Chapter Seven

Brendan put Stephen to bed straight away when they got back to his. It gave him the chance to think. He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling the covers fully over Stephen's sleeping form, listening as small puffs of breath escaped his lips. Brendan rubbed at his own face with the palms of his hands.

He hadn't expected things to progress so quickly. He had known that he wanted this time to be different; he couldn't be the same man he was before prison, wouldn't allow himself to be. Stephen deserved a lot better than he was able to give him and yet the lad wanted him. Brendan couldn't deny any longer that he didn't want him just as much. He was captivated by him. It wasn't just his appearance; the milky soft skin, the ardent way his blue eyes would shine, the litheness of his physique. His smile. His pure, bright smile.

As if on cue, Stephen's lips parted, making a small smacking sound as he slept. Brendan had been so worried about him today. He was beginning to realise that his actions had consequences. It had always plagued him, the way he could hurt people, his lovers. Macca had taken each beating with a kind of inner strength and placidity. Looking back, Brendan could only admire him. He loved Brendan with everything he had, no holding back. Brendan was only sorry he could never reciprocate but it wasn't in his nature to love then, not like it was now.

Even so, his love wasn't like it was in the films. He didn't want to sweep Stephen into his arms and promise him a brighter tomorrow; he was more of a realist than that. All he wanted was to be with him, to protect him from harm, to make sure he stayed his and no one else's. He hadn't been able to bear it with Noah. Just thinking of him now made his skin crawl. The idea that any man could touch his Stephen, make love to him, repulsed Brendan to the core. And yet he understood Stephen's need for a normal relationship; even though Noah had been wrong for him in every conceivable way, he didn't hurt him like Brendan did.

If prison had taught him anything it was that no man was untouchable. Even he, tough man Brendan Brady, was capable of being beaten down and discarded. He wouldn't allow it; he wanted to be unbreakable. And yet it had also taught him how it felt, how it ached. It wasn't so much the bruises or the cracked ribs, as painful as they were; it was the emasculation, the shame. Every night Brendan had thought of Stephen. Thought of how he didn't believe him, of how trusting he had once been of him and how Brendan had stamped it out of him long ago. He thought of the early days when Stephen would smile at him goofily without restraint, how in bed he would grab Brendan's hand when he knew he was too tired to react and he would let him, and how he would squeeze his fingers, his smile small and tentative.

All he had wanted to do was love Brendan. He had wanted to be with him, properly without fear. Brendan hadn't been able to accept that; he could barely even accept himself never mind the person who brought out the very best and worst in him. It would have been so easy to come out of prison and treat him worse. It was in Brendan's nature to do so after all. And yet the moment he had placed himself in Stephen's shoes, seen the utterly defeated way he stood, worn out and down, unable to deal anymore, Brendan had known that he wanted to be the one to be there for him, not the one to grind him down further.

He felt as though Stephen knew him. That was why it had hurt so much, knowing that he hadn't believed him about murdering those girls. He hadn't given him a reason to trust him but he thought that Stephen was smarter than that. It had taken a while for Brendan to realise that it wasn't as simple as that. It was easy for Stephen to believe he was the killer, because it meant that he could shut his feelings off towards him. Whether he truly believed it or not, it didn't matter. Any excuse to find a way out of the misery that was the two of them together. Of course, it hadn't all been bad. The day that Brendan had laid himself bare, had uttered those three little words that changed everything, that had been true, real.

Even then Stephen hadn't allowed himself to trust Brendan. And true to form, Brendan had let him down. If only he had waited, given Brendan a chance to adapt to his new situation. But of course, Stephen had waited long enough. This was Brendan's real test and he had failed. Not intentionally, but he had. Everything after that had been a mess. Brendan had been so desperate at first, willing Stephen to stay his, to not abandon him. But how could he not?

All of the snippiness and the bitterness couldn't disguise the fact that they still cared. They wanted a reaction out of each other, however negative. And once again Brendan had reverted to form, had spoken with his fists. Afterwards he was desperate again, willing Stephen to understand. But even he could feel that this was the end. And until recently, he had truly believed that. But Stephen, beautiful and kind-hearted as he was, was willing to give Brendan another chance, a final chance. He wanted them to get help, professionally. He wanted Brendan to tell the councillor everything he had just thought about. But when it came to it, Brendan couldn't.

There was still an innate part of him that wanted to hide, to conceal himself. He had the understanding, the patience to listen to what Stephen said, to what he thought about his life with Brendan. It pieced a lot together in Brendan's mind and yet he still couldn't bring himself to speak. Weeks passed and he said nothing. Stephen sat beside him, pouring his heart out, and Brendan remained silent. Everything Stephen had said so far had shaped Brendan's musings. He had so much to say and yet no way of expressing those thoughts.

Many a night he would lie beside him and watch him, and marvel at how perfect he was and how desperately he loved him. And yet he couldn't say so. It had been ingrained into him at an early age that feelings were better off hidden. His Father had always said: no man should speak his mind, unless to belittle another or to gain ground in an otherwise impossible situation. Brendan wasn't his Father. He didn't want to be him; he certainly didn't want his sons to be like that. But it was still a part of him, that fear and revulsion at what he was. The only thing that had changed was that he recognised it was his issue and not Stephen's. He realised it was better to keep it inside rather than burden Stephen any more with it. That was why he remained silent. Session after session. Silence.

Until one day Stephen said something that rocked him to the core. Took him completely off his guard and swallowed him whole in his desperation and desire for him. He said:

"I always felt as though I was nothing. My Step Dad made me feel it, so did my Mum. Amy's family rejected me at first; I tried to be a good parent but didn't always do my best for them. And then Brendan came along. He made me feel worthy, special. I felt more desired than I ever had in my entire life. He wanted me, mind, body and soul. When he would push me down, discard me like I was nothing, I felt like I wanted to die. Not only because I knew what he was doing was detestable, and I was a fool for returning to him, but because despite all that, I loved him. Twenty-one years of life and I had never loved a person like I loved him. He was my air; he made me crazy at every turn but also made me feel more alive than I ever believed possible. Only now knowing that he can change, do I feel like I can love him like I'm supposed to. I don't need his appreciation anymore, I'm my own man now and I'll remain that way. But I want him in my life; I can't imagine a world without him in it. It isn't right, not in the eyes of a lot of people, but it's all I know. All I'm sure of. I love him. That's it"

Brendan turned to him, his eyes moist, his expression clouded. He hadn't uttered a word in all the weeks they had been here. He opened his mouth, Stephen's expression lit up with hope, with need. There was still a part of him that needed that gratification, even if he couldn't admit it to himself. No words could do justice to how Brendan felt, but sometimes less was definitely more.

"Thank you" he murmured, his voice dry from lack of use in the past hour.

"What for?" Stephen asked quizzically, the smile forming on his lips.

"Everything" Brendan breathed. Only now did he realise he needed to do this, needed Stephen to understand everything. Only then could they really belong to each other, remain together.

"Are you ready to speak, Brendan?" The therapist asked him calmly.

Brendan stared at Stephen, his gaze hard. He then turned to the therapist.

"Yes"