Disclaimer: I do not (unfortunately) own any of the characters of places, they are the brainchild of others.
Warning: Contains and refers to violence, child abuse, rape and self-harm.
I haul my suitcase into the dorm room and dump it beside my new bed, surveying the unfamiliar surroundings. These dorms are a lot different to the Varsity ones, but I'm not complaining. The walls in here are a soft yellow instead the garish, blood red that decorates the Varsity walls. I have my own reasons for hating such a colour, only some of which involve the fact that it's on my old team jersey. Turning to the door, I kick it shut with my foot and go to sit on my bed, wondering when the others will turn up. It looks like Fulton's already here, his things are scattered in a large explosion around the small room, which is very like him, but there's no sign of him, although I can't say I'm not glad. I don't know if I can face anyone right now.
I wander into the bathroom and roll up the blinds, allowing sunlight to filter into the tiny space. Turning to the mirror, I self-consciously peer at my reflection, lightly prodding the vicious black bruise around my eye and wincing at the dull pain. I sigh resignedly and hang my head, knowing that this will be all too visible and hoping that no one finds it suspicious. One good thing about being with Varsity last year was that at least no one noticed me, so I was able to stay out of the way and hide until I could show a clear face again. A bang from the adjoining room causes my head to snap up, my thoughts interrupted, and I hurry from the bathroom into the dorm corridor and run into the next room, where I see Guy and Goldberg with a box between them, each shouting at the other heatedly.
"It's not like I did it on purpose!" yells Goldberg, his faint Jewish accent stronger in his anger.
"I know that, but I told you to be careful with it!" Replies Guy in a throaty bellow that surprises me. I never knew the kid had it in him-he's usually so calm and quiet...
"I was careful, you were the one that tripped! What was I supposed to do? Fall as well?"
"No, you were meant to hold onto it, dork!"
"Dork? Am I the one that dropped it? I don't think so, klutz!"
"Klutz?! Let me tell you something you-"Guy stops mid-sentence as he notices me. "Oh...hi Adam, what's up?"
I raise an eyebrow and give him a sardonic look. "I was going to ask the same thing." He and Goldberg glance at each other murderously, neither speaking for a moment, then Guy answers. "I decided to bring my TV from home with me-the one I have in my room. I asked him" he jerked a thumb at his roommate "to help me and the result is that now it's on the floor after an unpredicted flight through thin air!"
Goldberg turns red in his anger and glares daggers at Guy's back before retaliating with: "I didn't do anything! I was holding my end of the stupid box when that geek tripped over his feet and went sprawling! You try holding one end of a TV with no one helping you carry it! It's no joke!"
"Hey! Who are you calling a geek, you dumbass?"
"Dumbass? I'll show you who's the dumbass around here you-"I back out of the room and shut the door, deciding to let them iron out their differences alone. I'm not so bothered about the fact that I got a rather cool reception-it was to be expected-but I can't handle any arguments right now, God knows I've had enough of them to deal with over the summer.
As I wander back into my own room I catch a glimpse of black leather and faded denims before an unbearable force pounds into me, winding me and knocking me to the floor. Dazed, I raise my head from the carpet and look up to see two shadows leaning over me, each at least seven foot tall, three foot wide and scary as hell. I whimper and try to run, but a hand reaches down and grabs my shoulder, pulling me to my feet.
"Hey Banksie!" rumbles a familiar voice, "Long time no see!"
"Yeah man, how you been?" I straighten up and stop trying to make a bid for freedom, looking instead behind me. I give my first real smile in months as I see Fulton and Portman grinning at me, both incredibly tanned after a long vacation and both the first ones to show genuine enthusiasm at my return to the team.
"Great!" I lie, the smile threatening to fall from my face as I remember the past three months. But how can I tell them otherwise? They wouldn't be interested, and besides, it's got nothing to do with them. I've dealt with this on my own for too long; it's too late to let anyone else in. Fulton frowns as I turn and points to my face.
"What happened to you?"
I'd thought ahead about my excuse on the train to Eden Hall. "I tripped in the bathroom and hit the sink. Blacked out for a few moments, but it's nothing serious." It was almost true-I did hit the sink and I was unconscious. Portman laughs slightly.
"It's not like you to be so clumsy, Banksie!"
"No" agreed Fulton, not smiling any more, "it's not." He has an odd look on his face, but Portman doesn't notice. He becomes distracted by the noise from the next room.
"What's up with Guy and Goldberg?"
I shrug. "Something to do with a TV...an accident, but one Guy's not willing to admit to." I attempt a grin but it feels unfamiliar. "Sounds like blue murder's being committed!"
Portman whoops in exultation. "Alright! Let's go see what's going on!" he runs from the room, Fulton following slowly. At the door he halts and looks back at me, trying to say something. I wave him on before he can get the words out.
"Go see if you can sort those two out. I don't think I can deal with them right now...I-I'm really tired." Despite the fact that it's only ten in the morning. Fulton frowns, but leaves. I sigh, knowing that I won't be able to escape him later. There's only so long you can hide from your roommate, and I've got to go to bed at some point. Knowing Fulton he'll ask until he gets an answer, but what do I tell him? He's not going to believe the usual stories-he's not as dumb as people make out. Besides that, he's been acting oddly for a while, like he knows something...but how could he? I've been careful to conceal the truth, haven't I? Lord knows it's not been easy, not when I have to return to Eden Hall looking like I've gone ten rounds with a gorilla with a hormone problem...I shake my head and try to think of a cover up. It's going to be difficult this time. There's only so many times you can use the old 'I walked into a door' excuse without anyone asking questions. I make my way back into the bathroom and shut the door behind me, locking it, just in case. Sitting on the side of the bath I take a few deep breaths to calm myself and feel the tears begin to form. Sniffling slightly I hang my head and bite my lip, willing myself to hold back and stay strong. A mirthless laugh breaks quietly from my mouth as I think this. Strong? When have I ever been strong? A strong person would stand up for himself. A strong person wouldn't let himself be beaten to a pulp. A strong person wouldn't hurt himself just to relieve the self-hatred and shame...a sob catches in my throat and I stifle it quickly, feeling hot tears stream down my face, carving burning tracks over my cheeks. Memories crowd into my mind, images of grim faces, beating fists, brutal feet. I weep as I reflect on the beatings, the name-callings, the abuse...the blood. So much of it...where did it come from? From the punches, the kicks...from me.
Still sobbing I pull the bandaging from my wrist and gaze at the dark welts criss-crossing the bruised skin. No one knows. They just think the bandages are for support...they were, at first. But then they became the perfect excuse. Who would suspect? I even manage to fool myself sometimes. My vision shimmers as more tears well in my eyes and I let my arm drop to my lap, my energy gone.
The noise from next door has abated; obviously Fulton and Portman are sorting things between Guy and Goldberg. I can't think straight right now, my head is in a real mess. I'm too tired to think I just want to sleep. Wiping the tears from my face I summon up enough energy to unlock the door and stumble through to the bedroom, collapsing onto my bed. I think I'll just lie here for a while...it's so comfortable...I haven't slept for days...I think...I'll...just...
I'm looking into a mirror, a small five-year-old stares back, his white-blonde hair drifting in a thick sweep across his forehead, silver-blue eyes wide and filled with tears. As I watch the reflection, two older boys appear, each with dark blonde, curling hair, one with green eyes, one with grey. They smile maliciously, their hands outstretched and the child whimpers, watching them in the mirror. I feel hard fingers grip my shoulders, see the two boys clench their hands roughly over the child's smaller shoulders and squeeze. We both cry out in pain and I watch as shining threads trail down the small boy's face. He utters something in a silent voice; there is no sound. The older boys reply with evil grins, their grip intense now. The image flickers, like a badly tuned TV, and then returns.
I'm looking into a mirror, a small five-year-old stares back, his white blonde hair thick with the blood dripping from his forehead, silver-blue eyes bruised and half-closed, surrounded by a mass of flowing scarlet. The image is reflected hundreds of times, a large crack in the mirror shivering the picture before me, shards of shining glass glittering a dull crimson...
I wake up thrashing, feeling a weight pressing on my shoulders; a voice is calling my name. Still trapped in my dream I lash out, catching my attacker with a clenched fist. I hear a loud curse, feel the weight vanish and sit up swiftly, casting my frantic gaze around the room. My head clears a little and I'm released from the fear and pain of unreality. Coming to my senses I begin to wonder what the hell just happened and look down beside my bed, only to find Fulton lying on the floor wheezing and clutching his stomach, curled up in a ball and trying to regain his breath.
"...The...hell?" He manages to gasp, rising to his knees and inhaling sharply, looking up at me in confusion. I'm momentarily stunned by the fact that I've just winded one of the infamous Bash Brothers, then shake myself mentally and leap from the bed, extending a hand towards Fulton.
"Hey...Fulton...I am so sorry...I didn't realise..."
"No...problem..." He gasps, his breathing beginning to ease. I help him onto my bed and wait while he allows his breathing to settle. Eventually he turns to me, frowning. I'm in for it now. "What was that all about, Adam?" he demands, the concern in his voice startling. I expected him to be outraged, or at least indignant. I look into his face and see only anxiety. I shrug.
"Bad dream."
"Bad dream? Man, you were thrashing around like you were having a fit or something! I was on the verge of going for help when you started screaming, so I tried to wake you up, but you caught me with your fist..." he trailed off, watching me intently, worry evident in his blue eyes. I sigh.
"Old memories, that's all."
There's a heavy silence, then: "...Memories?"
I've said too much and refuse to answer, but Fulton persists. "You can tell me Adam, I won't hurt you." He stares into his lap. "I know something's going on, you can't deny it. I'm not forcing you to tell me, but I want you to know that I'm here for you." Here for me? Since when has anyone been here for me? Since when has anyone cared? I look into his earnest face and know that I could never burden him with the truth. How could I tell such an old friend everything he wants to know? How do I tell him about my life, my real life, the one no one knows about. They all think I come from the perfect family, have the perfect background...I wish it was true. No. I look at Fulton and realise that I must never let him know. I must keep it to myself. I couldn't disappoint him like that. I could never let on about the years of torment and torture, or about how every time I come home my father and brothers make a sport of trying to think up new ways to hurt me. I could never tell him about my mother, who sits in the background, watching them beating me and letting them, safe in the knowledge that as long as I'm there they'll leave her alone. I could never tell him about the long nights lying awake, afraid to go to sleep because of what will happen if I do and the way I barricade my door with anything I can lay my hands on. I could never tell him about my father...I hang my head in shame as memories enter my head; memories of hot, sweaty hands, heavy breathing, grunts and moans of pleasure ...I shut my eyes against the pictures in my mind, but they won't go away. I can feel the filth lying on my skin like an oily layer that thwarts my every attempt to scrub it off, and I move away from Fulton, not wanting to contaminate such an innocent soul. He seems startled, but attempts to lay a hand on my arm. I flinch unconsciously and he pulls back, a hurt look in his eyes. He wanted to help, but I know he can't. No one can. There is no help, no salvation from a life like mine. I deal with it in my own way, by hurting myself. I let the shame and anger and dirt out through more pain, I inflict injury on myself to give me back a sense of identity, of power. It never works, but I do it anyway. I can't tell him this. It would disappoint him too much-if he ever understood in the first place. I rise from the bed and walk towards the door.
"Thanks Fulton, but I think you've misunderstood."
"Adam wait!" He calls, but I've already shut the door. I've shut it on him and I've shut it on my memories as well. But for how long? How many hours before they return, howling for my blood? How long before I'm putting a knife to my arm in an attempt to channel the pain? How long before I continue my quest for innocence and a childhood I never had? I don't think I have long, but for now my mind is blissfully numb...Until I realise that I've left my bandages in my dorm room with Fulton...my bloodstained, scarlet-striped bandages...
