by J P Sayle
Brad appeared unaware of what he was doing as he searched for the comfort Princess could bring. For the first time in what felt like forever, Princess felt his muscles relax. The sharp pain dissolved as he scrunched and rolled his muscles. As she watched his shoulders slump and his jaw unclench, his fingers relaxed, settling into Princess’s silky fur.
His breath hissed as if the pressure valve released, filling the silence. Princess jerked, the noise unexpected as Brad’s body popped and cracked. His sheepish eyes peered down at her as he tightened his grip reassuringly.
Brad’s wariness melted into something Princess couldn’t define, but he seemed to feel lighter for the first time in years. But it was the chanting that had her wondering. “Safe, safe, safe.” It floated around his mind. Princess wondered if he had ever felt that way. The question seemed to be conveyed in some way as she watched Brad’s Adam’s apple bob as if swallowing past the bitterness that rose. His whitened knuckles shone against Princess’s dark coat as thoughts ripped through him, making Princess wince.
Brad had spent years trying to stay hidden—quiet—his voice wanted out. Princess knew it was time. Seeing him swallow as if his throat was dry, she waited.
“It’s just you and me now. You are my family now.”
Feeling the conviction of his words, Princess responded. She increased the volume of her purring, making the vibrations skitter up Brad’s fingers, reinforcing his declaration.
Pleased when Brad’s lips curved at the increased noise level. Princess chuckled at his thoughts that she could have made the windows rattle with her purring. Princess chuffed in disagreement. She wasn’t that loud. But Brad’s grin was rewarding enough for his stupid thinking.
“I could do with a friend right now. Do you think that’s what we could be? Friends?”
Princess’s tongue rasped like sandpaper, scratching his cheek.
“Eww, you licked me!” Brad shuddered at her antics. The giggle that bubbled up and escaped was so foreign to both of them. Princess felt Brad’s hand pause. She saw his eyebrows rise and disappear under his fringe in what could only be shock. The laughter that burst out amused her as she considered if he had ever laughed with such abandon before. Feeling Brad sober at the very thought, she was hit like a truck by his reality. No, he hadn’t.
His thoughts spiralled, his past imprisoning his mind, holding them both captive. Images invaded like cancer, insidious, taking them back against their will, making her relive his horrors.
The child had not understood. He’d tried to please his mother. He had ignored that she treated him more like a girl than a boy. But his father’s rage had grown. The anger was directed towards his mother initially for his lack of masculinity. But as he had gotten older, his love of pretty things—the flamboyant or beautiful—had grown.
His delicate young features, long lashes, and full lips, combined with his small stature, seemed designed with femininity in mind. His lack of masculinity only made his differences more apparent.
His father’s crushed expectations rebirthed into something dangerous. Hate. Princess watched in horror as Brad’s father embraced it and revelled in his hatred.
Feeling Brad’s breath hitch as he recalled the beatings, Princess could do nothing but watch as the memories played out. Christ, it had been his father’s mission to beat the gay out of him, ranting that it was for his own good. The replicas of Brad’s eyes blazed with insanity, evil at their very core. Princess could see through his father’s ruse as Brad had grown older. She could see the perverse pleasure he got with each painful shout Brad had emitted.
Memories yanked like greedy hands, pulling them back into his old bedroom. Feeling Brad flinch, Princess couldn’t stop what was coming as sounds and smells joined the macabre party in Brad’s mind. The whistling was the only warning as the belt cut through the air, striking with deadly accuracy, flaying skin. The sheets stick to Brad’s torn back, and the repulsive odour of rotting flesh and filth had poor Princess’s stomach rebelling along with Brad’s.
Princess felt Brad’s skin heat all these years later, relentless, not letting him escape even for a moment. Emotions rolled through Brad as he relived the horrors in vivid technicolour.
Hatred coursed through her tiny body, making it pound with anger and causing her to squirm in Brad’s arms. Princess’s uncertainty overwhelmed her. How could she fix this when she had never dealt with such horrors before?
Focusing, Princess forced the images away. Using all of her will, she inserted new dreams. Her body bowed under the effort, pushing harder to combat the negativity that wanted to take over.
Brad’s fingers tensed, digging into Princess’s fur as his reality finally returned. Princess continued to use her will, ruthlessly pushing Brad out of the chair, channelling positive motivation through their link. Princess hoped it would grow and allow Brad to let go of his past and start living.
Whiskers twitching at the quick headshake Brad did. She knew he would be feeling a little foggy, as if he’d been dreaming.
Princess whispered words of encouragement, knowing she would get into trouble for using her link in this way. But hell, after everything they had just been through, Brad needed this. Princess pushed the words into his mind so Brad could hear them.
“Go with it, Brad, and you’ll see things will only get better from now on.”
Princess continued to push encouraging thoughts towards Brad, making them flourish into an abundance of colour. Princess felt them grow like flowers blooming in a garden, encouraged by her love. Spectacular, they brightened everything. The colour touched inside him, making the darkness fade.
Lowered to the floor, Brad stroked her back once more. Her tiny body pushed against his hand, taking a moment to enjoy the bond.
Watching Brad stand tall, clasping his hands together, she felt his excitement build as he considered where to start claiming his new home, his new life.
Princess used their new link to make sure she removed any thoughts that would harm their relationship. Shielding where it was needed to protect her lineage, she was optimistic with the initial steps.
Princess pranced behind Brad. They had time to prepare for the future. It was only the beginning.
Martin
2017
Here it was only April, yet he could feel the heat in the air as it brushed his skin, warming him as he pushed the lawnmower through the overgrown grass. Martin could feel the sweat slide down his back, cooling its surface as it dried. Shit, working in the garden was now going to become a necessity he’d not considered when he’d bought the house.
Martin paused as the hair lifted on his arms and neck, causing his senses to go into overdrive, alerting him to someone’s presence. Aiming for casual, Martin searched for the intrusion. He’d been aware others would be curious about his arrival in such a small community. But the intensity of this scrutiny surprised him.
He’d known anonymity would be impossible when he chose to move to such a small place. Martin chuckled. Kirk Michael in the Isle of Man was tiny compared to where he had lived previously in London. There it was so easy to get lost in the crowd, whereas here, it seemed to nose into other people’s business was the norm.
He felt this was different, and his stomach churned. Anxiety worked to undermine the feelings of contentment being outside had created. Martin felt it invade his thoughts, removing his sense of privacy, stripping him bare for everyone to see. The urge to cover himself unsettled him further.
The breeze ruffled his dark hair. Distracted, he pushed it out of his eyes as he considered this change. Would this loss of privacy be too much? Had he thought about how being in this small place would make him feel?
As he frowned, Martin’s brows furrowed, deepening the lines around his eyes. He shook his head. He should be used to this by now. Hell, the first two weeks he’d felt like nearly everyone in the village had banged on his door.
Again, his body’s reaction to this was different, taking stock. His gut continued to clench i
n warning that something was off. Using the lawn mower as an excuse, he turned to face the four other homes, paying no attention to the noise or vibration under his hands. Martin observed from under lowered eyelids, pretending he was engrossed in the task at hand.
All of the houses overlooked his. None of them appeared to be anything other than what they were, homes. Could there be something or someone threatening him? The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and the feeling in the pit of his stomach warned of something, but what?
Frustration pushed past his mask. He yanked the cord hard, carrying on. His mind tried to rationalise his feelings.
Hell, at six foot four, his presence commanded attention. Inky black hair fell in waves, framing icy blue eyes. He had cut the sides short, leaving only the thickness and length on top. Sharp cheekbones accentuated his lean face, but his full, pouty, rose-coloured lips gave an air of vulnerability, attracting attention from both males and females. He wasn’t vain. He knew he was attractive, though annoyingly, his sister Sarah went with ‘cute or pretty face.’
His thoughts turned to Sarah bringing back memories of their childhood as he breathed deep. God he loved the smell of cut grass: fresh and earthy, deepening to something intangible. Enjoyment had him lifting his face. He closed his eyes, letting the warm sun bathe his exposed skin. Muscles twitched with memories, peals of laughter rang out in his mind. He could see his dad in his old, ripped gardening clothes, smiling indulgently at their antics. He was running at full pelt, chasing Sarah. Going so fast that he felt his chest would burst.
Pain lanced deep for a second, reminding him of what he’d lost. His grief, never quiet, made its presence known, lingering with the guilt that swamped him. It took the edge of his pleasure as he struggled under the weight of things that he couldn’t change. His parents, they had been his rock, a constant. The car accident had changed everything.
Joining the army had been a big adventure, travelling, and new experiences, but it had separated him from his family. The initial excitement had made everything shine. Ten years later, he had felt defeated, let down by the army’s systems which should have protected him. He was left vulnerable in a dangerous situation, and poor Intel had exposed him, resulting in him getting shot.
He could still feel it, that initial numbness, shock turning to dread as the bullet burrowed its way into his skin, ripping flesh, destroying everything it encountered. He’d watched in horror as blood seeped across his stomach. He’d sensed the rushing feeling as the ground loomed closer, and he had been lost as blackness engulfed him.
Martin shuddered under the warm sky as his mind reminded him of phantom pain that could still cause his side to ache and plunge him back into the past.
He was disgusted, thinking back. The investigation had been a joke. It hadn’t altered what had happened. The damage was done. His parents were dead while he was stuck in a hospital hundreds of miles away, unaware of the accident. It had been the final straw. His devastation at not being there, not even to say goodbye, had hindered his recovery. To look at him now, no one would know. His muscles bulged as he moved the mower with ease. His formidable strength had returned with hard work, but it had taken months. His solid frame emanated power as muscles flexed under clothes that couldn’t hide his masculinity. He’d needed to reassert his dominance, take control.
Now, two years on, he was still trying to put his regrets aside. He was grateful for having another business, a different life, Sarah. She reminded him constantly family was more important than anything else.
Sarah, a homebody, stable and a year older, but he had always felt protective of her, much to her irritation. Martin found himself unable to stop interfering in her life when he was home on leave. His overwhelming need to protect her had him sticking his nose into her business. Annoying her, acting like an overbearing big brother, he’d interrogated her boyfriends to ensure they were suitable, only to find them all wanting in some way. It had driven her mad.
Martin had needed to get back to that status of annoying brother. He’d worked hard over the last two years to rebuild their relationship. She was freer with him, less guarded, and he thanked his lucky stars for it. After dealing with everything without him, she’d been hurt and frightened. Not knowing where he was or how ill had undermined their friendship and trust. They had both worked hard to rebuild it. Forgiveness had not come easy. His guilt had eaten at him. Brooding, he’d retreated, causing further harm initially. The cycle had been hard to break.
As he smiled, his joy spread. Yes, things were better. The need for contact, a necessity they both needed, increased, so he’d decided to move closer to Sarah. What had surprised him was he hadn’t found it difficult to move. The island seemed to pull at him. At times, he was convinced he had magnets hidden on him as his body was drawing him here. The sensation of rightness—of belonging—was so intense it frightened him.
The sense of dread in the pit of his stomach had lasted for months, after he left the island. He couldn’t explain it away. It was like the after-effects of an illness: never quite feeling like yourself but unsure how to express it. With each visit, it increased the strength of his feelings. His distress caused concern to his friends. His normally calm demeanour was gone. Martin couldn’t understand or explain what was pulling, encouraging, him to the island.
His last visit had been the final straw. He was unable to comprehend how he would cope with leaving again. He was overwhelmed with the need for action, and the Island seemed to be offering him the opportunity to change his life. He’d grabbed on with both hands.
Bemused, Martin looked down at the vibrating lawn mower, the reminder of his new life. How quickly his life had changed. He found himself with a new island-based business that connected to his London one and a three-bedroom house in a quiet cul-de-sac in Kirk Michael. He was now the proud owner of one of the five homes in a quiet neighbourhood.
His home sat tucked in the corner, giving him a perfect view of the others. Settling in, he’d spent time watching, getting a feel for the rhythm of his neighbours comings and goings. He’d been curious, wondering how he would fit and their reaction to him. He’d quickly figured out the others, with the exception of number three. There had been no signs of life there.
Ms Stevens in number one, single, the village gossip, had introduced herself on the first day. Martin cringed, recalling her first visit.
“Hello, you must be the new neighbour. Let me introduce myself. I’m Ms Stevens, and I live in number one. If you need any information about anything, and I mean anything, let me know. I will be only too happy to help you.” Her simpering made him feel a little icky. Her attention seemed a little over the top.
Offering his hand, he said, “Hi, I’m Martin. It’s nice to meet you.” He watched her fawn over his offered hand. The urge to pull back from her spidery grasp had him letting go quickly. But she’d held on. Her reaction was at odds with her overall appearance of reserved politeness. He couldn’t help but wonder if her dress was choking her. It appeared starched to within an inch of its life. So stiff it wouldn’t have moved in a stiff breeze.
He was unsure what his face had given away when she frowned before asking a question.
“What made you decide to move to our quiet, little, respectable village?”
Martin could see the unasked questions she tried hard to mask, but he could but feel her nosiness wanting to push. But he was unsure what she was implying with the respectable part. Not sure why, he only answered in part. “My sister, she lives on the island. I wanted to be closer to her.” Martin had shrugged off her questioning look.
“There must have been other reasons to make such a drastic move.”
Martin could feel his frustration build with the reframed question. He couldn’t help but notice her smile slip, making her mouth pinch. A dour expression crossed her face when he didn’t respond.
“Thank you for stopping by, but as you can see, I have a lot of unpacking to do. It was nice to meet you.” Martin coughed, swal
lowing the laughter that rose up at her disappointment. He covered his mouth to hide the smile. Stepping back towards his home, he watched her transformation. Her spine straightened, going rigid. A stern expression fixed to her face betraying the facade of friendliness. Grooves deepened into an unsmiling face. Martin felt alarm bells ringing. There was just something off about her. What she had tried to project just felt false, making him wary.
Now, a few weeks later, he still felt the wariness linger. Her endless attempts to befriend him made him suspicious. Her eyes made him think of a snake waiting to slither in the grass, ready to strike with a killing bite.
Martin moved the mower, perturbed by his thoughts. He knew without a shadow of a doubt he would never actively seek her out. His mind drifted to the other occupants of the cul-de-sac.
The people in number two seemed completely different. A family with two small children. Though the kids were lively when playing, they kept to themselves, not mixing with any of the other neighbours, including him. Friendly, not intrusive, they would wave hello but didn’t take it any further and try and engage him in conversation. They kept a polite distance. He liked them for that alone. The couple in number four was newly married. So Ms Stevens informed him, keen to share information on his neighbours when he didn’t give her any more information about himself.
The young couple appeared to be part of a large family. There appeared to be a hell of a lot of visitors to their house with a distinct family resemblance of the wife. The bright red hair was a real giveaway. Her parents must have been very, very busy in their youth. Martin chuckled at the enjoyment they’d probably had creating their very large family.
Martin cast a glance towards number three, the one remaining mystery. The house was uninviting. He would go as far as to say remote. It discouraged you from further scrutiny with its air of disuse. For some reason, he’d become instantly enraptured, even though there was an air of disuse. He’d found himself moving towards it involuntarily as if strings, attached to his very soul, were pulling him. Stopping himself from walking up to the house, he’d questioned the estate agent. The pertinent question was whether the owners could be approached to purchase their home directly. He’d tried to deflect with questions while he’d tried to come to grips with his intense need to possess, to own that property. Astounded as he was usually so level-headed, he let his common sense as he’d become enthralled.
