Scott frowned. “The Star?”
“BeforeThe Star, there was another TV talent show, and I won it.” He shook his head. “That’s not quite right. Myvoicewon it. Nobody wanted the rest of me. I was on the front page of every newspaper after the win, and do you think they chose a nice picture? Of course they didn’t. Having a monster on the cover sells more copies.”
“Thomas, you’re –”
“I hated the attention. I hated that it was no longer about my voice, something I was proud of at the time. It all became about how I looked, and the newspapers called me things; they discussed me like a sickly animal that needed to be put down. Hosts on programmes made fun of me to make their audiences laugh. Every YouTube video of my performances wasbombarded with cruel comments, jokes at my expense and threats. I hated it, but then I stopped hating it and began hating myself. I was the things they all said I was; I was the punchline to the sick joke. I deserved to be hurt because of how I looked, who I was… I wasn’t what the public wanted. I didn’t put myself out there for that. I didn’t even put myself out there for me. I did it for my parents, to make them proud, but they were only ever after money.”
“Tim said there was a court case?”
“After I won the show, they paraded me up and down the country, making me perform anywhere. I hated it. People are cruel even when they’ve paid to see you. I didn’t want to do it, but they made me. There was talk of lawyers, and signing contracts, and doctors.”
“Doctors?”
Thomas bit his lip. “I used to have crippling panic attacks before I performed. My parents made me take anti-anxiety drugs and other things to keep me calm on stage, and compliant. It went on for years, then one day I’d had enough, told them I’d never perform again. They weren’t happy, tried to threaten me, guilt-trip me, and all the while they were taking all the royalties, hoarding all my money and not letting me have any, so I sued them. My assets were frozen while the court case went on, leaving us all penniless. I was their only means of income, and they made lots of terrible claims about me, which hit the news, acting like they were the victim, but the judge saw through it. I won. I won everything.”
“When was the last time you saw your parents?”
“That day in court, when they found out they lost. They looked at me like I was the monster, like they couldn’t believe their son would do that to them.” Thomas shrugged. “They moved north, towards Newcastle. I haven’t heard a thing from them since. I bought this place, started” – he gestured to his face– “this process. Janice came up with the great idea of putting RIP under the YouTube videos, and people ran with it, thinking I was dead. People grow a conscience when you’re six feet under. I changed my name to Thomas, ditched my parents’ surname too, and here I am, over a decade later.”
“I’m sorry,” Scott whispered. “About all of it.”
“None of it is your fault, Scott. I don’t need an apology from you. I wanted it from my mum and my dad, but they never gave it to me, and I don’t believe they ever will. But I’d give it all up to start again. I’d give it all up to have parents who loved me and didn’t see me as their cash-cow, but that’s why I’m like this.” Thomas gestured between them. “That’s why I’m finding this hard. Trusting you, I mean, it doesn’t come easily.”
“I know,” Scott said, taking his hand. “Thank you.”
“I wanted you to know that threats over the internet are just that, over the internet. They hurt, they make you uncomfortable, scared, they keep you awake at night, and you wonder if you’re the problem, but you’re not. It’s them. That sick bastard won’t be coming anywhere near you, and I’d kill him if he did…”
Chapter twenty-three
Inthedaysthatfollowed Thomas’s revelation, he opened more of himself up to Scott, including the forbidden room. One wall would’ve looked at home in a serial killer’s lair, except instead of weapons to dissect and mutilate, there were sex toys pinned to the brickwork. All different sizes, shapes and colours. A lot of them Scott didn’t know whether they were for external or internal use, and when he questioned Thomas, he replied it depended on how brave you were.
Thomas hadn’t brought him into the room to show off his collection of toys, though. He led Scott to one of the bookcases and told him to pick a folder. Scott hesitated. The folders were all black, with nothing that hinted at what the contents might be. He picked one, opened it up to be confronted with newspaper cuttings with a boy, because at fifteen that’s all he’d really been, being unmercifully mocked, compared to a grotesque monster in a film from the fifties.
“This is…horrible,” Scott murmured, flicking through.
It wasn’t an isolated incident; all the newspapers were at it. They’d all edited and manipulated the images to change Thomas’s appearance. Scott closed the file and selected another, shaking his head at the print-outs of the comment section on YouTube.
“Why would you keep these?” Scott asked.
Thomas gestured to the bookcases. “This is my defence during the court case. All two hundred and fifteen files.”
“But why keep them now?”
Thomas didn’t answer.
“You should burn them.”
“Maybe one day.”
Scott pushed the folder back onto the shelf. “Do you come in here to look at them?”
“I used to,” Thomas admitted. “I’d sit on that sofa over there” – he gestured to it – “and I’d pick a file, and I’d read, and I’d remember, and I’d get sad, then angry,so angry,and I’d convince myself I was better off alone.”
He strolled over to the sofa and patted the space beside him as he sat down. Scott shook his head at the bookcases one last time before going to join Thomas. A laptop was open on the coffee table in front of them, and Thomas tapped the keys until it came out of hibernation mode.
“Beauty and the Beast,” Scott read. He leaned in with wide eyes. “How many subscribers have we got?”
Thomas snorted. “2,908 –”
