves. I'm alright, David. I appreciate your concern, but I'm fine." "Are you going to tell me the full story?" David urged him gently. "Maybe I could help." "It's just the way things are right now," Owen replied uncomfortably. "It's just life, OK? I don't like to talk about it. I don't want to talk about it anymore. Just pretend you didn't see anything, OK?"

"I'm not going to pretend I didn't see it," David replied stubbornly. "You're my mate and mates don't let mates get fucking punched around like that. If I don't press it, it's like I don't care and I do care." Owen looked up at him with vulnerable eyes and a fleeting, touched smile crossed his lips. "I know you care," he said softly. "You've been a good friend to me since you got here. I know you get touchy when you see me getting pushed around, but, honestly, your friendship is enough, alright? I've been through a lot worse with nobody around to care about me. You're already helping, David. Just leave it at that, yeah?"

"I'd never forgive myself if something bad happened to you," David insisted. "I mean, what did you do to deserve that? What have you done to deserve any of the shit you go through?" "Things'll get better," Owen replied quietly. "It's not worth thinking about the rest. I just want to get through each day as it comes." "Are you safe, though?" David reiterated. "Do you need a place to crash or something? You could stay at mine." "That means a lot to me, David," Owen said sincerely, "but we still barely know each other and it's just too weird. Just carry on being my mate, OK? That's enough." "Well, the offer stands," David said.

"If you need a place to crash... My last offer stands, too. I don't care if he's your Dad. I'll knock his fucking lights out if you want me to." The way David said it with his stern expression and fiery eyes made Owen laugh and once more he found himself feeling warm and comforted even though the day had been a struggle. David's friendship was quickly turning into the most valuable thing in his life. Owen wished that it was easier to push aside his rapidly evolving feelings for his friend, but every time that he looked at David's reassuring smile or strong arms he simply felt breathless. It was so hard to maintain a nonchalant air around him and pretend that Owen only wanted his

friendship. In a kinder world, the messy web of sexual orientations wouldn't be there to torment and isolate Owen. He could just love and be loved without having to worry about how too affectionate a glance or too endearing a word might lose him the only friend he'd had in a long, long time.

Chapter Three It was late. It was the end of Owen's shift and the gym was closing for the night. Owen had reminded Rich and Mike at least twice to bring up their reports at the end of the day, but only David's had found its way to Owen's desk and so he asked his friend to wait for him whilst he hunted down the paperwork before they walked home together. Owen checked the gym downstairs first and then wandered into the men's changing rooms to see if the papers had

been left lying on the benches. The lights were still on when Owen entered and he could hear the showers running in the distance, so he assumed Rich and Mike were showering before finishing their own shifts for the night. Owen didn't want to have to talk to either of them again if he could help it and so he headed towards the two piles of their stuff on the benches and quickly began to rifle through the items in search of the reports so that he could just go home. His cheeks flamed red when Mike appeared from the showers with a towel around his waist and an expression that was torn between disgust and delight. "Are you looking through my kit?" he asked with laughing disbelief. He

shouted back over his shoulder for Rich to come over and then pointed to Owen accusingly when Rich appeared in his own towel. "This fag is looking through our stuff, Rich!" he exclaimed. "I w-w-w... I w-w-w..." Owen tried to explain himself, but Rich and Mike made him so nervous that he couldn't get his words out. He'd never had a positive interaction with either of them, which meant that his stammer was always on the tip of his tongue as soon as he caught sight of them. "I w-w-w-....w-w-w..." Owen could feel himself growing redder and hotter by the second and he backed away from the benches in humiliation to have been caught looking through their bags even though his intents had been

completely innocent. "I w-w-was wanking over your gym shorts?" Rich suggested in a mocking sing-song voice. "That's sick, man. Were you sniffing them?" "N-n-n-" "He was definitely sniffing them!" Mike laughed. He shook his head in gleeful contempt. "Didn't I say he was a pervert? It's always the quiet ones. How long have you been stealing our underwear, huh, Owen?" "I w-w-w-" "I w-w-wear them at home to get off!" Rich mimicked in that high-pitched voice. Both boys fell about laughing whilst Owen felt his chest tighten with embarrassment and shame. He turned on

his heel and headed for the door, but Mike stepped in front of him and dropped his towel dramatically, gesturing to his groin with open hands. "Is this what you're after?" he chuckled mockingly. "Go on, take a look. We've been colleagues for long enough. Got to be more of a kick than just sniffing, hey?" "I w-w-w..." "How about something that doesn't begin with a ‘w’, huh, Owen?" Rich suggested condescendingly. "It's clearly not working for you." "M-m-m..." "Mike's penis is the biggest I've ever seen!" Mike finished in an insulting impression of Owen.

Owen was cornered between them and didn't know where to turn his eyes. Mike was still standing there stark naked and every time Owen tried to explain himself the two jumped on his stammer and made mocking suggestions for the end of his sentences. Owen wished that the ground would swallow him up. He'd never been so humiliated in his life. "Pfft," Mike scoffed, picking up his towel, "I've got to get home, Rich. Shall we leave this pervert to lick the benches or whatever the fuck he does?" "He's probably installed a camera in the showers..." The two left the changing room and Owen just couldn't bring himself to leave until they were long, long gone. He

felt overwhelmed by his shame and panic and rushed into a changing cubicle, slamming the door behind him and bolting it shut. He sat on the little bench inside and drew his feet up and hugged his knees. He took long, deep breaths and forced back his tears. He was too old to cry over bullies' pranks. He heard the changing room door open just a moment before David's head appeared over the top of the divide from the next cubicle. The trainer spotted Owen inside and pulled himself over the top of the cubicle and sat down at Owen's side. Owen very briefly raised his eyes and saw that David's expression was serious and he was flexing the fingers of his right hand open and shut.

"Rich and Mike made the mistake of telling me what they did, like it was some joke," David spat viciously. "I got Rich square in his smug face and then they both took off running. It happened off of work grounds so I think I'll be alright. If he reports me then I'll just get him for being a homophobe." David paused and looked over Owen with eyes that quickly lost their anger. He lowered his voice and asked Owen gently if he was alright. "I j-j-j..just want one good day," Owen whispered in a pained voice. David put a hand on Owen's drawn-up knees and spun him around so that he could sit closer at his side. He put an arm around his shoulders caringly.

"You don't deserve anything you're going through right now," David told him earnestly. "You're probably the sweetest, most genuine guy I've ever met. I'm so sorry for what happened today." Owen gave a small, defeated shrug. "It's alright," he said in a tiny voice. "No, it's not." "I just wish I wasn't the way I am," Owen told him sincerely. "In any way." "No, you're perfect the way you are, Owen." Owen gave a self-deprecating snort and stared at the ground. David turned Owen's face towards him with a gentle hand against his chin and stared earnestly into his eyes. "I'm serious, Owen. Just the way you

are," David said with slow, deliberate words. "You think that you're not worth anything, but you're the bravest guy I know. People put you down and knock you around and you still don't run away or pretend to be anything other than who you are. I admire that kind of strength. I don't have it." "What are you talking about, David?" Owen mumbled, averting his eyes once more. "You're really strong." "I'm not talking about muscles," David told him. "Hey, look at me, will you?" Owen looked into David's intense hazel eyes and lost his breath all over again. He felt like David was sitting very close to him and his hand was still on Owen's face.

"You have the kind of strength I wish I had," David said. "You are who you are. I'm not like that. There's a part of me, Owen, that I've never shared with anyone. I find it so hard to talk about or even admit to myself, but I'm not turned off by Tanya because she's Tanya. I'm turned off by Tanya because she's a girl and I... well, I don't get turned on by girls. Do you know what I'm saying? You do something to me that no girl has ever done, Owen. I just... fuck. I'm mad about you, alright?" Suddenly David moved his hand to the back of Owen's neck and pulled his mouth towards him. He pressed his lips down over Owen's and felt every part of his body grow warm and tingle at rough

lips against his own and short hair under his fingers. Owen's scent of aftershave and woody body spray drove David half mad and the sound of Owen's breathing growing heavier in a deeper, huskier way than any woman could breathe literally made David feel weak with excitement. For a moment, Owen was so shocked at David's confession and kiss that he didn't respond at all and then he began to turn his head to be able to better press his lips against David's. He'd so long fantasized about what it would be like to kiss David that for that short instant he let everything else fade away and simply lived in the sensation of parting David's lips with his own and pressing his hand

against a strong chest. Then, with a sudden, sharp intake of breath he pulled away and backed into the corner of the cubicle. "You c-could have anyone," Owen told him breathlessly, "I want to kiss you - God knows I want to kiss you - but I don't want you to come onto me because I'm the only gay guy you know. I don't want to be used. I couldn't handle being thrown away if something better came along." "Seriously, Owen!" David exclaimed with exasperation. He took hold of Owen's hands in his own and caught his eyes with sincere affection. "Do you really think that little of yourself? I could go to any gay bar in town if I was just

looking to pull. I've liked you from day one." "Really?" "Really." David saw then the first truly happy smile he'd ever seen on Owen's face and it was like watching the sun rise. Those vibrant eyes came to life and when Owen really grinned it made him so incredibly handsome. The receptionist tentatively rested his hands just behind each of David's ears and leaned in again to kiss him. They carried on passionately making out until the lights suddenly went out and the two realized that they were about to be locked in and finally exited their cubicle, giggling as they raced to the entrance.

Outside in the fresh night air David didn't hold Owen's hand or make any other physical shows of affection, but he couldn't stop his eyes from lighting up when he looked at Owen's happy face and remembered the feel of his kiss. "Every time I think I'm having the worst day possible, you come and turn it around," Owen said warmly. "You're just full of surprises." "I surprised myself tonight," David replied. "I didn't plan to do that." "So, have you been with guys before?" Owen asked nervously. He knew what a player David was with the ladies and could only imagine that he was the same with men, but he was surprised when David shook his head, appearing shy

himself for the first time. "I've pretended I'm straight for a long, long time," David confessed. "When that didn't work, I kept up dating girls and told myself I was bi. When that didn't work, I kept up dating girls and just... pretended I wasn't what I am." "Why?" Owen asked softly. His face creased with sympathy and understanding. His expression touched something deep within David, because Owen was the first person to whom David had ever told his secret and Owen understood. For the first time in David's life, he didn't feel alone. He shrugged uncomfortably. "I dunno," he mused, kicking at a loose rock on the ground and shoving his

hands in his pockets as he looked up at the clear night sky. "I guess it's because it just didn't fit, you know? I love cars and rugby and lads' talk and being boisterous and my Dad's, like, a manly sports guy too. I just kind of always imagined the gay thing to be a bit... camp. I'm not like that." "Just like all heterosexual women wear pink dresses and heels and all heterosexual men drink beer and play darts?" Owen teased gently. "People are just people, David. Sexuality's got nothing to do with your personality or your interests or who you really are." David smiled at him. "I guess you're an old hand at this, huh? When did you come out?"

"I was fourteen," Owen told him. "What happened?" Owen cast him an uncertain glance and took a moment to weigh up whether he wanted to share this story. Usually Owen hated sharing anything about his past with anyone, especially the bad memories, but on this occasion, Owen felt like the timing was right and that if he was ever going to tell anyone this story, it would be David. "I used to have this friend called Max," Owen told him. "Well, we'd been friends forever and as we started to get into our teens I started to realize that when I looked at Max I felt the way I was meant to feel looking at girls. Anyway, we were really close friends.

We spent every free minute together, always laughing and joking, told each other everything... Well, one night I was sleeping over at his house and we were sitting on his bed playing a video game and then suddenly - and I have no idea why, just a hormonal teenager I guess - I feel like it's a good idea to just try and kiss him." "Oh shit..." David half-laughed, but his smile was empathetic. "Yeah..." Owen agreed. "Well, Max freaks out, so I freak out. I ran out his house and hid in the bushes at the end of the street for an hour. Finally I went home to find out that Max's Mum had called my parents and told them the whole story."

"Oh shit..." David repeated. "How'd they react?" "My Mum's eyes just kind of glazed over and she pretended she hadn't heard," Owen told him matter-of-factly. "My Dad reacted the same way he reacts to everything." "He hit you?" David asked softly. Owen looked down at the ground and gave a small shrug. "It was half-term so by the time I went back to school nobody could tell." "And Max?" David pressed in a hushed voice. Owen shrugged again. "He told everyone in the school and avoided me after that. I was never happy at school again. You know how you get a label

when you're fourteen and as long as you're with the same group of kids it sticks with you forever? Well, I was the gay sexual predator. It was embarrassing at fourteen, but by the time we were seventeen and eighteen and people were still saying ‘stay away from Owen, he'll get you alone in an empty classroom...’ It got old fast. I never really got past it." "Wow," David breathed slowly. "You want just one good day, hey?" "Just one good day," Owen halfsmiled. "How about tomorrow?" "Tomorrow?" "Tomorrow," David nodded eagerly. "Let's go have a good day. We'll drive out of town away from all these assholes

or take the train somewhere... How about London? We could go to some museums, eat out, catch a show... Just you and me. What do you think?" Owen never cried when bad stuff happened, but he felt himself welling up now from relief that something good was finally happening to him. "Like a date?" he asked hopefully. "For the whole day," David vowed. The receptionist nodded emotionally. "Yeah. I'd like that." "I guess you don't date much?" "Max was the height of my love life," Owen joked. "I've never been with a guy before, either," David smiled. "So we're both new at this."

"What about Tanya?" David pulled a face. "I guess I'll tell her something. I could blame rugby season..." "And what about us?" Owen pressed tentatively. "Is this... a thing?" "I think it could be a thing," David responded quickly. "If you want it to be a thing." "I want it to be a thing." "Good," David grinned widely. "I guess we have a thing." "A secret thing?" Owen guessed. David looked at him with a mixture of guilt and empathy and nodded shyly. "I'm just not ready to come out yet," he said apologetically. "Nobody else knows but you. Does that bother you?"

Owen thought about it for a moment and then shook his head. "It's probably for the best," he said at last. "Drawing attention to it probably wouldn't do us any good." "I'd smack down the first guy to say a word," David threatened. The blonde-haired teen grinned. "Like you smacked down Rich?" "My hand still hurts." "I wish I could have seen that." "I'm sure there'll be a chance for a second show. That guy just can't keep his gob shut." "Thanks for standing up for me." "Any time. I told you: I care about you." The next day David came by to pick

up Owen from his house and laughed when he saw his face at the window grinning like an excited puppy in anticipation of his arrival. Owen raced out of his house with barely-contained enthusiasm and then laughed shyly at himself. He kept shooting quick glances from underneath his fringe up at David and he didn't know what to do with his hands. He wanted to give David a hug or take his hand, but he knew that David wanted to keep a low profile so Owen pushed his hands into his pockets instead and smiled. "You ready?" David asked him with his own happy grin. Owen nodded eagerly. It felt strange for them both as they set off towards the train station on

their first ever date. The thought that this was not a day out for two friends, but a romantic retreat for a couple made both of them tingle with a gleeful excitement. For so long Owen had put up with being teased and put down because of his sexual orientation without having any fun, loving or caring relationship to show for it that would make all the abuse worthwhile. For David, he'd been living a lie since puberty and to have an attractive young man at his side who knew his secret and wanted him too made him feel whole for the first time. They sat side by side on the train, but didn't say much. Owen was always quiet but it was unusual for David to feel tongue-tied. For the first time he actually

cared about what his date thought of him and that made him nervous. There were so many things about dating a guy that David didn't know the rules for. Who paid at dinner? Should he walk Owen home? What should he call him ‘honey’, ‘sweetheart’, ‘babe’ or just ‘Owen’? David knew where he stood with girls. He knew how to charm and seduce them. He knew which words to say and which parts to touch and how to get that starry-eyed expression on her face when she looked at him. He didn't know how to do that with a guy. Everything was new and unfamiliar and David felt nervous. He didn't want to screw up the first real relationship he'd ever had with someone that actually

mattered to him. "You look different out of your sports kit," Owen commented at last, looking over David's jeans and black polo shirt. "So do you," David smiled. Owen was also wearing denim jeans with a pale blue sweater that made his eyes seem even more alive. "You've got the bluest eyes I've ever seen," David noted out loud. Owen smiled shyly at the compliment and cast David a bashful glance from under that floppy blonde fringe of his. "I was a model once," he told him conversationally. "Not a real one... There was a competition at school for kids to be the poster-child of this new clothing brand. There were

photographers at the school taking headshots. I wasn't interested, but this photographer saw me walking through the school and insisted he take my picture. He said the same thing about my eyes." Owen smiled nostalgically at the memory. "It was fun." "That's awesome!" David said brightly. "Why don't you model now?" Owen laughed out loud at the suggestion. "I was twelve at the time, I think. I was all round-faced and angelic - just what they were looking for. I couldn't do anything like that now. You need to be ripped and have that intense kind of look. I'm still round-faced and angelic." "That'll change in the next couple of

years," David predicted. "I had a bunch of friends who went off to uni at eighteen and when they came back at twenty-one they'd all aged, like, a hundred years. Boys don't finish maturing until they're, like, twenty-three or something." "I hope so," Owen said wistfully. "I'd like to be able to grow some real stubble. I've never even owned a razor. Never needed to." He looked over with desiring eyes at the dark stubble on David's cheek and half-smiled. "Guys with just the right amount of stubble are so fit." David laughed and ruffled Owen's hair playfully in response and then turned red because he thought that was about the most unromantic thing he could

have done, but Owen just laughed quietly and smoothed down his hair again like a hamster. He just liked having someone to be playful with and he actually found the gesture quite sweet. "Your hair is, like, super soft, man," David said with surprise. "What do you use?" "Tousle shampoo and then I condition it twice," Owen told him. "I never blowdry it either because I don't want split ends or to damage it. It dries really quickly though." "Wow. You take better care of your hair than my girlfriend!" David exclaimed. They both fell silent at once and David could have died right then for

how spectacularly he was screwing up this date, but then Owen broke the silence with an awkward but forgiving laugh. "Force of habit, huh?" he guessed. "Did you break it off with her?" "I sent her a text," David confessed guiltily. "I just didn't know what to say. I was sure that if I spoke to her in person I'd either end up coming out or calling her a whore just to stop the conversation so I sent her a message saying I didn't think it was working out." "What did she do?" "Let's just say that I changed my number and I might have to move house." Owen giggled at the situation. "That's a bit awkward."

"Super awkward." "Do you feel OK about it? You were with her for a long time, right?" David let out a little groan in place of a real answer and gave a long, doleful shrug. "I don't really know," he said. "I feel bad that I hurt her feelings, but it wasn't real, you know? This - you and me - is not just a game or a cover. I'm into it." "I'm into it, too." The two exchanged guilty smiles and then fell silent once more. Their hands rested just next to each other between the seats and their fingers would brush against each other every now and then with the movement of the train. Owen wished that he could have taken hold of

David's hand right there and then, but David was already casting selfconscious glances down the train every few minutes in case they were drawing attention from anyone. "Do you think you'll come out anytime soon?" Owen asked him in a neutral tone, glancing up to see David pull a face at the idea. "I don't think anybody has any idea at all," he told him. "The thought of bringing it up so out of the blue just freaks me out. I don't think my rugby mates would believe it. My mum... she'd be in shock and my Dad, well, I just don't know what he'd say." "It can't go any worse than my comingout," Owen assured him with a short, dry

laugh. He briefly rested a hand on David's shoulder in support and then quickly took it away again and looked furtively around the train. One rather fat man with too many chins was falling asleep into his newspaper and a couple of school-aged girls were huddled around a smart phone. Nobody was giving them a second glance. They arrived in London and David felt his protective instincts well up within him when he saw Owen trying to dart through the crowds without getting knocked over. He was far too polite for the busy crowded capital and was barely taking more than a few steps at a time as he kept letting everyone go by first. David kept looking to his side to find

himself walking alone, until at last, he just gave in and took hold of Owen's hand to keep him with him and strode on ahead. "You don't have to keep hold of me, David," Owen assured him in a timid voice. "I know you're still anxious about it." "Nobody knows me here," David assured him. "I just want one good day too. One honest day." He gripped Owen's hand even more tightly, even defiantly, but eventually felt himself relax as they walked through the streets and nobody seemed to care all that much. One or two people may have given them a slightly longer look than usual, but nobody made any comment or

pulled any faces of disgust. David supposed it was the difference between small town living and the capital. In Laud's End minds were much smaller and gossip travelled much faster. You could almost feel the difference in the tolerance levels in the air and as the gay couple passed by others of every ethnicity, fashion sense and subculture imaginable in the capital, it soon became clear that they were hardly the most outrageous pair in London. They began their day by seeing some of the sights and touring a few museums and then had lunch in a quiet pub down a side street and then finally went to see a show. They held hands the entire day. It was such a small thing, but it felt like a

victory to them both and both were disappointed when they felt the need to step apart when their train pulled into Kings Cross to take them home. "I had the best time today," Owen confessed in a low whisper to David on the train. David smiled back with affection and bowed his head in a small nod of agreement. "It was a good day." Despite his fears about date etiquette, David decided to walk Owen home and when they arrived at number ten, they found themselves awkwardly standing and staring at each other on the doorstep. Eventually David took the initiative to end the date with a short, close hug before he stepped back quickly and

looked around self-consciously once more. Owen laughed lightly at the gesture and looked up at David with that starry-eyed expression David had worried he could never coax from a man. Then David looked up at the dark windows of Owen's house and frowned. "Will you be alright?" he asked uncertainly. "I'll be fine," Owen promised him firmly. "Do you want me to stick around a bit just in case?" "Thanks David, but there's really no need. It's just my house. I've lived here for a long time, you know." "I know," David sighed agitatedly. "I just don't like the thought of what's in

there." Owen looked back over his shoulder at his front door and his smile faltered slightly. David could see that Owen wanted to go inside as little as David wanted him to, but Owen forced a smile back onto his face and reassured David once more that he was fine. "Everyone is asleep," he told him. "I'll just creep in and go to bed. No drama." "Well, if you need anything, just call me, OK?" David insisted protectively. The fair-haired receptionist nodded and took out his keys to enter his front door. He was afraid of waking the beast as he slipped off his shoes and crept up the stairs through the darkness, but there was no break in the rhythm of the snoring

coming from the living room sofa and Owen made it safely to his room where he collapsed down onto his bed and felt a rush of adrenalin and complete happiness unlike anything he'd ever known wash over him. It had happened at last - one perfect day.

Chapter Four Love had been a wonderful surprise for Owen. Suddenly his world of violence and darkness was being pierced by moments of kindness and gentleness from the man who meant the world to him. David was fierce and bold, which, although usually characteristics that intimidated Owen, were huge comforts to him when such a man was fighting his corner. Owen felt safe and wanted for the first time in his life. The good things seemed better and the bad things hurt a lot less when David was around.

Their love affair was conducted in secret through stolen kisses in changing room cubicles and knowing glances across the reception. Owen lived for the slow walks home in each other's company and weekend escapes to places where nobody knew who they were. The rest of the time he respected David's wishes and acted like there was nothing special between them. He felt tugs of envy and longing when he watched from across the room as David laughed and joked with the other trainers in that loud, boisterous way and made a point not to look his way, but Owen understood. David didn't want to be a target too. David wasn't ready to come out yet, nor to make a show of his closeness to

Owen at work, but he did make efforts in other ways to show Owen that he cared. One of those ways was to bring him home to meet his mother - as a friend from work, of course. It was a Sunday afternoon when Owen went to David's house for the first time. He, too, lived in a semi-detached house, but on the other side of town and where Owen's front garden was overgrown and deteriorated, someone in David's household took great pride in growing roses and azaleas. Even though Owen knew that David wasn't introducing him to his mother as his boyfriend, the teen still felt incredibly nervous to be meeting his partner's parent, which presented itself in that frustrating

stammer that always betrayed his anxieties. Molly Townsend was a motherly woman with a ready smile and a very easy-going and gentle nature. She had a tendency to wear faded denim and pastel colours and didn't care much for makeup, but her light laugh and kind nature made her almost instantly likeable, although that didn't stop Owen from being tongue-tied on meeting her. "Nice to meet you, Owen!" she greeted brightly when he first stepped into her home. "David's told me so much about you." She came over and gave him a hug straight away as though he were an old family friend and Owen immediately

blushed and smiled at the ground, trying to force himself to look up at her and not seem strange by avoiding her eyes. He didn't want her to think that David's work colleague was a freak. "N-n-n...n-n..." he tried to greet in return. When he realized that his stammer had a firm hold, he turned an even brighter shade of red and stared desperately at David for help. David smiled at him reassuringly, turned to his mother and finished his sentence for him. "Nice to meet you too," he finished. "Owen gets a pretty bad stammer sometimes, Mum. Meeting new people makes it worse. It'll clear up when he's been around you a while." Molly's smile was sympathetic and

understanding and she looked at Owen with warm and affectionate eyes as though gazing at a nephew rather than a boy she'd only just met. "Oh, well there's no need to be shy around us, love," she reassured him kindly. "We've got no airs and graces here. Everyone's welcome. You just make yourself at home, pet." Owen nodded gratefully in reply and managed to smile back if nothing else. David rescued him from his shyness by beckoning for him to follow him up the stairs and leading him to his bedroom. Owen was interested to see David's space. He smiled at the posters of cars and the framed photo of his rugby team and raised his eyebrows at the pictures

of half-dressed girls plastered on the back of his bedroom door. David followed his gaze and blushed slightly, chuckling at himself and rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. "What do they call that?" he asked out loud. "Projecting, right? Maybe I'm trying to hide something." Owen laughed understandingly and continued to look around. David's room was pretty large and he had a big double bed right in the middle of the space with dark blue covers thrown back and unmade. To the right was a large corner desk with a laptop running and a stereo system. The mirrored doors of David's fitted wardrobes were slightly open so that Owen could see piles of sports

clothes spilling out from the bottom and David's gym bag was thrown into one corner of the room. The bedroom smelled of David's body spray and of fabric conditioner from the pile of clean washing that Molly had left on David's office chair. Owen smiled. The place felt like David. "You were pretty shy back there," David commented. "What are you so nervous about?" "M-meeting your M-Mum," Owen stuttered in reply. "Why? She doesn't know anything." "B-but I know." "You don't have to worry. She'll love you. You're the polite, sweet kind of boy she hoped she'd raise," David teased.

"She's always telling me to be tidier and more well-spoken. Yeah, she'll think you're a good influence on me." "She s-seems really nice," Owen said slightly wistfully. His own mother was hardly better than useless. She'd grown depressed since her husband had grown violent and spent most of her time sleeping or recovering from her own beatings. Owen didn't like to think about it and instead walked over to the picture of David's rugby team and scanned the image to find David amongst the fifteen. "Is this your team?" "Yeah. The Bramfort Blazers. Gay name, I know." Owen chuckled at his choice of words and looked more closely at the picture.

"Do you miss the team?" At last his stammer began to fade now it was just him and David. "I still play," David told him. "It's only forty minutes to practice when I drive. I go Tuesday nights. I play matches one Sunday a month. You could come watch sometime." "I'd like that." David came to look over Owen's shoulder at the picture and pointed out a sandy-haired and rather short player in the front row. "That's Saucy," he told him. "He's my best mate." "Saucy?" Owen asked with amusement. "Tom Sauce," David explained, "but

everyone calls him Saucy. Everyone's got nicknames on the team. There's Buzz and Speedo, that's Torpedo Jay and Wham..." "What's your nickname on the team?" "Crunch." "Crunch? Why?" "Because I've broken my nose at practice on three different occasions and everyone could always tell because of the sound it makes. I have, like, a really crunchy nose." Owen laughed. "Wow," he said. "I like that. It's nice that you've got a close team like that. Are you guys any good?" "We're not the best," David admitted, "but we have a laugh and win or lose, it's always a good excuse to go drinking

after a match." The guest looked at the photo for a few more moments and then felt David's arms creep around him. He felt his heart flutter and smiled with contentment. He turned around to hug David back and wrapped his arms around him. His head just rested against David's shoulder. It felt right to be in the arms of someone bigger and stronger than him. Owen wanted to feel small and protected, and he did. David let his face rest in Owen's hair and breathed in its sweet scent. He liked the way it felt when Owen nestled up against him. It made him feel like a man. He swept back Owen's long fringe from his eyes so that he could look into them. They were truly the most

remarkable eyes he had ever seen. They took his breath away every time they looked at him. David had been with tonnes of girls and never felt this way. When he looked at Owen the feelings that rose up came from deep within him and were complex and profound. He felt nervous because he cared so much what Owen thought of him and scared that he might screw it up; he felt so fortunate to have someone who was so understanding and patient; he felt real attraction and desire; he felt protectiveness and affection... he felt everything he should be feeling and so much more. Owen stood slightly on his tiptoes to reach David for a kiss and the trainer found it unbearably cute, so much

so that a huge grin broke out on his face. "You know you're just, like, completely adorable, right?" David smiled tenderly. "You drive me mad in a really good way. I'm crazy about you." There were those starry eyes again and that big, bright smile that David only ever saw on Owen's face when he was around. "Nobody's ever been crazy about me before," Owen said shyly. "It feels good. I'm crazy about you, too." The two young men grinned at each other, shared a kiss and then spent a couple of hours chatting about anything and everything before Molly called them down for dinner and Owen instantly reverted back into his stammering shell.

The three sat at the table in the gleaming kitchen and helped themselves to roast potatoes and beef from the centre of the table. Owen couldn't ever remember having sit down to eat a meal with his parents before. He was so afraid of doing something wrong or making a bad first impression and kept shooting nervous glances at David, who was comfortable in his home environment and smiled reassuringly at Owen. The guest jumped when Molly addressed him directly. "So, Owen, how long have you worked at the gym for?" she asked him conversationally, fixing him with a kind and interested stare, like she really cared about what he had to say.

"Erm, I've w-w... w-... three years," Owen stuttered shyly. "Oh, cool," Molly nodded. "You're a few years younger than David, aren't you? How old are you?" "N-n-nineteen." "So young! You know, I'm glad you and David get on so well," she said brightly. "I mean, I know he's a grownup now and I shouldn't worry about such things, but when I moved here after things went south with David's Dad, I still felt so bad to be taking him away from his friends. He loved his rugby team, didn't you, darling? He still practices with them, but it's not the same as having them on the doorstep. He's always been one to be out and about all

the time. I worried about him just working and coming home. It's good that he's got someone to hang out with." Owen nodded in agreement. "Do you do sports?" Molly continued in her friendly tone. Owen shook his head. "Well, it's not for everyone," Molly replied breezily. "Do you have any other hobbies?" "I l-l... I l-like to draw." "That's great!" Molly beamed. "You draw?" David said with surprise. "I didn't know that." "I d-don't really t-talk about it much," Owen said shyly. He realized that he had been twisting his hands together nervously in his lap for so long that he

was forgetting to eat and quickly picked up his cutlery. "Are you any good?" David pressed with interest. Owen shook his head and David rolled his eyes playfully. "You can't believe him when he says he's no good, Mum," he advised Molly. "Owen's dead modest. He never gives himself any credit for the stuff he does well." "Modesty is not a bad quality," Molly said, casting Owen a supportive smile. "This one -," she nodded towards David, " - never stops boasting. It doesn't matter which match he played, you can be sure he scored the winning goal!" "I can't help it that I'm awesome," David retorted with an immodest shrug and a playful grin. He turned to Owen

and said proudly, "I was star player three years running until Buster joined the team and I mean, that guy's built like a tank. There's no competition, really." The conversation continued on in the same friendly and easy manner until the end of dinner when Molly refused Owen's offer to help clean up, but praised him for being so polite. Finally, Owen had to leave and he and David exchanged a brief hug at the door when Molly was out of sight before Owen headed home and David was left to hear his mother's thoughts about his colleague as they did the dishes together. "He's a very shy boy, isn't he?" Molly commented, rinsing a plate and handing it to her son to dry. "He's not the usual

sort of guy you hang out with." "You don't like him?" "I didn't say that. I think he's very sweet, but a bit strange, don't you think?" "Strange how?" "Quiet. Nervous," Molly said pensively. "I think he also probably swings for the other team, if you know what I mean. He has that air about him." David shrugged. "Well, everyone knows that Owen's gay," he declared, "but he's a nice guy and really interesting when you get to know him." "I'm sure he is," Molly said sincerely. "He's just very quiet. Strangely quiet, almost. Is he autistic?" "Mum!" David exclaimed. "He's not bloody autistic. He's just... He's not got

it easy at home." "What do you mean?" "His Dad beats him up," David told her in a soft and serious voice. He sighed heavily. "And he just does nothing. I don't get it. He's, like, a nineteen year old guy and he just stands there when his Dad's throwing punches. He broke his nose not so long ago and Owen didn't even want to tell me about it. I thought it was one of the guys at work - they're always making fun of him - but it turns out it was his Dad the whole time." "How do you know?" Molly asked. She stopped what she was doing to turn to David with wide and concerned eyes. She felt bad now for having judged the

boy. "Did Owen tell you about it?" "Owen pretends that everything's fine all the time," David said bitterly. "I knew where he lived and decided to drop by to hang out on my way home one night and saw his Dad throttling him through the window. Owen was just, like, frozen or something, just staring at the ground..." David shuddered at the memory. "He's like a little kid. I'd knock the fucker out, but Owen does nothing." "Language, David," Molly reprimanded and then she sighed heavily. "Poor boy," she said. "You can't blame him for being afraid still. Violence does a lot of damage to a kid, especially if it's been going on a long time. It's a kind of conditioning. It's not

like you reach a certain age where suddenly you think ‘Oh, I can fight back now’. He probably just doesn't even know what to do. Hasn't he got anywhere else to go?" David shook his head. "He won't give me many details about it, but says there's no family around and he hasn't really got any mates as such. He's on minimum wage and can't afford to get out. His Dad charges him way too much rent and he's just kind of stuck where he is." "Poor boy," Molly repeated sympathetically. "No wonder he's got that stammer and that way about him. He couldn't even meet my eye. I thought it might have been one of those social disorders, you know?"

"No, Mum!" David said in horror. "Owen's completely healthy, completely normal. He's just really, really shy and a bit jumpy, but it's only because his Dad regularly beats the shit out of him and everyone else pushes him around and puts him down. I mean, honestly Mum, I've never met anyone so in need of help in my life. Everywhere he goes people are walking all over him and Owen just takes it. You're right; it's like he's conditioned to just lie down and take it. He doesn't get angry. He doesn't get upset. He just acts like nothing is wrong, but I get furious about it." "I can tell," Molly commented. Her son's cheeks had flushed with anger and his hands were curled into fists as they

always did when something really infuriated him. "I just don't get it," David flared. "Owen is a really, really good guy. Like, the nicest guy I've ever met. He's got a great sense of humour when you get past the stammer and he's really smart, too, but people just get fixated on all the ways he's not the same - his stutter, his dyslexia, the gay thing. I just think it's so unfair that he's got to go through life thinking that he doesn't deserve to be treated with respect and basic human decency. I saw the way people at work were treating him and I stumbled on what was going on for him at home and I just decided that I wanted to give the guy a break, you know? Then when I started

hanging out with him I found that he's a really cool guy. One of the best guys I know." "You're a good man, David," Molly said proudly. "I'm sorry that I judged him so quickly. I'm sure that he's a really great guy. You know he's welcome here any time." "I really want to get him away from shitty people for a while," David told her seriously. "You'll be seeing more of him around. I reckon he's gonna be a real good mate." In the meantime, Owen found that spending more time with David and at David's house made it harder and harder for him to return home at the end of each day. He'd spent so much time feeling

completely alone and hopeless that he'd grown numb to the reality of what he faced each day, but now that David was bringing him to life again, Owen was becoming more acutely aware of just how terrible a life he had been living. It didn't seem right to him that some nights when the thought of being knocked around was just too much to deal with that the only place he felt safe was curled up at the base of his wardrobe; a remnant of a childhood habit of running and hiding when Dad's footsteps were on the stairs. At the age of nineteen, it seemed fucked up to him that he was afraid to take food from the cupboards or make too much noise. He became more aware of just how deeply

dysfunctional his family was when he returned from the warmth and hospitality of David's house to a place where things were communicated through punches and screams. Owen couldn't remember the last time his mother had said more than a few words to him nor could he ever remember a time when he'd felt comfortable coming into the living room and sitting with his parents just to watch TV. Every day Owen came home and made himself scarce as quickly as possible to limit the chances of becoming a target and even if he locked himself away within seconds of walking through the door, there was always the chance that his father would drunkenly storm into his room and beat the shit out

of him anyway. It was yet another occasion where Owen found himself huddled in the bottom of his wardrobe with the door pulled shut behind him. He was hiding behind a box of old clothes and underneath those that were hanging from the rail. He felt most calm there in the darkness, hidden away. It had always been a lonely place to be, but now the light of his mobile phone and David's texts kept him sane, even though the thought of what David might say if he knew that Owen was sending replies whilst crouched in the dark and hiding from his father made him feel sick with shame. The way he was treated in that place; the fear he felt every day; the

discomfort and the shame... it wasn't right. One night Owen and David had gone out to see a movie at the cinema and had returned home late at night. On this occasion, several months into their relationship and much more daring than he had been, David looked up and down the street, and, seeing no tell-tale lights on in the windows or any late-night wanderers on the street, he had pulled Owen towards him and given him a long, loving kiss goodnight. "See you tomorrow, gorgeous?" "Tomorrow." Owen quietly fumbled around with his keys to let himself into his house with a happy smile on his face, which was

quickly knocked off when his father appeared from the darkness and pulled him against a wall with a hand clamped down over his son's mouth menacingly. Matt's eyes glinted in the dark hallway as he silenced his son until he could see through the living room window that David had walked down the street. If Matt was waiting for witnesses to leave, then Owen knew what was coming would be bad. He felt his stomach drop somewhere beneath his feet from fear and his legs began to tremble. He tried to yank himself out of his father's grasp and made for the door, but Matt viciously took a swing at Owen before he could get away and made his face swing to the left from the force.

Owen let out a yelp of shock and pain from the blow and was then violently thrown to the floor as his father began to kick him mercilessly in the stomach. "You filthy fag!" he raged. "You fucking queer! You do that filth on my doorstep? Don't you feel any shame? Don't you care what people say? You think they don't already talk shit about this house?" Owen was curled up on the floor with his arms over his head for protection and he tried to cry out in his defence through that relentless stammer that returned all at once as his heart pounded with fear. "It's n-n-normal. He's m-my boyfriend." "I don't give a flying fuck whether it's

normal or not. I don't need any other reason for people to have their eyes on this house. They're always watching... calling the cops over every little knock and scratch. I've heard them talking about us... They think we're scum. Now you want to go and give them another reason to watch the show?" Matt's eyes were wide with rage and paranoia, gleaming in the darkness. He continued to lay into Owen with kicks and punches. His son's cries brought his mother, Louise, down the stairs. She stood there with her frightened, tired eyes wide and her thin, pale lips silent, clutching her tattered robe closed and watching the scene in mute terror. Owen tried once more to pick himself

up and get out of the house, but as soon as he was on his feet Matt grabbed a handful of his hair with one hand, his face with the other and began to smash Owen's head into the wall. Owen was certain that his father was finally going to kill him. The violence had been slowly mounting for years; one small escalation after another, in scale with his father's growing paranoia and rage. Owen shut his eyes and tried to take himself somewhere else. He didn't want to be in this hostile house with his father's painful grip on him and his silent mother watching it. He didn't want to be here anymore. He didn't want to be here... He didn't want to be here... In that moment, Owen hoped that the final

collision would be the last. His ears were ringing so much from adrenalin and the force of the brickwork that he couldn't even hear the words his father was shouting at him. He waited to be killed and then, after a short while, became aware that there were no more kicks or punches raining down on him. He was on the floor and could see his mother running up the stairs and his father was out of sight. He lay curled up on his side for a while, hardly able to move from shock and pain and then rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling. His head was pounding and every part of him hurt. His thoughts were muddled and confused and he didn't know what was happening

when his mother reappeared fullydressed and with a rucksack and began to beg him to get up. "You need to get out, Owen!" she begged him frantically. "You need to get up. Come on, Owen. Get up." Louise threaded her arm around Owen and tried to pull him upwards. After a while the fact that she wanted him to stand got through Owen's layers of confusion and haziness and he worked with her to pull himself up onto weak legs, although the pain in his stomach meant that he was folded in half as he stumbled out the door. His mother led him to the passenger seat of the family car and leaned over from the driver's side to secure his seatbelt. Her pale,

frightened face was drawn with fear and she kicked the car into drive and pulled away from the house. Owen fell forwards and was only held up by his seatbelt. Louise pushed him back so that his head lolled backwards against the headrest and he could see streetlamps come and go through the sunroof and make him feel sick. He began to heave and Louise rolled down the electric windows. Owen slumped out of the car window and threw up as Louise drove. Owen's frantic mother was swearing to herself as she drove through the streets with no sense of direction and she took one turn after the other until she found a deserted alley to park in, rested her head against the steering wheel and

burst into tears. She wept heavily for a few minutes and then sat up and dried her eyes. A fresh resolve crossed her features and she reached over to turn Owen's face towards her and tried to get his unfocused eyes to look at her. "Where does that boy live?" she asked him. Owen's eyes fluttered drunkenly and Louise could see that he was struggling to interpret her words. She raised her voice in urgency and shook him by the shoulder. "Where does that boy live?" "Wh..." "The one that you were kissing. Owen, this is important. Fuck, fuck. I can't take you to the hospital myself. I can't let an ambulance come to our house. I can take

you to that boy. Will he look after you?" "Are.... we leaving Dad?" Owen slurred. "I can't leave him. He needs me. I'm trying to get you somewhere safe. You can't come home again. Do you understand me? Owen? Owen. Tell me that you understand what I'm telling you. It's not safe for you anymore. You can't come home again. I'm going to take you to that boy. The one from the gym. Where does he live?" "David?" "Yes, yes! Where does David live?" There was a long pause as Owen tried to process the question and then all he could say was, "Suzy's." "Suzy's?" Louise repeated. "Does he

live by the cafe? Owen... Jesus, he hit your head so hard against that wall... I'm taking you to that street. You've got to help me out here." Louise drove to Suzy's, which was a tiny little coffee shop at the end of a residential street. When Louise began to drive down the road she could almost have sobbed from relief to see a familiar little car parked in one of the driveways; the one which she had seen pull up for Owen on several occasions recently. The abused wife shoved the rucksack she had packed full of Owen's things into her son's arms and unstrapped him from his seat. She took one last moment to look over the fair hair and startling blue eyes of the son that she had let down

since the day he was born and began to sob once again. "Don't come back, Owen," she repeated. "You're better off without us. I hope that boy takes care of you, but even if you find yourself on your own it's better than the shit we put you through. Try and be happy. God knows you've earned it." Louise leaned across her boy and opened the door and then pushed him out of the car. She stayed only long enough to watch him take a few swipes at his rucksack before managing to pick it up and begin to half-stumble, half-crawl in the right direction and then she drove away. Meanwhile, Molly and David were

enjoying a peaceful night indoors and were both still up although it was late and catching up on a TV show in the living room. The sound of a car pulling away caused Molly to look up and she cried out when she saw someone kneeling on her driveway. "David, there's some drunk man outside!" Molly exclaimed, rushing to the window and squinting into the darkness to try and make out who the figure was. David rose from the sofa and stood beside her at the window. It was dark outside and he couldn't see much more than a silhouette stumbling towards their front door. He pulled his mother away from the window in concern. "I'll go check it out," he offered.

"Don't go out there, David!" Molly replied. "He could be dangerous." "I'll tell him to clear off." David went to the front door and cautiously pulled it open. The figure was slumped over halfway up the driveway clutching onto a dark rucksack. David took a step closer and it was then that he made out the shine of a familiar blonde fringe under the glow of a nearby streetlamp and ran out to fall at Owen's side, calling back over his shoulder to Molly, "Mum, it's Owen!" Molly rushed out also and the two knelt at either side of Owen. Even in the darkness they could see that he was in a bad way and it took both of them to get him to his feet and inside. They rushed

him into the kitchen and sat him down at the table. Under the harsh glare of the kitchen lights they could see the heavy bruising on the right side of his face and a shocked hand flew to Molly's mouth when she saw a fine stream of blood trickling from Owen's ear. Owen was struggling to stay upright and rested his weight on the kitchen table with one arm wrapped around his middle and the other hovering near his broken face. David quickly pulled up a chair at Owen's side and put a frightened hand on his boyfriend's back, leaning forward to try and catch Owen's eyes as tears formed behind his own. "Owen?" he said gently. "Owen? Can you hear me?"

The victim turned towards David and tried to focus on him. His eyelids were still fluttering and his gaze kept wandering away. David's voice grew husky with his tears as he tried to find out what had happened. "What did he do to you?" David demanded. Owen said nothing and David gritted his teeth furiously. All he wanted to do was stride over to Owen's house and beat his father to the ground, but Owen needed him and so instead he chucked his car keys across to his mother and told her to open the car door. "I'm taking him to the hospital." "I'll come with you," Molly said. Together they got Owen into the back seat of the car and Molly sat with him as

David drove. Owen was still struggling to support his own weight and so Molly gently guided his head onto her chest and softly stroked his hair as they drove. Every now and then she looked up to catch David's livid expression in the rear view mirror. She had never seen her son so angry before and it frightened her a little. His hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles had turned white and he was driving dangerously through the traffic. She knew that he and Owen had some kind of close friendship, but she was beginning to think that she didn't understand just how close they were. She couldn't remember the last time she had seen David cry, but he was in tears

over Owen now. "I'm going to kill that fucker," he hissed as he sharply swerved left out of a junction and slammed on the accelerator up the street. "I'm going to go over there and fucking kill him." "We'll let the police handle it, David," Molly said softly. "Owen won't tell the police shit!" David raged. "He'll just let it go, like he always does and that homophobic bastard will go on beating up his wife and kid forever." "He won't be touching Owen again," Molly said firmly. "He'll be staying with us until he finds his feet." "You mean it?" David asked her, his anger subsiding slightly in relief that she

would take Owen in for his sake. "Of course, sweetheart. Look at him! He's clearly not safe. I wonder how he managed to get to us at all. He's been beaten to a pulp by the looks of him. I wonder what on earth happened." David scowled at the thought and Molly felt concerned again that he would do something senseless in retaliation. "This is just the tip of the iceberg," David muttered out loud in short, vicious words. "Owen's been living like this his whole life. Can you imagine? He won't tell me about it, but his face says it all when you ask. His own Dad... I know my Dad's not perfect, but he'd never touch me." Owen stirred slightly in Molly's arms

and looked up through the sun roof at more streetlamps passing by. It made him think of his mother. "Is my Mum safe?" he asked in a slurred voice. David looked over his shoulder in surprise to hear Owen speak in a coherent sentence and shook his head disbelievingly that Owen was thinking about his mother in the state that he was in. "I don't give a fuck about your Mum," David replied bluntly. "She doesn't give a fuck about you." "David!" Molly exclaimed. She brushed back Owen's fringe gently and spoke to him softly. "I'm sure she cares, sweetheart."

"Owen can't even understand what you're saying right now," David snapped. "And why would you defend that woman? She chooses that piece of shit alcoholic bully over Owen time and time again. Where is she now, huh? Owen's got to come to us for help because his own parents would just leave him to die." "He can hear you!" Molly hissed. "Well maybe he needs to hear it," David said tearfully, his anger at the situation making his words sharp. He hit the steering wheel furiously with his palm. "Maybe somebody needs to tell him straight that he's better off sleeping on a park bench. Maybe someone should tell him to have some fucking self-

respect and get out of there. Why doesn't he fight back? I don't get it." "He's not the big, strong man you are, David," Molly reminded him curtly. "He's practically a child. There's nothing of him." "It's sick what they do to him. It's sick." "It's not right," Molly agreed, "but he's safe with us now. We'll look after him, David, I promise. Right now you need to calm down before you cause an accident." David gritted his teeth shut once more and focused on the road until they were at the hospital. David pulled up at the emergency bay and Molly sought out some paramedics to help Owen out of

the car and then he was taken away for examination and David and Molly were left breathless in the waiting room from all the drama. David went to find somewhere better to park his car and then paced outside the hospital furiously to try and dispel some of his anger as he waited for someone to return with news on Owen. Molly came and joined him and put her hands on his shoulders to stop his pacing. She'd never seen her son so emotional over anything. He was a wreck. "David, he's going to be OK," Molly soothed gently. David looked at her with wide, round eyes that were full of pain and couldn't stop his tears from falling.

"It's just not fair, Mum," he choked out. "He doesn't deserve that. I just see him all scared and confused and beaten like that and I hurt for him. I get angry for him. He just doesn't react to anything. Somebody needs to do something. I just want some fucking justice for him." Molly stood on her tiptoes to pull her son into her arms and let him cry on her shoulder. She felt so confused to see David such a wreck over this. She'd have understood his anger - he was a loyal friend and a good man - but this was something more. He was so concerned and upset for Owen like it was his job to protect him and he'd failed. "You know this isn't your fault, right?"

Molly said gently. "It is my fault," David replied with a voice full of tearful guilt. "I was the only one who knew what was going on and I let him go back there day after day. I just stood back and did nothing, because I cared more about keeping the peace than keeping him safe. He's such a closed-off, nervous thing that I didn't want to push it, you know? He told me he was fine and even though I knew it wasn't true, I just let him go back there. What kind of a friend am I?" "You're the kind of friend that a guy goes to when he's in trouble," Molly told him firmly. "He was in danger tonight and where did he come? To you, David. He trusts you."

When a doctor gave them news at last, they were advised to go home and visit Owen again in the morning. "He has a temporal bone fracture - a fracture in the part of the skull around the temple and behind the ear," the doctor told them gently. "Fortunately, he's been very lucky and we don't think he will suffer any long-term hearing loss and there is no sign as of yet of facial paralysis. As far as this type of head injury goes, it's the best news you could hope for. He has a severe concussion, but we're keeping him under observation. He has three broken ribs and has a fair amount of bruising. In short, he'll be in a fair amount of pain for some time, but there will be no lasting

damage. We're giving him pain relief and will keep him under observation for at least forty-eight hours. As long as he presents no other symptoms in that time, we'll be happy to send him home. For now he needs to rest. He should be more alert tomorrow. You may visit him then." David was not happy to be told to go home, but Molly prevented him from flying into a frenzy. "If Owen is as shy as you say he is, then the last thing he'll want is an audience while he's recovering. Let's go home for now and we can get some things together for him. Were there any pyjamas in that bag he had with him?" David did not want to leave the hospital that night, but eventually agreed

to take his mother home. He spent the rest of the night throwing things around his room in a rage and kicking his bed frame. Molly ended up staying up all night herself just to make sure that David didn't try and sneak out to get revenge on Matt. The next day when David went to visit Owen again, Molly insisted that she come with him. "You're so angry," she justified. "You're going to scare him if you go in there guns blazing and demanding to know what happened." When the two arrived at the hospital again with an overnight bag for Owen and an MP3 player with some music, Owen was sitting up in bed and looking much better. He was very pale and had

big, dark rings under his blue eyes, but the blood from his ear was gone and some of the swelling in his face had gone down. He smiled brightly when he saw David approaching and went to hold out an arm to hug him, but stopped himself when he saw Molly just behind him. David came and hugged him anyway. Owen winced at the contact and felt guilty when he saw that David had tears in his eyes. "I was so fucking worried, Owen," he stated emotionally. "What the fuck happened?" "David!" Molly interrupted. "Give the boy a chance." She turned to Owen with a sweet and sympathetic smile and spoke in a much gentler voice than her angry

son. "How are you feeling today, Owen?" "B-b-better," Owen replied with a firm smile. He looked over at David and put a comforting hand on his arm. "I'm rr... r-really OK, you kn-know." David was trying so hard not to get upset that he could hardly even look at Owen and stood up again to turn to face the curtains with his arms folded furiously across his chest. Owen stared at his back in confusion and felt a little hurt, but Molly took David's place at the seat at Owen's side and broke the tension with some light chatter. "Don't mind him," she said breezily. "This whole thing has upset him, that's all. He's not the soppy type and doesn't

know what to do with himself. Maybe you should go get us all some tea or something, huh, David?" she suggested pointedly. David stormed out of the ward moodily and Owen watched him go with concern. "I'm s-s-sorry," he whispered guiltily to Molly. "This is emb-b-barrassing. I dd-don't know how I end-ended up at your place." "We're glad you came to us," Molly said sincerely, placing a warm hand on his arm. "Please try and forgive David for the way he's behaving. He's struggling to control his temper. All he wants to do is go and find the man who did this to you and give him what's

coming. He's agitated because I've been holding him back." "He th-thinks I'm a c-c-coward, doesn't he?" Owen guessed. His voice grew sad and weak. "I am." "No, Owen. You're not," Molly told him firmly. "David just doesn't understand. He's always been the athletic, charismatic leader of the pack. He doesn't know what it feels like to be afraid of getting hurt. He's invincible. He's just upset for you. He thinks that you don't care about yourself enough. Are you going to go to the police about this?" Owen shook his head quickly. "Why not?" Molly asked gently. "Don't you think he deserves to be punished for

what he's done?" "N-n-nothing would b-be done," Owen predicted. "He'd j-just take it out on m-my Mum. I'll j-just keep my head d-down and stay out his w-way." "You're not going back there," Molly said. The patient looked up at her in surprise and Molly looked back at him with equal incredulity. "Were you even thinking about it?" she asked disbelievingly. "I l-live there," Owen said matter-offactly. "Not anymore, you don't," Molly stated firmly. "Me and David spoke about it. You're going to stay with us for a while." Owen wasn't sure how that was going

to work. He knew that David wouldn't have told his mother about the true nature of their relationship and he was sure he'd feel uncomfortable living there under false pretences. He didn't know how Molly felt about homosexuality or gay relationships, but he didn't want to lie to her. It wasn't the time or place to go into it, so instead Owen just gave her a shy, grateful smile and thanked her. "You've b-been so kind," he told her. "I'm s-sorry you were dr-dragged into this." "David cares about you a lot," Molly told him. "He just wants you to be safe." "I f-feel stupid," Owen confessed, gesturing to his own broken body. "I knknew it was coming. I should've...

should've left. I d-d-d... I d-d-don't like people kn-knowing about this part of my... of my life." "There's nothing to be ashamed of," Molly assured him. "We just want to help you get away from it all. I think you're being really brave about all this. If someone did that to me, I can't imagine that I'd be smiling in the morning. David says he's never seen you break down over any of this. You're a pretty tough guy, huh?" Owen laughed at her gentle teasing and then grimaced because it hurt his ribs. "I always g-get back up," he told her. "I'm sorry David's making this tough on you," Molly repeated. "Just try and be

patient with him, OK? He hates to feel out of control like this." David returned at that moment with tea for them all from the machine and handed them out. His mother was now sitting in the chair so he perched on the end of the bed at Owen's feet and tried to ignore Owen's pleading stare. "I'm going to go get some air," Molly said, sensing that she should give them some space. "Owen, sweetie, remember what I said." She stood to leave and placed a stern hand on David's shoulder as she passed him. "Your friend needs your support, David. Go easy on him, OK?" She left the ward and David stood to draw the curtain around Owen's bed so

that they were concealed from the other patients and staff on the ward and at last he came over to give Owen some real affection, planting a kiss on his lips and beginning to cry again into Owen's hair. Owen was sympathetic and reached up to pat David comfortingly on his arm. "I'm OK," he repeated. David pulled back from the embrace and pulled himself up to sit beside Owen on the bed and put his arm around his boyfriend's shoulders. He hastily brushed the tears away from his eyes with his sleeve and sniffed a few times until he'd regained composure. "I was so scared last night, Owen," he confessed. "I d-don't remember much."

"You just showed up at our house and collapsed in the driveway," David told him. "How did you get there?" "I don't know," Owen replied honestly. "What do you remember about what happened?" Owen screwed up his face in concentration and tried to piece together the broken memories of the previous night. "I remember coming b-back from the movies and going indoors," Owen narrated slowly, grateful that he was able to speak more clearly again away from watching eyes. "My Dad was waiting for me. He put his hand over my mouth and w-watched you walk away.

Then he threw me down... I d-don't remember anything after that." "Jesus, Owen..." David muttered. He rubbed his face wearily with his hands and cast Owen an exasperated look. "How can you live like that?" "I... just..." Owen looked back at David and felt so ashamed of himself for everything that had happened to him. He knew that in the same situation David would come out on top, but for Owen, life was just so difficult. "I get scared," he confessed at last with a weak shrug. "When he comes flying at me with that look in his eye, I can't breathe. I just go blank. When I was a kid, I couldn't fight back, you know? So I'd just put my arms over my head and stay down. I just never

found that a time came that I felt I could fight back. I always just put my arms over my head and stay down." Owen looked away from David, full of shame. "I know you think I'm pathetic," he whispered. "I'm sorry for the way I am." "Hey, hey, I didn't say that," David said firmly. He very gently turned Owen's face towards him so as not to cause pain to the fracture. "I don't mean it like that. I just really hate to see you in pain. I really hate it. It makes me so angry, but I'm angry at him, not at you. You got that? You could never make me mad." "I thought he was going to kill me," Owen confessed softly. "And I thought it was for the best. I don't know how to

escape." "You're coming to live with me," David told him. "I'm going to keep you safe." "How's that going to work, David?" Owen asked him helplessly. "Your Mum doesn't know about us." "She doesn't have to." "We can't have a secret relationship in her house without her knowing," Owen replied. "She might not be comfortable with it." "Owen, I'm twenty-three," David said pointedly. "I'm old enough to live with my partner." "She doesn't know I'm your partner." "Why does she have to know?" "You wouldn't feel weird kissing me

and stuff when she's downstairs, oblivious?" "We kiss and stuff in my house all the time." "It's not the same." "Owen, I can't come out yet," David replied in a pained voice. "I'm just not ready." "I don't want her to think I did something to you," Owen said selfconsciously. "What do you mean?" "I don't want her to think that I'm some pervert gay guy eyeing up her son and taking advantage. You're really good at pretending there's nothing going on, but I'm not. She's going to think I'm perving over you and that you're oblivious."

"She won't think that." "I'm sick of people saying that I'm this creepy predator just because nobody I look at ever looks back," Owen told him. "I don't want your Mum to think of me like that." "My mum does not think that you're a creepy predator," David told him plainly. "You're so self-conscious, Owen. Why do you think everyone is always thinking the worst of you?" "Aren't they?" "I'm not. Don't you want to come live with me?" David coaxed. "Think of it seeing each other all the time, laughing, joking..." "What will the people at work say?" "We won't tell them."

Owen laughed in a disheartened way. "It won't be easy to keep up that kind of lie." "Owen, I just want you with me where you're safe, OK? The rest doesn't matter," David flared, raising his voice slightly. "What's the alternative? Going back to your house and getting the other side of your head smashed in? Is the thought of being around me that bad?" "You know that's not what I'm saying, David," Owen said quietly. "Don't shout at me, OK?" David softened his voice. "I'm sorry," he said gently. "I didn't mean to shout. You know, I'm just thinking about you going back to that house and something bad happening... You don't know how

scared I was when you showed up bleeding and semi-conscious last night and I didn't know if you were going to be OK. You don't know how guilty I felt because I let it happen." "You didn't let it happen, David. It just happened." "See?" David pointed out. "That's the difference between us. You act like you're destined to be knocked around for the rest of your life when I'm saying that we don't have to let that happen. I'm saying that we decide to get you out of there and try and be happy together. Make a choice, Owen. Make a choice to be happy. Will you please come and stay with me?"

Chapter Five David showed Owen to the guest room. "It's not much..." Owen looked around at the small room with the little single bed with the floral covers pressed up against the wall and the empty chest of drawers and smiled. "It's great," he said. "Thanks." "You know I'd rather you were in my room. My Mum stays with her sister some nights. We can spend the night together then," David suggested. "Mmm-hmm."

"Are you mad at me?" David asked dejectedly. Owen turned around to face him and checked that the coast was clear before standing on his tiptoes to kiss him. "No." "Worried?" "A little." "She won't find out if we're careful." "Perhaps." "You know I love you, right?" David beseeched him. "Like, I really, really love you?" That coaxed a smile onto Owen's face and he stood close to David and rested his head against his chest with a big sigh. "I love you too," he said. "This week

has just been a bit overwhelming for me." "Yeah, well, it's behind us now," David told him confidently. "Now we can just focus on better things." He kissed the top of Owen's head tenderly. "Are you feeling OK?" "Yeah." "You look down." "It's nothing." "Tell me," David insisted. "Something's worrying you. I can tell." Owen sat down on the edge of the guest bed and looked up at David quietly. Something was on his mind, but it was an irrational and stupid fear that he wasn't sure he wanted to voice out loud. David came and sat beside him.

"Come on, gorgeous. Tell me." "What if I end up like my Dad?" Owen asked in a hushed voice. "End up like your Dad how?" "Like, I bang my head and become a psycho." David laughed out loud at the suggestion and pulled Owen towards him in a close hug, kissing his head once more. "You're adorable, Owen," he chuckled. "A thousand knocks on the head couldn't change you. You're the gentlest guy I know. You're never going to hurt anyone." Owen smiled a small, self-conscious smile. "I worry about stuff like that." "You have nothing to worry about. The

doctor said you're going to be fine. You're miles better already. I'm just pleased you're here." "Me, too." At first Owen had worried constantly about the thought of lying to Molly or staying in her home without telling her the whole truth, but eventually David had talked him around and had agreed not to call the police on the condition that Owen agreed to move in. Now Owen felt OK about the arrangement. He didn't like the fact that David wouldn't tell anyone about them, but he loved that he got to be closer to him and to have somewhere safe to be was an incredible feeling. He was taking a week off of work to recover from the attack. He'd

told Chris that he'd been hit by a car whilst cycling. David wasn't the only one ashamed of the truth. David, however, had to get back to work, which meant that Owen was spending a lot of time with Molly, who worked from home as an editor. He felt incredibly shy around her at first. He was embarrassed that he'd come to know her under such extreme circumstances and that a virtual stranger knew so much about his uncomfortable past, but Molly did everything she could to put him at ease and make him feel welcome and Owen made a point of transferring his standing order of rent from his father's bank account to hers. It gave him the tiniest flicker of satisfaction to know that

he'd be pissing off his Dad in that respect, at least. Molly didn't want to accept any money, but Owen insisted. "You know you're so welcome here, Owen," Molly said. "We don't want anything from you." "I w-want to give it," Owen insisted. "It m-makes me feel b-better." They argued for a while longer until Molly put her hands on her hips and fixed him with a long stare. At last she shook her head and held up her hands in defeat. "I'm not taking that much," she said. "That's a stupid figure. You can help out with the groceries a little, but that's it. And only that because I know it's important to you."

At first Owen tried to stay out of Molly's way during the day because he didn't want to disturb her while she was working, but Molly was worried about him being alone after the attack and asked him to sit with her at the table as she worked from her laptop. He sat there nervous as a robin, with his hands clasped together on the tabletop and a worried expression resting on his face. Molly raised her eyebrows at him and smiled. "Do I make you nervous?" she asked, her voice slightly playful. Owen laughed at himself and recognised that she was teasing him. He simply nodded. "Are you nervous around everyone

like this, or just me?" "It's th-the st-stammer," Owen explained. "I kn-... I know I sound ststupid." "No. Not at all," Molly promised him. "Besides, the sooner you stop worrying about it, the sooner it will go away. That's what David said, anyway. So... you boys are close." Owen froze like a deer in headlights and Molly laughed lightly at his reaction. "Relax," she told him calmly. "It's not an accusation. It's an observation. You know, I've worried about David these last few years. Since he started dating, really. He's never really seemed into any of the girls that he dated. He never seemed to care about any of them all that

much and as his mother I was horrified to have raised a son who didn't seem to respect women. But, then again, David's always been a man's man, so I reasoned he just hadn't matured into having a proper relationship yet and that the right girl would change him. I would have gone on believing that until I saw the way he gets around you." The guest squirmed uncomfortably under Molly's gaze. She wasn't staring at him in a threatening or an angry way, but all the same, knowing that she had her suspicions made Owen flame red and look down at the table. Molly saw the effect she was having on Owen and so turned her gaze back to her screen to help him relax. She continued speaking

in the most conversational tone, as though what she were hinting at was a perfectly light topic of conversation. "I never pegged David for gay," she mused out loud, "but it doesn't matter to me if he is. If he is gay - if -," she emphasised, "I can't imagine him ever telling me that in his own time, but maybe if he was feeling a bit concerned, it might help if a friend who has been there before could give him a nudge in the right direction, hmm?" Owen stared at her openly and thought he'd die from how uncomfortable he felt. "I... I..." he stuttered. He paused and took a few deep breaths to try and calm himself down. "D-David will think I ttold you."

"Nonsense!" Molly retorted, rolling her eyes. "David has been mooning over you since he met you. I see him staring at you and then looking away the second you look back and the way he goes red if he sees me watching. He ignores you in public - that's a sure sign of a crush if I ever saw one. Is there anything going on, Owen?" "I... I..." "It's alright, love. It's not an interrogation. I'm just curious." "It's n-not my p-place to say anything." "No, I suppose not," Molly sighed. She let out a short breath of frustration. "I really wish he'd come and talk to me about it, you know?" she confessed. "David always used to talk to his Dad

about girl stuff and Ed wouldn't notice his son was uncomfortable if he was swallowed up by the ground. I know David likes all his cars and sports and things and I think he's worried that I'll think differently of him - which is ridiculous, of course. I mean, I won't pretend that I wasn't a bit shocked when the thought occurred to me, but after I ran it through my head a few times, it started to make sense." "I'm s-s... I'm s-sorry I d-didn't tell you," Owen stammered guiltily. "I wwanted to, but D-David..." "Oh, David's a big wimp," Molly laughed lightly. "He cares so much about his bloody reputation. It'll do him good to have someone around to humble him a

bit. You've got nothing to be sorry for, love. I've had my suspicions for a while now." "And you're O-OK with it?" "I wish David would be honest with me about it," Molly confessed, "but the way he feels is the way he feels." She shrugged lightly. "I don't care who he loves as long as he loves someone and isn't just putting on an act. I just want him to be happy." "That will m-mean a lot to him," Owen said sincerely. "Do your parents know that you're... can I say ‘gay’?" Owen laughed and nodded. "Yes," he assured her. "And yes, they know." "How did you tell them?"

"I didn't." "No?" "No. I tried to k-kiss my friend when I w-was fourteen. His Mum told my Mum." A hand flew to Molly's mouth and her face creased in sympathy for him, but then she let out a little chuckle. "Oh gosh, Owen, that's awful," she said emphatically. "At least it did the trick though. Hey, maybe that's a good way for this to all come out." Owen balked at the idea. "D-David would die." "David will never tell anyone anything at this rate," Molly said. "He's my son and God knows I love him, but sometimes you need to push him in the

right direction or he'll bury his head in the sand forever." The shy teen was in a dilemma over whether to mention his conversation with Molly to David when he got home. That evening the two were in Owen's room with the door shut and Owen tried to think of a good way to bring it up without sending David flying off the handle. The minutes ticked by with Owen being unable to tell David. As it got later, Owen went to get changed into his nightclothes. David watched him try to take his shirt off from over his head and then yelp and cradle his delicate middle. He gave his partner a gentle smile. "Need a hand?" he asked. Owen

nodded and David came over to help Owen get out of his clothes without causing his broken ribs to grind. Once he'd removed Owen's sweater he stood back a moment to look him over and smiled teasingly. "I can't wait to get my hands on you someday soon," he said. David put his hand softly on the back of Owen's head and pulled him into a kiss. At that moment the door flew open and Molly entered. She took in the scene, let out a quick cry of, "Oh, sorry!" and then shut the door again. Owen's eyes flew to the door and he suspected that Molly had deliberately opened the door at just that moment. Accident or not, it sent David flying into a panic and he jumped back from Owen like he'd

been electrocuted and began to pace the room with his hands in his hair. "Oh my God, oh my God..." he panicked. "Do you think she saw? Fuck, do you think she saw that? Why would she just walk in without knocking? Fuck. Fuck." "David, it's OK," Owen soothed him. "Even if she saw, she's clearly not mad." "I'm not worried about her being mad!" David retorted. "I'm worried about what she'll think of me. I'm worried that she'll go and tell everyone..." "Maybe it's a good thing that people know." "Oh, shut up, Owen!" David snapped. "You don't know what's it's like for me.

People have always known you're bent." Owen was shocked into silence and sat down on the edge of the bed with his mouth shut. He picked up his pyjama shirt and wrestled it over his head with a grimace. He pushed David away when he tried to help him. "I'm sorry, Owen," David said quietly. "I didn't mean that." He sat down beside Owen and put his arm around him. "Are you mad at me? I'm sorry." The teen shrugged him off and walked over to the window. "Maybe you should just go talk to your Mum, yeah?" he suggested. David lingered in the middle of the room for a moment, staring at the back of Owen's head and feeling guilty for the

words that had just come out of his mouth without him meaning them to. He didn't like the way that he always seemed to snap at Owen when he was overwhelmed. He knew that it was the last thing in the world that Owen needed. David came up to him and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I mean it, Owen," he said sincerely, "I'm really sorry. That was out of line. Please forgive me." Owen turned around to face him and sighed. He let out a single, forgiving nod and lifted his eyes to look at David. He had been hurt by David's words, but he also understood that David was struggling with his own issues and didn't know how to deal with his emotions.

David was a man's man, after all; he was programmed to snap. "It's fine, David," Owen forgave him in a gentle voice. "Still, you should go and talk to your Mum. You don't know what she's thinking until you speak to her." "Alright," David nodded. "I will." He hesitated a moment longer and Owen took hold of his hand and gave it a tight, comforting squeeze. "You can do this, David." David nodded and left the room. Owen lay down on his bed and stared at the ceiling. What seemed like hours later, David finally returned and sat down next to Owen. He put a hand on his partner's leg, even though the door was

open and Owen sat up at the contact. He'd started to drift off waiting and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "How'd it go?" he yawned. David nodded with a relieved smile. "She said she'd suspected it since I started hanging around with you," he told him. "She said I light up when you're around. She just hugged me and said it was OK. We chatted for a long time about everything and she just said it was all OK. You were right." "I'm really glad, David," Owen said sincerely. "I bet it feels better now that she knows, right?" "It does," David said with a grin and another sigh of relief. "Plus, she swore she wouldn't tell another soul."

"Oh," Owen said with surprise. "I just kind of assumed that if she knew, you'd tell everyone else." "God no!" David exclaimed. "I'm not ready for that." "Alright." "Hey, don't look so down," David said gently. He pushed Owen back down onto the bed and lay down beside him. "Now we can just be ourselves here. Isn't that great? In fact, I think you should sleep in my room tonight. We could... take things to the next level. What do you think?" Owen flushed red and laughed from his shock. "David!" he exclaimed. "I've got three broken ribs." David's face fell in disappointment.

"Oh, I suppose so..." he said. "When you're better then. You know I've been dying to be with you." Owen laid a gentle hand on David's arm to calm his excitement. "We'll get there," he promised. David still looked disappointed and Owen shifted his position so that he could catch his eye. "Can I sleep in your room anyway?" he asked. "I'd like to be near you." Despite his disappointment, Owen's sheer cuteness made David grin and he gave Owen a loving squeeze which made Owen yelp slightly. "Of course you can!" David chuckled. "Let's get your stuff. Like, right now." David went to Owen's chest of drawers and began to pull out armfuls of

his clothes and march them to his bedroom. Owen laughed at his enthusiasm as he came and went until everything that was Owen's was in David's room. Finally, he came back for Owen and reached out a hand to pull him up from the bed and lead him into his room. "Ta-da!" he announced, gesturing to the bed. "Our little sanctuary." Owen smiled and leaned against David with a happy sigh. "It's so good to have a place to just be us," he said. David shut the bedroom door and eagerly jumped onto the bed, gesturing for Owen to join him. Owen slowly walked over to the bed and sat down beside David with a loving smile in his

partner's direction. He shifted his position so that he was lying against David's chest and David pulled them both down and put his arms around Owen. Even though David lost his temper sometimes and said things he didn't mean, Owen felt most himself in David's arms. He liked David when he was just like this; calm, loving, quiet.

Chapter Six The cracks began to show slightly when Owen returned to work. Owen knew that he shouldn't have expected anything to have changed, but he still felt hurt when he and David came from waking up in bed together, to walking in with smiles and laughs, to David striding on ahead as soon as they arrived and leaving Owen behind to go and talk with Mike and Rich. The three - David, Mike and Rich - had gotten over the fight between them all those months previously and nothing more had been said about how they treated Owen.

Owen would watch the three of them now from behind the reception desk with jealous eyes. David didn't eat lunch with him anymore or come to hang out by the desk. It was as if he was afraid that people could sense their closeness now that they were living together and that he had to counter it with indifference towards Owen. Katie rolled her eyes to see him staring once again. "He's straight, Owen," she reiterated. "Geez, stop gawping at him like that. It's creepy." Owen cast her a withering glare, but turned his eyes away all the same. Katie sighed and came to sit on the desk in front of him, so bored that she'd even engage in conversation with Owen to

break the tedium of the front desk. She looked over her shoulder at David herself. He was a fine specimen of a man. She'd heard that he'd broken up with his girlfriend. She turned her attention back to Owen and tried to soften her voice slightly. "Look, I know that it's nice when someone like David gives you the time of day, but it doesn't mean that he's interested in you in that way," she said, in an attempt to be kind. "Now you're all angsty because he's drawn away, but I think he's just trying to be kind by not leading you on. He can obviously tell that you're into him." The receptionist found it hard not to spin on his chair and tell Katie a few

hard truths about David to stop her condescending stare and patronising advice, but he was too loyal to David to say a word. Instead, he shrugged and turned away. "Yeah. Maybe." At that moment David came over to pick up fresh report sheets for the day. He pointedly ignored Owen and addressed himself to Katie. "Have you got any spare performance records?" he asked her. Katie switched on her charms and needlessly came around the desk to hand the reports to David. She looked up at him with big, alluring eyes and her body swayed teasingly in front of him. She flicked her long blonde hair over her

shoulder and gave David a suggestive smile. "Hey, I've got a question," she said slowly. "If you broke up with your girlfriend all those months ago, how come you still haven't asked me out on a date?" "I guess I just assumed a gorgeous girl like you had her pick," David replied with equal flirtation. Owen's cheeks flared red and he furiously spun on his chair to face his computer screen. "Well, I could make the time," she laughed. "I have your number," David said charmingly. "Maybe I'll call." "I hope so." David only gave the back of Owen's

head a brief guilty glance before heading back towards the gym. Owen was devastated to have heard David talking like that to Katie. He knew that it meant nothing, - David was gay - but all the same, Owen didn't like to hear him switch on the charm with someone else. David was the one to broach the subject on the way home that night when Owen was giving him the cold shoulder. "Are you mad at me?" he asked. "Owen, you know how I feel about people finding out." "What, if you don't have a go on the town bicycle you must be batting for the other team?" Owen snapped. "Grow up, David. You don't have to flirt like that when I'm sitting right there."

"You know it means nothing," David retorted. "Why are you being so sensitive?" "Because you just pretend I'm not there," Owen told him. "The reason I was so mad about you when we first met was because you weren't like the others. Now you're just the same." "That's not fair!" David said defensively. "I don't call you names or flash you my cock in the changing rooms. I stay away from you so that we don't draw attention to ourselves. You know that." "And what would be so bad about coming out?" Owen demanded. "Someone might call you bent? You are bent, David. What are they going to do

about it? If anyone says anything to you, you'll knock them out. What have you got to be afraid of? Or is it not that you're in a gay relationship, it's that you're in a relationship with me?" "Jesus, Owen..." David rolled his eyes. "It's always about you and your fucking pity party. Your Dad proper screwed you up." "Don't say stuff like that to me," Owen said angrily. "Why would you say something like that?" "Because you're making a drama out of nothing," David mumbled with irritation. "I just want you to shut up for a while." "Fine. I'll shut up." They arrived back to David's house

and David stormed straight upstairs and slammed the door. Molly emerged at the sound and gave Owen a questioning look. Owen simply held up his hands in exasperation and Molly suggested they have a cup of tea. Sitting at the kitchen table, she asked him what was going on. "He ignores me at work and thinks that shouldn't bother me," Owen explained irritably. In the four months that he had been living with Molly, he'd finally become able to talk to her without stuttering. In fact, they'd become quite close. When David was working a late shift or out at a rugby training session, Molly and Owen would often put the world to rights over tea or catch up on some cheesy reality TV show together.

Owen loved David's Mum. Right now, she laid a sympathetic hand on Owen's arm. "David just doesn't know how to deal with what he's going through," Molly told him gently. "He thinks the world of you." "Today he started flirting with Katie while I was sitting right there," Owen told her. "Said he'd give her a call. Am I mad to think that's not OK?" Molly sighed again. "He's so scared of people judging him. David has an ego, Owen. Things like trophies and designer clothes and the right car have always mattered to him. I think it's because deep down he always knew he was different and has used those things to hide behind.

He needs constant reassurance that people like him and I think that's because he doesn't really like himself right now. He knows that he's hiding and he's mad at himself, not at you." "He says such hurtful things," Owen told her. "It kills me. He knows things about me and my life that nobody else knows and he uses them as ammo." "I'm really sorry, Owen," Molly said sincerely. "I wish David had better ways of expressing himself. You know, I suggested to him last week that he should think about seeing someone, you know, professional, for his issues and he nearly bit my head off." Owen half-laughed in agreement. "He gets like that when you suggest that

maybe it's him that's got the problem and not the rest of the world." That night, Owen went to the guest room to sleep. About an hour after he'd closed his eyes, David crept in and crawled in beside him under the covers. Owen could hear him sniffling behind him and could feel his tears on his bare shoulders. He was shocked that David had come to him when he was feeling vulnerable. Owen turned over and pulled himself up enough that he could hold David in his arms and he let the big, strong trainer cry on his chest. "I'm sorry, Owen," David wept. "I'm really sorry." "It's OK, David." "It's not OK. I'm sorry."

Owen kissed his head lovingly. David's apology meant the world to him and all his anger and frustration vanished now that David was in his arms again and sorry for what he'd done. Owen forgave him instantly. All he wanted was for David to love him. "It's OK," he repeated. He kissed David's head once again and David lifted his face to catch his lips instead. The gentle kiss became more passionate and what David had tried to initiate a hundred times before, Owen finally felt ready to accept. David began by pulling off his own clothes and then reached under the cover to pull off Owen's pyjama bottoms. Owen kicked away the material and let David kiss him all over.

He felt his anxiety grow as David began to rub his thumbs over old scars. It was done with love, but it made Owen feel self-conscious and brought to mind painful memories that he didn't want to think about in the bedroom. He moved David's hand instead to his face and kissed him deeply. David began to grow more wild in his excitement and flipped Owen over on the bed. Owen felt even more anxious. He wished that David would take things slower. He'd never done this before. Owen turned back over in a panic. "D-David... t-take your time, yeah?" The trainer could see the anxiety on Owen's face and did his best to contain himself for long enough to make Owen

comfortable. He proceeded with more gentleness than before, but Owen still felt like it was going too fast, yet was afraid to stop David halfway though in case it made him angry. Instead, Owen told himself that it wasn't fair to be a tease and if he'd led David on this far, he had to go through with it. When David turned him over again, Owen shut his eyes tightly, gritted his teeth and let it happen. Afterwards, David was ecstatic, but Owen felt close to tears. He hadn't expected his first time to be so... frightening. Still, David gathered him up into his arms with happy laughter and kissed him all over his face. "That was amazing!" he said in delight. "Wasn't that amazing?"

"It was great," Owen lied. He pressed himself against David's chest and tried to soak up all the comfort he could from his arms around him. David was so happy and being so gentle now that Owen told himself he'd done the right thing. "I love you," David said tenderly. "I love you, too." The next day David was still in an incredible mood, wrapping his arms around Owen's waist as he tried to brush his teeth and kissing his neck. Every time he caught Owen's eyes his own became softer. He was so gentle with Owen that morning that Owen began to feel exhilarated himself. Perhaps David had just been feeling unloved himself and

now he would be different. He responded to David's sweet kisses and tender words and felt utterly in love. He was so relieved that after their recent arguing and issues that things finally seemed to be going well and the old David who had been so taken with him when they'd first met was back. They went to work walking closely next to each other and exchanging loving glances like they had done in the early days of their romance. They arrived at work and David stayed with him right up to the doors and even whispered that he loved him once more before they went their separate ways. Owen's glances at David that morning were tender rather than jealous and he went about his day in

a happy daze. At lunchtime, David didn't come to him, but Owen didn't mind so much. The night before had reassured Owen that David really loved him and the rest just didn't matter. Owen went to eat lunch alone and was just about to exit the sports centre through the front entrance when he heard his name said by familiar voices just outside. Rich, Mike and David were leaning against the wall on their break talking about him. "I saw him staring at you again today, man," Rich warned David. "It's getting beyond creepy. Maybe you should take it up with Chris." "Nah. It's alright," David replied. "It's not bothering me."

Mike nudged him playfully. "You like the attention, huh?" he teased. "We told you he was a pervert. I bet you feel stupid after all that time sticking up for him. Now he perves over you more than anyone. Doesn't it make you uncomfortable? Maybe you should let him know more clearly that you're not interested. You're not afraid to throw a punch, to my memory." "You can't hit a fag," David replied, "it's like hitting a girl." "Well, what are you going to do then?" Rich pressed. "It's borderline sexual harassment." "Nothing," David replied firmly. "He's just some desperate homo." Owen hesitated at the doorway for a

moment longer. He wasn't sure whether to walk past them or run back in. His decision was made for him when the boys came back indoors at that moment on the end of their break. The three caught sight of him and it was very clear that he'd overheard their conversation. David's face immediately fell, but Rich and Mike just laughed. "Guess you don't need to have words with him after all," Rich chuckled. The hurt that Owen felt was indescribable. He'd started to get used to David ignoring him, but to hear him speaking about him like that and after Owen had given himself to him for the first time the night before... Owen kept his head down as they walked past.

David hesitated for just a moment as he passed him as though he might say something, but then he simply shook his head and walked on. At the end of the day Owen didn't wait for David. All he wanted to do was go home and so he forced himself to walk into the changing rooms to pick up the reports once again. Rich and Mike were there as they had been that day all those months ago, having just finished their showers. "Back for round two, huh?" Rich sniggered. "Fuck off, Rich." "Woah!" Rich exclaimed. "Did you hear that, Mike? He can speak, after all." Rich gave Owen a heavy shove in the

shoulder. "You shouldn't speak to me like that, fag." From the corner of his eye, Owen could see the changing room door opening and David's eye peering through the gap. He could see what was happening, but didn't step in. David was ignoring him, so Owen ignored him right back. Rich shoved him again. "What?" he demanded. "Your boyfriend not here to save you today?" Owen made a point of catching David's cowardly eye when he uttered the hateful words, "He's not my boyfriend." He then scooped up the reports from the bench and forcefully shouldered his way past Richard and past David who stepped back to let him

through. David caught up with Owen halfway home. "I'm sorry," he gushed emotionally. "I'm really sorry, Owen." "You're always sorry!" Owen flared. "Maybe you should just stop acting like a dick. I don't understand it, David. You tell me you love me and then say I'm screwed up, you do what we did last night and then call me a desperate homo. You used to care about me, what happened?" "I still care about you, Owen," David beseeched him tearfully. "You're the love of my life." "Fucking crocodile tears," Owen muttered. They arrived back at David's house and the argument continued. "Why

do you even hang out with those guys?" Owen demanded. "They're homophobes. They're violent. You've got friends. You've got your rugby mates. You've got me. Why do you need to hang around those guys?" "Because I want some male company sometimes," David retorted. "What's that supposed to mean?" Owen snapped. "You know what it means," David replied cruelly. "That's fucking offensive, David." "Oh, come off it!" David snarled. "You spend half your time drinking tea with my mother and the other half doing your fucking hair." "I'm going out," Owen muttered.

"You're in a bad mood and I'm not going to let you take it out on me." "Whatever." Owen left everything behind and walked straight back out the front door. It was already quite late - they finished work at eleven - and it was dark and quiet on the streets. Owen roamed around the residential areas for a while, trying to clear his head and stomp out some of his frustrations on the concrete. He wasn't angry, he was hurt. He loved David in that stupid, unconditional way that unloved people do. David's opinion was the only opinion that mattered, David's approval was the only approval he needed. All he wanted was for David to look at him and see someone

worthwhile. David may have loved him - Owen was never really sure - but he didn't respect him and Owen found that tough. Owen knew that he had his faults; maybe he was a bit of a coward and maybe he let people walk all over him, but was that a reason for David to put him down? After twenty minutes or so of wandering around the town Owen decided to head towards the canal. He thought a stroll along the waterside might help calm him down. He liked the canal that snaked away from the town. It was surrounded on either side by a small forest and with the scent of the water, the chirping of the crickets and the sound of the breeze whispering through the

leaves, Owen thought he might be able to unwind. He'd walked maybe ten minutes up the path when he spotted the worst two people he could have seen in that moment. Rich and Mike were sitting on one of the locks on the canal drinking beer and throwing cans at the ducks. Owen quickly turned on his heel and tried to walk in the other direction, but they'd spotted him. They were drunk. "Oi! Oi! Owen!" Rich yelled out. He raced up the path and threw his arm around Owen's shoulders. Owen tried to shrug him off, but Rich pulled him closer. Mike caught up and began to walk alongside them, grinning inanely with a

glazed, drunken look in his eye. "Hey Owen, what's up? Are you trying to get away from us?" "I just w-want to go h-home," Owen muttered back. He tried once more to push Rich's arm off of him, but Rich wouldn't let go. "Nah, nah, nah..." he slurred. "I wanna show you something. Come with me." "No, Rich. L-let me go." "Nah, nah, nah. You're gonna want to see this." Rich began to steer him towards the woods. Mike followed them, preventing Owen from getting away. They took him right into the centre of the thin forest. Owen could just see the canal through the line of trees on one side and the back

of the town through the other, but it was getting on for one am and nobody was around. "You want a beer?" Rich offered, pulling a can from the six-pack swinging from his fingers and pushing it in Owen's direction. Owen shook his head fearfully and tried to step back. Mike pushed him forwards from behind. The two brought him to a stop when they were happy with their location. Rich pulled Owen down with him to sit beside him on the mulchcovered ground. Mike took up his other side. "What you doing out so late?" he asked. He looked at Owen with intense gray eyes. There was something dark and malicious dancing in them. He and

Rich kept exchanging glances as though telepathically deciding what to do next. Owen knew that they did not have good intentions. He began to feel his panic rising. His heart was already pounding inside his chest, just like it had done before his father had slammed his head against that wall... Owen could sense danger. Rich's grip around his shoulder was threatening and tight. "P-p... p-p.. please j-just l-let me g-go home," Owen begged. "Why?" Mike laughed. "You've been wanting this for a long time. Haven't you? Looking through our stuff and slobbering all over us... Maybe we should just get it over with, hey?" Mike grabbed a handful of Owen's

hair and pulled him onto his knees. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an army knife. Owen stared at the glinting silver and felt his head spin from fear. "P-p-p...." "Shut the fuck up!" Mike hissed. "I can't stand the sound of your stupid fucking voice." He turned his attention to Rich who was watching the scene unfold with that moronic, vacant smile on his face. He took another swig of beer. "We should give him what he wants, right?" "He's gagging for it," Rich agreed. The drunken lout stood up and stepped in front of Owen. He undid the button of his jeans and presented himself to Owen. Owen leaned back in fear and shock and tried to scramble away. He managed to

get to his feet and began to run, but Mike tripped him up and Owen's foot twisted painfully in a divet in the ground. He slammed back onto the dirt and wasn't able to lift himself up again before Mike had pressed that knife close against his throat and pulled him by his hair back onto his knees. Rich stood in front of him once more. "Suck it," he ordered. Owen began to sob and he covered his face with his hands. Mike roughly pulled them away and jabbed the knife more deeply into his neck until the blade began to draw blood. "What?" he snarled. "Now it's actually happening, you've changed your mind? You should have thought of that before

you put your dirty hands all over our stuff. Now. Open. Your. Mouth." The next twelve minutes were the worst of Owen's life. First Rich, then Mike violated him. Afterwards, Owen was sobbing on the ground. He rocked back and forth on his knees with his hands over his face. Mike and Rich looked down at him with evil satisfaction. "Wrong night for a walk," Rich mocked cruelly. Mike smirked and his grin grew wider when he spotted a broken branch lying on the ground. He picked it up and swung it from side to side to test its weight. The last thing Owen heard was, "Hey Rich, watch this".

The next thing he knew, he was blinking dirt from his eyes and watching Mike and Rich walk away. There was blood everywhere. Owen lifted his shaking body from the ground and put a hand to his face. All he could feel was soggy, tender, ripped flesh. His hand came away soaked in blood. He turned to see the branch lying on the ground covered in his blood, also. The blow had stunned him, but not knocked him out and Owen remembered every detail of what they'd done to him and could feel with full intensity the pain of his shredded face. His ankle was throbbing badly. Owen tried to stand, but the pain in his ankle and the trembling of his legs caused him to collapse back down. He

pulled himself up against the trunk of a tree and rested his head against the bark. He could hardly breathe from shock and disgust and was growing more and more horrified as his blood soaked through his polo shirt and dampened the forest floor. Meanwhile, David had calmed down and was beginning to get worried. Molly listened as he paced the room and thought out loud. "You don't think he's left for good, do you?" "I don't think so, sweetheart," Molly replied. "His things are here." "He's been out a long time." "What were you arguing over?" David stopped pacing and collapsed onto the sofa at Molly's side. He sighed

heavily. "I don't even know," he confessed. "Owen was upset about something I said and I was upset because he never stops nagging and things just blew up. I said some things I didn't mean and he said he was going for a walk." Molly sighed, too. "You're too harsh with him sometimes, David. You forget that Owen doesn't have the thick skin that you do. He's sensitive and he's been through a lot." "I know. I'm a jerk." "You'll make it up to him," Molly predicted. She let out a long, sad breath and looked over her son carefully. Everything in the way he sat with his head in his hands and tears in his eyes told her that he was wracked with guilt

and her heart went out to him. David was a tough guy and the more complex emotions of life were difficult for him to deal with. "Do you still love him?" A tear rolled down David's cheek and he nodded. "More than anything," he whispered. "I don't know why I treat him the way I do. I get angry and he just takes it. He just walks away like he did tonight. When you're shouting at him and get no reaction, you start forgetting that the things you say hurt him." "Well, Owen's been through a lot," Molly repeated. "He's had to learn to hide his feelings from people." "I'm just as bad as everyone else around him," David said tearfully. "I'm meant to protect him and all I do is use

him as a vent while I'm going through my own shit. Meanwhile he's going through hell and never complains. I make him feel like he's weak, but he's the strongest guy I know. I don't even know how he gets up in the mornings. If I had to go through what he went through... If people spoke to me like that... I just don't think I'd bother." "You're right," Molly replied. "Owen is a very brave young man and he's trying so hard to be there for you. You know, I reckon you guys have the foundations of something good. You just need to learn to be there for each other a bit more. You need to let him in, David, and stop making him feel bad for wanting to love you."

"I know," David sighed, "I know. I'm going to go and find him. I need to say sorry. I'm so lucky to have him. Nobody else would put up with the way I am. I really love him, Mum. I'm going to make it right." David shrugged on a coat and left the house. There were so many complex and dangerous emotions stirring within him. His temper came from his inability to deal with them and Owen was a target simply because he was there and would take it. Although David said things he didn't mean and lashed out, his love for Owen was genuine and deep. He was terrified of losing it. He went to his car and began looking for Owen by driving slowly around the streets. When he had

toured the whole town without success, he decided to park up and try his luck at the canal. He could imagine Owen enjoying the peace and quiet of the water. He began walking up the path, scanning the trees and locks around him for any sight of Owen. He was about ten minutes into his walk when he thought he heard something. He stopped and stilled and trained his ear to the sound. It was a muffled, soft sobbing. David immediately raced towards it and when he saw the state of Owen huddled against a tree, his face lost all colour and his throat closed up. If it hadn't have been for Owen's bright blue eyes, David doubted his would have recognised his partner.

Owen was drenched in blood. The right side of his face had been split apart by some kind of force and this was the origin of all the horrifying mess. His hands were covered in the stuff and his shirt, too, and even his fringe had become a crimson, matted tangle. He was in such a state of shock that his sobs were more a trembling murmur and he was shaking in intermittent, convulsive shudders. David pulled his phone from his pocket and called an ambulance as he rushed to his side. He collapsed beside Owen and wrapped both his arms around him. Owen fell against his chest and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. David didn't know what had happened. He didn't know what to say. He was too

much in shock himself to process anything. He cradled Owen's head against him and rocked back and forth with his love in his arms. "It's OK..." he mumbled in a dazed voice, just as much to comfort himself as Owen, "everything is OK, you're OK..." Owen felt tiny in his arms and David hated the feel of him trembling from fright. He was too terrified to say anything and David wished that there was a way to take all his pain away. His guilt hit him like a punch in the stomach. This was all his fault. When the red and blue lights could be seen flashing through the trees and the paramedics came for him, Owen had to be prised away from David's arms, but David took

hold of his hand and stayed with him as he was loaded into the ambulance. The paramedics worked to stem the bleeding from Owen's face and cleanse the wound. They asked Owen a load of questions to assess his alertness and David had to tell them that he always had a stammer. Owen couldn't even get one word out through his distress. At the hospital, he was rushed to see a plastic surgeon to close the wound under general anaesthetic and several hours later, David and Molly found themselves once again waiting to see him as the night became the morning and then the evening rolled around again. David had called Molly as soon as Owen had been taken away and she'd arrived in a fluster.

Owen felt like her second son and she felt tears spring to her eyes when David described how he had found him. "Oh my God..." she breathed. "Have you called the police?" David nodded tearfully. "They're waiting to talk to him." "Do you have any idea who did it to him?" "It could have been anyone. He was out on his own in the middle of the night... It's all my fault, Mum. I let him down. Again." Molly hugged him closely. "It's not your fault, David." She'd never seen her son look so helpless. He was not angry or pacing; just... still. She could see the guilt written all over his face and his

pain. He sat down quietly in the waiting room without saying a word. "I'm going to be there for him," David told her softly. "I'm going to make sure he feels safe and loved and that he gets through this. This kind of thing just can't keep happening to him. I've got to take better care of him." His mother didn't know what to say and simply put an arm around David for comfort. She wondered where Owen's mother was right now. It broke her heart to think of Owen going from abuse to abuse with no end to the violence. David was right in as much as Owen's quiet nature and excessive timidity invited aggression. People knew that Owen was an easy target. It was written all over

him. Then, with his stammer and his sexuality... well, people are cruel. David sat up suddenly when he saw the two policemen emerging from Owen's ward. He stood up and walked over to them. "Do you know who did it?" he asked impatiently. "Your friend has done his best," the policeman said gently. "He's still in shock. He says he doesn't remember much." "My boyfriend," David corrected. "He's my boyfriend." David felt like he owed Owen that much, at least. He thanked the officers for their time and walked past them into the ward. Owen was sitting on the edge

of the bed in his blood-stained clothes with one ankle bandaged up. A thick rectangle of gauze was taped down over his right cheek from temple to chin. David sat at his side and pulled him into a tight, loving hug. "I'm never going to let anything like that happen to you again," he vowed. "I'm going to look after you from now on. I'm sorry I let this happen to you." "You d-didn't let it happen..." Owen began. "...it just happened," David finished his sentence with a sad smile. "Things won't ‘just happen’ any more. Do you remember anything?" Owen shook his head numbly. "No." He did remember. He remembered

everything from the terror pounding in his chest when Rich's menacing arm first wrapped itself around his shoulders, to the smell of beer on Mike's breath when he spat out his words, to the feel of... Owen grew dizzy and sick thinking about it and put a shaking hand to his head. "Th-they said I c-can go home," he said. "No more observation?" "I j-just want t-to go home." "Alright," David said gently. He passed Owen the crutches that were leaning against the wall and Owen pulled himself up onto them. David steadied him with a gentle hand on his back as he hobbled out of the hospital and into David's car. Molly sat with him

in the back and cuddled him to her as they drove. Owen didn't remember the first time he'd sat with her like this, but he was glad she was here now. He took hold of her hand and held it tightly. Nobody knew what to say. Owen didn't want to talk about it and, for once, David didn't want to ask. His guilt was crippling and the last thing he wanted to do was cause Owen any more pain by pressing the point. All he wanted to do was love him better. They got home, Owen hugged Molly goodnight and David walked with him into the bedroom. They sat together on the bed in silence for a while and David could see Owen trying to hold himself together. Suddenly the dam broke and Owen

began to cry again. David held him closely with all the love and comfort he could muster. "W-why, David?" Owen wept. "Wwhy?" "I don't know," David replied in a quiet voice, blinking back his own tears. Owen looked down at his top and saw that it was still covered in blood. He stood up and limped to the shower. David waited outside the door with an aching heart. In the bathroom, Owen crouched in the base of the tub and cried his eyes out as the water run over his back and sent the last of his blood swirling down the drain. He let his head tilt forward to keep his gauze dry. Then he stood at the sink and began to brush

his teeth until his gums bled. He spat it away down the sink and wondered how he was still standing when life hurt so much. All he could think was ‘why?’. Why did everyone want to hurt him? Why did life keep beating him down? Why did he deserve this? He felt like he was becoming a lesser and lesser person made up of so many faults that he was barely human at all, but some Frankenstein's outcast made up of all the worst pieces of broken human beings. His fringe was still red with blood. He leaned forward over the sink and desperately washed it away. When he looked up at the mirror, he was still broken-hearted. Half of his face was covered with that ugly white padding

and Owen couldn't bring himself to look underneath. He left the bathroom and found David sitting just outside the doorway waiting for him. Owen dropped to the floor and sat beside him. He wanted to be near David right now. For once, David was being supportive and not pushing anything. He was being the quiet, respectful and loving man that Owen needed. "Are you alright?" David asked gently, putting an arm around Owen's shoulders. Owen nodded mutely. "Do you want to talk about it?" Owen shook his head. David nodded. "Alright. I'm here, though. You understand? You can wake me up in the middle of the night. I don't care. Just don't feel like you're on your

own. I'm here for you." That night, Owen couldn't sleep. He could still feel the grip of the boys on his shoulders and that knife against his throat. He could still feel... Owen huddled against David's chest and David was quick to wrap his arms around him even as Owen began to shake and cry again. It seemed that the tears would just never stop. "Don't be afraid, Owen," David soothed him. "You're safe with me. It's alright. It's alright." The night was a long, long night. Owen knew that he never would have made it to morning without David there to support him. He didn't blame David for what had happened, although he

could see that David blamed himself. David had changed overnight. He was calm, supportive and attentive. There was no anger in him and no frustration. Owen didn't know how he'd have coped without him. It was a week before Owen was willing to look in the mirror and once again, David was at his side. Owen stood in front of the bathroom mirror with David standing behind him and slowly unstuck the tape from his face. He carefully peeled the gauze away from his skin and laid the blood-stained cotton on the edge of the sink. He stared silently into the glass. The scar tracked its way in a jagged line from just below his right temple to the very corner of his lips. It was held together with staples

and was still red, swollen and ugly. There was no hiding it and no running away from it. It was there. Just another way to be subhuman. In a very direct, matter-of-fact way, Owen finished examining his reflection and reached for a new square of gauze. He taped a new length over the wound and put away the materials. David watched him with concern. He'd expected more tears, or a cry of horror or more of a scene when Owen saw the damage himself for the first time, but he barely registered the defect. "Are you OK?" David asked him tentatively. "Do you want to sit down? Do you want to talk about it?" Owen shook his head and left the

bathroom. David caught up with him and held his hand. "You're still beautiful," he told him earnestly. David's partner gave him the most heartbreaking look which said ‘Don't patronise me, David’ and David fell silent. There was not much to be said. It was what it was. Owen would never look the same. His angelic face would be forever marred by a jagged scar right across it. No more modelling now. "It'll heal," David continued. "Give it six months and it'll look completely different." Owen just gave a disheartened shrug. "I don't care," he said flatly. "You don't care?" "I just don't care anymore."

The big, tough personal trainer just didn't have the right words to say to Owen, who had become so distant and numb. Molly was the only one who seemed to really understand him, but she'd understood him from the start. She sat with him on the sofa one evening whilst David was on shift and watched him from the corner of her eye as he laid curled up against the arm rest with a blank expression on his face. She put a hand on his leg gently and began to speak. "You'll never know why, Owen," she said gently. "You'll drive yourself mad trying to figure it out." Owen was surprised at her perceptiveness and sat up straight,

running his hands through his hair wearily. He was tired all the time now. "I can't help it," he confessed. "I just don't know why someone... why anyone would..." he couldn't quite get the words out and instead gestured to the scar on his face. "I was just walking along," he said helplessly. "I wasn't asking for it." "You remember more than you let on," Molly guessed. "I remember everything," Owen said bitterly. He cast Molly a sad, defeated look and held up his hands helplessly. "I just don't want to have to talk about it, or think about it or feel like David's disappointed in me." "Why would he be disappointed in you?"

"He thinks it's my fault when this stuff happens," Owen told her. "He always has. He thinks I'm weak. He thinks I ask for it." "He doesn't think that." "I just want to move on." "I don't think you've even let yourself process what's happened, sweetheart," Molly said gently. "I once told David he should think about talking to someone professional. Maybe you should, too." Owen shrugged dejectedly. "Maybe someday. Right now I just want to forget it. I just want to pretend it didn't happen." "Sweetheart, that's going to be difficult," Molly said directly. "You're going to have to start looking in the

mirror again someday." Even though he felt sad and tired and weak, Owen appreciated that Molly knew him well and knew how to say things directly without being cruel. He forced a smile for her and nodded. "I know." "Then I won't say anything more about it now," Molly promised. "I just want you to know that I'm here whenever you need me and you can say whatever you need to say. I won't judge you or think any less of you." "Thanks, Molly." In the weeks that followed, Owen forced himself to look in the mirror every morning. When the stitches at last came out, he was left with a jagged

crimson line across his face that would scar in time. The wound had been deep and the scar would always be visible. The plastic surgeon had spoken in depth with Owen about the long-term appearance of it and he was prepared to always be ugly. Owen didn't go back to work. He phoned Chris and told him that he was leaving for personal reasons, although everyone had heard about the attack. Chris didn't press it and neither did David. Owen knew that the real reason he didn't want to go back was because Rich and Mike were there, but David just assumed that he needed more time to recover and get back to himself. In all ways being away from the sports centre

was for the best. It took a lot of pressure off of Owen and David's relationship to not have to work together and Owen needed David more than ever right now. When Owen received a ‘get well soon’ card from the sports centre, however, it turned his stomach. When he saw Mike and Rich's signatures there amongst all the other lying, false names, he felt physically sick and a rage like Owen had never felt rose up like a fire at his core and he ripped the card to shreds right in front of David. "T-t-tell every s-single one of them t-tt-... t-to go f-fuck themselves!" Owen shouted. "Owen!" David exclaimed, watching the shreds fall like confetti to the carpet.

"It was a nice gesture." "It's a f-f-f... f-f-fucking joke," Owen seethed. "Alright," David replied gently. Owen had turned pale and begun to shake and David didn't really understand why. He knew that Owen's colleagues at the gym hadn't always treated him so well, but he thought his reaction to the card was over the top. He came and wrapped his arms around his boyfriend and held him until he stopped shaking. "You're alright, Owen," he comforted. "It's OK." Owen was unresponsive for a moment or two, too gripped by rage and repulsion to react, but then he came to himself again and clung onto David desperately.

"I c-can't cope," he whispered honestly. "I'm d-dying." "You're not dying," David replied calmly. "You're going to get through this, OK? You've been through bad times before. You're strong, right? You've got to keep going." "I d-don't want to," Owen replied weakly. "Hey, hey," David scolded gently, taking Owen by the shoulders and dipping at the knee to catch his eye, "don't say stuff like that. It scares me when you talk like that. You're going to be alright. One day you're going to come out on top and you'll look back at this like it was a bad dream that happened to someone else."

"How, David?" Owen asked pointedly. "H-how am I going to come out on t-top? I c-can't read, I c-can't speak and now I have a g-giant fucking sc-scar on my face." "Oh Owen," David breathed helplessly, "I don't know what to tell you, mate. Things'll turn around. We'll find a way. How about your drawing, huh? I remember once you told me you like to draw." When David came home the next day with pads of artist's paper and a supply of pencils, graphite and charcoal, Owen thought it was about the sweetest thing he'd ever done for him. Owen hadn't drawn anything in a long time because he'd left everything behind when he'd left

home. He'd missed his little form of escapism and right now an escape was just what he needed. It meant so much to him that David wanted to help him and that he'd done something so kind. It was a welcome relief from all the hatred in the world. It was the first thing to really make Owen smile since the attack. "Thank you, David," he said sincerely, standing on his tip-toes to kiss him. David's heart could have burst from relief. To see a glimpse of the old Owen reaching out to him made his heart flutter all over again like it did when he'd first laid eyes on him. "There you are, my gorgeous guy," David said softly. "Where have you been hiding?" He reached out and stroked

back Owen's hair gently. "You've got the most beautiful eyes." That was a compliment that Owen could smile for, because David had always told him the exact same thing and Owen could remember how he'd felt when he'd heard it the first time. "I love you," he told David. "I love you, too."

Chapter Seven Owen was struggling more than he was letting on. He tried not to let his constant fear and agitation show, but he was suffering from vivid flashbacks and terrifying moments of dizziness and sickness. Every time that he saw the glint on a bread knife or heard David go on about what Mike or Rich had said at work, Owen felt like he couldn't breathe. Every reminder of the day brought it all flooding back to him in such graphic clarity. There were days after David had gone to work that Owen would crawl into the bottom of the wardrobe and hide

there as he used to at home when he was a child. Molly found him there one day when she came to put David's washing away and she could tell at once that something was seriously wrong. She knelt down beside him with concern and pulled discarded clothes out of the closet so that she had room to sit near him and rest a hand on his knee. Owen sat there with his knees drawn up and his head in his hands, his skin deathly pale. His foot shook up and down in nervous agitation and Molly was really worried. It had seemed to her that the whole event had been brushed under the carpet to some extent. Nobody ever really seemed to take the time to evaluate the real

emotional toll that everything Owen had been through was taking on him. First his father, now this... Owen was a nervous wreck and trying desperately not to let it show. "Hey you," Molly said in a very gentle voice as she crouched beside him. "What are you hiding from, huh?" The man who had just turned twenty didn't reply, but kept his face buried in his hands. His birthday had gone by without celebration because Owen hadn't felt he could pretend to be happy even for a day. Molly reached out and took hold of his hand. "Do you want to talk about it?" Owen shook his head in response, but still didn't look up at her.

"Maybe you want to go out, huh? You haven't left the house since it happened." Owen shook his head again. "Well, then, why don't you come downstairs and we'll have a cup of tea, hmm?" "I... I... I..." The concerned woman waited patiently for Owen to get his words out. She stroked the back of his hand comfortingly as he struggled to speak. "I... I d-d... I d-d..." "It's alright, sweetheart." "I d-don't w-want D-D-David to see m-me like this." "David won't be home for hours." "He c-c-can't see m-me like this." "He's your boyfriend, Owen. He

wants to be there for you," Molly assured him. "It's OK to fall apart sometimes. You've been through so much." Owen wanted to tell her that she had no idea what he'd been through, - nobody did - but instead he just took his hand away from his face and lifted his gaze to meet her eyes. "I c-can't cope." "I know, sweetheart," Molly said gently. "Nobody could after all that's happened, but you don't have to deal with anything alone. If you don't want to talk to me or David, we could always get you into some therapy. There's nothing wrong with getting help." The thought of telling some stuffy,

middle-aged do-good shrink about being sexually assaulted made Owen feel physically sick and he shook his head again. Nobody would ever, ever, hear him tell that story. It would go with him to his grave. It was bad enough being the guy who got beaten up all the time, without being the pathetic loser who... Owen couldn't even bear to think about it, yet he couldn't get the images out of his head and it was driving him insane. The worst thing was that he couldn't even bring himself to tell Molly or David and so they were only comforting him for half the trauma. The scar on Owen's face didn't run half as deep as the emotional scars that had been left by what those two evil monsters had done

to him. And David was still hanging out with them, still laughing and joking and probably talking about him, too... The thought made Owen's blood run cold. Owen rolled onto his knees and leaned forward to wrap his arms around Molly's neck in a tight, desperate hug. "D-don't tell David," he begged. "I won't say a word," she promised. "Will you come out of there now?" The victim nodded and allowed Molly to help him up. He was still white as a ghost and trembling slightly, but Molly encouraged him to come downstairs with her and sit on the sofa. She let him rest his head against her shoulder and held his hand as his blank gaze followed the TV and she felt so unsettled and

disturbed to know just how Owen was struggling. "You know you're family, right?" she told him softly. Owen turned his gaze to her and his smile was touched. "The only family I've ever had." "David loves you more than anything." "I love him, too. And I love you." "Me too, sweetheart." It caused Owen to smile through his distress. He'd never had as much love around him in his life and it was that love which was helping him to get through what was the most difficult thing he'd ever had to survive. David was still being supportive and loving and Owen was starting to think that maybe he'd

make it through after all. That was, of course, until David started pestering Owen again for that other kind of love. It had been nearly three months since the second attack - David and Owen had been together for almost a year - when David started to go back to his old ways. It started with him getting irritable when Owen woke up in the night in a cold sweat and disturbed his sleep for the ninetieth night in a row and David snapped at him. It continued when David told him to ‘man the fuck up’ one day, when Owen got tearful that he was leaving for work. It all came to a head when after months of sharing a bed with no intimacy, the following scene unfolded.

David had been trying his hardest to hold his tongue all day. Although he'd promised himself that he would never hurt Owen again, he found Owen's dependency and nervousness since the attack overwhelming and his clinginess and need at first merely concerned David, but slowly began to irritate him and then finally began to make him mad. David would have expected Owen to have gotten over the attack by now, but he was still jolting awake in the night and going into himself in that quiet, distant way and talking about David with David's God-damned mother when David wished he'd talk with him. As well as dealing with Owen's desperate neediness, David was still trying to sort

out his own life. He found it hard to keep his mind on work when he was thinking about Owen back home and he began to resent Owen for making his life so bloody difficult. Things had been easier with Tanya. Then David would feel bad for thinking such a thing, which made him resent Owen even more. Why should he feel bad for wanting an easy life? He was too young to be dealing with all this shit. This was his first relationship and it was turning into a car crash, like one long episode of some cheap TV soap opera. Yet, when the anger calmed and David thought about it, he knew that he loved Owen deeply and cared about him more than he thought was possible. David knew that in time he would learn

to control his anger, things would come together and he and Owen would be deliriously happy together. That night David reached for Owen again. He knew that his boyfriend wasn't really asleep, even though his back was turned to him and he was silent. He leaned over and began to kiss Owen's neck. "Don't David," Owen whispered. "I'm trying to sleep." "Come on, Owen..." David coaxed. "It's been months..." "No, David." David carried on kissing Owen's neck. He hoped that if he could just get Owen to relax, he would start to get into it and they could get back that vital

chemistry that had been missing since the attack. They hadn't slept together since their first time and David was aching to be with him. They'd been together for almost a year and only done it once. David used to sleep with his girlfriends every night of the week and he wasn't even straight. It made him feel like there was something seriously wrong with him that Owen couldn't even get it up for him when David was capable of sticking it in a girl. Not only did David feel insulted that Owen didn't want him, but he missed the way they used to care for each other and feel close. He was convinced that if he could just get Owen to look at him in that way again, that everything else would fall into place. He just wanted to

feel that connection again. The trainer continued to plant kisses along Owen's neck and the top of his shoulder. He ran his hands over Owen's thigh and stomach and Owen kept batting him away. "Just relax, Owen," David soothed, "you know you want it." His hand settled on Owen's groin just as he said those last words and Owen shot up and jumped out of bed, screaming at David in a voice that had become hysterical. "Get your hands off me, David!" he screamed. He began to tremble as he stood in the middle of the room in his underpants. You know you want it... Owen felt sick. In his mind he was on

his knees again, being forced to do things he did not want to do. "What the fuck is your problem?" David yelled back. He threw the covers off of him and stood up to face Owen. "All I want to do is be close to you. Why are you treating me like I'm some fucking rapist?" "I said no, David," Owen said emphatically, gathering up his clothes from the floor. "What does that make it?" David's cheeks flared red and he followed Owen as the traumatised young man fled from their bedroom and relocated to the guest room, pulling on his clothes as he went. "How fucking dare you!" David seethed. "I have been nothing but

supportive since the day of the attack. I've comforted you and I've hugged you and I've been there for you and all you do is treat me like I'm the one who did it. I don't even know what fucking happened because you won't tell me. You shut me out and act like I'm a criminal. How is that supposed to make me feel?" "I say no and you carry on anyway!" Owen retorted. "How is that supposed to make me feel?" David rolled his eyes, shook his head and began to walk away. "Fuck it," he said. "I could do with a good night's sleep anyway. I might get one away from your stupid fucking nightmares." They slept in separate beds that night

and didn't speak to each other in the morning. After work David went to his rugby practice. Meanwhile, Owen sat at home curled up on the guest bed and thought about what had happened. He'd been scared the night before, but he knew it was the memory of the attack that had upset him and not really David. Yes, he wished that David would take no for an answer sometimes, but Owen knew that he'd been cold to David ever since the attack. Owen told himself that he couldn't expect David to be a mind reader. David had never been the most sensitive of men in the first place and how was he meant to behave when Owen hadn't told him what had happened? After thinking about it for a

long time, Owen came to the conclusion that he was as much to blame for last night's events as David and that maybe if he could face telling David the truth, they could start to rebuild their relationship. Owen loved him desperately, despite everything they'd been through. Violence just kept getting in their way. Owen picked up his phone and was thankful for the predictive text that helped him write a message he couldn't have written alone. I'm sorry David, he wrote, this is my fault. I'm sorry things have been bad lately. We should talk properly. I love you and I do want to be intimate again. I'll wait up for you.

The young man pressed send and in a locker room in Bramfort, forty minutes away, the beeping was heard by Tom Sauce. David's best friend from rugby looked around to check that David was still in the shower and then mischievously picked up his phone, intending to send back a joke reply to whomever had texted his friend as a prank. He picked up the phone, ready to play a prank on David, when he began to read the message and his mouth fell open. His eyes went to the little thumbnail picture of Owen in the corner and confirmed that this message had come from a guy. He scrolled back through the hundreds of messages between Owen and David, which

painted a very clear picture of a romantic relationship, which was confirmed when Tom scrolled through the photo gallery and saw pictures of David and Owen close to each other by the London Eye, on a sofa, in a bed... The short, sandy-haired rugby player jumped when David suddenly emerged from the shower and walked into the locker room. Everyone else had already left as David and Tom had chatted for a while on the pitch before coming in. It was just the two of them and Tom was quick to confront David with all he'd just discovered. He held up David's phone with a photo of him and Owen grinning into the camera and fixed David with a shocked

and questioning stare. "Who's Owen?" he asked. David flushed red and snatched his phone out of Tom's hands. "Why are you going through my stuff? That's not cool, Sauce." "I was playing a prank, but then I saw that the text was from this guy and that you've been texting him for months. David, are you gay?" he asked him. "Do I seem fucking gay to you?" David snapped. He pulled on his casual clothes in sharp, angry motions and could feel his face growing hot under Tom's intense stare. "You didn't, but now you do," Tom retorted. "Is it true? Are you bent?" "It's none of your fucking business,

Tom," David growled. "Isn't it?" the short rugby player asked incredulously. "We've been best mates for years. Why wouldn't you tell me something like that?" "Does it matter?" "Kind of," Tom replied. "You've been at my house, you've seen me change a hundred times. It's not that I've got anything against gays, but you've been lying to me for years and that's not cool." "I've not lied about anything," David retorted. "What about all those ‘girlfriends’?" Tom interrogated. "Were any of them real?" "Yes, they were real." "But you were just stringing them all

along, too?" Tom challenged. "What about Denise? Remember? I was really into her, but you swooped in and I laughed it off. Are you telling me that you weren't even into her, you were just trying to protect your reputation?" David could feel himself getting more and more flustered as he tried to defend himself. "It's not that simple," he said. "I never wanted to be this way." "So you just lied to everyone around you instead of facing it?" Tom continued. "I told you things I haven't told anyone else. I trusted you. Frankly, David, I feel stabbed in the back." "Because I'm gay?" David reiterated. "Because you lied." David hung his head in shame and

gave a small, despondent shrug. "Well, I'm sorry you feel that way, Sauce. We've been friends for years. I was working my way up to coming out and everything. I thought you'd be cool about it." "You were never going to tell me, David," Tom said exasperatedly. "I just don't understand why you didn't think you could tell me. We're meant to be friends. Look, I don't think you should come to practice next week. I need some time to come to terms with this." "What?" David exclaimed. "I don't see why I should stay away just because you're uncomfortable." "Oh come off it, David," Tom sighed. "Do you even like rugby, or are you just here to watch people get their kit off?"

David was taken aback by his words and stared at him in stunned silence for a few moments. "I can't believe you just said that to me," he muttered. "Fuck you, Tom." With that, the outed player picked up his kit and left. He drove home in a daze and by the time he got up to his bedroom where Owen was waiting for him, he was in a seething rage and threw his phone at Owen in temper. "What the fuck, Owen?" he yelled. "You know that I'm not ready to come out and so you send me through shit like that, which anyone could see? ‘I want to be intimate again’. Why don't you just paint my car in fucking rainbow colours and we'll lead the parade?"

It took a moment for Owen to process what David was upset about and then it clicked that someone must have seen the message and he felt his stomach twist with guilt. "Shit, David, I'm sorry," he apologised. "I just wanted us to be OK again." "Well, you fucked up!" David shouted. "Who saw it?" "Saucy." "Oh." "Yeah, ‘oh’." "What happened?" David pressed his palms into his eyes to hold back the tears. He was pacing from side to side across the room and Owen was staring at him with those big,

stupid innocent blue eyes with no clue just how badly he'd ruined David's reputation. "He told me not to come back next week." Owen's face creased with sympathy and he stood up to cross the room and give David a hug. David pushed him away forcefully and Owen stumbled back a couple of steps, but regained his balance and hovered nervously near David, who was venting his frustrations out loud as he paced. "My best friend. My best friend," David said emphatically. "He basically just told me to fuck off." "It's going to happen once or twice when you're coming out," Owen advised

him gently. "You'll get through it." "What the fuck do you know?" David spat spitefully. "Everybody already treated you like shit long before you came out the closet." Owen pursed his lips together tightly and decided not to take offence at the comment as David was clearly struggling with his emotions and Owen knew what he was like when his emotions were too big to handle. He stepped forward again to try and lay a hand on David's shoulder to comfort him, but David slapped his hand away. "Everything's going to shit..." he muttered. "Rugby is the only thing I have to make me feel like me. People treat me with respect there. All my friends are

there and now they're going to treat me like a... a... a fucking poof." "It's alright, David," Owen said gently. "They'll get over it and things will go back to normal." "Guys like that don't let it go," David retorted. "They'll never be able to look at me the same." "Then find new friends who like who you really are," Owen said softly. He stepped forward once more to try and take David into his arms, but David suddenly spun on his heel, lifted his fist and took a swing at Owen. "Will you just fuck off?" he screamed. The force of his blow was enough to knock Owen back into the wall and Owen fell to the ground. He immediately

curled into a ball and raised his arms above his head in defence and began to shake like a beaten dog. David couldn't believe what he had done and regretted it immediately. Tears sprung to his eyes. "Oh my God, oh my God..." he mumbled, "What have I done?" He fell to the floor next to Owen who had begun to shake with sobs and he wrapped his arms around him and showered his head with kisses. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." David said through his tears, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." Owen flinched away from him and curled up into the corner of the room. His face was hidden by his arms over his head, but David could hear his

frightened cries coming out like the tiny whimpers of an injured animal. David had truly believed that he would never hurt Owen, but his rage had overtaken his reason and momentarily obscured the true and deep affection that David held for Owen. In short, he'd lost it. He crawled over to where Owen had curled up and wrapped his arms around him again. "Please forgive me," he begged him. "I'm so sorry. I'll never hurt you again. I swear to God, I will never, ever touch you again. Owen, I'm so sorry. Please, please forgive me." The frightened young man wasn't replying, so all David could do was hold him and repeat his repentant mantra

a thousand times until it grew late and David gently lifted Owen from the ground and steered him towards the bed. He lay Owen down and pulled the covers over him. Then he lay at his side facing him, but respectfully kept his distance, touching him only with a light hand that stroked Owen's hair. By the orange light of the street lamp that filtered through the gap in the curtains David could see Owen's scar like a red river down his face and he felt his guilt and his shame with even greater sting. Everybody Owen had ever met had hurt him. Owen's life was violence. That was it. David had sworn to himself that he would be a shelter from that storm, but he was the storm. He was a great, hungry

tornado ready to tear Owen to shreds. In the darkness of the room and as the tears streamed down his face, David vowed to himself again that he would do everything in his power to protect Owen and never hurt him again. Owen didn't speak to him again that night or in the morning when David kissed him goodbye, but he did speak to Molly after David had gone to work. He came into the kitchen where she was working on her laptop at the table and gently pulled her up with a soft tug at her arm. He wrapped his arms tightly around her in an embrace that was full of warmth and gratitude. "I've never told you properly what you mean to me," he told her emotionally.

"You took me in when I had nowhere else to go and you made me feel like I was welcome and wanted. No matter what has happened, you've looked after me and treated me like your own. You're the Mum I wish I'd had and I'll always think of you as family." Molly felt herself grow tearful with emotion to feel Owen's desperate arms around her and hear the real love for her in his voice. Owen let her go and she looked into his scarred face with concern. "Sweetheart, where is this coming from?" she asked. "Is everything OK?" Owen shrugged. "I just realized that I'd never said it," he said. "I just wanted you to know that I'm thankful for

everything you've ever done for me. You're a really good person." The startled mother felt like something wasn't right, but she didn't know what. She didn't want to let Owen leave her sight, but he encouraged her to continue working and said he was going to go and draw for a while. It was the last time she saw him.

Chapter Eight Walking away from the house without telling Molly where he was going and without saying goodbye was the hardest thing Owen had ever had to do. Walking away from the town with nothing but a backpack and bad memories was one of the most painful. Thoughts of happier times with David caused the tears to stream down Owen's face as he tried to pinpoint just where it had all gone wrong. They'd started out so happy, but they'd made so many mistakes along the way. All the secrecy and the shame... They should never have tried to hide it.

That was where all the pressure came from and the resentment, too. Maybe Owen should have waited for someone who was ready to love him. But then he thought of all the joy David had once brought him. He recalled the way David had swooped in like a superhero and saved him from a violent home and bullies at work. In a hostile world full of cruel people, David had been the only one to look twice and try and make a connection. Owen remembered their first kiss and how it had lifted him off the ground with happiness and made him feel like he was floating. He remembered that one perfect day in a life that had been nothing but pain. He remembered all the good times and it

broke his heart that he'd had no choice but to walk away, but Owen just couldn't face any more violence in his life. He'd finally grown up enough to realize that he'd rather be alone than be somebody's punching bag. David had taught him that. Still, it didn't make it any easier. Owen had nowhere to go. He had nobody who cared about him. He had no savings. He had a learning difficulty, a speech impediment and a facial disfigurement. Owen felt like there was no hope. He'd taken one of David's hooded sweatshirts to wear as the oversized hood best covered his scar. It was the first time he'd left the house since the attack and the world felt too big. Owen was avoiding people and had

decided to try and walk to the next town. After leaving Laud's End, Owen came to an overpass which would lead him on the right track to Hentley Town. He climbed up the stairs and began to walk over the bridge when, suddenly, the sound and movement of the cars below caught his attention and Owen put down his bag and moved over to the railings to watch them pass by. The rush and zoom of the vehicles got Owen's heart pumping faster with a strange and morbid kind of fascination. The rush of the traffic was calling to him and as the wind dried the tears on his face, Owen felt like he knew how to solve all his problems. He stepped close to the railings and his hands gripped the metal.

With his heart going at a million miles an hour, Owen began to lift himself up over the railings and when his first leg made it over the top and onto that tiny threeinch ledge on the other side, Owen began to feel the promise of escape make him giddy with anticipation. He pulled his other leg over and turned himself around so that he was holding onto the railing and overlooking the cars. He took a deep breath and could smell the concrete and the petrol. The wind was cool on his face and the metal cold on his palms. The heels of his feet were unsteadily balanced on the thin ledge. Owen looked down at the traffic again and suddenly his exhilaration turned to cold fear. He let out a short cry as he

realized what he was doing and began to panic. Below him was death by impact with either a speeding vehicle or the cold, hard ground. On the other side of the rails was the path to an uncertain, hostile and, most likely, violent, future. Owen couldn't bring himself to climb back to safety and face that uncertain future, but he could no more bring himself to let go and die in pieces. He sank down so that he was crouching on the ledge and clung with both hands onto the thin bars of the railing. He began to sob from an overwhelming fear and the knowledge that nothing he did would bring him peace. Owen didn't know how long he had been hanging there when a police officer

tentatively approached him and knelt by him on the other side of the railing. "Alright, kid..." he said in a calm, soothing voice. "How about we come back over the railing, huh? Let's talk about what's going on. We can figure it out." The officer was a man in his late thirties, with chestnut hair that was already greying and soft green eyes. He wasn't chubby, but had a full face, and his eyes were earnest and his expression sincerely concerned. He'd been parked off the roadside monitoring the traffic when he'd caught sight of Owen climbing over the railings and had rushed up onto the overpass. He crept closer and closer to Owen until he was close enough to lay

a hand on his arm through the railings. "Come back over, kid," he urged him gently. "There's nothing that can't be fixed." Owen flicked him a scared, broken stare and looked down again at the cars. He felt like a small, frightened rabbit when the fox was closing in. He looked at the officer and shook his head in terror. There was no way he could face his life again. There was nothing in it worth going back to. Somewhere, sometime down the line, someone was waiting to beat the shit out of him and Owen just didn't want to tread that path again. He just wanted to be free from it all. The officer tried to stay as close to

Owen as possible and keep one hand on him as the other reached for his discarded backpack. He managed to pull it towards him and fumble through the contents until he found Owen's ID. "Owen," he addressed him, "you don't have to do this. There are other ways out." The policeman paused for a moment to radio in the situation, keeping his grip on Owen's arm through the bars. "Help is on the way, kid. You're going to be alright," the officer comforted him. "My name is Bradley. We're going to get you down safely, you hear me? We're going to get you home safe." "I d-d-... I d-d... I d-don't h-have a hhome," Owen stuttered out. The sight of

the cars, which seemed to be growing tinier and more distant by the second, was making Owen feel dizzy. "That's alright. We can help with that," Bradley told him. "We can find you somewhere safe to stay." "There's n-n-... n-nowhere safe." "You've had a tough time, hmm?" Bradley guessed. "It's OK. We can help you. There's help, Owen." Owen simply shook his head again. He didn't believe the officer. He couldn't trust anyone now. If David could hurt him, then there was no-one in the world that Owen could rely on; not even a man in blue. He pulled one hand away from the railings and let his body hang over the traffic experimentally. He didn't

know if the breathless headiness was relief or terror. Should he let himself fall? The alternative was some nightmare at a police station, maybe even a prison sentence for causing a scene... A criminal record on top of everything else could only help Owen's job prospects... Owen was about to let go and just end it all when suddenly he felt something cold snap shut around his wrist and heard the distinctive clink of metal on metal. He turned to see that Bradley had handcuffed him to the railing and Owen could see all hope of escape evaporating. He let out a desperate cry and began to sob helplessly. Bradley put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder through the railing.

"I'm sorry, Owen," he said gently, "but I can't let you jump." "I...I... I c-can't c-cope..." Owen stammered tearfully. "I c-can't c-cope anymore..." "We'll get you help," Bradley promised. "There are people who can help you." Owen pulled down his hood dramatically and turned his face so that Bradley could see his young scar in the daylight. "Th-this is what p-people d-do," Owen stated coldly. He looked wistfully down at the traffic, which was beginning to thin as roadblocks were put up around the junction so that the emergency services could get through. "It j-just

keeps h-happening." His legs were beginning to ache from crouching on the ledge, but there was no longer any alternative. Owen hugged the railing and cried into the bars. "D-d-don't c-call my p-parents," he begged the officer. "D-d-don't c-call DDavid. I'll d-deal with it alone. Am I gg-going to be... am I..." Owen took several deep breaths and tried to get his words out. "What h-happens now?" "We're going to get you help, like I said," Bradley promised him. "You're going to be OK, Owen." "P-people k... people k-keep telling me that. I d-don't want to k-keep waiting for things t-t... for things t-to get b-better. I c-can't cope."

"We can help you to cope, Owen. You just need someone to talk to. You just need some help." Owen glanced up again at Bradley's concerned face. The officer's hand was still on his arm. Owen took his face to memory - the man who made his decision for him. The man who sentenced him to life. He wanted to hate him, but couldn't. There were too few people in the world with good intentions. "I j-just don't w-want to be sc-scared anymore," Owen told him weakly. "Bbut I've d-done something st-stupid and n-now it's g-gonna get w... gonna get wworse, j-just like it always d-does." "Sometimes we have to hit rock

bottom before we can start climbing up again," Bradley said wisely. "I think this is rock bottom, hey?" A tearful laugh escaped Owen's lips and he nodded. He pressed his forehead against that railing and watched from the corner of his eye as police cars and ambulances arrived. A fire crew began to elevate a platform from their engine and Owen shut his eyes against the reality that he had lost all control. "If... If I'd m-met m-m... If I'd met mmore people like you in m-my life, I wwouldn't be here n-now," Owen told Bradley. "Why are p-people the w-way they are? I n-never hurt anyone." "In my line of work you see the worst of people," Bradley agreed sadly. "And

the way it's dished out isn't fair. Some people seem to get everything thrown at them, whilst others just get through scottfree. I'm guessing your life has been the first kind, huh?" Owen nodded again and more tears escaped as the fireman in their neon clothes and red helmets got closer on their rising platform. He didn't know if he'd be taken to prison or the loony bin, but he was sure they weren't about to let him go. "I'm on m-my own again," Owen said weakly. "I'll be with you for the next bit," Bradley promised. "I'll stay with you until you're safe." "N-nowhere's safe," Owen repeated.

The platform finally reached them and once Owen had been clipped onto a fireman and couldn't get away, Bradley unlocked the handcuffs and there was nothing Owen could do as the platform brought him down. He looked over the edge of the grid at the police cars and ambulances getting closer and felt sickness rise up within him. Bradley came down from the overpass and was on the ground waiting for him when he arrived. When he spoke with the other officers about what happened next, Bradley steered Owen to the ambulance instead of the police car. He rested a hand on his shoulder instead of handcuffing him again, although he kept the thin silver loops resting in his fingers

just in case. "H-hospital, huh?" Owen stammered, looking up at the red and white vehicle. "They'll kn-know me by n-name soon enough. Although I g-g-guess you're nnot taking me to A... A and E? Ps-psych w-ward, yeah?" "We're going to get you checked out by some doctors," Bradley told him gently. "We're going to get you the right kind of treatment." Owen started to accept his fate and, in a way, it was a relief for all control to be gone. From here, he could just let what happened happen and not have to think about what his part was in all of it. He just had to sit back, close his eyes and let the world do its worst.

Chapter Nine Vincent looked around the packed little coffee shop with despair. A careers fair was being held at the local university that morning and it seemed that every recent graduate in a seventy mile radius was waiting to attend and had popped into Brew for a caffeine fix before facing a job hunt. Vincent had just been promoted at work and had moved to the head offices, which meant he'd had to find a new joint for his morning coffee and he was missing his favourite little coffee shop on East Street where you never had to struggle to find a seat. The

twenty-three year old cast his gaze around the venue and noticed one free seat at a table where a man with a long scar across his face was intently drawing in a large sketchbook. The stranger was attractive beneath the scar. He had chiselled features and short, blonde hair gelled into little spikes at the front. He was muscular too, in a wiry, lean way; more like a gymnast than a wrestler. He wore a light blue sweater and denim jeans and was so completely absorbed in what he was doing that he didn't seem to have noticed that people preferred to stand than take a seat opposite him. Vincent wasn't about to pass up a seat in the crowded place he didn't start work for another forty

minutes - and so he approached the stranger and asked if the seat was taken. The artist looked up and Vince was taken aback for a moment by just how blue his eyes were. He'd never seen eyes quite that shade before. Then the stranger smiled and nodded. He scooped all his pens and papers up into his satchel to make room for the newcomer and went back to his sketching without saying a word. Vincent sat down. He spent a few moments people watching as his coffee cooled down and then turned his attention back to the stranger. The young man must have been about his own age. Vince's eyes wandered curiously to the scar on his face. It ran all the way from

just below his right eye to the corner of his lips. It was a pale purple ravine which ran the length of his face in a line that wasn't quite straight. Vince flashed red when he looked up and caught the stranger's eye. He'd been caught staring. "I'm sorry," he apologised quickly. "I didn't mean to stare." "It's OK," the stranger replied. He gave Vince a small, forgiving smile and turned his attention back to his sketchbook. "What are you drawing?" Vince asked him. The stranger hesitated a moment and then turned his drawing around so that Vince could see. He was drawing a little bird in full colour and the detail was

hyper-realistic. It looked like a photograph. The blue-eyed stranger's talent was exceptional. "Oh wow!" Vince gasped. "That's incredible. It looks so real." The stranger looked at his own work and pulled a face. "I can't get it right," he replied. "The beak's all wonky, see?" "It looks perfect. Seriously, perfect." There was a moment's pause before Vince spoke again. "I'm Vince, by the way." "Oh, yeah, I'm Owen," the stranger replied. He smiled warmly and reached across the table to shake Vince's hand. As he reached over Vince could see a collection of green elastic bands lined up on his wrist. Owen had a strong

handshake and Vince felt a bit selfconscious. Owen was a strong and clearly talented man. His muscles and bright eyes made Vince particularly aware of his own skinny frame and how his big, square glasses with the black frames kept slipping down his nose. He ran a hand through his black hair selfconsciously and tugged down on his comic-book T-shirt. Owen looked at the image and smiled. "Are you into comics?" he asked conversationally. "Oh yeah, all that stuff," Vince replied. "I'm a massive nerd. I'm actually over this way to begin my new job today. Computers. Well, it's a promotion,

but I'm at the head offices now so it's going to be a new gang. I'm a bit nervous." "You'll do great," Owen reassured him with confidence. "I always grab a coffee before work to get me geared up for the day," Vince told him, "but I don't know if the caffeine will do me any good when I'm already nervous. I got the job over someone much older who's been at the company longer, so I'm sure they're all going to hate me." "What do you do?" Owen asked him. "I'm a programmer. A games developer," Vince told him. "I work on the coding side. I'm going to be in that big glass building over there." He

pointed out the window to a huge office high-rise just a little down the street from where they were sitting. "Doesn't it look terrifying? I was working in this tiny little five-man office before. My manager, Luke, put me forward for the promotion because I'm super fast at the coding and really good at spotting errors. They wanted a supervisor for the coding team, someone to kind of proofread the code, you know? I love all that stuff, all the computers and everything, but I hate being in charge of anyone. I'm just not the boss type." Vince was shaking his leg up and down nervously and looked down the street at that big, glass building as though it were the gallows.

"You'll do great," Owen repeated. "If you're good at what you do - and it seems like you are - they'll respect you for it." "Will they? I mean, I'm just so weedy and geekish, I'm not sure they'll take me seriously. The dress code is casual. I thought about wearing a suit anyway to stand out, but I put it on and felt like a kid playing dress-up in his dad's clothes and got changed again. Now I'm thinking that I shouldn't go into work on my first day in a batman shirt." Owen laughed in an understanding way at his companion's dilemma and put down his pencil to focus on Vince more closely. It had been a while since Owen had spoken to anyone outside of work.

He'd not felt up to a social life lately, but he missed having people to talk to outside his nine-to-five. Vince was a very skinny guy with a long nose and a slightly crooked grin which wavered on his face as he looked at the glass building down the street. He had green eyes which were covered by these enormous square glasses that kept sliding down the bridge of his nose so that Vince had to keep pushing them back up. It was kind of cute. "Here, take one of these," Owen invited, sliding one of those elastic bands off of his wrist and handing it to Vince. "It helps you deal with anxiety. When you start feeling stressed, just give it a little snap against your wrist. It

sounds stupid, but it helps." "You've got a tonne of them," Vince noted. The blue-eyed man laughed in response. "Yeah, I do." Vince smiled at his gesture, slipped the band over his own skinny wrist and gave it a twang. He looked up at Owen and smiled again. "Thanks." "No problem." "So, are you a full-time artist then?" Vince continued with interest. Owen laughed again. Vince liked the way he laughed. Usually, guys with bodies like Owen's were full of themselves and wouldn't give guys like Vince the time of day, but Owen seemed

down-to-earth and quick to laugh at himself. Vince was pretty sure that they were playing for the same team, but he wasn't quite certain yet. "No, it's just a hobby," Owen replied. "I work at that gym over there." Owen pointed to the other side of the street to a large, impressive sports complex. "I'm a personal trainer." "It shows!" Vince commented. The stranger laughed again. "I'm the skinniest one there." "You look great." "Thanks." Vince looked at Owen's face once again and wondered how he'd got that scar. He imagined that his facial disfigurement was the reason that he

could still be down-to-earth even though he was otherwise very attractive and charmingly creative. Owen noticed him staring again and looked down at the table top with a shy smile. He had grown used to people staring and it didn't bother him like it used to. He'd had a lot of help learning how to deal with feeling different and he'd come to terms with the scar on his face as being just another one of the ways that he stood out. "I fell through the patio door," Owen explained. He didn't feel guilty lying. People were curious and he found that, usually, as soon as a satisfactory explanation had been given, people lost interest and stopped staring. Owen didn't see why that explanation had to be true.

"Oh gosh, I'm sorry," Vince gasped. "I really didn't mean to stare." Owen held up a hand to show that his apologies weren't necessary and gave a nonchalant shrug. "You can't help it," he said. "It's hard to ignore. The worst thing is when people do try and ignore it and start looking at tables and curtains and pigeons... That's so uncomfortable." Vince smiled bashfully. "Has it been there long?" "Long enough." Vince looked down at his watch and saw it was time to go. He was reluctant to leave as he was just starting to get into his conversation with the intriguing blue-eyed artist, but it was his first day and he had to get going. He reached out

to shake Owen's hand again. "It was really awesome meeting you, Owen," he said sincerely. "Do you come here often?" "Before every shift." "Same time tomorrow?" "Yeah." "Cool. I guess I'll see you around." The programmer left and as soon as he'd gone Owen let out a long, nervous breath. It was hard holding it together when he met new people or worked with people at the gym, but he'd learned to live by the motto ‘fake it 'til you make it’. Nowadays he acted like he was a confident, happy guy until he was on his own and he had to confess that he'd noticed a difference since he'd stopped

acting like a timid little victim. Even with the scar on his face he was getting more respect and kindness than he'd ever had before. Owen's course of therapy and medication was really helping him to work through some of his issues and face the world. Vince seemed nice. Owen wasn't ready to face the dating world again, but it was nice to daydream sometimes that there were good guys out there and that one day Owen might find himself with one of them. Owen felt a little stab of self-pity when he reasoned that Vince would never have sat near him if every other seat hadn't been taken, - of course Owen noticed when people hesitated to sit at his table - but he decided to focus

on the good that had come out of the interaction instead. He'd met a smart, interesting guy who thought that he was interesting, too. It was one of the many techniques that Owen was learning to put into place in his day to day life. He had to learn not to fixate on the negatives, but to dwell on the positives instead. The elastic bands were another of Dr West's little tricks. The psychiatrist told Owen to focus on small little vents of frustration like this, that were easy to control and harmless, as a daily way to control his anxiety, rather than letting things build up until he was ready to jump off a bridge. Owen had come a long way since then. Three months of being sectioned

under the mental health act, followed by almost a year of counselling and psychiatry, had really helped him turn his life around. His time as a psych patient had been mentally and emotionally the most challenging months of Owen's life. He'd had to confront things he didn't want to confront about himself and about the things he'd been through. Even now, there were things he'd never told anyone, but he was working on ways to manage his hurt over past traumas and the daily anxieties that still plagued him. He was being medicated to help treat his PTSD and depression and was taking life one day at a time as he walked that long road back from rock bottom.

Things still weren't great, but Owen was learning how to conduct himself in a way that made people less likely to target him and how to assert himself when things were happening that he didn't want to happen. He was learning how to take control of his own life and not just wait for bad things to happen. Applying for a work programme to train as a personal trainer had been Dr West's idea. At first Owen had found the concept laughable, but, after he had spent a few months toning and training before making an application, he found that his body was just one part of himself that was capable of adapting. He started to enjoy the feel of growing physically stronger, and then, when he was

accepted onto the programme, it felt like a fitting victory to be on the other side of the reception desk in another town, not too far away from where it had all begun. He had better people around him now, or, at least, Owen expected better treatment and didn't waste his time on people who had nothing better to do than put him down. He was changing the way he thought about himself and the world and he smiled again when he thought of how his interaction with Vince that morning had proven to Owen once more that he was changing.

Chapter Ten It was quieter the next day at Brew and there were plenty of places to sit, but Vince noticed Owen sitting by the window in the corner and caught his attention with a friendly wave. Owen smiled back and gestured that the seat at his table was free. Vince came over with his coffee and sat down with an amicable grin. "Hey," Owen greeted, "how'd the first day go?" "Alright," Vince replied cautiously. "A couple of people were a bit off with me when I first walked in, but they seemed

to warm up as the day went on." "They can't blame the new guy for what management decides," Owen told him. "And did you enjoy it?" "Sure," Vince grinned widely. "They're working on an awesome game. A first-person shooter. Usually that's not my thing. I'm more RPG, but the graphics are top-notch on this one and the sound effects are just woah." He realized he was going on a bit about things that were probably going over Owen's head and stopped himself from rambling. "It went well." Owen chuckled at his enthusiasm. "It sounds like a good fit." "I hope so," Vince nodded eagerly. "Promotions can be hard to come by

when you're my age. There's just tonnes of competition. We're the computer generation! So many guys my age are qualified to do what I do. It can be hard to get ahead." "Good for you!" Owen praised sincerely. "You must be really good at that coding stuff. I don't know the first thing about it. I'm no good with that sort of thing." "Oh, it's not that hard," Vince told him. "Anybody can do it really. It looks a bit terrifying when you first see all that html come up, but it's just like learning a language, really. It's all about patterns and dimensions... Do you game?" The artist shook his head. "I've never given it a go," he said.

"Probably wise," the programmer laughed. His eyes were excitable as he spoke about his passion and he made lots of big hand gestures as he spoke as though his enthusiasm were impossible to contain. "Gaming is addictive. I've lost days on PC. I'm a PC gamer, see. I mean, I like the X-Box, and Playstation is OK, but you can't beat a PC. I like classic games, too. Nintendo is awesome. You know, Sonic the Hedgehog and all that. You know Sonic?" "The blue thing, yeah," Owen nodded. His companion had sort of gone off on a monologue about gaming, but Owen liked being able to sit back and listen to someone else talk. It made the effort to

repress his stammer easier. He'd been learning techniques to control it and the difference the counselling had made to his speech was night and day. Now, whenever Owen felt a stammer on his tongue, he would simply take an extra long pause and run some of his techniques through his mind before speaking. The most important thing was not to get flustered or feel that there was pressure to speak quickly. And, of course, there was always a well-timed pull on his elastic bands to divert his anxiety. Vince's enthusiasm was very cute. Owen appreciated people who found joy in life and Vince seemed to love his profession. Owen liked listening to him.

"...the final level was the hardest. I nearly lost my mind by the fifth attempt. I usually breeze through the bosses, but this was hard. Got to give the producers credit for not making it easy," Vince finished his latest spiel with a little embarrassed laugh, looked at his watch and realized he'd been talking for the last ten minutes solid. Owen was watching him with a small, amused smile on his face and Vince blushed. "Sorry, I've been going on, haven't I?" "Not at all," Owen said graciously. "It's nice that you've got something you're so interested in." "Do you feel that way about your art?" Vince asked with interest, trying to pay attention to Owen instead.

The artist thought about it for a moment and shook his head. "I enjoy it, but it's more a way to relax than a real passion. I get obsessed with the little details and getting it just right and I can just forget about everything else for hours because I'm so focused on what I'm drawing. It's nice to be able to get away in your head a bit sometimes." "Sure," Vince nodded eagerly. "I bet the girls love it, too. That brooding artist thing." His tactic was blatant and Vince was almost embarrassed at himself again when he realized what he'd said, but Owen just laughed again. "Maybe," he shrugged. Vince was bursting to know if Owen was straight or gay, but wasn't the sort of

guy to ask directly, so he tried desperately to think of another way to get the information. "Your girlfriend keeps the others away, huh?" he said at last. He tried to sound casual, but he knew he was being anything but subtle. "I'm gay," Owen told him with a light laugh. "I think my homosexuality keeps them away more than anything." Vince went red because he knew that Owen had picked up on his intent to find out if he was available, but it didn't stop him snooping a little more. "So, is there a guy then? A boyfriend?" Owen glanced up at him with laughing, playful eyes and shook his

head. A smile jumped onto Vince's face before he could stop it and he quickly made an effort to look less pleased at the news. Owen tried to hide his own smile when he caught Vince's expression. "I'm single, too," Vince offered. "I tried online dating, but all my profile pictures came out terrible. I couldn't get the lighting right. You know, pale skin and dark hair. I just looked like a vampire in every picture. I did that thing that those girls do, you know, where you hold the camera up in the air and take the photo from above? God, I looked anaemic. And then I realized that my poster of Final Fantasy 7 was on the wall and my Darth Vader head in the corner and I just gave up."

Owen laughed at his story and smiled at the image of Vince trying everything possible to get a good shot in a room filled with nerdy memorabilia. "I've never tried it," he confessed. "I get nervous around strangers and then there's my face -" he gestured to his scar "- and I reckon that someone would take one look at me and walk out the door again." "You don't seem nervous to me," Vince said honestly. "And the scar's not that bad." The artist laughed again. "I know it's bad," he replied. "It's OK. It used to bother me, but it doesn't anymore. It just doesn't help you out on the dating scene. I reckon people think I'm an axe-

murderer or a junkie. You see a guy with a massive scar on his face and you just don't think, ‘hmm, there goes a nice boy...’." Owen's grin was playful and Vince was stunned by his nonchalance. "I bet it's tough," he sympathised. "I've found it hard enough just being a walking ribcage, but I guess if you had -" he gestured at Owen's face himself and then his mouth fell open with the shock of what he was suggesting and he tried to backtrack "- I mean... not that you look... it's... Geez, I'm digging a hole for myself here, aren't I? What I'm saying is I know that people can be shallow. I think you look great, though. Honestly, really, just... attractive." Owen didn't think it was possible to

meet anyone who was capable of being more tongue-tied than he was, but even though Vince was choosing all the wrong words and getting himself worked up, Owen just thought he was adorable. The part of him that got anxious and overwhelmed around people just couldn't help but love a guy who kept putting his foot in his mouth. "I don't think you're too skinny," Owen replied in return. "I think you're... lean." "Lean?" Vince repeated with a loud laugh. "That's a nice way of putting it. You're lean, I'm emaciated. You know, I eat and eat and eat and just never gain weight." He shrugged. "I know I'd be more attractive if I put on a couple of stone, but man, I love getting away with

eating whatever I want. It's part of being a gamer. A chair, a control and a giant bag of crisps..." Owen was laughing again. It had been a long, long time since anyone had genuinely made him laugh. Owen was in the habit now of making the sound of laughter at the right times because it helped him fit in, but usually that's all it was: a sound. Something about Vince's self-conscious manner, though, or maybe it was his comically large glasses, or his enthusiastic chatter, or the way he just kept saying the wrong thing, really made Owen warm to him and want to smile. "Look," Vince said shyly, beginning to stumble over his words again as he did something he never, ever did, "I don't

usually do this, but I, erm... I think you're... I mean, I like chatting to you and I'd really like... if you wanted to... erm, I mean... geez... Can I take you out to dinner sometime?" Owen was taken aback for a second. He'd been enjoying the conversation with Vince and had, honestly, thought he was really cute, but that's as far as his mind had gone. Over the last year, he'd learned to never think further ahead than the next few hours, because the prospect of a whole life could be too overwhelming. He lived in the moment and that meant that he didn't think too much about whether a friendly conversation could turn into something more. All at once, Owen felt a panic rise

up within him. All he could think about was David taking a swing and it made a familiar, sickening anxiety wash over him. He reached for his elastic bands, shut his eyes and panged them a good few times. Vince watched his companion's persona shift and Owen reach for those elastic bands and immediately felt like he'd done the wrong thing. "I'm sorry," he said quickly. "That was too quick, wasn't it? Geez. I'm sorry. Trust me to screw it up... This is why I don't ask people out. I just... timing." The artist opened his eyes again and shook his head earnestly. "N-no," he said insistently. He paused, took a deep breath, and took control of

his stammer before it could set in. "You're great. I think you're great. I'm just getting over a bad break-up right now and I don't know if it's a good time to start something new. I think you're great though." "Hey, it's OK. That's cool. It's my fault. I rushed in," Vince apologised. He'd gone bright red and didn't know where to look. "Geez, I feel like an idiot now..." "No. It's me," Owen said guiltily. "I'm not used to getting asked out. I should have come out with something smooth and non-offensive, rather than freaking out. I'm sorry." "You're not used to it?" Vince asked with surprise. "People must ask you out

all the time." Owen simply shook his head. Vince looked at his watch again and thought it was as good a time as any to make his exit. He said goodbye to Owen and quickly left with his head down and cheeks flaming. His one attempt at making the first move and he'd been shot down... After he'd left, Owen struggled to calm down. He'd been left feeling shaken after the proposal. He'd managed to go almost twenty-four hours without thinking about how David had hurt him, but now his mind was racing over all of the cruel things David had ever said to him and that final blow... With memories of David came memories of Rich and

Mike and his night at the canal... Owen put a hand to his head and tried to block out the memories. His heart was fluttering in his chest as though he'd been running really fast. He tried to tell himself that this was a symptom of his PTSD and that he wasn't dying. After a few minutes of deep breathing and pressing his palm into his eyes, Owen was able to calm himself down enough to think about Vince instead. Vince seemed like a good guy. He was smart and funny and cute. He made Owen laugh. Owen knew that Vince thought he was attractive. Owen felt guilty that he'd shot Vince down. He could only imagine what it had taken for Vince to work up the nerve to put

himself out there when he was an anxious guy, like Owen. He must have really liked him... Owen cursed David inwardly for screwing up his ability to have a chance at happiness with someone else and then he felt defiant. He was supposed to be changing his life. He was supposed to be going after what he wanted and not letting life take good things away. Vince liked him. Vince made him laugh. Damn it, why shouldn't Owen go out with Vince? Owen stood up from his chair and flew out the cafe. He could see that Vince had just about reached that glass building. Owen caught up with him and stopped him with a hand on the shoulder. Vince turned round and grew red again

when he saw Owen standing there. He wondered if he'd left something at the table, but Owen wasn't here to return lost property. He took a second to catch his breath and began to speak. "I do want to go to dinner with you," he said firmly. "I'd like that. I'd really like that." Vince's face broke out into a huge grin at first, but then he felt a little cautious and looked down at the ground. "Do you mean it?" he asked hesitantly. "You don't just feel bad because I got so flustered?" "No," Owen told him with sincere eyes. "I was being a wimp. I got hurt by the last guy and I just freaked out, but I really like you and - fuck it - I don't want to miss out on a potential good thing just

because I'm a coward. Can I please take you out for dinner?" The programmer laughed and nodded. "Sure." Owen was proud of himself. He'd had to push a lot of fears to the back of his mind to chase after Vince. He felt like every step forwards in his life was another step through a minefield and he kept waiting for it to blow up in his face, but Owen didn't want life to pass him by. After everything he'd been through, he felt like he deserved to be happy, but he knew that happiness didn't just fall into your hands. You had to take risks. If Owen's life had taught him anything, it was that just letting life happen didn't bring happiness either, so he might as

well take the wheel and cause his own car crash. The two agreed to meet after work that day and once Owen was changed back into his street clothes after work, he headed over to that big glass building to wait for Vince to emerge. When Vince came out, it was with a big, shy, nervous grin on his face. He walked up to Owen with a big dorky wave and a nervous laugh. "You ready?" "Yeah." They began to walk towards the main part of town where all the restaurants were. Owen felt his shyness come over him all at once and didn't know what to say, so was grateful when Vince began telling him all about his day at work in a

long, continuous stream of chatter that lasted to the restaurant. Today Vince was wearing grey skinny jeans and a black Pac-Man T-shirt. Owen just thought he was incredibly cute and the way he nattered on made him smile. They got a table at the restaurant and sat down in a quiet booth. "Sorry," Vince said, after coming to the end of another incredibly long sentence and taking a deep breath, "I'm going on again. Tell me about your day." Owen shrugged casually. "It was a normal day." "What do you actually do at work?" "People who need a bit of motivation come in and I help them work out. I make sure they're not doing more than

they're capable of, but also make sure they're pushing themselves. I teach a few kids' swimming classes." "So you get to work with people a lot?" "Yeah. It's nice." "It's the only downside of programming," Vince said pensively, "you don't get to mix with the players. But, I suppose I've got a huge office full of other gamers, so it's still pretty social. They have gaming tournaments at the end of every quarter. I'm looking forward to that. Do you socialize with your colleagues?" "No, not really," Owen told him. "I mean, they're nice, but I'm not really all that boisterous or into that lad's talk. I

like my own company." Working in a gym again had been the most difficult issue for Owen to overcome after coming out of the psych ward. Every machine and process was a punch in his PTSD, but once the idea of being a personal trainer had been put into Owen's head, it had begun to feel to him like the only way that he could prove to himself that he could be a better man. He had desperately wanted to be on the other side of that reception desk so that he could look back and see how far he'd come. The problem was, it made his work a daily struggle. He'd put himself right back in the centre of the storm and for no reason other than to prove that he could handle it. At the end

of the day, all Owen wanted to do was get away. When the waitress handed them their menus, Owen felt himself grow flustered again. He looked at all the names of the dishes and the letters just squirmed around the page like worms. Every time he fixed his eye on a letter, it seemed to distort and become something else. He took a deep breath and told himself to calm down. When the waitress came, he invited Vince to order first and then simply said, "Hey, that sounds great. I'll have the same." He was relieved when the menus were taken away. Vince had ordered a giant burger and Owen laughed at him squishing the layers down to try and fit it in his mouth,

but he ate like he was starving. "People always assume I'm a vegetarian because I'm skinny and pale," Vince told him, "but I bloody love burgers. Hot dogs. Curry. Shepherd's pie... God, I just love food." Owen began to relax in his date's easy company and picked up his own burger. They continued to chat as they ate their meals and Owen couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so at ease in someone's company. Owen had thought that the expression ‘I felt like I'd known him forever’ was just a cheesy throwaway line, but he found with Vince that it felt true. "Where did you grow up?" Vince asked him with interest at one point.

"Laud's End." "Oh yeah!" Vince exclaimed in his over-enthused manner. "My Mum used to work up that way at the little doctor's office down there. She's a nurse, see. What do your parents do?" Owen faltered a moment and his smile dropped just for a second. This was another one of those in-the-future things that he hadn't thought about when he'd chased after Vince. Owen picked his smile back up and shrugged in a casual, laid-back manner. "I don't have them." The programmer's brow furrowed momentarily in confusion. "What do you mean? Oh gosh, I haven't put my foot in it again, have I? Are they... alive?"

Owen nodded. "Yeah, but I'm not in contact anymore. It's kind of a long story. Maybe another time." "Sure," Vince said respectfully. "Sorry to bring it up." The artist waved away his concerns with a brief gesture of his hand and quickly moved the conversation on. "So your Mum's a nurse, huh?" he said. "That's cool. What does your Dad do?" "He's a dentist," Vince replied carefully. He was looking intently at Owen to try and figure out if he was alright. His expression had faltered for just a moment when Vince had asked him about his parents and now he was pulling at those bands on his wrist in a quick, agitated rhythm. It was clear that

Vince had touched a nerve. He wondered if Owen was one of those guys who'd had trouble when he came out to his parents. He felt instantly sorry for him. His own parents were fantastic. He couldn't have asked for better. Owen just seemed very... alone. He decided not to make Owen feel any more uncomfortable by dwelling on the point and quickly began speaking in his usual, fast and happy narrative. "My parents met at a dentistry convention. Can you think of anything more boring? My Mum was a dental nurse for years, but got fed up looking at people's teeth and retrained to work as a general nurse. My Dad just loves teeth though. He makes me get a check-up every six months and

does whitening for free," Vince flashed him a toothy grin. "I've always had good teeth if nothing else." "Great teeth," Owen agreed with a laugh. "So how come you moved from Laud's End?" Vince asked him curiously. "Have you been here long?" "I just wanted a change of scene," Owen told him. "I was working as a receptionist at a gym in Laud's End and when I wanted to retrain, I just thought it would be a bit weird staying in the same place. I didn't think I'd fit in with the guys there. I'd been the receptionist for too long, so I thought I'd try somewhere new." "That's cool," Vince nodded eagerly.

"So, where are you living?" "Bell Street," Owen said. "Not the greatest part of town, I know, but the pay of a personal trainer isn't that great. I'm working towards getting a promotion at some time though, and then I might be able to afford to get a better place. I'm in a studio flat at the moment. I'd much rather an apartment. How about you?" "I got lucky," Vince said sympathetically, "I'm pretty well paid for what I do. I'm living in Aidle Peak, in the new apartment block up there. I could have commuted from Hentley Town, but decided I'd rather move out. I was living with my parents before I got this job and thought it was about time I got my own place. I'm twenty-three now.

How old are you?" "Twenty-one." "Oh, really?" Vince exclaimed with interest. "I just got the feeling that you were older. You've got that quiet, wise way about you, like you know what life's about. Geez, that sounds stupid, doesn't it? Makes you sound like some old man... Not that I think you act like some old man, of course. Geez, I suck at this, don't I?" Owen laughed at Vince getting his words muddled again and surprised himself by putting his hand on top of his to calm him down. "I think it's pretty cute." Vince smiled brightly at the gesture. "Phew, I'm glad you're out," he said with

relief. "I tried to date a guy in the closet once... nightmare." "Me too," Owen agreed. "It just can't work." "Was that your ex?" Vince prompted tentatively. "The bad break-up?" "Worst break-up," Owen replied, pulling a face. "Let's not talk about him! I want to hear more about your work." Vince obliged and delved into another long monologue about the ins and outs of game development and Owen felt relieved that the worst was over. Having to talk about himself and his past was something Owen still wasn't prepared to do. After all the counselling and the medication, he could just about get through life, as long as he tried his

hardest not to let his past follow him. The date was probably the best time Owen had had since before the episode on the bridge and he was relieved that his risk had paid off. This might not end in tears, after all. Owen walked Vince back to his apartment at the end of the date and they found themselves hanging around at the bottom of the building. Vince wanted to invite Owen up, but felt it might be too forward, so, instead, he reached out to hug Owen good night and Owen hugged him back. "I'm really glad you changed your mind about tonight," Vince told him sincerely. "I had a great time." "Me, too," Owen said honestly. "Let's

do it again." Vince gave him one final grin and disappeared into the apartment block. Owen walked down the road, waited a few moments and then called for a taxi because he didn't want to walk home alone at that time of night. He got back to his tired little studio apartment and fell down on his bed. He wanted to smile because it had been another pretty perfect day, but all he could think about was how the last perfect day had lead him halfway to insanity. He tried not to think about it and told himself that this was a new start and a different man. All the same, he found himself opening up his laptop and pulling up old photos of him and David from a digital file. The

sight of David's dark hair, manly smile and rough stubble made a sharp pain twist painfully in Owen's chest. Then he thought of Molly and how she must be worrying for him, but he didn't want to risk being found by daring to send her a message. He shut down his laptop and lay on his side on the bed in the middle of a room that was bedroom, kitchen and lounge and stared at the ceiling. He tried to think of Vince instead and the potential in their relationship. The thought of Vince's Clark Kent glasses and goofy grin made Owen smile. This was a new adventure.

Chapter Eleven Things were so different with Vince. Owen soon found that he was naturally a calm and gentle man with a mild temperament, an easy nature and a great sense of humour. It wasn't until Owen started dating Vince that he began to realize all the things that had been wrong in his relationship with David. Owen never felt intimidated by Vince or like he needed to tread carefully. He found it easy to be himself around Vince and to laugh often. Slowly, slowly, his heart began to heal, until Owen felt almost like he was ready to love again.

Owen remembered with fondness his first kiss with Vince. That night they had walked hand in hand through the fields on the other side of town until they had come to a great big tree standing alone in the centre of one meadow. It had been twilight and the walk had been a spontaneous journey after a quiet dinner date. The meal had ended and neither wanted to go their separate ways. It had been a warm, calm evening with a beautiful sunset and Vince had suggested that they take a little path into the fields to find somewhere to watch the sun go down. That's when they had found themselves standing at the base of that great, big oak tree. Vince had scrambled

up first like a little squirrel and then, his legs swinging from the lowest branch, he had leaned down to offer a hand to help Owen up. Owen had carefully climbed up after him and nervously edged along the branch until they were sitting side by side, looking out over the beautiful pink and purple horizon as the amber sun sank down behind the hills. Vince wrapped Owen's arm around himself and lay his head on Owen's shoulder. His crooked smile was utterly content and when Owen looked at him, he felt butterflies. He'd never felt the same dizzying attraction to Vince that he'd first felt when looking at David; never that stop-in-your-tracks kind of infatuation, but, over time, Vince's

relentless kindness and gentleness had created a bond between them that now made Owen feel amazed every time that he looked at him. It was the way that Vince made him feel that took his breath away. The bespectacled programmer lay like that for a long while, every now and then turning his gaze upwards to Owen to look at him in wonder and then, eventually, he had lifted his head and looked at Owen with great tenderness in his eyes and asked if he could kiss him. The way he had asked so shyly, with big, loving eyes and a nervous smile had made Owen feel so tender towards him, and he nodded. Vince timidly leaned in closer to Owen and gently placed a soft

and loving hand behind his ear and then Owen had leaned forward too and their lips had softly brushed against each other. It wasn't the passionate, comingout explosion of a kiss that Owen had shared with David the first time their lips had met, but it felt incredibly special to Owen. It was soft and sincere and told Owen all he needed to know about how Vince felt about him. It filled him up with a warmth and pure happiness that made him feel less broken and almost tearful from his relief that something - someone - could make him feel human again. Owen reached out a fond hand to gently brush back a strand of Vince's black hair which had fallen in front of

his glasses and smiled affectionately. "You're so different from anyone I've ever met before," he told him softly. "You're special, Vince." "You just make me happy, Owen." And that was as far as it went. They didn't fall into each other's arms that night or in any of the nights that followed in the consequent weeks, but let their affections grow steadily over time. Their passion flickered quietly beneath loving gazes and gentle shows of affection, but never reached that flaming intensity that had caused Owen to get burned before. It was a deep, patient sort of love. Vince noticed as time went on that Owen was also not like anyone he'd ever met before. The more time he spent with

the blue-eyed artist, the more he found that his ready smiles and happy laughs seemed always so much the same, like he'd rehearsed them. Owen was only different with him, when those laughs and smiles seemed sincere, but, the rest of the time, Vince sensed that he was faking those happy expressions and that confident, tough-skinned exterior. In their quiet moments together, Vince only had one word to describe Owen: vulnerable. Owen's fragility, to him, seemed as obvious as the moon. When you spent enough time with Owen, you began to see the moments when the facade faltered and you would catch that brief expression of sheer terror on his face just before he snapped his elastic

bands and began to smile again. Vince could tell that Owen had been hurt before, but he had no idea just how deeply his pain ran. Yet, Vince did not push for details when Owen told him something that he wasn't sure was completely true, nor did he question why there were so many anti-depressants and bottles of valium hidden away in his kitchen drawer. He pretended not to notice when a stammer tried to steal the start of his sentences or when that blank look came over Owen's face and he disappeared for a moment, like he was having a nightmare with open eyes. Instead, he chose to love Owen for all the good he saw in him and there was so much. Owen was the

gentlest creature that Vince had ever met. Every word and gesture was filled with softness and affection. He listened when Vince spoke as though his words amazed him and he looked at him with eyes that were so full of genuine and deep love that Vince was convinced he'd never find anyone to look at him that way again. In short, Owen made him feel like he was smart and handsome and funny and loved and Vince just felt home when he was with him. In the early days of their relationship, the rest didn't matter. Vince just wanted to feel that way forever. It was almost six months into their relationship when Vince felt like maybe they were ready to express their affections physically for the first time.

Owen was at his house and they'd passed the evening playing a video game together and then had watched a soppy, romantic film. They were both feeling affectionate and were in good moods and they'd found themselves sitting side by side on the sofa still chatting away even after the film had ended and the TV screen turned blank. When their conversation reached a natural pause for a moment, Vince filled it with a gentle kiss. Owen smiled. He loved the way Vince kissed him; so softly and with such sweetness, as though his lips were holy ground. He kissed him back and the moment became a little more passionate. Owen became so lost in the sensation that he didn't

even notice that they'd found themselves lying down as they continued to kiss each other lovingly. It was only when Vince's kiss strayed from his lips to his neck and one hand wandered to his waistband that Owen suddenly froze and that sickness returned. Flashbacks of forest floors and a pen knife swarmed into Owen's mind and he felt his chest grow tight with panic and revulsion. He pushed Vince away from him in a scared, overwhelmed motion, put his head in his hands and leaned forward on his knees, rocking slightly. His foot shook up and down on the ground restlessly as he tried to fight away the memories invading his broken mind and his eyes began to fill with frightened

tears. Vince pulled away at once, sat at Owen's side and put a hand on his shoulder with instant concern. "Hey, I'm sorry," he apologised quickly. "Was I going too fast? I'm sorry, Owen. It's OK. We don't have to do anything you're not ready to do." "I d-d... I d-didn't mean to l-lead you on," Owen stammered. He stopped speaking and took a few moments to pull himself together, biting down hard on his tongue to dissuade his stammer and trying to bring to mind the techniques that would send it away altogether. "You didn't lead me on, Owen. I assumed," Vince reassured him. "You didn't do anything wrong. Don't be upset. It's OK. I don't want to do anything you

don't want to do. Is it your first time?" Owen shook his head. Vince was confused. If Owen wasn't a virgin, he didn't know why he'd be so upset that Vince had initiated some intimacy. They had been together for quite some time now and he'd thought that their feelings ran deeply for each other. Still, he knew that there were things he didn't know about Owen and so he didn't want to make any assumptions. Instead, he simply wrapped an arm around Owen's shoulder, as his boyfriend, who always put on a brave face, tried to put on a brave face again. "Let's just cuddle up together instead, hey?" Vince suggested kindly. "I like cuddling, don't you? Seriously, Owen,

don't get upset. I can wait. There's no rush. We have all the time in the world. Being here with you is enough. It's enough for me. Please don't be upset." The tearful artist pressed his palms into his eyes until he'd forced back his tears and although he was filled with shame that Vince had seen him break down for the first time, he couldn't express how grateful he was that Vince had been kind. His sweet, caring boyfriend was staring at him with eyes that were round with concern behind those square frames and respectfully keeping his distance with just a comforting hand on his shoulder. He asked no questions and didn't get angry that Owen had stopped him in the middle

of a heated moment. All he cared about was knowing that Owen was OK. Owen loved him immensely for that. He reached out and held Vince's hand tightly. "I have a lot of problems," was all he could think to say. He looked up at Vince with helpless, pleading eyes. "I just don't want to talk about it yet. Is that OK?" "Of course, babe," Vince assured him, giving Owen's hand a comforting squeeze. "It's still early days. I know you'll talk to me when you're ready. There's still a lot I don't know about you, huh?" Owen was so afraid. Vince was perfect for him. For once in his life, Owen had a relationship with someone

that was completely free of violence. He had a partner who was kind, supportive and loving and not just because he was sorry, but the artist was convinced that if all his issues came to light, even the understanding and patient Vince would run a mile. Owen's baggage was the reason David had struggled to love him. In Owen's mind, Vince thought that he was strong and capable, because that's the man he presented himself to be. That's the man Vince had fallen for and Owen didn't want his vulnerabilities to show and trip him up now. He didn't want to undermine all they'd built up between them with self-pitying stories about Daddy issues and homophobic assaults. He just wanted Vince to love

him for who he was without letting him feel sorry for him. The problem was, all the violence and abuse had made Owen who he was, yet Vince only knew the man Owen pretended to be. He didn't reply to Vince's final question. He didn't want to invite any more questions with a poor answer or give a half-truth that drove Vince mad. He just wanted to pretend that his whole life had begun that day in the cafe when they had first met and that everything before had just been some horrible dream. The young man leaned forward to kiss Vince's forehead with tender appreciation for his understanding. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me," he said.

Vince was so completely confused, and curious and uncertain and concerned, but Owen clearly didn't want to talk about what had just happened or about anything else that night and so Vince said nothing more. He simply popped in another film, pulled Owen's arm around him, rested his head against his chest and listened with mute worry to just how fast Owen's heart was racing. All his questions would have to wait.

Chapter Twelve Owen's laughter stopped when he looked up at the clock and sighed. "I best get home," he said. "I need to get changed before my shift." Vince's face fell with disappointment. They had been enjoying a fun afternoon together playing board games and chattering away, but their time was always cut short when Owen had to leave to get changed, or pick up his stuff. For a while Vince had been wanting to ask Owen something, and he finally felt like the moment was right. He looked up at Owen as his

boyfriend picked himself up from the floor where they had been sitting crosslegged and playing Monopoly and thought about how to phrase his suggestion. Owen was such a nervous guy, especially when it came to taking big steps in their relationship. Vince desperately wanted to make greater commitments to Owen, but he didn't want to scare him away. He cleared his throat slightly and stood up to follow Owen to the doorway. He stopped him as he was pulling on his coat and tentatively began to speak about what had been on his mind. "I hate that you always have to rush away like this," Vince said with disappointment in his voice. "You know,

things would be much easier if you were here all the time." He caught sight of the expression of panic on Owen's face and quickly hastened to reason why. "I have this massive apartment all to myself while you're living in a part of town that makes me worry. We both work hard and don't get enough time together as it is and I hate that you always have to leave so quickly. Plus, we've been dating for nearly nine months and I think we're ready to take the next step. I just wish I could be with you all the time. What I'm trying to say, is that I'd just really... well, it would make me really happy if you were here with me. All the time. Like, I'd love it if you would think about moving in."

Although there was panic on his face, a small smile also began to flicker at Owen's lips and he looked down at the ground with that expression that always came over his face when he was battling with himself. It was so hard for Owen to think about taking steps with a new man when everything had gone so wrong the last time that he'd gotten close to someone before; the only time he'd gotten close to someone before. Owen knew that if things didn't work out with Vince, then he'd be the one left with nothing when it was time to walk away. He recalled that icy, sinking feeling that he'd carried in the core of him the day he'd picked up his backpack and walked away from David... On the other hand,

Owen only felt human when he was with Vince. Only Vince could draw real smiles from him or make him forget about all the bad stuff that he wanted to leave behind. The thought of a future without Vince felt to Owen like a life not worth living. Without Vince he was nothing and life would come crashing down anyway. He told himself once again: happiness doesn't come by letting life happen to you, you have to take control. It was a scary, scary thing, but Owen wanted Vince. He wanted him more than anything. So, he let that faltering smile on his face grow into a grin and he nodded. "I'd love that, too." Vince hadn't expected him to agree

and immediately his eyes lit up like a child on Christmas day and a huge, joyful grin took over his face. He giggled with happy exhilaration and rushed forward to throw his arms around Owen's neck in sheer joy. "I didn't think you'd say yes!" he exclaimed. "Gosh, Owen, this is gonna make us so happy. I'm so happy right now." "I'm happy, too." The programmer drew back and looked over Owen with soft eyes. Although the artist was smiling brightly, his gaze had still fallen to the floor and he was plucking at those elastic bands absent-mindedly. Vince could tell that he was in two minds about the decision, but

it was always so hard to know what Owen was thinking. He was generally a man of few words and Vince had learned that he had to push down his burning curiosity when he felt like Owen had something more to say, because the artist would never say it. Vince's eyes briefly followed the track of that deep, purple scar on Owen's face. How he'd gotten that scar was just one of the stories that Vince didn't quite believe. He really wished he knew what had really happened to Owen and how to help him learn to trust him. "I love you, Owen," Vince told him seriously, making a point to catch Owen's eye and hold his gaze. "You know that, right?"

Owen stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Vince once more. They were about the same height and so his cheek rested against Vince's when they embraced. He turned his head slightly as he hugged him and let his forehead rest against his partner's neck. The deep need and insecurity Vince could sense when Owen hugged him like that always made him feel afraid. He wanted Owen to feel safe and loved by him, but he always felt like Owen was just a little terrified, even though there was always a smile on his face and he never said a word to suggest that there was anything else on his mind. "I love you," Owen replied. "A lot. You're still the best thing that's ever

happened to me." "I'll pick up some boxes after work so we can start packing up your stuff," Vince said. "We'll start moving you in straight away... If that's what you want." Vince made a point to catch Owen's eye again and reached out to give his hand a comforting squeeze. "You know that it's alright to tell me if it's not what you want." Immediately, Owen's expression fell. "You don't think that, do you?" he asked helplessly. "I want to be with you more than anything. More than Level 12." Vince laughed. Level 12 was the level he was working on at his current project at work and every day he would tell Owen about how it was driving him

mad. He'd said a thousand times that he would die happy if he could just finish Level 12. He loved that Owen remembered that kind of stuff. "Alright," he smiled. "You just looked frightened for a minute there. You know I always want us to be on the same page. I don't want you to do something just because it's what I want. We have to decide things together." "I'm only scared I'm gonna screw it up," Owen said honestly. "Babe, you couldn't do that," Vince promised him. "You've only ever made me happy." That night Vince came around to help Owen pack up his things. Owen even seemed a little excited as he pottered

around putting things away, but Vince felt a little uneasy at some of the items he found lying around Owen's place, like too many empty bottles of valium and a sketchpad filled with hundreds of images of the same scary-looking bridge. Still, Vince asked no questions. He didn't want to frighten Owen away by making him feel self-conscious and so he simply packed up the bottles and the notepad and said nothing about either. The programmer watched Owen as he moved around his tiny studio flat and felt such a surge of love and affection for him that it was almost overpowering, but he also felt a very deep concern and uneasiness about all the things he still didn't know about him. Owen had told

him very little about his childhood or what he'd done as a teenager or in the years before he'd met Vince. Sometimes, it seemed like he'd just fallen out of the sky on the first day they'd met. Owen had no family and no friends. He was a man with no past. Yet, beneath the cheerful disposition and the friendly persona of the hard-working, muscular personal trainer lay a very deep vulnerability that Vince still didn't understand and he worried sometimes about just what he was getting himself into. He pushed the thoughts away every time they came, because he told himself that whoever Owen had been before they'd met didn't matter. They loved each other now and that was all that mattered.

Of course, Vince had tried to think of all the possible things that Owen could be hiding. Maybe he'd committed a crime. Maybe he had a violent ex-lover. Maybe he'd hung around once with a bad crowd. Maybe he hadn't been born a man... Vince had thought about all these things and wondered how he would deal with finding out that any of them were true. For the time being, he told himself not to worry about any of them, because all that mattered was how Owen made him feel. Owen made him feel wonderful. That night, with half of Owen's things packed in boxes and moved into Vince's apartment, Owen was prepared to stay at Vince's for the first time. Vince had even

offered to sleep on the couch, but Owen hadn't wanted that. The status of their sex life had played on his mind a lot since Vince had asked him to move in the day before. They'd not yet spent the night together in any capacity or done much more than kiss. Owen knew from experience the kind of pressure that lack of intimacy could put on a relationship and he felt guilty every day, but also amazed at Vince's patience and understanding. Never once did the guy make Owen feel like he owed him anything or should feel obliged. Vince always just seemed happy to have his company. Owen had been prepared to move in and continue to have an affectionate, but non-sexual relationship

with Vince until another, distant time when he felt he could face being touched again, but, when he saw Vince sitting cross-legged on his Star Wars bed sheets that night in comic-book pyjamas reading a comic and seeming completely satisfied, the way he felt about the man just hit him in the stomach all at once. His love for Vince didn't come from a deep-seated fear of being alone, or the conviction that nobody else would have him, or the feeling that he needed protecting or gratitude that someone would look at him twice. No, his love for Vince was based on all the things that Vince was: kind, considerate, gentle, funny, sweet, good-humoured, patient, loving, smart... Vince made Owen feel

complete in a way he thought he'd never be able to feel. Watching him sit there on the bed with a dorky smile and no expectations just made Owen want to love him completely. Slowly, Owen crawled onto the bed and crept up to Vince. He put a soft hand under Vince's chin and turned his face towards him. He leaned forward and pressed his lips against his softly and deeply. Vince's grip loosened on his comic and the magazine fell to the floor. The programmer very gently put a hand in Owen's hair and kissed him back. Owen didn't think about forest floors and pen knives, but about sitting side by side watching the sunset and playing video games and the way Vince's face lit up

every time he saw him. He thought about Vince's head resting on his chest and his cheerful laugh and the way he could talk forever. He thought about the way he felt when Vince entered a room; like everything was going to be alright. His hand lay pressed against Vince's skinny chest for a few moments and then slowly pulled his shirt off over his head. Owen could see how nervous Vince was now; self-conscious of his bony ribcage and pale skin, but Owen thought he was perfect. The artist pulled his own shirt off and Vince bit down on his lip when he saw the shadow of a six-pack etched into Owen's stomach and the perfect rise and fall of his muscular arms. He didn't

focus on the number of small scars that he could see scattered over Owen's body, but instead looked into his eyes and felt breathless to see how much love was held there for him. Owen reached for Vince's belt and the programmer gently lay a hand on his wrist to stop him. "You don't have to do this," he said firmly. "I don't care that we've moved in. You don't have to do this if you don't want to." "I want to," Owen replied, and was surprised to know that he meant it. He felt a warmth spread through him when he saw how that brought a loving smile to Vince's face and his own happy laugh escaped his lips as he pressed them

against Vince's again. This time it was right. This time it was special. Vince was patient and gentle every step of the way. He moved with Owen as if they were communicating without words and responded to each of his motions with gentle returns of love. When it was done, Owen lay with his head against Vince's skinny chest and felt the tears falling from his eyes. Vince felt the wetness on his skin and immediately sat up and turned to Owen with concern. "Are you alright?" he asked guiltily. "Is it not what you wanted?" Owen sat up too, shook his head and wiped at his eyes with his palms. "I'm crying because I'm happy," he said. He

sniffed a little and caught Vince's eyes. When Vince looked at him, he could see that it was true. "I didn't think I'd ever be able to..." Vince's arms were instantly around him, cradling him and making him feel safe. "I don't know what was making you so afraid, but I'm glad you feel safe now," Vince replied softly. "I just want you to be happy." "You're the best thing that ever happened to me." Every time that Owen said those words, Vince knew that they were true. To be Owen's everything felt like a huge honour, but also a daunting responsibility. He just didn't ever want

to let him down. The next few weeks were the best of their lives. To leave each morning from their shared bed and come home each night to each other felt like a privilege and a joy. Owen didn't know it was possible to feel so real. He had been numb for so many years, but Vince made him feel things he didn't know he could feel, like security and contentment. All of the terrible things of the past were seeming more and more distant and Owen began to let his pills stay in their bottles and use Vince's endless support and love as his medication. He could feel all the hurt and broken things inside of him beginning to take second place to all the good things that Vince was

bringing to him instead. It was getting easier to let the days pass without having to fight back tears at the memory of awful things. The things that Owen just wanted to forget, he was starting to leave behind. It felt incredible to not have to face those things anymore; for them to be put in a box and stored at the back of his mind. Owen was almost starting to be able to convince himself he wasn't broken, until one day he came home to find Vince waiting for him, seeming really upset and Owen didn't know why. The programmer was sitting on the arm of the sofa with tears falling from beneath those big lenses. He sniffled slightly as he cried and jumped when he

heard Owen enter. Owen had never seen Vince cry before and he instantly felt worried. What had happened? Who had hurt him? Was Vince leaving him? Had he screwed up already? "Vince, what's wrong?" Vince tried to wipe away his tears and make his voice steady, but he was heartbroken and kept sniffling. "Are you cheating on me?" he asked emotionally. Owen was blown away. He had no idea where this was coming from. He approached Vince uncertainly and leant against the table opposite him with his arms folded across his chest. His brow furrowed in confusion and concern and he shook his head. "Of course not. Why would you think

something like that?" The programmer continued to sniffle and wipe at his eyes. He'd known Owen was hiding things from him for a long time, but he'd never thought that he'd cheat on him, but the evidence was damning. "I went to meet you at work after your shift today," he explained. "I thought we could go see that movie tonight." Owen immediately felt his stomach sink and knew what was coming next. "Tracy said you don't work Wednesday afternoons. She said you'd never worked Wednesday afternoons. So, where have you been going every Wednesday since we met?" Owen didn't know whether to laugh or cry, but he moved to stand at Vince's

side and reassuringly pulled him into a hug. "I'm not cheating on you, silly," he said gently, "that's not what's going on. Did you really think I'd do something like that?" "I don't know!" Vince confessed in a husky, breaking voice. He threw his hands up in the air helplessly as he said a few of the things that had been on his mind for a while. "You keep all these secrets from me all the time." "What secrets?" "Like all that medication you find hiding places for and the way you throw all your mail straight out like you're expecting something terrible in the post and how you won't tell me anything about yourself... And now this. I've not

said a word about all the stuff you hide from me, Owen, but when you start lying to me, that's crossing a line." The guilty accused felt terrible. He hadn't known that Vince had been feeling that way and when he thought back over their relationship, he realized that he should have given Vince more credit. Of course the guy must have noticed all Owen's strange ways and all the things he didn't want to talk about. He was just too sweet to mention them. Owen felt a lump rise in his throat. He was going to have to admit to some things he didn't want to admit to. "I throw out my mail because I can't read," he explained in a quiet voice, "not because I'm on the run."

"What do you mean you can't read?" Vince replied. "I've seen you read tonnes of times." "You've seen me pretend to read tonnes of times," Owen replied. "I'm badly dyslexic. I can barely write my own name." "But you text me all the time." "Predictive text writes it for me," Owen confessed. "Usually I do it by voice. My phone reads them to me as well." He began to pluck nervously at those elastic bands. "Why wouldn't you tell me that?" Owen went red and shrugged uncomfortably. "I didn't want you to think I was stupid." "I don't think you're stupid," Vince

said. He wanted to stand up and give Owen a big hug to reassure him, but there were still other things to be explained that he needed to hear first. "And what about those Wednesday afternoons? Where have you been? Why were you lying to me?" Owen sighed deeply and ran his hands through his hair. He looked around the apartment helplessly and pulled at one of his elastic bands so hard it snapped and flew across the room. He stopped pulling at them and sighed again. He didn't know how to explain this part to Vince without having to explain everything else, too. "I go to therapy on Wednesdays," he whispered at last.

"What kind of therapy?" "You know, therapy. Counselling. Psychiatry. CBT. Help." "Help for what?" Vince asked with confusion. Suddenly, it clicked. "Are you addicted to valium?" Owen was so surprised at the suggestion that he laughed. "What? No. I'm not addicted to valium." "Did you kill somebody?" was his next guess. "No, I -" "Are you an alcoholic, or a sex addict or something?" "Jesus, Vince, please stop guessing," Owen pleaded with a half-laugh. He could see now just how much Vince had been worrying and questioning and

Owen felt both guilt that he had let his partner drive himself mad with unanswered questions and nervousness for all that he now had to explain. "I have PTSD." "Like soldiers get after war?" "Yeah." "Why? What happened?" "Too much stuff," Owen sighed. "Bad stuff. Bad stuff happened to me. I don't really want to talk about it." "That's it?" Vince asked with quiet exasperation. "You've been lying to me all this time and I'm meant to take your word for it now? Sometimes I feel like it's too easy for you to cut me off by saying ‘I don't want to talk about it’. I'm trying to build a life with you, Owen,

and there's still so much I don't know about you. I don't know how I can trust you when I find out stuff like this. You won't tell me about your past or your family. You don't tell me that you can't bloody read - that's a big deal, Owen and you don't want to tell me that you've been having a hard time, even though it's obvious to me that something's not right... When people love each other, they're meant to share these things. You know everything about me." Owen felt his eyes filling with tears. It felt like everything was falling apart. "Please don't leave me, Vince," he begged. "I'm n-n... I'm n-not lying to you." "That stammer!" Vince exclaimed.

"Do you think I haven't noticed that either, every time something gets too much? Why won't you talk to me about anything? Don't you trust me?" "I can't talk about it," Owen told him earnestly. "You don't know what it's like for me, just trying to hold it together." "Then tell me," Vince begged. "I want to know." "You don't want to know." "I do." "You wouldn't want me anymore." "Geez, Owen, why are you so hard on yourself?" Vince sighed heavily. "It makes it so hard for me. I'm trying to convince you that I love you and I feel like you don't believe me when I say it. And I'm trying to believe that you love

me, but you only want to share half your life with me. I don't know anything about you. Not really." "I know," Owen agreed. "I know. I know that." Owen moved to sit down beside Vince and put his head in his hands helplessly. "I'm not lying to you about the appointments. That's where I am every Wednesday. You could come with me if you want." "PTSD," Vince repeated. "Something really bad must have happened." Owen simply nodded and his eyes became vacant again as he stared into the distance and tried to swallow back his tears. "Is it about what really happened to your face?" Vince guessed. His voice

had become softer now, understanding once more. Owen nodded again. Vince sighed, but when he spoke again his voice was gentle and patient. "You know you can tell me." "You don't understand, Vince," Owen whispered helplessly. "The reason I don't tell you this stuff isn't because I don't trust you, it's because I don't trust me." "What do you mean?" "After everything happened, I couldn't cope," Owen confessed. "I tried to jump off an overpass. The road was shut down. Police, fire crew, ambulances... It made the local news." He sighed and shook his head despairingly. "I was sectioned for three months because I

couldn't cope. I wouldn't take the medication. I tried starving myself. It took a lot for me to start getting better. It's taken a lot for me to keep on the right track. When I start thinking about everything that happened, I feel like I want to be on that bridge again. I can't cope, Vince. It's not about you. It's about me and the fact that I just... I can't cope." Vince stared at him with wide eyes and knew it was the truth and more of the truth than Owen had ever given him. He nodded and decided that this was enough for now. He put his arm around Owen supportively. "I'm sorry I pushed it." "I'm sorry I lied." The programmer sighed heavily and

nodded again. "I get that there are things that you don't want to tell me about stuff that's happened in the past," he said understandingly, "but when we're trying to build our lives together, you have to be straight with me about the things that are happening now. You don't have to tell me about the stuff that happened before if you don't want to, but I really don't want you to block me out anymore because you're scared I might leave. I'm not going anywhere, Owen. When I say I love you, I mean that." "You love me because you think I'm strong," Owen said tearfully, "but I'm just some loser on the way back from losing his mind." "I can't even count the ways I love

you, Owen," Vince said meaningfully. "There's nothing you can do, nothing you can be, that's going to stop me loving you." "I just don't want to poison this," Owen told him truthfully. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me and the way I am just always ruins everything. People think they can handle my baggage, but they can't, and then they just drop me. I just don't want to take that risk with you, Vince, because you mean too much to me." There was a moment's pause and then Owen reached out to hug Vince and reassure himself that they were OK. "And don't ever think I'd cheat on you!" he added emotionally. "I would never

hurt you like that. You mean the world to me." "I know, Owen. I just got a little paranoid." "It's my fault. I need to be more honest with you," Owen acknowledged. "I just get scared sometimes that if you knew everything, you wouldn't want me anymore. I've met a lot of people who didn't want me and after a while that way of thinking sticks and it's really hard to believe that someone might stick around." "Who could not want you?" Vince asked him softly. "Don't you know you're the best thing that's ever happened to me, too?"

Chapter Thirteen The conversation broke the last barrier between them. After Owen was able to confess to Vince that he was struggling, Vince became his knight in shining armour. Every time that Owen thought something would be too much for him, Vince proved that he had an endless strength and could bear any weight even the weight of Owen's baggage. Owen didn't tell him everything, but the pressure to hide from his past and his weaknesses was no longer so great and Owen dared give Vince small insights into his real life.

"What are you doing for Christmas this year, Owen?" Vince asked him one day as he started to make his holiday plans. "Are you going to your parents? Oh geez, sorry. I forgot." "It's OK," Owen replied. "No, I'm not seeing them. You know, it's almost three years since I last saw them." "Really?" "Yeah. I thought about calling my Mum once, just to see if she was OK, but I decided that I didn't want to open that can of worms. I still think about her a lot. Not so much my Dad. I can't stand him. But I worry for my Mum." "Do they know where you are?" "No. They have no idea. I wouldn't want them to know. It's better this way."

"Are things really that bad between you?" "Worse. I should have left much, much sooner." "Do you ever miss them?" "God, no." Vince still didn't know why Owen was estranged from his parents. He'd always assumed it was because they'd had a problem with Owen's sexuality, but that was just his best guess. Owen never gave any details, just little clues like today, but Vince knew how hard it was for him to even let those crumbs go and appreciated his attempts, however small, to let him in. Another time they were talking about ex-boyfriends. "Jack was as dumb as a bag of rocks!"

Vince told him with a laugh. "Drop-dead gorgeous, but just thick as a plank. I stayed with him way too long because he was so good-looking, but I can't remember one conversation we ever had. Then there was Brent. American. He was too far the other way. Thought he was God's gift. I always felt stupid around him. The last one was Norman. He was OK, but in the closet. Things just got too difficult, trying to hide all the time. I thought we were both too old for that rubbish." "David was the same," Owen nodded. "He's my only ex. He only ever came out to his Mum, but the rest of the world thought he was straight. He was a sporty guy, into his rugby and all that. A lad's

lad. He liked drinking and cars and making dirty jokes. He dated a whole string of women before he met me. Nobody had a clue. It was bad enough when he practically wanted to walk on opposite sides of the street if we went anywhere together locally, but we worked together too. At first he was OK about it and we just acted like friends, but then he started to get paranoid that people were onto us and started treating me like rubbish to keep up his act." "He sounds like a jerk." "He wasn't at the start." "Did you love him?" "I thought I did at the time. Now I think I just needed him. I think he loved me, though. I miss his Mum more than

anything. She was really good to me." "In what way?" "She gave me a place to stay when I was in trouble." "What kind of trouble?" "I just had nowhere to go." Slowly, Vince was starting to paint a picture of Owen's past. The picture was incomplete and patchy, but it helped Vince to understand Owen just a little better and to love him more. It felt good to be trusted. Owen, too, couldn't believe the difference it made to have someone know who he really was. One day, when he walked out of his therapy session to find Vince waiting outside for him with a nervous smile and the suggestion that they go out for dinner, he

was so touched that he began to cry and rushed into Vince's arms to give him a grateful hug. "I'm so glad I have you," he told him earnestly. "You make me feel like things can get better." Their relationship went from strength to strength, even with all the things left unspoken. All Vince wanted from Owen was his trust and honesty and he felt he had those things, even if they both agreed to let the past stay in the past. He also had love and affection, someone to joke with and to tell about his day, a friend and a shoulder to cry on... Owen was his world. It was a Saturday morning when their quiet lives were interrupted by an

intruder one day. Owen and Vince were walking hand in hand down a long treelined path towards their favourite restaurant when Owen heard his name being called and turned around. He felt his heart skip a beat and his blood run cold when he saw who had spoken. David looked physically good, but his hazel eyes were lined with dark circles and he looked exhausted. There was a few days' of stubble on his cheek and he was wearing a pair of blue jeans and a rugby shirt which hugged his muscles. He was two years older now, but looked almost exactly the same apart from that weariness that had aged him. Right now he wore an incredulous look on his face which was torn between pure joy and

bitter anger. "It's you..." David breathed in disbelief. "I can't believe it's actually you." His eyes ran from Owen's hair down to his toes and back up again. "You look incredible. Where's your fringe gone? And your body... Jesus, you've been working out. Holy shit. Man, how are you?" "I'm good, David," Owen muttered quickly, "I've got to go though. Nice to see you. Bye." He grabbed Vince's hand more tightly and hastily turned on his heel to leave, but David's angry shouting made him stop once again. "Is that it?" David demanded furiously. "Seriously, Owen? You

disappear off the face of the earth without a word and go missing for two years and that's fucking it? ‘Nice to see you’?" He walked right up to Owen and squared up to him furiously. "My Mum was a wreck. I was a wreck. We looked for you for months. I still get in my car sometimes and drive around looking for you. We thought you were dead. My Mum filed a missing person's report. You didn't think to leave a note? You didn't think to call?" "I'm sorry, David," Owen said timidly. "I just wanted to get away." "Why?" David insisted. "I can't believe you did that to us. Was it over that stupid little argument? I know you've always been a scared little boy, but even

for you that was pretty pathetic." "Why?" Owen repeated incredulously. "You should know why, David. I wasn't going to stay after what you did." "I barely fucking touched you." "That's not the point." "Oh yeah, the point is that we all have to tread on eggshells around Owen because he's so fucking fragile," David spat. "You know, when I saw you just now, I was so happy. I've been waiting for you. I've been looking for you all this time to try and make things right, but look at you. You've already gone and found someone else. Who is this weedy little shit?" "Fuck off, David," Owen said sharply. He stepped protectively in front of

Vince. "I don't have to explain myself to you. It's been two years and I'm with someone else now." "Pfft!" David scoffed. "Seriously, Owen, this guy?" He craned his neck to look past Owen at Vince who was watching the scene with mute incredulity and surprise. "What, you had to pick the smallest guy you could find just to feel safe? Wanted someone who wouldn't hurt if he punched you? This guy couldn't break a twig..." "Fuck off!" Owen repeated, his voice rising in anger and upset. "I don't want to talk to you. I want you to leave us alone." He grabbed Vince's hand again and turned around to head home instead of the restaurant. David followed them,

keeping up his hateful monologue as he did so. "Stammer's gone, hey?" David shouted. "Finally stopped being a little pussy? What are you running from, huh? Seriously, after everything you did to us, you're just running off again? You're a coward, Owen. I can't believe that you won't give me the time of day after all I did for you. Do you think this guy is going to love you like I can? I bet he doesn't know the first thing about you. Look at you! This isn't you. You've gone and cut off your fringe and worked out a bit, hey? You think with that big scar on your face you look tough? You're lying to yourself, Owen. You're not tough. He can't love you. He doesn't know you. I

know you. I know what you've been through. Does this guy know about your dad? Does he know about the canal? Or are you just playing happy families and pretending that none of it ever happened? I was the only one who was there for you, Owen! I'm the only one who can love you." "You didn't love me!" Owen screamed back. "You used me. You just wanted to act out your gay little fantasies when no one was watching." "How fucking dare you," David hissed. "I was the one peeling you off our driveway when your Dad smashed your head in. I was the one dealing with your stupid fucking nightmares after you got your face fucked up. I was the only

one who ever loved you. Nobody else gave a shit." Owen just ignored him and pulled Vince after him into the elevator of the apartment building. They entered the flat and locked the door tightly shut behind them. Owen immediately burst into tears and fell on the floor to sob. Vince had seen Owen cry before, but never like this. He instantly knelt at his side and put his arms around his shoulders. Owen fell into his chest and sobbed hysterically. His chest hurt from the panic he felt and he was trembling like a leaf. All of those flashbacks that he worked so hard to hold back were spilling through his mind once again and the sound of David's hateful voice was ringing in his ears.

Vince picked him up and half-carried him to the bedroom. He tucked him in and sat by his side to stroke his hair until he'd cried himself to sleep. Afterwards, he went and sat in the living room with his own head in his hands. So... that was David. The programmer didn't like all the things he'd just heard. They made him feel sick and uneasy. Bad things had happened to Owen and Vince didn't like to think about it. Already, he hated this guy, this David, who had walked into their world just to turn Owen's life upside down. Owen was fragile and he was working hard to get better and this guy was just throwing him back down. Vince didn't know what had happened

between them, or why, but of all he knew of Owen, he couldn't believe that he'd deserved what had just happened. The next day, Vince was sitting up the kitchen counter drinking a coffee when Owen emerged from the bedroom, palefaced and red-eyed and laid a hand on his arm. "I want to talk to you," he said softly. They sat together on the sofa and Vince could see that Owen was gearing himself up to something big. He held his hand open for Owen to take and the artist gripped it tightly. He stared at the ground with big, frightened eyes, took a deep breath, and began to speak. "I'm gonna say some stuff and I don't want you to stop me or I'll never get it

out," Owen said quickly. "I'm sorry you had to meet David like that yesterday. He's got a lot of his own issues. I didn't like what he said yesterday, but it made me think about us and everything you don't know and I don't want people like David to win. I don't want all those people who hurt me to ruin what we have. When we first got back here yesterday, all I wanted to do was take every pill I had and go to sleep and never wake up so I didn't have to feel what I was feeling." Vince opened his mouth to tell Owen never to speak like that, but Owen told him to let him finish and carried on. "It's so easy to let all the bad stuff that happened take over my life. I've been trying for a long time to

just forget about it, but I know it's not going anywhere. I didn't want to bring it into our relationship, because when I was with David, he couldn't handle it and he turned on me in the end. I didn't want that to happen with us. I'm going to tell you some stuff now because I love you and I trust you and because what's happened is never going to go away. The next time a David shows up in our lives, I want us to be prepared. I want us to be strong. I don't want everything that happened to take this away from me. I love you, Vince. I just want you to know that." "I do know that," Vince said softly. He gripped Owen's hand tightly and caught his eye with loving concern. "You know

that I can take whatever you're going to tell me and that I'm going to be here for you no matter what," he said seriously, "but I don't want you to push yourself just because that guy showed up and started mouthing off. He doesn't control us. He doesn't know what he's talking about. I love you and I don't need you to tell me a load of stuff that hurts to prove that." "I know, Vince, that's why I trust you," Owen said. "You've made me feel so loved since I met you and I think I'm ready to share stuff with you now, and not for David. For me." "Then I'm listening." Owen nodded and took another deep breath. Although he'd spent all morning

working himself up to telling Vince everything, it still made his heart race now the moment was here. He still felt sick and small and scared. He gripped Vince's hand and forced himself to speak. "I grew up in a violent house," he said in a low, quiet voice. "My Dad had a head injury before I was born and it gave him a short fuse. He knocked me around for as long as I can remember. Punches, kicks, even a belt. He knocked my head against anything around... counters, walls, doors.... It was always bad, but when I got to about seventeen, it just started to get worse. By the time I was nineteen, I was scared to even breathe in my own house. Everything set

him off. I was working as a receptionist at the gym in Laud's End then. That's when I met David." "Things weren't going well for me," he continued, pausing to push back a stammer and to compose himself. "I had it bad at home. Things were bad at work too. Everyone hated me. I don't know why. Two guys in particular had it out for me - Mike and Rich." Owen shuddered even to say their names and felt a dry heave make his stomach cramp. The thought of them made him want to physically vomit. "They made fun of me, cornered me in the locker room to freak me out... that kind of thing. Anyway, David came along and just kind of saved me. He was nice to me. We

started dating. Things were good at first. Then, one day, my Dad saw us kissing on the doorstep and he lost it. I don't really remember what happened. I remember him putting a hand over my mouth to keep me quiet and then him throwing me on the floor. I remember looking up and seeing streetlamps through a car sun roof. I remember bits and pieces from the hospital. The next thing I know, the doctor is telling me that I have a skull fracture and three broken ribs. That's when David and his Mum took me in." Owen paused and took a deep breath, before carrying on telling his story. "Things were good at first, but then David started to get paranoid about hiding it and about people knowing. He

started to get nasty with me for no reason. One day I'd heard him calling me names with those guys from work and we had a row and I went out to clear my head. I went for a walk along the canal and those guys from work - Mike and Rich - they were out there drinking." This was when Owen had to stop as the panic overwhelmed him. He reached for his valium and took one to calm himself down. He was shaking so much that Vince put his arms around him. His partner was quiet, saying nothing, just letting Owen get it out. Owen felt tearful, but he forced his sobs back. He couldn't stop his voice from shaking, but he was determined to tell Vince everything. Everything.

"They took me into the woods..." Owen whispered. His voice began to get quieter as those images began to play out in his mind. He shut his eyes tightly and put his head in his hands as he forced out the words. He could feel Vince's hand rubbing his back, trying to comfort him. "They said I was.... they said I was a pervert. They said I was gagging for it." Owen stopped speaking again and had to desperately struggle to stop himself from breaking down again. He was shaking so much he could barely speak. "It's alright, Owen," Vince soothed understandingly, "only tell me what you can. We have all the time in the world. It doesn't have to be right now." "No, I need you to know," Owen

insisted. Tears began to escape from his eyes even though he didn't want them to. "Somebody needs to know what happened to me," he choked out. "Nobody knows what happened to me." "It's alright. I'm here. I've got you," Vince promised him. He felt afraid. His heart was pounding inside his chest as Owen confided in him the things he'd never told anyone else before. Vince knew that this was the thing. This was that one, really bad thing that had happened and he was afraid that he would get so upset to hear it that he would break down too, instead of being the support Owen needed. "It's alright." "Mike had a knife," Owen told him. "They made me get on my knees. They

made me... They told me to..." "It's alright. I'm here." "They made me open my mouth. Rich opened his trousers. They made me..." "Ssh. It's OK. I know." "Rich and then Mike with this knife to my throat," Owen whispered. "I didn't want to do it. They said I'd been asking for it. They said it was my fault." Owen couldn't hold it in any longer. His body began to heave with sobs and Vince couldn't hold him closely enough. "I'd never done that to anyone before," he sobbed. "I didn't want to do it. I didn't want to do it." Vince cradled him closely and tried to blink back his own tears. This was why Owen hadn't wanted things to go further

in the bedroom. He'd been hurt. "It's not your fault," he told him. "You didn't deserve it. It wasn't your fault. They were evil guys. They were bad people." "It just never ended," Owen wept. "I couldn't get away. They wouldn't let me go." "Ssh... It's OK.... It wasn't your fault..." "Afterwards I was just crying and on my knees and Mike picked up this branch and swung it at my head like a baseball..." "Oh my God..." Vince breathed. "I'm so sorry. Oh God." "I told everyone I didn't remember what happened. Even the police. Even

my therapist. Even David. Nobody knows that happened. Nobody knows what happened to me," Owen sobbed. "I know," Vince told him. "I know now and I still think you're the best thing that ever happened to me. I still love you. I'm always going to love you. It wasn't your fault." Owen felt exhausted from reliving it all again and cried into Vince's chest until he barely had energy left to breathe. Vince didn't let go of him for a second. He held him close to him with all the love and comfort he could give. He knew something bad had happened to Owen, but he'd never suspected that the truth would be so horrific. "You were so brave to tell me, Owen.

You're so brave. I think you're so brave." "I couldn't cope with what happened." "Nobody could." "It was too much pressure for David." "Fuck David." "He flipped out and hit me. That's why I left. I didn't want to be around violent people anymore. I just wanted to be safe." "You did the right thing. You're so, so brave." "Please don't leave me." "I'm not going to leave you. I'm never going to leave you."

Chapter Fourteen Owen and Vince spent Sunday curled up together in bed. Vince had been amazing since Owen had told him everything. For so long, Owen's shame and hurt had run so deeply that he'd been unable to tell a soul about everything he'd suffered. He'd always felt like he was to blame somehow, or that people would think he was weak. Instead, Vince had made him feel like he was a hero. "So, even after everything you'd been through with your Dad and with the attack; even though you had nobody else around and nowhere else to go, you still

somehow found the courage to leave him?" Vince asked him with breathless admiration. He shook his head in wonder. "You were so strong." "I didn't get very far," Owen reminded him self-consciously. "I tried to jump off a bridge, remember?" "You were dealing with untreated PTSD," Vince told him. "You weren't well. You needed help. Was it bad, in the psych ward?" Owen nodded. "At first. I didn't want to be there. They wanted me to take medication when I didn't think I was sick. All this bad stuff had happened to me and they were just trying to shove pills down my throat and I thought they were just trying to get me to shut up. It

took me a while to understand that I needed help to calm down enough to process things. Once I started to accept the help, I got a lot better, quickly." "That's amazing," Vince repeated. "I don't know many people who could take that many knocks and get back up again. When I think of you just out of hospital, with nowhere to go and nobody around with all that bad stuff following you and then think that you still managed to get a place, get a job and put a smile on your face... That takes some serious inner strength. You've overcome so much." "None of it would have happened if I'd been a stronger person to begin with," Owen said flatly. "David always said I invited it, that I acted like a

victim. He was right." "No, he's not," Vince flared. "That kind of thinking takes away the blame from the people who did wrong. There is no excuse for what any of them did." "I hate talking about it," Owen sighed. "It makes me feel like a pathetic little loser. It makes me feel ashamed." "You're a survivor, Owen," Vince replied firmly. "I don't know anybody else who could have been through what you've been through and come out the other side the way you have. I mean, you're still the nicest guy I know. You never let any of it make you into a bad person." "I just want to have a better life now," Owen told him. "I just want a normal,

happy life. No violence. No nastiness. Just a normal life." "It's going to be better than normal," Vince vowed. "Me and you are going to grow old together. We're going to see the world. We're going to watch every romcom made between now and when we die and we're going to watch a billion sunsets. We're going to get a dog - or a cat, if you want - and one day a proper house. Maybe we'll adopt, if you want kids. We'll get a place with a garden and grow something pretty. We will eat what we want to eat and laugh at our own stupid jokes and hold hands when everyone's watching. We're going to be really happy, you and me. I promise." "When you say it, I believe it," Owen

smiled. "Can we get a labrador?" "Sure." "A brown one." "Yes!" "And let's grow azaleas. Molly had the best azaleas. I helped her with them sometimes." "We'll have a whole bloody field of azaleas. The labrador will run around in them. Let's call it Pac-Man." "The dog?" "Or our first adoptive child." Owen laughed, turned over in bed and gave Vince a loving squeeze. "I didn't think I'd ever be able to tell you everything I told you and ever feel OK again," he confessed. "After the attack I didn't think I'd ever be able to be close

to a guy and feel safe. After David, I didn't think I'd ever be able to really be myself with someone and still feel loved. I never thought I'd be happy, but you make me so happy. In therapy, they try to get you to get through just one day at a time because thinking about having to get through a whole life can seem like too much, but I can't wait to spend a whole life with you." "Me too," Vince grinned. "I love you to pieces." Owen felt like the hugest weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He felt like the monster living on his back had been sent packing. He felt like everything was going to be alright. That Sunday was spent in a happy cocoon of

love and friendship with his soul mate. Owen was disappointed when he had to get up early the next day for work. He got up, threw on his kit and headed out the door. He took the elevator down to the bottom of the apartment building and was just about to walk to work when he spotted David waiting for him and he froze. "Owen!" David exclaimed breathlessly. He looked like he'd been there all night. His hair was a mess and his tired eyes even more exhausted. His expression was repentant and pleading with Owen for just a second of his time. David stepped forward and begged for Owen to hear him out. "I'm sorry for what happened on

Saturday," he said softly. "I just got overwhelmed, you know? I've been thinking about you all this time, worrying. I didn't know if you were alive or dead or where you'd gone or why. I missed you. Then, suddenly I see you there, completely out the blue and I just love you so fucking much, you know? I'd always dreamed that if we met again, we'd work it out and somehow get back together and be happy like we used to be. Then I saw you with that other guy and knew you'd moved on and it just hit me like a punch in the gut, you know? I didn't mean to shout or to bring up all that shit. I'm really sorry." Owen sighed impatiently, but then heard what David was saying. He had

disappeared without a word. For all the wrong David had done, there'd also been times where he loved him well and Owen had left without an explanation. He nodded forgivingly. "It's OK, David. I know it must have been a shock to see me again. It was a shock seeing you." "I can't get over how much you've changed," David said in an awed tone. "Your hair, your clothes, your voice... You look so good. You've changed. You're not so nervous now. That's good. You look good." "I've been getting help," Owen told him, "you know, professional help." "That's good," David repeated with an understanding nod. "You went through some shit back then. It's good you're

getting help. What are you doing with yourself these days?" "I'm a personal trainer now." "No way!" David exclaimed. "Are you kidding? That's great. I wouldn't have thought you'd be up for something like that, but just look at you. You've come along miles. Look, you know I wasn't hanging around here for small talk. I wanted to talk to you seriously. Whoever that guy is, he's not right for you. We had something really special. I've missed you like mad, Owen. I've thought about you every day. I've not been myself at all. Losing you has been the biggest mistake of my life. I'll do anything to get you back." "I'm sorry," Owen said softly, "but I'm

with Vince now. He's really good to me." "Vince, huh? He looks like a nerd. You don't want someone like that. How is he going to protect you?" David challenged. "I don't need protecting anymore, David," Owen replied quietly. "I've changed. I look after myself now. I don't hang around people who don't like me for who I am. I stand up for myself." "But you still need someone who knows what you've been through," David persisted. "You need me." "No, David, I don't," Owen said in a slightly apologetic tone. "Vince knows everything. I trust him." "So you reckon you're pretty in love

with this guy, huh?" "He makes me happy." "I used to make you happy," David insisted. "I could make you happy again. I would make you so happy, I swear." "Are you out now?" Owen asked pointedly. "Does your dad know you're gay? Do your friends know? Do your colleagues know?" "It's none of their business," David said sharply. Owen held up his hands in an exasperated gesture. "I don't think I'm the one that needs help anymore, David," he said. "I think you're the one who's got stuff to figure out. How can you expect anyone else to love you for who you are, when you don't love yourself?"

"Your therapist teach you that?" David asked scornfully. "Yes, actually." "We're meant to be together," David insisted. "Don't you remember how good we were? We were so happy." "Were we?" "Sure we were. Don't you remember the first time we kissed?" "Behind closed doors." "Well, what about all the good times we had at my house?" "Behind closed doors." "Why does that matter?" David asked him. "We liked each other." "Look, David, we had some good times sometimes," Owen agreed, "but we weren't perfect together. Our

relationship had a lot of cracks for a lot of reasons and I'm in a really good place now. I just want to leave the past in the past. I'm glad that we ran into each other and that you know now that I'm OK, and I'm sorry I didn't get in touch sooner, but there's nothing left to say now. I've moved on." "I'm going to get you back," David insisted. "I haven't moved on. There's been nobody else, before or since. You're the only one for me." "You're kidding yourself, David," Owen retorted. "Half the time I wasn't even sure you liked me. You called me names. You didn't like that I was shy. Face it, the only reason we ever ended up together was because I was the only

gay guy around who was willing to be your secret." "That's a fucking lie," David hissed. "You loved me. I know you did." He raised a hand to point threateningly up at the apartment where Vince was. "That guy," he spat, "is just your rebound. You're only with him because he's a skinny little fuck who can't hurt you." "The difference is, Vince would never try to hurt me in the first place," Owen replied patiently. "Are you still going on about that?" David said angrily. "I lost my temper. Once. It was a mistake. You know how bad I felt." "It was the first time you raised your fist," Owen agreed, "but there was a

pattern. Every time you were angry or overwhelmed, you took it out on me and that's not a good foundation for a relationship. Vince has got his life figured out. He doesn't need to take anything out on me. We don't argue. We don't insult each other. We're happy." "Vince is just Mr Fucking Perfect, huh?" David ranted. "You sound like some second-class psychologist spouting shit. You're just parroting your therapist, that's all. Deep down, you know what you want." "Don't tell me what I want, David!" Owen said furiously. "You don't know what I want." "You've manned up since you left," David commented. "Found your voice at

last. Don't you see that's good? We're on equal footing now. Think how good we'd be together now. It's great that you can stand up for yourself. You'll be able to put me in my place. Things won't be like they were, I swear." "It's not an option," Owen said firmly. "I'm happy with my life. We're not getting back together. I'm with Vince. I don't want to talk about it anymore. I'm going to work." Owen turned and started heading into town. He expected David to follow him, but, to his surprise, he turned and skulked away. Owen felt victorious even though his heart was pounding. Standing up to David was not an easy thing to do. When Owen looked at him, so many old

emotions came flooding back; emotions that made him feel weak and like he shouldn't speak out of turn. It was hard to be the new Owen with the old David around. In the days that followed, David kept showing up around the apartment block to stalk Owen and try and convince him that they should get back together. Owen tried to ignore him, convinced that eventually he'd give up and go away. When David figured out which apartment they were in, however, and began to hang out outside their door, Owen began to get uncomfortable. "He's freaking me out," he complained to Vince. "I think he's come undone. I don't know what he's going to do. I don't

know what else I can do, except tell him to leave me alone. I just want him to go away." "I'll tell him to get lost," Vince volunteered. "Don't, Vince." Vince waved away his concerns and stepped out the door. Just a moment later he stepped back in with a bloody nose. "He just punched me in the face!" he gasped disbelievingly. "Owen, I think it's time to call the police." Owen wanted to check Vince was OK, but for the first time in his life, he couldn't control his rage. It was one thing if somebody wanted to throw a punch at him or call him names, but when somebody hurt his sweet and

caring Vince, that was a step too far. Owen threw the door open and stormed up to David, squaring up to him as though he was ready for a fight and raising his voice as he warned him for the final time to leave them alone. "You fucking coward!" he yelled. He shoved David slightly and saw the shock register on David's face that scrawny little Owen had dared to use some force. "You've got a screw loose, you know that? You show up here, two fucking years after we break up and punch my boyfriend in the face? You think that makes me think of you as a man? It doesn't. I think you're a frightened little boy who's too scared to admit that he likes men and who lashes out at

everyone else because he knows he's lying to himself. The only reason you want me back is because you think I'm willing to be your dirty little secret all over again. It's not happening, David. I've tried to tell you nicely, but you don't seem to be hearing me, so I'll say it straight: I don't want you anymore. I don't love you. Hell, I'm not sure I even like you anymore. You're aggressive, you're violent and you'd rather pick on other people's insecurities to make them feel bad than accept that you've got your own issues. This is my home. This is my partner and you are not welcome here. Now will you just fuck off?" David shoved him back violently. "Don't you speak to me like that, you

scar-faced fuck," he growled. "You think you're tough? I remember you when you were too scared to look your Daddy in the eye when he had his hands around your throat. I remember you stuttering and stammering in a hospital bed telling me that you just didn't want to be afraid anymore. I remember you weeping and sniffling like a little girl when I went to work because you were scared to be alone. You don't scare me." "If I'm that pathetic, why do you even want to be with me, huh?" Owen retorted. "Is it because I'm the only one who'll have you?" "I should have let your Dad continue to kick the shit out of you," David scowled. "I don't know why I wasted my

time looking out for you. I should have let Mike and Rich fuck you up." That's when Owen saw red. He charged at David with his full might and slammed him into the corridor wall. He grabbed two fistfuls of his rugby shirt and kept him pinned there as years of pent up rage and emotion came flooding out. David was shocked when he realized how strong Owen had become and that he couldn't simply shake him off. He fell silent as Owen screamed at him. "They did fuck me up!" he shouted. "They did this to my fucking face. They made me do sick things to them in a forest with a knife to my throat. They have the nerve to call me a pervert?

Those guys you hang around with - the ones that you have a laugh and a joke with when you're calling me a desperate homo - they're the ones who dragged me into the woods, made me get down on my knees to do things to them and then hit me round the head with a fucking branch. They did this to me. And what did you do about it? Went right back to work and carried on having a laugh with your mates. You just wanted some ‘male company’, right? Why would I ever be with you, when day after day at work you chose to hang around with those sick fucks while you gave me the cold shoulder? Looking at you now makes me sick. Just get the fuck away from me and don't come back."

Owen didn't wait to see his reaction but turned and stormed back into the apartment, slamming the door behind him and breathing heavily. His hands were curled into fists at his side and he was shaking from fury, but all anger vanished when he looked up and saw Vince standing there with a bloodied nose looking frightened. Owen went over to him and gave him a reassuring hug. "I'm sorry you had to see that," he said softly. "That's not me. I've never lost control." "He had it coming." "Still, that's not me. I don't get mad like that. I'm sorry." "Don't apologize, Owen," Vince said

gently. "I know how hard it must have been for you to say that to him after all this time. I'm just sorry he's come back to stir everything up again." "Hopefully now he'll get the hint and leave us alone." Owen took hold of Vince's shoulders tenderly and steered him to the bathroom sink. He helped him wash away the blood and said sorry a thousand times. "It's not your fault, Owen," Vince said understandingly. "Your ex is a psycho." "He had his good days, too, once," Owen sighed. "He just never dealt with any of his own issues. He's more scared than I ever was, just hiding from everyone. Hiding from himself." "It's sad," Vince commented.

"It is." "Do you miss him at all?" Vince asked quietly. "It seems like you guys had something pretty intense once. He wants you back, that's for sure." "Me and David are finished, Vince," Owen told him firmly. "We were never good together. I mean, I owe him a lot, but I don't love him anymore." "What do you owe him?" "Even if he didn't always do it in the right way, David made me sort my life out," Owen explained, taking a deep breath and sitting on the edge of the bath as that old distant stare set in on his face. "At first it was just getting me away from that house. If he hadn't have convinced me to move in with him, I

would have gone out of hospital straight back to my parents' house and probably have been killed at some time or another." "Was it really that bad?" Vince asked softly. He knew that Owen's Dad had lost it once, but he couldn't imagine ever being so afraid of his parents that he felt like he couldn't go home again. Owen nodded and he sighed. "When I was a kid, I used to hide from him in my wardrobe upstairs. The sound of his footsteps was the worst sound in the world. I still get jumpy when I hear footsteps that sound like his. His violence wasn't planned. It wasn't sadistic. He just had this temper that he couldn't control. That's what made it so

scary, because you couldn't reason with him or figure out why it was happening. His logic was just warped. He just had a short fuse and when he exploded, it didn't matter if it was your fault or not, you just better get out his way. I never had a relationship with the man. I couldn't. I just had to keep my head down or else he'd flip out." Owen let Vince put his arm around him when his boyfriend joined him on the edge of the bath and he continued to simply think out loud. "I always thought I deserved it. Nobody seemed to notice, or they noticed and just didn't care. My Mum didn't stop him. All the kids at school were just waiting to take their own turns. You know, there was just nowhere safe

in the world. I think that's why I let things happen with David so fast. At the beginning it felt like he was the only person who could protect me. David was so ready to knock someone out for me. I took his anger for loyalty. I thought it was love. Until he started getting angry with me and I realized he wasn't trying to protect me, he was just mad." "He must have loved you, or he wouldn't be tracking you down now," Vince reasoned. Owen shrugged despairingly. "Maybe he did, in his own way. Maybe I loved him in my own way, too, but it was so long ago and at such a bad time in my life. I never, ever want to go back there. David got me away from my Dad, and I

owe him for that, and then he looked after me after I was attacked, and I owe him for that, too. I would have killed myself long before I tried to jump off that bridge if David hadn't been there." "He sent you to that bridge in the end though," Vince said bitterly. "I was always heading there," Owen sighed. "I needed to make changes in myself. I needed to believe that I deserved better. David helped me figure that out, too. I don't love him, but I owe him a lot." "You owe him nothing, Owen," Vince said. "He should have loved you better." "I was a wreck back then," Owen said. "I'm not saying the way he used to flip out on me was right, but out of all

the people who treated me like shit in my life, the times David got mad are the only ones I can really understand. I put a lot of pressure on him at a time when he was already up against it. He was lying to himself and everyone else and he was just an angry guy. I just added fuel to that fire, you know?" "What will we do if he comes back?" Vince asked anxiously. "We're going to have to get some help, Owen. I don't want a fist fight with that guy. We'll have to call the police." Owen could only think about what David being arrested would do to Molly and he pulled a face. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that," he said. He turned to Vince and pulled him closely into his

arms, savouring the feeling of his slight frame against him and so grateful that he'd come so far since David and found someone who loved him so well. Vince responded and closed his arms around Owen's neck and the two were close for a while, just finding shelter from the storm in each other's arms.

Chapter Fifteen When a pounding at the door was heard in the early hours of the morning, Vince and Owen turned to each other in bed with worried eyes and drew closer together, looking towards the door uncertainly. "It's him," Vince predicted. "It's that psycho. Let's just call the cops, Owen." "He's probably drunk," Owen guessed. "Let me talk to him." "I'm not letting you go out there!" Vince exclaimed. "Not after what he did to me. No, we should call the police." Owen sat up and laid a calming hand

on Vince's leg atop the bedsheet. "I can't do that to him," he said. "I just can't." "You've got to let go of this hold he has over you, Owen," Vince insisted. He sat up straighter and rubbed his eyes as the pounding at the door continued. "Jesus, you better do something though or he's going to wake up the whole building." "I'm going to try and calm him down," Owen told him. "If he tries anything, we'll call the police. I promise." Owen went to stand, but Vince grabbed his arm and held him back. Owen looked over his shoulder and saw that Vince's eyes were wide and frightened in the darkness. "He could have a knife," he said

fearfully. "Listen to him knocking like that... This isn't a cheerful visit, Owen. He could hurt you." "He's not going to hurt me," Owen promised him quietly. "He's probably just upset over what I told him earlier and has gone out and got himself smashed. He'll cry a bit, tell me he loves me and then wander off. I'll just tell him I'm calling his Mum and he'll go away." "Owen, I'm scared," Vince confessed. "I don't like that guy." The artist simply squeezed Vince's shoulder reassuringly. "It'll be fine," he repeated. "I'll just tell him to go away." Tears began to swell up in Vince's eyes and his voice begin to catch with worry as he held Owen back again. "I've

got this feeling like something bad is going to happen," he said. "Please don't go to the door." "It's just David," Owen said. "It's OK, Vince. You stay here. Get ready to call the police. I'm sure it's nothing, though." Owen got out of bed and crept across the apartment to the front door. He pulled it open and on the other side was David, shaking like a leaf, crying and covered in blood. He was holding up his hands in front of him in terror and they were shaking uncontrollably. His knuckles were bruised and smeared with blood. There were specks of blood all over his polo shirt and on the back of his arms and he was sobbing uncontrollably. "I couldn't let him get away with it..."

he wept. "I couldn't let that fucker get away with it..." "Jesus Christ!" Vince appeared behind Owen at the doorway and let out the horrified exclamation to see David standing there in that state. He tried to pull Owen away from the door, but Owen was already ushering David in and looking around to see if anyone had spotted him. He shut the door behind them and lead David to the sofa and sat him down. "Don't let him in here!" Vince hissed. "He's a psychopath!" "What happened, David?" Owen demanded. He ignored Vince's restless pacing and fearful eyes and knelt down in front of his ex-boyfriend, looking up

into his eyes and placing a reassuring hand on his knee. "David? Tell me what you've done." "I was on shift with Rich," David told him. His voice was coming in fitful, frightened sobs. He wiped at his tears with the back of his hand and swept more blood across his face. "I pretended everything was fine, but at the end of the night I told him to come out for a drink with me. We picked up a six-pack and started walking by the canal. I stopped at the point I'd found you and made him go into the woods..." "Oh shit... oh shit..." Vince muttered uncontrollably. He couldn't believe that Owen wasn't reacting with more terror, but his boyfriend stayed kneeling there

with his bright blue eyes fixed on David and his expression serious. "Get it out, David," he insisted. "I told him I knew what he'd done. I could see from his face that he knew what I was talking about. The fucker tried to get away, but I got him. I started hitting him and hitting him and then I just couldn't stop... He needed to pay for what he did." David collapsed into greater sobs and buried his face in his hands. Owen let out a long, low breath, stood up and began pacing with his hands in his hair. "Fuck, David, fuck..." he muttered. "Why couldn't you just leave it alone?" "Leave it alone?" David retorted. "I made him tell me himself what he did. I

heard it from his own mouth. He deserved it." "Did you take him to a hospital?" Owen demanded. David shook his head. "He didn't take you to a hospital." "For Christ's sake, David!" Owen snapped. "Do you know what kind of trouble you could be in? How bad did you beat him up?" The assailant shrugged numbly. "He wasn't moving when I left..." "Perfect," Vince muttered hysterically. "He's killed him! Owen, you just let a fucking murderer into our home!" "I don't think he's dead," David whispered. "Just in a bad way. Jesus. I'm going to prison. I'm going down for this.

Shit. What will my Mum say?" David looked up at Owen with desperate, pleading eyes that were filled with tears and regret. "I just wanted to make things right," he whispered. Owen paced for a while longer with his head in his hands, but then a determined look crossed his features and Owen went and got changed into his clothes and then headed for the front door. "Where are you going?" Vince demanded, catching up with him and grabbing his arm. "I'm going to sort this out," Owen replied. "Sort this out how?" "Look at him, Vince..." Owen said

softly, nodding over his shoulder to where David was weeping and shaking on the sofa. "He's not a criminal. He just needs help." "No, Owen. No," Vince said seriously. "He's violent. He's always been violent. I don't know if the way you were brought up makes you see him differently somehow, but I'm telling you that he doesn't need help, he needs a jail sentence. Call the cops, Owen. Don't get involved." Owen's own eyes began to grow tearful and he looked down at the ground. "That guy deserves it, Vince..." he said emotionally. "I hope David did kill him. He deserves a lot worse, but, if he's alive, then I know how I can fix this.

I'll make this go away and we'll just call it even." "What do you mean?" Vince insisted. "Just come with me," Owen said. "You want me to leave that psycho in our home?" "Please, Vince," Owen begged. "I need you." "I don't want to get involved," Vince balked. "This could be a murder case and you're making yourself an accomplice. Are you really going to get yourself in trouble for this guy?" "Look what they did to me, Vince!" Owen exclaimed tearfully, pointing hopelessly to his scarred, disfigured face. "How is it fair that David goes to jail and that guy goes free? He's no

victim. David lost his temper. He lost control. Mike and Rich knew what they were doing. They made it go on and on and they enjoyed it. He -" Owen pointed at David, "- is not going down for what those evils fucks did. He did it for me." "You never asked him to," Vince said in a softer voice. "But I should've known what would happen if I told him," Owen replied guiltily. His tears rolled down his cheeks and dripped onto the living room floor. "This is my fault. I should have known better. I should have just kept my fucking mouth shut." Vince looked back over his shoulder hesitantly at David and then back to Owen. Owen could see the cogs of his

mind working and then, at last, his skinny little boyfriend swore to himself and also got changed. "I'm coming with you," he said. "...Whatever you're doing." "David, I'm sorting this out," Owen called back to the bloodied man crying in his lounge. "Stay here and for fuck's sake, don't do anything else. Just wait for me here." Vince and Owen left the building and headed to Vince's car. Vince took the wheel and Owen told him to take them to the hospital. "What?" Vince asked incredulously. "You're not going to confront him, are you?" "He's not going to be in any position

to start a fight." "Owen, you're getting in too deep. This has nothing to do with you." "It has everything to do with me. This is my fault." "It's not," Vince said gently, desperately. "It's not your fault, babe. Think about us and our lives. We can just walk away. Let's walk away, Owen. Please." Owen shook his head and wiped at his tears. He felt like he was at breaking point and like he had to do this or never fully recover. He could get rid of David and face his demons all in one act. He just wanted everything to go away for good. "I am thinking of us," Owen said. "I'm

thinking that I don't want this to follow me anymore. I want to move on. I want to face that cowardly bastard and tell him how things are." "We could lose everything," Vince warned him. "Is this really what you want?" "I'm sorry, Vince," Owen said. "I know this scares you. I shouldn't have asked you to come. It's OK. Go stay with your parents until this blows over. I'll call you." Vince let out a derisive snort and turned the key in the ignition. "I didn't say I was leaving," he said. "I just wanted to make sure you were sure. You've worked too hard to get here to let everything fall apart."

There was a moment's silence and Owen lay his hand on top of Vince's on the gearstick and looked over at him with fearful, thankful eyes. "Nobody's ever loved me like you do," he said softly. "I don't want you to come with me if you're afraid." "I am afraid," Vince confessed, "but if I don't come with you, you're going to do it anyway and on your own, and I know you need me. Let's just go and do what we have to do so we can get on with the rest of our lives. Just promise me, Owen, please promise me, that this is the last we hear of that guy. I won't do anything like this again." "I promise, Vince." "Fine."

Vince began to drive and took them to the hospital. Once inside the familiar, bleached interior, Owen headed for the reception desk and asked if a man matching Rich's description had been brought in. He didn't know whether to feel relieved or terrified when he was directed to a room on the ward. Owen and Vince approached the area and stood just outside the doors of the ward to gather themselves. "Are you sure you want to do this?" Vince asked Owen one final time. "You don't have to." "I do," Owen said. "For me as much as David. I need to put this behind me." The programmer sighed heavily, but gripped Owen's hand in a simple,

decisive gesture of support. The two entered the ward and found Rich at a bed by the window. He was in a bad way. His face was a swollen mess with one eye completely swollen shut. One wrist was in a cast and he had bruises around his neck from where David had tried to strangle him. He was awake though, and aware of where he was. Rich caught sight of Owen and Owen could see the panic register in his expression and he looked around in terror to see if David was nearby. Owen calmly came near his bedside and drew the curtain shut around them. Vince stood to one side, ready to jump in if he was needed, but also knowing that this was not his battle. "David's not with me," Owen said

coldly. "I didn't ask him to do this." "You can't be in here..." Rich gabbled. He was backing up against the pillow as though he were trying to disappear through the wall behind him. His cowardice made Owen's expression turn into a snarl. "Shut up," he said sharply. He took a menacing step closer to Rich's bedside and took a threatening hold of his hospital gown. "Have you spoken to the police yet?" "I don't have to tell you shit." Owen's grip tightened around Rich's shoulder and he shoved him viciously back against the bedframe, making Rich yelp out against the pain in several fractured ribs.

"No!" he whimpered. "I haven't spoken to the police." "Good," Owen replied in a voice that was cold and deadly. He gathered up a second fistful of Rich's gown and kept him pinned down against the mattress. He looked that evil, sick pervert right in the eye and spoke to him in short, lethal words. He could feel Rich trembling beneath his grasp. "That's the way it's going to stay," Owen hissed. "You know why? Because three years ago when you and your sick little friend took me into the woods and left me with my face split open and dirt on my knees, I told everyone that I didn't know who did it. When the police took DNA from inside my mouth, I told them that I had no idea

who had attacked me. Strangers, I said. Now, I'm not the weak little stammering kid that you knew back then. No. I will stand up in court and I will point my finger straight at you and tell the whole world what you did. The only reason I haven't been back to the police to tell them who did it is because I want to move on, but I'm telling you now, Rich, if you tell the police who did this to you, then I'll tell them who did this to me and I have the DNA to fucking prove it. You forget and I'll forget. That's the deal. Break it and I will send every cop your way and make sure you're put away for a damn long time. Do you understand me?" Rich didn't reply. He was quaking and quivering under Owen's hands and

weighing up his options. Owen gave him another vicious shake. "You think what David did was bad?" he taunted. "You know what they do to sex offenders in prison? What you did to me will seem like a joke." The broken man grew pale and his jaw began to tremble. He nodded in frightened agreement and Owen slammed him against the bed again. "I want to hear you say it." "I'll... I'll forget," Rich murmured. "I don't know who did it. I can't remember. He was a stranger. I don't know." "Good," Owen said. He released his grip on Rich and stepped back, but he kept his sharp, deadly gaze on him. "Tell Mike the same thing, yeah? If either of

you go to the police about this, I'm going to bring the pair of you down." With that, Owen signalled to Vince that they should leave and the pair headed back towards the car. Once they were inside, Owen broke down and began to cry into his knees, shaking and rocking and falling to pieces. Vince leaned over to him and wrapped an arm around him. "Jesus, Owen. That was brave," he mumbled. "Was there really DNA?" Owen shook his head numbly and then his mouth formed a weak, but victorious smile. "Did you see his face though? He believed it. He knows what he did." "You know that you just lost any real chance of getting those guys put away,

right?" Vince warned him in a soft voice. "You just let go of your chance for justice to give David a get out of jail free card." "I owe him nothing now," Owen replied. "And I can tell myself that I looked Rich right in the eye and made him tremble like a little girl." Owen let out a long, emotional breath and leaned his head back against the headrest. "I'm not the same guy anymore. I beat them. I beat every fucking one of them." Vince didn't know what to say to that. He didn't know if he should encourage Owen to celebrate more violence in his life, but he was glad that this final event might help him to close the door on some of the worst times of his life. Perhaps

now, he could really move on. They arrived back and Owen went straight to David, who had stopped crying now, but who was still shaking in his place. Owen put a hand on his back to calm him down and spoke to him in brisk, matter-of-fact words. "It's sorted, David," he said briefly. "Go home, get showered and don't talk about it to anyone again. I'd leave that gym if I were you too. Keep your head down for a while and it'll all blow over." "What did you do?" David asked fearfully. "Did you finish him off?" "Jesus, David, no!" Owen exclaimed. "I'm not like that. I told him that I had DNA evidence against him and that I'd

forget who attacked me, if he forgot who attacked him. Quid pro quo. It's over now." "You did that for me?" David asked disbelievingly. "It's a second chance, David," Owen said meaningfully. "I want you to get yourself sorted now. I want you to get help. You need to sort out your anger issues and you need to come to terms with the fact that you like men." That empty expression returned to David's face and he nodded numbly. "I will," he promised. He stood up to leave and Owen called for him to stop. He ran into his bedroom and came out with a hooded jumper, which he pressed into David's hands.

"Best hide up some of that blood, yeah?" David looked down at the jumper and recognized it as the one that had gone missing with Owen all that time ago. It made him smile a bitter, sad smile. He looked up at Owen and began to get tearful again. "I don't know how I got like this," he confessed in a broken voice. "I don't think I can cope anymore." Owen grasped his shoulder in encouragement and compassion. "I know that feeling," he said gently, "but you can get past it. You just need help. Trust me, I know." He walked David out of the door and shut the door on him, on Rich and on that

chapter of his life. He then turned and caught sight of Vince and the two fell into an emotional, terrified embrace. "Thank you, Vince," Owen said in a voice that couldn't express well enough all of his love and gratitude in that moment. "It's all over now."

Chapter Sixteen Three months after David had shown up covered in blood, Owen was spending a quiet evening in alone while Vince was having his quarterly game tournament at work. He was sitting curled up on the sofa watching some television when a knock at the door made him jump and he furrowed his brow in confusion. He wondered if it was maybe the neighbour asking about arranging that gym session again. Owen pulled himself up and opened the door. He felt a tug at his heartstrings and a wave of loving emotion pour over him

when he saw Molly standing there. Her brown hair was pulled up into a ponytail and she was wearing her favourite pastel pink top and denim jeans. She looked nervous to be there, but, when she set her eyes on Owen, they instantly became full of love and she threw herself across the threshold to wrap her arms around his neck. "Oh sweetheart, I've missed you," she told him, wiping tears from her eyes and drawing back. "Is it OK to come in?" "Of course," Owen told her. "Vince is out. Come on in." "Vince, huh?" Molly said with that familiar gentle teasing in her voice. "Is that this new guy you're with?" Owen lowered his head shyly, but

Molly lifted his chin with her hand and smiled to let him know that there were no hard feelings. "Don't look so guilty, love," she said warmly. "You and David didn't work out. It's not a crime." "I'm sorry I never called," Owen said quickly. "I know I should have called..." Molly held up a hand to stop his apologies and looked at him with that understanding gleam in her eye. "David's told me everything," she said. "Everything about what happened between you two when you lived with us and everything that's happened since. Everything." She said the last word with extra emphasis and gave Owen a knowing stare. "I needed to thank you for

what you did for my son." With a humble shake of his head, Owen told her there was no need. "David helped me out of a bad situation once," he told her. "I owed him this." "No," Molly said emotionally. "What you did took courage and sacrifice. You put David first and probably saved his life. He's been in a bad way ever since you first left." Owen quickly made some tea and invited Molly to sit with him on the sofa. He leaned forward intently to listen to her speak. Molly took her coat off and smoothed down her hair, casting Owen another tender smile as though she couldn't believe he was really there. "He loved you," she continued. "He

really loved you. I know it was rocky at times, but that was always true. When you left he fell to pieces. He felt so guilty. I only just found out about him hitting you. He never told me that before. All I saw was my son falling apart. He cried all the time, lost his temper... He just wasn't happy. When he found you again, he started to obsess. It was scary. I knew how much he loved you, but this was something more. He'd been so unhappy without you that I think he'd built up what you had into this huge, monumental romance that it never quite was. David had been lying to himself for years and when you left he began lying to himself again. He even started dating that blonde girl from the gym for a while

- God knows why. You were the only true thing he ever had and when he lost you, I think it took its toll." "I didn't mean to do that," Owen whispered. Molly reached out and touched his face with a gentle, motherly hand. "Oh no, pet, don't be sorry," she said softly. "You had to go, I understand that. After all you'd been through, you couldn't have stayed around David. He had too many problems of his own. I'm just so sorry he came back to put you in the position he did. You know, he told me all about what happened with those boys from the gym that night at the canal." The host cleared his throat and looked away uncomfortably. Molly laid a hand

on his wrist and her own eyes filled with tears. Her voice even broke a little with emotion as she spoke. "Sweetheart, why didn't you tell me?" she asked tearfully. "I would have been there for you. You didn't need to go through that alone." "I couldn't tell you," Owen said softly. "It was just too hard to deal with. I felt ashamed." Molly wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, composed herself slightly and carried on. "I know that he went out there to get his revenge and put that boy in hospital. I know he deserved what happened to him, but David could have got into serious trouble for what he'd done. You saved him from that. I can't

thank you enough." "It's alright, Molly," Owen said softly. "I thought he deserved a second chance. David was never a bad guy. He was just struggling to deal with who he was. I've always known that." "He came home to me that night, when he put that boy in hospital, broke down and told me everything," Molly confessed. "He said he hated himself. He said he couldn't cope. He said he wanted help." "He was in a bad way," Owen agreed. "What happened to him?" "He's seeing somebody now," Molly told him. "He's taking some time off work to deal with his issues. He's thinking about retraining as a PE

Teacher. He said he doesn't want to be around tough guys anymore." That made a half-smile appear on Owen's face and he shook his head with a small laugh. "It took all this for him to change, huh?" "He was in self-destruct mode for a long time," Molly sighed. "He was going off the rails. I was worried I was losing him. He's much better now. He's making progress and figuring out what he wants from life. He came out to his Dad." Owen's mouth fell open in shock and he quickly shut it back up again. "Wow, he's really taking steps then, isn't he? That's great. Was his Dad OK about it?" "Surprised, I think," Molly chuckled, "but he loves David. He took him out on

a big fishing trip a few weeks later. I think it was his way of saying that nothing had changed. That meant a lot to David. He calmed down a lot when he realized his Dad still wanted him. I think he'd been afraid that would change." "I'm glad," Owen said sincerely. "He needed to accept himself." "What about your parents?" Molly pressed gently. "Have you seen them at all?" Owen shook his head. "I've closed that door," he told her. "My parents, Laud's End, the gym, the hospital... I've left that all behind now. I'm really happy." "Tell me about this new guy," Molly asked him. A big, encouraging smile

came to her face and Owen could tell that she was genuinely happy that he was doing well. "Vince is great," Owen told her. "He loves me. I love him. We're building our lives together. He wants to adopt." Owen laughed happily at the thought of Vince with all those brochures. "I told him I wanted to wait a few years yet, but who knows? Maybe in time we'll get there. I'd like to have a family of my own." "You're looking happy," Molly commented. "You look healthy. Well. Just look at how you've grown! You were such a scrawny little thing when I first met you. Always so shaken and with that frightened stammer... You wouldn't

know I was sitting with the same guy. I'm so proud of you, Owen." Owen bowed his head humbly and took hold of Molly hand. He looked up at her with love in his eyes. "I really missed you," he confessed. "I always thought of you as my real Mum. I was heartbroken when I left. I missed our chats and drinking tea and watching the TV. All that stupid stuff." "Oh honey, I've missed you too," Molly said. "I know David's never going to find another one quite like you. You were the best thing that ever happened to him." "No," Owen replied, shaking his head. "I was the first thing to ever happen to him. One day he's going to meet a guy

who's perfect for him at a time when he's got his life sorted out and is OK with who he is. He'll be happy then." "I sure hope so," Molly said. She took a long breath and then asked him, "So, what happened these last few years? Tell me everything." Owen and Molly passed the rest of the night in tea and conversation just like old times. Owen told her all about the bridge and his time in a mental hospital and Molly told him all about David's treatment and her editing. There were tears and laughter and a lot of love between them. At the end of the night, Owen said goodbye with a long, warm hug and tears in his eyes. "Will I see you again?" he asked her.

"I'm going to let you live your life," Molly told him tenderly. "You've got such good things ahead of you now and you don't need a ghost from the past making you think of hard times. No, I'm going to look after David now. God knows he needs me. But I'll always be around if you need me, Owen. Always. You're family." It was hard to let Molly go again, but Owen knew it was the right thing to do. At last all things were laid to rest and as they should be. He and Vince were on the right path to building a happy, loving future together and David was on the way to learning to love himself a bit better. It had been a long, hard road all the way back from rock bottom, but, as

Owen shut the door behind that ghost of the past, he felt like he'd truly made it. -- THE END --