Chapter One

Maughan library, King's College London. 23rd March 2005.

I turn the pages of the textbook methodically, steadily, the pages passing in front of my unseeing eyes, the words and numbers a blur of smudged ink, my head aching, my hands shaking.

This was essentially all Nathaniel's fault. It was pretty much all down to him.

It was Nath who had suggested joining the cricket team in the first place, him who had spotted the poster in freshers week and suggested to me, no told me more like it, that we had to join.

"We need to meet more people, not just these random fuckers that we get assigned to live next to in halls."

"Hey! I'm one of those 'random fuckers' that you got assigned to," I moaned half-heartedly.

"Nah, you're cool. But seriously dude, we should go sign up, it sounds like fun, nothing too serious and we'll get to expand our social circle like we keep being told this university bollocks is all about."

His eyes shone like nothing I had ever seen before, glints of light sparkling like drops of dew in the dawn light and I agreed readily, because I enjoyed playing cricket and I wanted to meet people. That was all. Two and a half years later, nearly two years after Nath had got bored and found some other new club, fencing I think, or water polo perhaps, something incongruous that only he would see as normal, I was still there. It was just part of my routine now. Wednesday afternoons meant practice, matches every other Sunday and then once or twice a week there was sitting in the union with Khalid or Mark or Tony, chatting, complaining heartily about the 9am lectures (But seriously, they expect you not just to be up but to be capable of rational, logical, thought? What kind of a hellhole is this place?) or joking around about the respective success and failures of Pakistan, England or South Africa (Yeah but I have a really good feeling about the Ashes this year, seriously. What, that you lot aren't gonna get twatted over 5-0? Dream on…). Nath was right of course. I had met people, made friends. It was casual and easy and fun.

At least it was, until last term, when Danny joined.

Cocky. Especially for a fresher. Thinking he knew it all just because he'd spent a year overseas somewhere, spending Daddy's money pretending to save the world, sneered Tony and we all nodded. That type. Discussions in the union soon ceased to be about the latest England batting collapse or the appalling music in the bar last night but instead took the form of a litany of complaints against Danny.

Talks too much, Khalid moaned. Arrogant, chimed in Mark, Thinks he's God's gift, agreed Tony. Always got to be the centre of attention, I added, thinking with annoyance of him striding proudly around the changing rooms after his shower, everything on display. We couldn't kick him out, the club was open to all, that's the way it worked, but I silently waited for him to move on, to take his powerful batting and gym toned body away from my club, my haven of sanity amidst the maelstrom of third year life.

But he didn't leave. Instead I found my allies gradually softening their stance. He's not so bad when you get to know him, admitted Tony. He is a good batsman I suppose, hedged Khalid, He's quite funny actually, added Mark. And so I tried, I really did. I tried to be nice, to be polite. I'd put on my best smile and try to be charming but still he looked at me like I was…I dunno, like I was a strange animal in the wild that he had to categorise or something. And he still strutted round the changing room with no respect for anyone else or any sense of dignity or anything.

No, I definitely didn't like Danny. And I didn't trust him either, so I made sure I kept my eye on him, not letting him get away with everything like he thought he could.

And then today happened. And with that thought, the bile rises and a chill starts to spread over my skin as that stomach-lurching feeling that had no name and no place in my body renewed itself with vigour.

Bloody Nathaniel. It was because of his text that I was even still there after all. We'd finished practice and I guess I'd been a bit slower than usual getting showered and changed, but anyway I was still sitting at the end of the bench pulling on my jeans and drying my hair while the other guys were already pretty much dressed.

Nath had been away for a bit, some family crisis or other so he'd gone home to Leeds to sort it out. So obviously when he sent me a text saying he was back and desperate for a pint, well I had to reply immediately. It was only polite, and I'd missed hanging out with him. I just hadn't realised how much until I got his text. I could feel the grin edging over my face as I typed my reply, See you in the union, 5 mins, and I barely registered the calls of goodbye as the rest of the team trooped out and left. Too engrossed in my thoughts I didn't hear the hiss of the taps come to a halt, or the pad of wet footsteps leave the shower and enter the changing rooms.

It wasn't until a shadow fell over the bench that I registered his presence. A tall muscular presence. A naked presence, the white towel that was slung easily around his hips serving merely to highlight the rest of his bare flesh, the tan of his stomach, the odd sprinkling of rough hairs over his chest, the beads of water that rested at the roots of his shaggy blonde locks before sliding down the curve of his neck. I told my eyes to look away. I ordered my feet to move, but my disobedient body was pinned to the floor, my wayward eyes glued to his frame.

Danny pulled the towel off in one swift movement, ruffling his hair and tossing it to the side, finally, thankfully breaking the spell and I turned to my bag at the side, begging my heart to slow down and my breath to settle.

He laughed. An annoying cocky know-it-all laugh.

"So, you're not going to look at me now then? Quite happy to do it when you think I don't notice? Your eyes out on fucking stalks."

I shove clothes quickly into my bag, urging stupid uncooperative fingers to move faster. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Really? My imagination is it?"

"Yeah. It is." Come on come on I urged myself, just get my stuff sorted and get out of here.

"So I just imagine the way your head goes spinning round like the fucking exorcist girl whenever I come out of the shower then?"

"Yes." The word is staccato and sharp, spat out and cast out, unwelcome in my mouth.

"Come on Syed…Stop fucking about. You can't pretend forever."

I turned my back on him, shutting my ears to him, shutting my eyes. "You've got it wrong. I'm not interested, I'm not—"

"Not what?"

"Not...anything. I'm just...I'm not."

"No. Course not." His hand reached to my chin, forcefully twisting my face to turn back to him, forcing my eyes to spring open with the shock of it, making me look at the way his body shone with moisture under the fluorescent lights, coercing my brain to note the sheer unfairness that the lights that make everyone else look like shit merely serve to make him look like some figure from an underwear ad or something. Just without the underwear and oh shit. I turned away again, blinking and staring at the random assortment of unclaimed sports gear lying in the corner, telling my eyes to focus on the scrunch of the balled up t-shirt, the hideous unwanted shorts, but my treacherous vision is tainted and all I can see is the bright expanse of tanned muscular flesh, ever present as if burnt onto my retinas for all eternity.

"Like what you see?" He smirked, he fucking smirked. I hate him I hate him I hate him.

"SHUT UP!" And he grabbed my wrist, pulling me up so we stood face to face, the heat of his body pulsating over me in waves, the threat of him hitting my fragile self-control again and again and again.

"Make me." His eyes were gleaming flints, taunting and refusing to let my gaze falter. Staring at me like they could creep inside my skin and pull out all that was lurking within, all that I have worked so hard to keep hidden away.

I kissed him.

I yanked my wrist from his hand and grabbed his neck, my mouth driving onto his too red lips, forcing a world of righteous anger and shameful need to explode as I kissed him.

No holds barred, he pushed back at me, stronger, letting nothing be won or lost without his command. My head hit the cold hard tiles of the wall, my legs rubbed painfully against the rough wood of the benches at my side but my hands were grasping at smooth damp skin, sliding desperately over the curve of muscles and the solid ridge of unyielding bone.

It was his weight that hit me the most. He was unavoidably male, even with eyes shut there was no escaping this, no escaping him. The few girls that I had kissed had been pliant and soft and I was nervous of their seeming fragility, not knowing where the limits should be drawn. I would pull away, scared of rules that no-one had ever told me but everyone else seemed just to know. But this was different. Danny was here and everywhere and pressing back so hard into me that I had to push back myself, our bodies battling, as if the winner wasn't already known and crowned.

My brain slowly started to wake up. And panic. Suddenly screaming at my body to halt, to run away, to pull off him and curse him and rescue myself while I still could. There was still time then, still a moment of opportunity that could have been seized, a second chance to stop this insane madness. I could have pulled away from him and cursed him for forcing me into such a thing. I could have looked at him with disdain and told him that this might be what he had wanted but it would never be for me. I could have stopped and it would have become a minor thing. A petty small issue that could have been hidden and forgotten. Nothing worthy of a comment to Nathaniel or anyone. I could have stopped.

I couldn't stop.

His hand in my hair, tightly bunched up in his fists, holding so hard and so tight I felt my scalp burn. And then his other hand, running between our bodies, running inside my jeans, sliding inside my boxers, grabbing me and stroking me and it was too late. I had nowhere to run.

I reached for him too, and if my eyes had not already shut, I know they would have closed now for sure, as the little tiny voice that I can never quite shut out started to crow and call in its mocking fashion, whispering so why does this feel so right?

I didn't know what I was doing, I didn't know what I was supposed to be doing. My hands aped his movements, recreating the actions that I had done to myself in secret late night moments, thinking of secret unthinkable thoughts. But I could barely pay attention as the feel of his hand on me threatened to tip me over into oblivion. I was pressed up uncomfortably against a wall, I had a wooden bench threatening to impale itself into my leg, I had my hands on some other blokes cock and I didn't have a bloody clue what I was doing. I had never felt more like a pathetic, unknowing virgin in all my life and even then I couldn't stop my brain from cursing oh why did it have to be bloody Danny, of all people, who would witness my weakness and my shame.

I pretended not to hear the unasked for keens that fell from me and into his mouth. But I couldn't hide the way my body shudder and trembled, as I came into his hand. I continued to stroke him, awkwardly, urgently, needing to make him come, needing to feel it, to see it, needing it to happen before the fog of lust fully lifted to leave the dismay of clarity.

"Fuck Syed," he cried at last, and I dared to open an eye to see his face, and then wished I hadn't. His lips kiss-swollen and more tempting than I could cope with. My chest heaved with desperate need, long denied breaths slowly filling and releasing.

I looked at him in silence, trying to deciper the look in his eyes, and then turned away, pulling a jumper over my head, grabbing my nearly packed bag and shoes and running, the soft pad of my bare feet hitting the cool tiles of the floor.

"Syed, wait—"

I didn't stop. I didn't listen, I ran blind, hoping against hope that I didn't see anyone until I fell into the door to the toilets. I ran the tap in the sink, and threw my hands underneath the water, washing and washing, watching the waste water as it circled round and disappeared down the drain. Bile rose in my stomach and I gripped tight onto the sink, fearing for a moment that I might be sick into it. I swallowed it down. I swallowed it all down, forcing slow rational thoughts back into my head.

Need to go somewhere. Where? The flat? No. Almost certain to be people there, people asking questions, looking at me, knowing. My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I pulled it out, trembling fingers stabbing pitifully at the keys. Nath. Shit.

Oy Masood, where r u? Late again fucker. U owe me a pint.

The bile rose and fell again and I leant against the sink, seeking assurances from its solid form. Not Nathaniel. No way could I see Nathaniel right now. I thought of Tony and Mark and Khalid, of me trying to find a way to tell them that I am never coming back to the team again, a reason for leaving them in the lurch halfway through the season. I thought of Nathaniel. I thought of Danny and I dug my nails into the palm of my hand, feeling the pressure dig into the skin, the sharp mindless ache distracting my body from the dull helpless pain within.

The library, I decided, with determined force. I'll get cracking on next week's lectures. Concentrate on things that are important. Not on stupid pointless games that just distract you from the things that matter in life. I shoved my phone in my pocket, text left unanswered. I pulled my shoes on, splashed water on my face and looked in the mirror. Syed Masood, Business Management graduate. A success. That's what I'm going to be, and nothing is going to fuck that up.

I walked briskly to the library, not glancing over my shoulder for a second, not even thinking to. I pulled out a book, I turned the pages, I studied.

And here I am.

I blink again, and turn to a new chapter. Concentrate on the figures, I tell myself. The words might move and change, those flighty unreliable words. But numbers, now they always stay the same. They are dependable, add 2 and 2 together and they always make 4. I read the chapter slowly, mumbling the words out loud, writing the numbers down carefully on my paper, thoughts gradually coming together, and the smile slowly returns to my face. It all makes sense, it all seems so simple. Mum and Dad, they try hard but they are missing out on some big money here, getting some proper returns for all their hard work and effort. I see what they can do, I see what I can do, to make the business a real success, to make them proud of me. A small investment here leading to a massive return later on. It's so obvious. I can't stop from laughing quietly with relief and joy, jotting down more and more figures on the paper, seeing how easily they stack up. I can't believe I didn't see it before. But now, now I'm going to do my part in making the Masood name stand out proud and bold.

Everything is going to be brilliant.