The bunk bed was a solid metal structure with two flimsy mattresses, long since losing their firmness. The springs dug uncomfortably into your back, and the bed, though structurally sound, rocked whenever a person turned over. The top bunk, being further from the ground and having less support, created the most movement. This is what Aaron found out when he moved to Daniels' cell. Daniels slept on the top. Fact. Aaron didn't argue with him. Daniels turned over a lot. Fact. And Aaron didn't argue with him, not even when he realised Daniels was turning over as often as possible just to hinder Aaron's sleep. Then, of course, there was how often Daniels needed the toilet, which was a lot. He'd climb down noisily, mumbling about his weak bladder, but the tone of voice was carried by a smile and most of the time he just didn't need to go. Aaron tried to remain patient, he figured Daniels would get bored soon.
Luckily, this was as far as the torment went and there wasn't even a hint of threat as he carried his stuff into the cell. He'd just been explained the rules, which consisted of 'don't touch my things and then there'll be no reason to kill you', and that had been it. In fact, apart from the bed thing, Daniels was the perfect roommate. He didn't snore, kept his things tidy and stayed out of his room except when sleeping. Aaron watched Daniels, cataloguing him, warily waiting for the abuse to begin. He noticed the other man did nothing accidentally. His movements always carefully measured. Every gesture and inclination considered and thought out. He was like a leopard surveying from the tree branches. He'd stalk back and forth; he'd lounge not so casually. No words spoken to him seemed to create any effect, and that smile never left his face.
Daniels had not even mentioned the other week, when he'd interrupted him and Haines. Aaron couldn't fathom it. Was he not worried Aaron would spill the beans? Did he think that the single threat was enough to earn silence? Maybe no one would care, but then why threaten him at all? Aaron didn't know, and so he watched. He watched across the rec, Daniels laughing as he lost his game of pool. He watched him separate his peas away from carrots his because he didn't like carrots. He watched every time Daniels climbed down from the bed in the middle of the night. And he watched every morning, as Daniels bent over, jeans in hand, pulling them up over firm legs. Slowly, Aaron stopped watching him from fear of threat and instead, he just watched.
One morning, a couple of weeks into them cohabiting, Daniels returned from the shower. He pulled his towel from his waist and casually rubbed at his hair, leaving his body exposed. Aaron was in bed, duvet up over his head, a small tiny hole at the side, just enough for Aaron to peep through. He watched Daniels lean against the wall and close his eyes for a second, so similar to what he'd witnessed in the laundry room. He watched him pat his neck, drying those last droplets clinging to his skin. He watched him move the towel lower, taking a swipe over his genitals.
Aaron watched intently and when he realised he was holding his breath, took that corner edge of his duvet and closed the gap.
At 1 p.m., Jackson wiped the plaster splodges on his hands down his trouser legs and stepped back to survey the work. He was pleased with what he saw. When he'd arrived at the job, almost three months ago, the house had been a shell, the ceiling had fallen down and some of the wooden beams were breaking away. It didn't look like that now, the bathroom and kitchen were installed in their basic form, all the plastering was finished and it was habitable. The job at Declan's was big, bigger than he should have handled on his own. But Jackson liked a challenge. He liked being project manager and builder. He liked sourcing the materials. Everything about the job was fantastic. Good boss, great pay, interesting work. He had only one problem, lousy neighbours. No, not neighbours, neighbour, just one. Aaron Livesy.
Aaron Livesy, who wouldn't even acknowledge him in the street. Who kept his head down as he walked and glanced around before he left the garage. At first, Jackson had been hurt and yet bizarrely understanding. After all, he didn't know what to say to Aaron either. But then, he'd tried to talk and been shot down, not once but twice. They were now in this strange place where the tension was building between them and Aaron became inventive in his ways to avoid him.
Slowly, that understanding turned to anger and Jackson started behaving in much the same way. He'd keep his head down when going out for his tool box, worked outside as long as Aaron was on a call out and check to see if he went to the pub or café for lunch before going to the other. Like now for instance, Aaron was out and so Jackson made the decision to go to the café. He fancied a bacon sandwich with his coffee and newspaper and quickly locked up the house.
The café door opened and Jackson stepped aside, allowing an elderly gentleman, who was local to the village, exit first. Jackson smiled genuinely as the other man tipped his hat. As he walked in, he sighed. Aaron was sitting at the table with his colleague Ryan. Damn, he thought he was on a call out, or at home or in a ditch for all he cared. Aaron wasn't even looking at the door, but Jackson saw him, the way his frame tensed, the way his eyes remained fixed on the point he was looking at. Brenda was behind the counter and Jackson tried to concentrate on placing his order. He took the furthest table from them and uncurled his newspaper. He could see Aaron, see him glancing over, heard him tell Ryan to hurry up. Suddenly, it all seemed too much for Aaron and he watched him chew on his bottom lip, then lean in to say something before climbing to his feet. Ryan's hands splayed out in question as he turned, following Aaron's retreating form. A confused expression left Ryan's face when his eyes fell on Jackson.
This was it, Jackson was at the end of his rope, and he'd had enough. All those months, he'd been so patient with Aaron. He'd tried his hardest, tried to help him, and this, even after the attack. Jackson was livid, he felt his anger shake him at his core and wanted to tear up the newspaper laid out on the table. Before he knew it, he'd jumped up from his seat and ran out of the café, quickly catching up to Aaron as he walked away, head down, hands deep in his pockets. Jackson grabbed his arm and swung him around.
"You're a fucking piece of shit, you know that!" Aaron stared at him, eyes wide. "You fucked me over, remember? You hit me!" He got right into Aaron's face, "What gives you the right to walk around like the injured party, huh?" There was no answer, instead, the other man swallowed hard. Jackson pointed aggressively, "You're a fucking bastard," his voice broke as he spoke, "A fucking bastard!" And then he turned and walked away, leaving Aaron where he stood.