“This is awful.”
“I think it’s supposed to be. I mean, it has to be intentional, doesn’t it? You couldn’taccidentallycome up with something this disgusting. I’m picturing a secret laboratory where retired PE teachers dream up the drinks that go into hospital vending machines. Sure it’s a far cry from the old days, but sadism’s sadism, right?”
He bursts out laughing. I love how El laughs, full and musical and like nobody’s in the room. I wish I could laugh like that. We wander back to our seats, where we grimace at our undrinkable tea. We’re quiet for a while, then El says –
“She saved me, you know.” He holds the steaming cup to his chest. “When my parents threw me out, she was the only one who showed me any kind of support or sympathy. Do you know what that’s like? To have just this one person who’s prepared to offer you some security? It’s like you’re attached to the world by a single thread, and if that thread snaps?” He looks at me with these huge eyes. “What’s going to happen to me then?”
He tells me his coming-out story, and it shatters my heart. I travel with him from closed door to closed door, the money in his pocket transforming from paper to coins, from silver to bronze, until he ends up cold and starving in Ferrivale, where his mum’s second cousin takes him in. She gives him food and a bed and, most important of all, wraps warm arms around him and tells him he’s wonderful just the way he is.
It was a week later that he first discovered her passed out in the kitchen.
El’s face turns dark. “Bradley Hinchcliffe. His boys have been dealing to her for years.”
“But everyone knows the guy,” I say. “He was in school last year talking about ethical investments and community spirit.”
“Oh, on the surface he’s Jesus reborn.” El smiles. “But if you look a little deeper…”
He crushes his cup and some of the tea spills onto his shirt. It’s only then that I remember he’s sitting in blood-stained clothes. I rummage in the bag I brought from the flat and take out a fresh T-shirt. He thanks me and we head to the bathroom. It’s a single toilet so I pass El the shirt through a crack in the door. Long seconds drag as I stand outside.
“Are you okay?” I ask at last.
“I can’t,” he murmurs. “My hands are shaking too much. Dylan, I’m sorry, can you help me?”
“Oh. Yeah. Course. No problem.”
I check the corridor for sullen eyes, then slip into the room. It’s a small space and the smell of industrial cleaner makes my eyes itch. El stands in front me, the T-shirt in his hands. It’s then that his gaze flicks to my own shirt.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” I blush. “There was some blood on me and I—”
“It’s okay. More than okay. Yellow suits you. It brings out the gold in your hair and the little amber flecks in your eyes. I never noticed before…”
He touches a strand on my head and I feel that touch in every cell of my body. My heart drums, and when I look down a canary-yellow patch over my chest is fluttering in time.
El pulls off his stained George Ezra T in one smooth motion. I’m sorry, I can’t help but look. His body is a toned, honeyed brown, broad at the shoulders, tapering down to a narrow waist with those plunging hip lines you only really see in magazines. I watch as he turns, and my heart roars. I want to kiss that firm chest and flat stomach, explore each tight curve and sweeping plane, watch how the subtle shifts in pigmentation define his body. And at the same time I need to run and hide from this intimidating perfection.
I do neither. I hand him the shirt.
“Thank you.” He grins as he pulls it on. Is it a knowing grin? My blush reaches supernova.
“Bell?” A voice echoes through the door. “Ellis Bell?”
We exchange a look and duck out of the one-man bathroom. A doctor with a clipboard gives us a wry smile as we tumble into the corridor.
“Mr Bell?”
“Is she okay?” El cuts in.
The young doctor guides us into a side office and we take a seat.
“Your aunt is doing well. The cut from her fall was pretty serious, but I’m sure the wound will heal quite nicely. We’ve sedated her and we’re going to keep her in—”
“Why?”
The doctor makes a soothing gesture. “An overnight stay is pretty standard in these cases. We want to make sure she isn’t suffering any concussion. She should be released first thing tomorrow. However, there is the other matter. Do you know how long she’s been using?”
El shakes his head. “I only moved in a few months ago, and before that…I didn’t really know my aunt very well. I think she’s been on the stuff a while.”
“I see. Well, look, it’s important we get her some help. I’m going to talk to her tomorrow and see what kind of treatment will work best, but I won’t lie to you, she’s going to need a lot of support going forward.”
