“Stop changing the subject,” he counters. “Tell me why you hate him so much?”
My grip on the cup tightens. I’m done. I need to get out of here, to go for a fucking walk or … something. “I’m leaving now.”
“No, you’re not. Talk to me,” he says more softly, taking a step towards me.
Not again—my body feels fit to burst. I’m trapped, and he's not going to let me leave.
“Let me help y?—”
“I said no!” I yell.
Shit. Coffee drips down the white wall and the shattered remains of my cup lay scattered across the stone floor.
“Okay …” Robbie says, staring at the mess I made. “You’re not doing this shit with me, Theo. Not again. Go get your gym clothes, we’re going out.”
“I don’t want?—”
“Theo,” he says, raising his voice. “Go get dressed.”
I leave the kitchen like a scolded child and go upstairs to get ready. I hadn’t even realised I’d thrown the cup until I saw it broken on the floor. It’s been years since I've been this out of control. My memories are bursting at the seams, threatening to consume me. I stare at my reflection in the wardrobe mirror, determination flickering in my eyes—I think I'm finally ready to pull on the thread.
When we get to the gym, Robbie heads to the punching bag, handing me his spare boxing gloves. “You need to work some of that anger out. You need to talk to me … or someone.Anyone, Theo. You can’t keep it inside like this.” He stands behind the bag, holding it steady. “Start punching.”
I’m silent as I hit the bag, each punch jarring as it sends a dull ache through my arms and shoulders. I keep going until the adrenaline I felt earlier releases in short bursts of energy.
“I met him when I was sixteen,” I say, “about a month after we moved to England. We played a game of football together and his brother made a bad tackle. Fucked his nose up.” My breathing speeds up as I pick at the old wound. “I helped clean him up, and should have left it at that, but I wanted more. I wanted to be his friend.”Punch.“I wanted to look after him.”Punch, punch.“I fucking fell in love with him, Rob, and it made me weak.”Punch, punch, punch.“His brother warned me not to get close, and I ignored him.”
The memory of that day comes to me so fast, I have to stop punching, feeling as though my heart might explode. It was the last time I’d spoken to Shane …
“Bailey likes to play games. Just be careful, yeah?”
I search his face, not believing a word coming out of his mouth. His ice-blue eyes hold my gaze, cold and unblinking, lips curling up into a grin.
The memory shifts to the night that destroyed me.
Ice-blue eyes stare back at me, wet from tears, yet cold and distant.
Blue.
Always blue.
My breath hitches as I meet his gaze. Tears threaten to spill from his eyes, light bouncing off rings of gold.
They have different eyes …
I gasp for air, leaning heavily against the punching bag. Either my memories are so distorted they’re playing tricks on me. Or Bailey wasn’t …
“Hey, are you okay?” Rob asks, putting a hand on my shoulder. I shake my head, stepping away from the bag.
“I’m done.” I bite the velcro on the gloves to rip them off, feeling sick. If Bailey wasn’t there, then that would mean Shane—why the hell would he have done that?
I only just make it up Robbie’s stairs to the en suite in time for the contents of my stomach to come up. As I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, there’s only one thing on my mind.
I need to speak to Bailey.
BAILEY - EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD
Teddy’s breathingis slow and steady as he lies facing me, dark curls cascading over his forehead. Not wanting to wake him, I gently twirl the curls around my finger then release them, watching as they spring back up. Even though we’re officially boyfriends now, I sometimes forget that it’s okay to touch him like this. I gently stroke the arch of his brow while running my thumb over his cheekbone, studying his face. The more I stare, the harder it is to push away the guilt. I still haven’t told him the truth about everything. I’m too scared that he’ll kick me out and send me back to my family. It’s been almost a year since I’ve had contact with them. I’ve managed to avoid Shane, for the most part, by sticking to Teddy like glue whenever we leave the house. And I haven’t spoken to my mum at all since leaving. She hasn’t even tried to call Teddy’s parents to ask if I’m okay. I guess she’s glad to be rid of me.
