Afire: Entire Blinded Series (8 page)

I rise and dump the holdall on the bed, moving to the drawer to remove a stack of tops.

"And what do you think you're doing?” Her strident tones rasp on my nerves.

She's gearing herself up for the big one, but I'm not going to let her reach the pinnacle. No, I'll get out of here before she goes too far. Wouldn't put it past her to find one of my belts and whip my arse like she used to. Would I let her? I shake my head. No, I don't reckon I would. She stopped hitting me a while ago now, probably realising that one day, despite her being my mother, I might hit her back. I ignore her and pack my bag with more clothes, mentally going through how much I can fit into it.

"Oh, so you're giving me the silent treatment now, hmm? That's all the thanks I get, is it? I catch you up to no good with that dirty little bastard—and to think I let him in this house to play up here as a child!—and you're ignoring me as though
I'm
in the wrong?” She closes my open drawers and tidies things on top, busying herself like she does when she's thinking on her next move, what to say, do, to make me bend to her will.

I clench my jaw, then say, “But you are."

"What?” One hand stills above my aftershave bottles; the other grips a can of deodorant. “I sincerely hope you're joking. Speaking in the heat of the moment.” She reorganises my things, not a dust-surrounded circle to be seen as she slides bottles into the position she prefers.

Finished packing, I zip up my bag and slip a sweatshirt over my head. Trainers on, I shove my arms into my jacket and pick up my dirty boxers, stuffing them into a side pocket of my bag. Can't be doing with the embarrassment of her knowing I'd already come before she arrived. I lift the bag, its weight heavy and a strain on my shoulder. “No, I'm leaving."

"Leaving?” She laughs, an irritating titter, and spreads her hands into stars, arms lifted as if she can stop me walking past.

"Yeah, leaving.” I brush past her and, in the doorway, glance back at my room, taking it all in. The layout, the memories, the things I'm leaving behind. None of them matter now. “Should have done this long ago."

She spins to face me, her face redder, eyes wide. “So, after all I've done for you, after bringing you up alone for the past eight years, that's it? You're just going to go? Up and leave because I
caught
you?"

"There's more to it than that. Don't pretend any different.” I walk across the landing and pause at the top of the stairs.

She scuttles to my bedroom doorway, peering into the gloom. “Oh, well, that's just marvellous. I've raised an ungrateful boy. One who walks out when he can't get his own way. Like your father, you are. A little heat and you're off, burying your head in the sand, unable to stay and face up to what you've done. Fabulous!"

"Don't bring Dad into this. Not when he's not here to put his side forward."

"And why isn't he here, Lee? You tell me why he isn't here. Why he hasn't been here since you were ten years old!"

"Because you're such a bitch to live with."

Shit! Did I really say that?

"Oh, so that's what you think, is it?
Wonder
ful! He does the damage, and I get the blame. Typical!"

"You just don't get it, do you?” I stare at her—hard. “He left because of you. He wasn't having an affair; he just didn't want to come home after work because he couldn't face the shit you put him through. He sat in his car, night after night, wishing he didn't have to come back here. And the only reason he did come back was because of me."

She laughs again. “And you know this how?"

"Because he told me before—"

"Oh, he did, did he? And when was that?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Doesn't it? He taints your view of me, and you think it doesn't
matter
?"

"You tainted my view of you.
You
."

She slaps her palms against her thighs. “How am I going to explain this to people? How could you
do
this to me?"

I sigh, look down, and think on the fact that my courage has finally arrived. And there was me thinking it wouldn't. That I'd be stuck here till fuck knows when, rotting in the house with her. “I'm sure you'll think of something to tell them.” Without looking at her, I walk down the stairs, toward the door that represents freedom, the future uncertain. Frightening.

My hand on the door knob, I stand on the mat and lower my head, steeling myself for what's to come. There it is, a shriek of anger, ripping through the air and bringing memories from the past, of times when she'd got herself into a stew and went for me with the belt. Or her fists. Her feet.

No more. I step outside, closing the door on that terrible sound, muted now, though still piercing somehow. Looking down the road, I spot Ryan standing beneath a lamppost, the orange glow giving him an aura. I walk toward him and drop my bag beside me.

"I've left,” I say, hands in pockets, head down. “Gonna go and live in the middle of nowhere so no one can bother me. I can't stay here. Not with her telling everyone what a disappointment I am. And she will, despite being appalled. She'll do anything for a bit of attention. Always has.”
Where had that come from? The knowledge that I'll find somewhere remote to live?

Ryan grasps my arm. “Come and stay at my place. I don't give a fuck what people say. We can, you know, be together...if you want."

And I do want. Fuck, yeah, I want it so bad I can taste it, but I need to get to grips with this shit. Get my head sorted. I can't do that living here, everyone pointing their fingers, the risk of bumping into Mum in town, and Ryan, my fucking gorgeous Ryan, a brilliant distraction.

I lift my head, tears brimming, and sigh. “If I tell you something, will you promise not to laugh?"

Ryan nods, face serious. “Yup. Tell me whatever you like."

"I feel like...uh, like I've got to find myself, know what I mean?"

He nods again. “I know what you mean. You go. Do it, but you'll stay in contact, yeah? Let me know where you wind up?"

I stoop and pick up my bag. “I will. And hey, maybe you'll come and see me one day.” A lump grows in my throat, and shit, it hurts. I hate myself for acting like Ryan means nothing. That I'm prepared to leave him behind. He's my best damn friend—a part of me, always will be—but man, I've got so much shit in my head that I need to get away. A clean break. Sort myself out.

"I will. When you're ready.” Ryan's eyes fill.

It's like he knows. Knows we'll meet again and that I just want a bit of time and space. Maybe we're so close he can feel it, senses what I need and that nothing has changed between us. If anything it's got stronger, this love, this thing we have, but if it's meant to be, fuck, we'll pick it up again later. Too much has gone on in my life for me to stick around now. The urge to get the hell away is so strong it's like I'm suffocating, and despite leaving Ryan behind, it's something I've got to do. Otherwise I'll be fit for nothing later on, if a memory triggers the crap from the past and I break down, everything tumbling out, possibly causing a rift between us. And I wouldn't want that. This is for the best. Really, it is.

I stare at him, and Jesus, what happened back there seems as though it never did. Another dream. Another wish that never came true.

"Well, um, I'd best be off, then.” My eyes burn.

"Yeah. Yeah, you take care, all right? And I'm here whenever you want me. Fuck knows I don't want you to go, and I'll miss you, but I get where you're coming from. You need time, that's all."

I nod, grateful he understands, yet I'm torn apart inside. I should just go, walk away, and not look back.

I want to kiss him. Hold him. Smell him.

I stare at the ground and force one foot in front of the other, my insides hollowing the further away from him I get. This path I'm walking, it's a tough one, but I'll get through this somehow.

"Fucking love you, Lee!” he shouts.

I raise my hand, tears blurring my vision, and swallow, fighting the desire to shout the same back.

[Back to Table of Contents]

To get to town I have to pass that bloody row of shops. Surprise, surprise, the gang of blokes loiter outside, hoods up, hands either in pockets or loose by their sides. Their hollers begin as soon as they spot me, jeers of ‘bent bastard’ and ‘queer fuck’ flowing over me, through me, burrowing inside. Those words spoil the memory of what me and Ryan shared, like mould on bread crust, but, like that crust, when you're starving you can cut it off and eat the rest. I tune them out, walking past with my head down. Uncaring if they think me weak, I keep going, more important things on my mind than their opinions.

"Fucking retard!” one shouts. “Fucking arse-poking shit stabber!"

That stings, but I don't have the energy to retaliate. Oh, the idea of it is there, all right, but I'm emotionally spent, too weary to get into it with them. Yeah, it'd cleanse me, make me feel a whole lot better, but like before, there are five of them and one of me. The odds don't look good.

"You ignoring me, wanker?"

I keep walking.

"You ought to really scare him, Trev, know what I mean?"

The second voice belongs to Michael Warner, a sheep who's followed Trevor around for years. I shrug off his words, knowing damn well what they mean, knowing what Trevor is capable of. What he's done before and how he got away with it because the kid he scared was too frightened to grass on who'd pulled a gun on him. Trevor wouldn't risk doing that again, would he? I don't want to hang around to find out so up my pace, my breaths coming out in quick bursts, adrenaline spiking, lending me extra speed.

The housing estate tapers. Fields either side of the main road spread far and wide, and I look ahead. Though streetlights illuminate the path, the bordering hedges and trees give me an ominous feeling, like something's afoot. Something bad. No, those thugs back there, they're all mouth these days. Jobless, with nothing to do but rile people.

Halfway along the road, I put my head down and press on, anxious to get into town to the cashpoint and the bus station. I have no bloody idea where I'm going, but it doesn't matter so long as it's away from here. The road stretches on, a lonely strip of asphalt, no cars speeding by, and town seems so far away. Stars litter the sky, and I stare at them, thinking that not so long ago my head was in the clouds and my body lay in Ryan's arms. How quickly things change.

The rumble of an engine sounds, and another noise, loud, as if the car's exhaust is blowing. I turn, and the blinding light of headlamps greets me. Squinting, I turn away and blink, circles of illumination reappearing each time my lids close. The bag handles cut into my palm, and I switch hands, cursing myself for packing so many clothes. The car zooms past, and I stare at the taillights, eerie red eyes in the darkness. In the far distance, the shapes of town buildings come into view, indistinct, their rooftops bleeding into the night sky. I walk faster, glancing at my wrist to find my watch missing, the timepiece at home—back there—on the bookshelf.

Shit. The last bus out of town leaves at eleven, and it must be nearing that now. The shop closes then, and the lights still blazed inside when I'd walked past, so maybe I'll make it. If I don't, God knows if I'll find a bed and breakfast open this time of night. I've never had to use one before so have no clue how they operate.

Two headlight circles appear, growing bigger as the vehicle approaches. I avert my gaze, staring toward town, and walk faster, though the appearance of the car makes me feel less alone. It speeds, the harsh, blowing exhaust telling me it's the same car that just passed going the other way, and I guess they drove around the roundabout down there. Kids out for a joyride.

The car skids, back fishtailing to my left, and comes to stop. My heart pounds, and I hurry, not wanting anything to do with whoever sits inside. A car door opens then slams, and I risk a glance back to see what's going on. A guy storms toward me, a weird mask on his face, one with goggles attached. My stomach flips, and I turn my head to face the front, legs like jelly.

"Oi! Where d'you think you're fucking going?"

Oh, shit
.

I spin around, walking backward, once again taking in that damn fucked-up mask, designed to scare the shit out of people, I'll bet. I open my mouth to answer, my words snuffed out by the guy's arm rising, a gun held in a gloved hand.

Jesus fucking Christ
.

"I
said
, where d'you think you're fucking going?"

The voice is distorted, kind of muffled, but I swear it belongs to Trevor. What the hell is he playing at? Should I answer him? If I don't, will he use the gun?

"I..."

"You ought to fuck right off, I reckon,” he says, his stride assured, gun hand steady.

He jabs the gun at me, and I eye the hole where a bullet could come speeding out at any second, the streetlight we've just passed showing it in all its terrifying glory. I glance around for somewhere to run, the only option through the hedges and trees—the only place with cover—but before I get a chance to run, Trevor lunges forward and smacks the gun handle down on my temple. Pain rips through my head, and I drop the bag before sinking to my knees. Trevor grips my hair, holding it tight in his fist, and points the gun to my throbbing temple.

"We don't want faggots round here, you got that?"

Powerless, I nod, piss seeping into my jeans.

"Your sort...well, we just don't want it, right?"

I nod again, willing the tears away. Even if my courage from earlier returned, it wouldn't do me any good now. The gun sees to it that I'll keep my mouth shut and do as he says.

"So, I don't expect we'll be seeing you around here again, will we?"

I shake my head, stare at his trainers—pristine white Reeboks—and imagine my blood spattered all over them if he pulls the trigger.

He yanks me upright, gun still pressed to my head. A click echoes—
shit, he's taken the safety off, shit, shit, shit
—and my bladder releases more liquid.

He looks down at the path. “You fucking pissed yourself?"