The Things We Hide at Home

by Nem Rowan

  His head turned with the impact, his whole body twisting to the side, blood spurting from his mouth and nostrils and landing on my shoulder as I passed him, letting him spin and fall with a thump. I knew he wouldn’t get back up, not for a while, or maybe not ever, especially with that injury. I grabbed the heavy hammer that had fallen with him, even as the sword clattered across the floor, no longer a threat.

  Still, I ran, as fast as my wounded knee would allow me. I had no idea where I was running or how I was going to get away, but I couldn’t stop; I let my feet carry me as far from him as I could get. There had to be a door to the outside somewhere.

  After throwing open numerous closed doors and finding only more rooms, I skidded to a halt in a broad living room, the flash of red and blue lights causing blinking stripes to slip across the walls around me.

  He’d done it. David had called the police.

  I ran to the window and tore down the Venetian blind with the bloody hammer’s claws, gazing onto the vast lawn that stretched out in front of the house and the black figures of police officers as they stalked up the central path. Several vehicles were parked on the driveway.

  “I’m in here! Help!” I cried, slamming the hammer into the window, but it bounced off the double-glazed pane. I remembered in my panicked haze that hitting the centre of the window wouldn’t work, so I aimed for the corner of the window and had to shield myself as it exploded into a rain of tiny, twinkling shards. After making my way, bare-footed, through the glass, I began clambering over the windowsill.

  “Drop your weapon,” one of the officers shouted and I allowed the hammer to fall to the grass at my feet as I raised my hands above my head.

  “My name’s Tristen Fleetwood!” I shouted back. “I was abducted!”

  * * * *

  They escorted me down to the front of the property to the waiting ambulance that had pulled up during the walk across the lawn, and an officer stayed at my side as the paramedics saw to my injuries. The police had gone into the house and were searching for Dean with dogs and flashlights in hand. I knew he wouldn’t be able to escape, even if he was still alive and managed to get to his feet again.

  Now that I was safe, I became acutely aware of all the bruises and pains in my body, from where the knife had sunk into my knee, to a sword wound on my shoulder, to the black eye he’d given me when he’d slapped my face. After I’d been temporarily patched up, I sat on the gurney in the ambulance, wrapped in a silver heat-sheet and given a mug of tea while the medic told me I was going to be taken to the hospital in a few minutes so they could check that I didn’t have any slivers of glass trapped in my skin.

  That’s when I heard another car approaching up the tree-lined road, now in total darkness aside from the flashing lights from the idling ambulance and the police vehicles. Curiously, I peered outside, discovering a white Skoda taxi cab had stopped just behind, the passenger door opening and a figure climbing out. But the taxi’s headlights nearly blinded me, preventing me from seeing who had arrived. When the taxi reversed, taking away the light beams that had forced me to squint, my eyes adjusted, and the person who had exited the cab seemed lost for a moment, then turned towards the ambulance.

  “David?” I called, rising to my feet, but my injured knee caused enough pain that I almost dropped onto the gurney again.

  “Tenny!” he cried as he ran to me. His expression became one of horror when he saw the state I was in, and he didn’t give me a chance to step out to meet him, struggling clumsily into the ambulance instead. I gasped as he wrapped me in his arms.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” I whimpered, burying my face in the shoulder of his hooded jumper as I clutched handfuls of it in my fists. He was so warm and soft, still dressed in his pyjamas from where he’d escaped the hospital to come and find me. I clung to him, forgetting my aches and wounds; my whole world sharpened down to a point with him at the very end of it, making everything else disappear.

  “I was so scared…so scared I would lose my best friend,” he sobbed into crook of my neck.

  “Thank you so much for calling me when you did,” I sniffled as the tears freed themselves from my eyes and soaked into his jumper. “Your timing was perfect. It’s as if you knew I was in trouble.”

  “I-I had this feeling that you needed me,” he replied, pausing only to remove his spectacles so they wouldn’t be crushed in our embrace.

  “I did. I really did need you.” I managed a muffled chuckle, despite the tears trickling down my cheeks. “But how did you know where to find me?”

  “That stupid app on your phone…you didn’t turn off your location.”

  “Oh, right. Lucky I didn’t uninstall it.” I smirked, then wheezed a little as he suddenly squeezed me tighter. Somehow, the pain he caused me was pleasurable. The firmness of his grip on me made me feel protected, held in the embrace of someone who cared.

  “Let me be with you always so I can protect you,” he urged, his voice still thick with despair even though he knew for sure I had been rescued. “Let me be by your side always to keep you safe.”

  “Yes.” I felt so weak all of a sudden. He allowed me to slide onto the gurney, my whole body drained of energy, and I gazed up at him adoringly as he bent to my level.

  “I know I’m not much, but—” he began.

  “No, that’s not true. You are much. You’re plenty enough for me.”

  He smiled sadly as I caressed his stubbled jaw with my fingertips. “Me and Snaffle will look after you from now on.”

  He didn’t sound cautious. He didn’t apologise or ask for permission. It was the first time in our relationship that he had ever sounded certain, that he’d ever sounded confident in what he was saying. He looked right into my eyes and we smiled at each other.

  “Come here.” I opened my arms again and he leaned into me, my arms enveloping him as his enveloped me just as the paramedics returned

  The sound of police dogs and officers talking in the distance stretched out into the quiet of the night. The navy sky was dusted with sooty clouds and the moon was a sliver. I held David tightly and knew I’d never let go.

  Epilogue

  “I like this one.”

  “Oh, it’s very pretty,” he agreed. His fascinated face was reflected in the glass counter beside my own. I smiled at him adoringly, enjoying his curiosity, like a child peering into the window of a toy shop.

  “Are you going to pick one sometime today?” I teased, glancing at the dark-haired woman who stood on the other side of the counter with her hands clasped upon the front of her apron. She smiled at me amusedly.

  Rows of delicately constructed sweet treats separated us, clusters of brightly coloured tartlets and other miniature desserts made from layers of cream, jelly, and chocolate. Pastries decorated with ground nuts, cinnamon, chocolate curls, and poppy seeds took the forms of curled fish, trumpets, and unicorn horns.

  “I’m sorry, there’s just too much to choose from,” David apologised, suddenly seeming very embarrassed that he was taking so long even after the young lady had gone through explaining to him what every single piece of patisserie was and then she’d even talked to him about their flavours and how they were made.

  “Why don’t you go and sit outside with Snaffle and I’ll choose for you?” I suggested with a cheeky grin.

  “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” he agreed sheepishly as he straightened once and looked at the lady. “I’m so sorry for asking so many questions.”

  “Not at all.” She shook her head and smiled.

  He pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose, and after shuffling shyly, he scuttled out into the bright summer sunshine.

  “So, what would you like?” she inquired as she took two clean plates from a stack under the counter and selected a pair of stainless steel tongs.

  “Now it’s my turn to struggle,” I confessed with an apologetic laugh.

  Outside the patisserie, people were strolling by on the city centre. The fountains were
pumping out jets of water and hysterical children ran amongst them in their swimming costumes while mothers breastfed their tiny babies and fathers went to buy ice creams. Old folks, keeping warm despite the sun in their anoraks and fleece jumpers, shuffled along arm and arm, some with savoury pancakes from the crepe stand and others carrying shopping bags from the summer sales. Groups of teenagers playing music on their phones wandered along, chatting loudly and taunting each other. The traffic was steady but not thick. It was a lovely day.

  I sat at the little table outside the café where David lounged in a chair, Snaffle draped across his lap with her eyes half-closing in pleasure as he stroked her ears. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt with a turtle neck, which, combined with his glasses, made him look surprisingly suave, and the knowledge that under the neck of this shirt he wore my collar excited me to no end.

  I had been taking good care of him, ensuring he regularly got his hair cut and his beard trimmed and forcing him to go to the dentist when he got a toothache instead of hiding away and ignoring it like he used to. We went shopping together and helped each other pick out nice clothes; I encouraged him to tell me what he’d like me to wear, because he was too shy to tell me outright. Within the last couple of months, Willy and I had even persuaded him into the gym, but he had hated it so much that we had come to the mutual agreement that the three of us would go to Vanessa’s house and work out there instead, which Willy seemed to like very much as he usually bench-pressed on his own at home.

  David’s figure had changed dramatically; he looked healthy and had a rosy glow in his cheeks that matched the bright twinkle in his handsome eyes. His anxiety and shyness hadn’t gone away, and he still had bad days where he would hide in bed with the curtains closed, too drained of energy to face the world. I knew it was going to take years before he had healed completely, but I was determined to be there for him.

  I had moved out of my old home just before Christmas. Yolonda had come to meet me to chat about her other properties, and with David accompanying us, we had visited a few of them until we finally decided on a small two-bedroom ground-floor apartment in the area where Vanessa lived. It was perfectly sized for both of us, had a large garden where Snaffle could spend time outdoors, and was in walking distance of my new job.

  A month after the incident with Dean, I had taken up Vanessa’s offer and started working alongside her, which David adapted to right away and even seemed proud of me. The money was slim, but I had fun.

  And getting David to leave his hoard took weeks of coaxing, comforting, and persuasion. Clearing out his house had been the greatest challenge of all and was still an ongoing project, but we had managed to whittle down the mass of junk into a slightly smaller mountain, now being kept in a storage unit. His council house had been cleaned from top to bottom and was occupied by new tenants. During that time, though, I also saw a side of him that I never knew existed: his anger. How he reverted to behaving like a child when I asked him to consider the value of a stack of twenty-year-old magazines that were disintegrating. He lost his temper and shouted at me until he finally burst into tears. I was ever patient with him, though. I knew how much pain he held inside him, and along with the counselling sessions he had begun attending—after I had visited the doctor with him—he began to improve, bit by bit. Medication and mindfulness eased his depression, and six months on since the start of our relationship, he was a different person. Still damaged, but the largest cracks had already been sealed with good things, just like Kintsugi, the Japanese art of repairing shattered pottery with gold. I was able to see all of his wounds but we had embraced them together and were able to appreciate his uniqueness. That glittery feeling of love I had felt in the beginning swelled and bloomed into something even more intense.

  I, too, had my own injuries from which to heal. The abduction had left me with nightmares, moments of terror when I was left on my own in the dark. David stayed with me as soon as night fell and he made me feel safe, holding me when I broke down and encouraging me when I lost enthusiasm. I couldn’t very well tell David he had to see a counsellor without leading by example, so I, too, went for therapy to help overcome the flashbacks and trauma I had experienced. The scars on my knee and shoulder reminded me every day that I had escaped, that I had survived. Things were easier now in some ways, and harder in others, but I was happy. Very happy.

  “Here you are, sirs.” The kind lady placed our tray on the table between us. “Can I get you anything else?”

  “No, thanks,” I replied cheerily before she turned and went into the shop.

  “I thought you said you were only going to buy one each,” David said as he surveyed the selection of beautifully shaped pastries and tarts. Snaffle perked up at the sight of food and she ogled them with her tongue lolling out, obviously hoping that her two fathers might take pity on her and let her try some.

  “I know, but I found it really hard to choose,” I confessed guiltily as I took the lid off the teapot and stirred the contents with the long-handled spoon.

  “That’s okay. I found it hard to choose, too.” He beamed at me as he watched me pour him a cup of steaming hot tea.

  “Well, it’s just as well other things in life aren’t so difficult to choose from,” I remarked, setting down the pot after I had filled my own cup. “I didn’t find it hard to choose you.”

  David’s cheeks coloured at the sound of my words. “I didn’t find it hard to choose you, either.”

  THE END

  ABOUT NEM ROWAN

  Nem Rowan comes from the UK, but lives in Sweden with his wife and their girlfriend. He loves reading non-fiction and is fascinated by true crime and unsolved mysteries, especially missing persons cases and serial killers. Nem is also well-read in mythology and folk tales, particularly British and European folklore. He is a huge fan of horror movies and retrowave music.

  Nem started writing when he was eleven years old and since then, he’s never looked back. Romance has always been his favourite genre after inheriting a box of Mills & Boon novels from his grandma, but being a horror fan, there is always some way for him to work in a bit of that to make sure things don’t get too mushy.

  For more information, visit nemrowan.com.

  ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC

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