Flames burst through the glass windows climbing up to the roof. A blistering heat bites at my ankles as the ropes catch on fire.
“Jesus … I-I’m sorry, Teddy,” Bailey chokes out. He touches my arm hesitantly, and I flinch away from him, trying to back myself further into the corner.
“Fuck,” he breathes.
Head still buried in my arms, breathing through the nausea, I listen to him pacing the bathroom.
“Shit … okay. I don’t know why I did that … I don’t know what the hell is going on.” The desperation in his voice is palpable. “Should I get Robbie?”
I look up and shake my head. If Robbie finds out, he won’t stop to think before going for Bailey. My ears have stopped ringing, and I don’t feel as though I’m going to throw up anymore. With a clearer mind, I focus on Bailey. Trying to reassure myself that if he wanted to hurt me again, he would have done it by now.
“I really think I should get him,” Bailey repeats.
“No,” I manage to say through a tense jaw. Rubbing a hand over my face, I take one last deep breath before gripping the sink to pull myself up. I’m hit with a headrush and sway, trying to catch my balance. Bailey stays as far away from me as he can in the small room. I look around and see there’s blood splattered across the floor and amongst the shards of glass—dripping from Bailey's fist clenched tightly at his side.
“Clean yourself up,” I say calmly, as though I didn’t just break in front of him.
I open the door and hear a choked sob. When I look over my shoulder, Bailey’s wiping away tears roughly with his undamaged hand. My chest tightens at the sight of it.
He said he doesn’t know what happened to me the night I left England, and I think I'm starting to believe him. I’m not ready to unpack what that would mean, so I slip out and let the door swing shut between us.
An hour passesas I roll from side to side, moving the cover off, then on, then off again until I’ve had enough. I jump out of bed, heart thumping and body vibrating with energy. I check my phone and see Isla’s posted a few pictures from the publast night: Rob and I deep in conversation, Rob winking at the camera, me frowning. Then a bunch of photos from the barn restoration. I pause on a photo of Bailey kneeling, hammer held mid-air as though he’s about to bring it down. An Alice band pushes his hair away from his face, his brow creased in concentration. He seems so normal …
I storm into the bathroom and turn on the shower, hoping to clear my mind, but once I’m under the water it goes straight back to Bailey. How terrified he looked when he begged me to tell him what he’d done.
A growl of frustration escapes me as I press my fists into my eyes. I don’t want to think about what it means that he can’t remember. Was it such an insignificant time in his life that he just forgot? Whilst I have to relive it every time I close my eyes. My head spins, and I lean against the cold bathroom tiles. I just need to fucking sleep then I’ll be able to think more clearly.
My cock throbs uncomfortably, and I look down to find that I’m hard. It’s been weeks since I’ve had any kind of relief. I want to ignore it, but the release might actually help me get to sleep, so I pump a little conditioner into my palm and reach down to massage my aching balls. My cock kicks at the sensation, and I slide my hand up the length of it, taking a firm grip.
I try to think of nothing; just feeling my hand work over my shaft in a steady rhythm. My thighs tense as my foreskin rubs over the sensitive head, each pass of my fist dragging me closer to the edge—then the memories flood in again. They flash through my mind so quickly it makes me dizzy.
Bailey lies under me, and I grip his sweat-slick thigh. He clings to my shoulders as we grind against one another desperately. Then he’s suddenly leaning over me, eyes filled with tears. My wrists and ankles are bound tight by rope, the sickly sweet scent of death thick in the air.
I gag and release my softened cock, slapping my hands against the cold tiles. The echo ripples around the bathroom, and I collapse to my arse, letting the shower wash away my tears.
There areno clean cups in this bloody house.I slam another cupboard door shut and groan when I see the mountain of washing up. It’s eight in the morning and I’ve had little to no sleep; I just want a coffee. I do the only sensible thing I can think of—ignore the mountain and pluck out a cup and a teaspoon.
“Morning.” Robbie’s voice, gruff from sleep, fills the silence. I watch as he walks into the kitchen … wearing just a jockstrap. I freeze with the kettle in my hand.
“Close your mouth, you’ll catch flies," he says, pushing two fingers under my chin.
I smack his hand away.
“So, you and Bailey, huh?” he asks, leaning against the counter, crossing his arms.
“I’m not talking about Bailey.” I keep my head down and finish making my drink.
“Why? Was it that bad? Isla seems to think?—”
“Yes! It was that bad,” I bristle, turning to point at him. “You and Isla need to mind your own business. I mean it.”
“Why didn’t you tell us? Or me, at least. You know, out of everyone, I would understand. Twelve years Theo, and you said nothing about making friends, or having aboyfriendwhile you were in England. Now I’m thinking you’ve been hiding other shit from me, because when you came back to Skye, you were adifferent person. If that had something to do with him, then I want to know,” he says with a bite to his words.
And that’s exactly why I couldn’t tell him. I doubt much would have stopped him from going straight to Surrey to find Bailey back then. He would have got in trouble and I’d have been dragged into the spotlight. I didn’t want to relive the experience over and over with every person I told. Because it wouldn’t just stop at Robbie, or Isla. I’d have to tell my parents, my grandparents, the police. It’s my fucking story and I should be able to decide if I share it or not.
For twelve years I let it fester beneath my skin and haunt my dreams. But now … this is the most I’ve consciously thought about that night since I came back to Skye, and I’m not sure my memories can be trusted anymore.
“I can’t take you seriously when you have your arse hanging out,” I say.
