“Take a walk,” Trevor told Nick. “And come back once you’ve calmed down.” There was no room for discussion. Nick left the room, and a few seconds later, the front door opened and closed. In the silence that followed, Laurence inched away from Connor, pulled out of one of the kitchen chairs and sank into it. He kept his face pointed down. A pained look crossed Trevor’s face as he glanced toward Laurence and saw the change.
Chapter Three
Connor’s room had never had much of him to begin with, and in the short few months since Christmas, Laurence had made it all his own. Paintings and drawings hung from the walls and the only bare patch was painted with an underwater city. Mer-people and dolphins swam through the streets; an octopus engulfed one of the buildings in sucker-lined tentacles. Connor scrunched up his nose at that part of the painting. He’d had the unfortunate experience of an octopus getting a hold of his ankle once. He had been wading through rock shores with his dad as he conducted his research, and brave as he was back then, knowing there was nothing dangerous in the little pools, he’d walked straight through a shallow pool of sifting sand. A sand-coloured little devil had wrapped around his ankle.
Connor rubbed his arms as a shiver racked its way up his spine. He felt the ghost touch of the suckers on his skin, the pinch of a beak at his jutting ankle bone. His dad had been more interested in the octopus than saving Connor from it, and eventually, the thing had let Connor go of his own volition. Connor hadn’t cried. He’d been horrified and on the verge of tears, but even at twelve he knew that tears would get him nowhere. If he was in danger, his dad would have done more than take photos from every angle he could. At least he thought so.
Connor crossed the room to the window, leaning over a notebook-filled desk and pushed open the windows. A view of the ocean greeted Connor, and the smell of salt and sea spray invaded the room. A feeling of homeliness finally broke the surface of Connor’s bitterness. As lonely and isolated as he had been in this house, he’d always had the ocean for company. Connor leaned on the window frame.
Moonlight glimmered on the wet boards of their little dock down by the sea. Connor couldn’t see it from here, but he knew there was a small shed housing his paddle board and surfboard. He’d have to search for his wet suit, but if the weather allowed, he could take it out tomorrow. Connor rubbed his ribs. Or maybe he’d wait a week.
A knock sounded at the door.
Connor looked fondly at the ocean for an extra moment before leaning back and closing the window. “Come in.”
It was his mom. “I have fresh sheets for the bed,” she said. In her hands was a stack of plain white linen. Without looking at him, she crossed to the bed tucked into the corner of the room and placed the pile down. “I trust you know how to make your bed at this age.”
She didn’t even give him a chance to say something back, as she left so quickly. Connor started to do it. But given that he couldn’t lift the duvet up higher than his shoulders, or even lift his hands up higher than his shoulders, he quickly realised it was a lost cause. He tossed the clean sheets aside and lay out on the Laurence-sheets. Connor was used to living in a dorm; his room was a mix of his and his roommate’s scents. Not to mention Austin was on his bed often enough that his smell would cling to his pillow afterwards.
Pain pinched at Connor’s insides. He wondered what Austin was doing now. What he thought as he read all those articles about Connor being a gay basher. Connor wanted to blame this on Austin and Peter. His memory was a black hole, but he’d heard the story online and in court. He’d walked in on Austin and Peter in bed together, flipped out, and beat the crap out of Peter. And no matter how shitty it had been of Austin to cheat,on his birthday no less, he’d been the one to get violent. Not that he remembered it.
There was a knock at the door.
“What?” Connor asked, irritated as he was yanked from a swarm of bad memories.
“Can I come in?” It was Trevor asking.
“Yes.”
Trevor opened the door slowly; he took in Connor on the bed, and then his dark eyes jumped to the sheets that he’d placed on the desk rather than used.
“Would you like some help?”
“No.”
Trevor didn’t even bristle at Connor’s tone. It was somewhat amazing; even his dad couldn’t ignore Connor when he set his mind to it.
“Alright then, I’ll leave you to it. I just wanted to let you know that there’s pizza left in the fridge if you get hungry later, and you’re welcome to anything else you find in the kitchen. Also, we’ll be going at around nine in the morning. Do you want me to wake you up in the morning, or would you prefer to set your own alarm?”
Connor stared at him. “Going where, exactly?”
“The boys have school; I have work. Your mother is going to bring you to get the books you need for your course.”
Connor fought back a scoff. His course. Hiscourse. Trevor was delusional. His probation conditions, he meant. Read this and this and this, and by the end, you’ll see that your prejudice is wrong. Connor understood why people were angry about his punishment. He’d feel better knowing that people committing hate crimes were actually punished for them and not just told to go read for a few weeks.
“I’ll set my own alarm,” Connor said.
Connor rolled onto his side once he was gone. His phone was at the bottom of his duffle, switched off for now until forever, given the amount of messages on it telling him to go die. Connor’s social media had been flooded with hate and somehow his phone number was leaked, too. He’d simply turned it off when he couldn’t find anything other than a barrage of hate.
*
Connor thought about sleeping in and causing his mom as much stress as possible, but decided against it. His existence was enough to achieve that goal, and as much as he thought this probation was bullshit, it was necessary to keep out of jail. He could pretend he didn’t care all he wanted, but the fact was, sleeping on a nice soft bed and having the freedom to do what he liked wasn’t something he would willingly give up.
Besides, he told himself as he got dressed.The world will find someone else to hate soon enough. And then he’d be forgotten about. Connor went downstairs dressed in a hoodie and jeans. Everyone was in the kitchen sitting around having breakfast. Connor wondered if all their breakfasts were like this: dead silent, tension palatable in the air.
Neither Trevor nor his sons looked particularly happy, and his mom looked as irritated as Connor was accustomed. She was frying bacon at the stove, the smell filling the space.
“Good morning.” Trevor noticed him first. “Edith has a fry-up cooking. You can take a plate and help yourself.”
