by TT Kove
I was on the sofa, the telly on low sound, and only halfway through my toast when Damian came out of our bedroom. He gave me a sort of half-wave before disappearing into the bathroom.
I nibbled some more on my toast and switched channels. It was too early to find anything worth watching.
Now he was up though, I could go pick up my laptop, which I’d forgotten to take with me when I left the bedroom earlier.
The telly was off and the laptop open when Damian emerged freshly showered and groomed from the bathroom.
‘Morning.’ He sat down beside me and leant over to kiss my cheek.
My lips instantly tipped up into a smile.
‘Good morning.’ I leant into him, resting my head against his. ‘Do you have another long day ahead?’ He always had nowadays.
‘Actually, no.’
I blinked at him in surprise.
He smiled wryly.
‘Today’s the last written exam. It’s only three hours. Then next week is the Exam Board, and then three weeks holiday.’ He stretched, sighing. ‘I need three weeks of holiday now.’
‘You’re over halfway now. In your medical degree anyway. Two years to go.’ I was so proud of him. He did so well in school, top grades even in medical school. Whereas I hadn’t even attempted more studies after I finished my A-levels. I’d applied for uni, but… Vincent and I had agreed it hadn’t been right for me. I’d barely been able to finish my A-levels after all. Uni was even harder, more stress, and it would thoroughly mess me up.
So for now… I was on benefits. I wasn’t stable enough to work even if I wanted to. My good periods were good, but the bad ones… they were hard, they lasted longer, and usually landed my arse in a hospital somewhere. The stress, the expectations… it was too much. I couldn’t handle it. And if I couldn’t handle school, then what could I handle?
‘What’re your plans for the day?’
‘Lunch with Mum. Other than that…’ I shrugged. When did I ever have plans, besides lunches with Mum and therapy? Both single and group therapy. I was mostly quite busy, come to think of it. It was certainly more than enough for me to deal with.
And hanging out with friends, that took time and energy as well. Everyone either worked or studied though, except Chad. We were the two mental cases living on benefits because we were too ill to function normally.
He nudged me as he put it around my shoulders.
‘When I get home later today, we can do something special together. Go out for dinner, or order in. Just you and me.’
‘What about Silver and Kian?’ Surely they would be home too.
‘Silver said something about dinner with Vincent yesterday.’
Right, Vincent. Silver’s brother and my psychologist. The world had some funny coincidences sometimes.
‘That sounds nice.’ Spending some good quality time with him, just the two of us, was a wonderful thing. I lived for those moments, every moment with him—it was the only part of my life that made any sense.
My gaze fell on the curtains, still drawn over the windows. Had there really been someone out there last night? It seemed a bit silly now, in the morning, in daylight. But my feelings weren’t something I could control. I knew they were unstable, I knew paranoia could be a side-effect, so I probably had imagined it.
I hoped.
It was a crisp spring morning outside, but dark, heavy skies in the distance promised there’d be rain eventually. Not that that was unusual—we lived in London, after all.
The streets of Soho stretched out in every direction, and I took the one leading to Harriet’s Café. For three years now, ever since I’d met Damian, it had been our usual place for lunch.
It was also where Mum had met Harriet—a wiser choice in partner than Andrew had ever been. She was sweet, kind, and obviously adored Mum. She’d never use her just so she could get to mum’s kid—me—to abuse and do with as she wished. That was all Andrew, that sick tosser.
But I didn’t want to think about him. My mind went to really dark places when it came to him.
I gripped both my forearms, but I couldn’t actually feel the scars outside both my jumper. They were there though, all over my arms, covering the skin that had once been smooth.
Once…
I couldn’t actually remember a time when they had been. Likely I’d repressed it, along with a lot of other stuff that had happened to me. Maybe stuff that was worse than what I did remember, and what I could remember was horrible enough on its own.
But no thinking of Andrew!
If I fell into the darkness of what he had done, how he had ruined me, it would be a struggle to get myself back up. A struggle that mostly ended in the use of a razor. And I’d been harm-free for three months now—ever since I got out of my last hospitalisation. I wanted to keep it that way. I really did.
It didn’t take me long to arrive at Harriet’s, and the bell jingled as I pushed the door open.
Mum was already there, sitting at a table with Harriet, the two of them bent close in a whispered conversation. They didn’t look particularly happy.
I hoped everything was okay between them. Mum had been happier the last three years, ever since I brought her to the Café for the very first time so she could meet Damian. If it hadn’t been for me, she never would’ve met Harriet.
The tingling of the bell drew Harriet’s attention, as she was sitting facing the door, clearly paying attention to her customers. And, I reckoned anyway, she was working. She smiled slightly, but it was tight, and she rose and walked away before I even reached the table.
A ball of dread settled deep in my gut.
‘What’s that all about?’ I stared after her. ‘I don’t mind her joining us. I never have.’ If Harriet had a slow lunch hour, she always joined us for lunch. However, lunch tended to be the busiest time in the Café—except not today. There were only a few other people in the room, besides us.
Did they have problems, Mum and Harriet? Just the thought made my blood run cold. Mum had been so happy ever since they’d got together…
‘I know, Joshua.’ Mum looked up at me and her expression was grim. It made me even more worried that something really was wrong. ‘I asked her to leave us alone. I need to talk to you.’
I frowned as I sat down on the chair opposite her.
‘What’s the matter? Is something wrong between you two? Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine, Joshua, it’s not me.’
My frown deepened.
‘Is it Harriet? Or Grandma? Or anyone else?’
Mum shook her head before fixing her eyes on me again. They were green, just like mine were.
‘It’s about Andrew.’
My blood really did run cold now, to the point I could feel it freeze in my veins. From the grim expression on her face, I knew whatever she had to say would not be good for my state of mind.
‘What is it?’ I could hear how my voice shook.
No one had ever scared me more than Andrew did, and the fear hadn’t diminished much by the fact that I was now an adult and had been ever since they put him away.
When the subject of Andrew came up, I still felt like the fifteen-year-old kid who didn’t know how else to end the torment I was subjected to, other than killing myself.
Mum closed her eyes briefly. She seemed to struggle with what to say, but when her eyes opened again there was a determination in them.
‘He’s been released on licence.’
My heart stopped beating.
‘But—He didn’t confess! He was supposed to be incarcerated for all eight years.’ He hadn’t been given any leniency, because he’d never admitted his wrongdoings.
Mum leant over the table, taking my hands in hers and squeezing.
‘The system isn’t fair—’
‘It’s bollocks!’ My chest was tight. I didn’t know if I wanted to rage or cry—probably both. ‘It’s not fair.’
‘But Joshua, he’s on licence. They keep track of him. He won’t come nea
r you ever again, I swear.’ She stared at me, hard, trying to make me understand her words.
I did understand them.
But still…
‘What about when he’s served his entire time? When they’re not keeping an eye on him anymore? What’s to stop him from seeking me out then?’ Just the thought of seeing Andrew again had me trembling from head to toe.
Mum frowned.
‘He’s not going to risk going back to prison.’
I wouldn’t be so sure of that.
‘He wants revenge.’ No one knew Andrew better than me. For ten years I’d been his personal toy, to do with as he pleased. I knew just how vicious and sadistic he could be. My body still bore scars from his treatment, besides the ones I’d inflicted on myself. ‘Mum. I sent him to prison. He’s punished me for a lot less than that.’ My eyes brimmed with tears as I tried to make her understand just what Andrew was capable of.
My last sentence got to her. I could tell from the way her frown fell away to be replaced by guilt. Guilt for never having noticed.
‘Is he here in London?’
London was big, but if Andrew was set on me, he’d find me.
Maybe he already has.
The dark shape on the street the night before flashed inside my mind.
‘Joshua—’ That was answer enough, her not wanting to confirm it, but I needed to hear it.
‘Mum!’
‘Yes.’ She closed her eyes. ‘Yes, he’s here. But I don’t know where. I only know he’s out.’
I pulled my hands out of her grip and put them in my lap, clenching and unclenching them. My body trembled, my mind whirled.
‘Joshua…’
‘I can’t!’ I stood so abruptly my chair toppled over. It didn’t really matter though, not as long as my path to the door was clear.
‘Don’t do this, Joshua.’ Mum stood as well, her whole body tense. ‘Please. Calm down. Let’s eat.’
‘No.’ I shook my head, eyes darting around.
Andrew’s out. Out on the streets.
He was a sadistic, sociopathic abuser—and I was the one who’d put him in prison.
‘How could you let this happen?’ I pressed my palm to my temples, emotions warring inside me.
‘Joshua, please…’
I wasn’t just afraid of Andrew—I was terrified. I wasn’t sure if that was me being borderline or not, what with the disorder making me feel more intensely than normal people.
Andrew had hurt me, beaten me, broken me, wounded me—and I’d been shattered all over again during the trial, having to see him sit there, without a single trace of remorse. Having to tell everything while he kept insisting that I was the liar.
I’d told nothing but the truth.
He was the liar, unable to stand up to the things he’d done. He’d ruined my life… and he hadn’t felt so much as a sliver of remorse for it. I’d felt his eyes on me, cold, hateful, full of rage, through the entire trial. I didn’t believe for a second he’d continue with his life as if nothing had happened. He’d be back to hurt me again. I knew it!
‘Joshua!’
Mum’s voice called after me, but it was of no matter. I was out of there, running for my bloody life.
How could the system let someone like him go? Didn’t they realise he was going to do the very same thing he’d been sent to prison for again?
Andrew thrived on the abuse, on the pain, on the power… he’d never give it up. If not me, he’d find someone else. Someone else who was unable to fight back, unable to get out of it, who didn’t have anyone they could tell…
24
Bodily Harm
Josh
It was dark outside when I finally ventured home. I’d been walking aimlessly around central London, trying to sort myself out. It hadn’t worked. All I could think of was Andrew, what he’d done to me, and what he would do to me once he got to me.
I didn’t know the time. I’d turned my phone off once I’d stopped running, because I didn’t want Mum to keep ringing me.
Three years…
It had only been three years. How could they have let him out already? He was a danger to any kid he got a hold of. He shouldn’t ever have been let out on the streets again. Didn’t anyone realise…?
The streets were all but deserted. I didn’t meet many people once I neared home. The sound of my trainers was the only thing I heard—the only thing that existed—as I continued along the pavement. The cars that passed didn’t even draw my attention. They weren’t important.
What was important was that the legal system had let a dangerous person out on the streets, where he could target and hurt whoever he liked. And me—he would definitely hurt me. I wasn’t a child anymore, but he’d been obsessed with me… He was a paedophile, but if that obsession was still intact, it likely wouldn’t matter that I was an adult now.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up all of a sudden. My whole body tensed. Someone was behind me. I couldn’t hear anything but traffic and my own trainers hitting the pavement, but I knew it with a ringing certainty.
I dared a quick look over my shoulder. No one there.
I faced forwards again. Two people were coming towards me on the opposite side of the road, but they were young. Their voices started to carry as they came closer: a bloke and a girl. Nothing to worry about. But the hairs at the back of my neck were still on full alert.
Someone was behind me, and that someone was watching me.
I quickened my pace. It wasn’t long before I reached our building, and my hands shook as I fished my keys out of my pocket and stuck the right one in the lock. A click and it was open, and I all but ripped the key back out before slipping inside and slamming the door behind me. A flick of my wrist and it was locked again.
No one could follow me inside now.
I ran over to our door, unlocked that one, and slipped inside again, only opening it as much as needed to fit me in-between it and the wall. I locked this door safely after me too, then collapsed on the floor in a heap.
My breathing was laboured after the running—but it was nothing compared to the pain. The pain of the memories. The pain of Andrew. The pain of remembering. The pain of knowing. Of knowing he was out there, that he was free, once again. Free to do as he wished, free to ruin more lives.
That’s what he did. He ruined lives. There was nothing at all good about him. He was evil, sadistic, a psychopath who thrived on inflicting pain. Who thrived on humiliation and power and violence.
I wrapped my arms over my head, whimpering into the carpet.
If I’d never put him in prison, he never would’ve had cause for revenge. But if I hadn’t put him in prison, he would’ve continued doing whatever he wanted with me. For longer than the ten years he’d managed to do so undetected.
Or maybe I would’ve succeeded in killing myself on my second try, because I didn’t doubt for a second I would’ve tried again if I hadn’t come clean to Mum—if she hadn’t believed me.
I would’ve tried again and again and again—until I succeeded. Because I hadn’t been able to take it anymore. Not any of it. I’d been used as his punching bag and pleasure slave for as long as I could remember.
How could they let someone like that go free? He’d started molesting me when I was a child. I couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t used me for his own pleasure. When I wasn’t deathly afraid of nights because that was when he came into my room. In the beginning, anyway.
I pushed up on my hands and knees and crawled to the end of the carpet, then used the wall to help me up into a standing position. My emotions weighed me down so much I had trouble keeping myself on my feet.
I wanted to scream, to cut myself—but none of it would make it better. None of it would put Andrew back in prison, where he belonged. None of it would make proper justice be served.
‘Damian…’ He was asleep. He must be, because the flat was as dark as it was outside and all was silent.
I stumbled into our bedroom, ho
ping he was asleep, because if he wasn’t there it wouldn’t end well for me and my skin.
But he was there. Sleeping peacefully.
Or maybe not so much. He was on top of the sheets, still in his clothes.
He’s been waiting up for me.
Guilt washed over me as my knees hit the mattress, but it didn’t stop me from reaching out and shaking him.
‘Damian. Damian.’
He groaned, slapping at my hand.
‘What?’
‘Damian, please. I need you.’
He stilled for a second, then rolled over onto his back so he could peer up at me.
‘You’re home.’
I sniffled and crawled fully onto the bed, curling up next to him.
‘I need you. I just need you.’
‘Hey.’ He sat up, embracing me. I fell into his arms and buried my face against his neck and shoulder. ‘I’m always here for you, you know that.’
I clutched him close, but it wasn’t enough. We weren’t close enough, so I moved to straddle his thighs, arms locking tight around his neck as I once again buried my face in the crook of it.
‘I’m sorry I woke you. I just need you so badly.’ To think that this morning I’d woken up feeling good, and now I was anything but.
‘I don’t mind, Josh. It’s better than you resorting to cutting.’ He rested his cheeks against my hair. ‘I’m so proud of you for being harm-free for three months, you know.’
Proud…
‘I know you are.’ I whispered it, breath fanning over his sleep-warm skin. I knew very well he was proud of me for not resorting to cutting for so long. ‘You should go back to sleep. You’ve got school in the morning.’ I said it, I meant it, but I couldn’t let him go.
‘I was waiting up for you.’ Now he sounded guilty. ‘But obviously I fell asleep.’
