"You will not escape from me."
"Do you know what I am?"
"I know what you are."
"You've hidden something, locked it so deep inside, yet it invades your thoughts every waking moment."
"Your one greatest regret. Your greatest fear, revealed in a moment of weakness. One I will not hesitate to exploit."
"Do not think you know me. Do not think you can stop me."
A sensation of a sharp object - a key – sliding into your forehead, just above the bridge of your nose.
You are powerless to stop it.
With a twist of the key, the pain comes flooding out.
You begin to lose all sensation. Your thoughts and your memories ebb away. They belong to someone else now.
You are drawn down, deep into a state of mindlessness, as the piercing snake eyes delve into your soul.
Three months earlier…
Charlie Drake had never been to a party where he hadn't wanted to be somewhere else. This party was no exception.
There were thirty or more people crammed onto the makeshift dancefloor in the middle of someone's living room.
Blaring music, unfamiliar to him.
The musty smell of cigarette smoke clinging to the air, invading his throat.
Overheating multi-coloured disco lights dancing and strobing across the ceiling, allowing short, vague glimpses of the faces of teenagers shuffling back and forth across the floor.
But that wasn't all, as Charlie sidled along the back wall dodging elbows and flailing arms.
A drunk sixteen year old threw up in a potted plant. A girl and her boyfriend were locked in each other's arm on the sofa, completely oblivious to the crowd around them, making inexplicable noises.
This place was so human. So ordinary.
In amongst a bunch of kids trying to have a good time, Charlie was alone. In an alien world where he didn't belong.
One of the lads from maths had thrown this party at his mum's house (Charlie wouldn't be surprised if she knew nothing about this), celebrating the end of mock exams.
He would never have come out, if Nate hadn't practically dragged him here.
He had only survived ten minutes trapped in the raving crowd of alcohol-fuelled horny teenagers, before he retreated to the kitchen, which was thankfully empty, and significantly cooler.
It was a little quieter, but he could still feel the bass of the music pounding through the walls.
He perched on the edge of a black marble kitchen counter, and stared out of the window, lost in the gleaming eye of the waning moon. Completely unaware that there was a future version of Charlie standing on the lunar surface, looking back at the Earth, reliving this very moment.
Completely unaware of the Moonbase, and the imminent Arachnid attack. And all the other adventures with the Doctor that followed.
It was a short while later that the door swung open, rebounding off the doorstop with a dull whump.
It startled Charlie, tearing him away from his thoughts, and bringing his attention back to Nate, who seemed alarmed that he had opened the kitchen door so forcefully, and was now trying to rectify his clumsiness by closing it with an overzealous amount of care.
"There you are," Nate slurred, throwing him a sideways smile. "Been looking for you for, like, the last fif… uh… yeah, twenny… for the last twenny minutes."
Nate was hideously drunk, Charlie realised with an internal sigh.
"Right," Charlie returned his grin, "You didn't think to look in here first?"
"Aww, come on, I'm not that smart," Nate protested, "You know me."
"Yeah. Yeah, I do," Charlie threw an accusing stare. "How many drinks have you had?"
"Uh…" Nate struggled to answer, performing a complex series of calculations in his head – judging by his intense efforts at concentration, "I lost count."
"Jeez, man."
"Yeah, I might've gotten a bit carried away," Nate murmured, downcast by Charlie's reaction. "Again."
Charlie sighed, watching Nate as he swayed from side to side for a moment, staring back at him.
"You not enjoying this party?" Nate asked him after a while.
"What gave it away?" Charlie muttered sarcastically.
Nate frowned, answering sincerely. "You're alone."
"Rhetorical question, Nate," he replied softly.
"Oh right yeah," Nate quickly murmured, his eyes darting away in embarrassment.
"You seemed to be enjoying yourself," Charlie remarked with a grin, in an attempt to dodge Nate's awkward response.
"Hmm?" Nate's lips pursed, drawing out his sharp cheekbones as he tried to fathom the meaning behind Charlie's statement.
"Dancing?" Charlie hinted.
He had last seen Nate dancing amongst a group of girls, all laughing and giggling. Nate was throwing down some… well, 'pretty sick moves', as they say. They were encouraging him, and although it was difficult to see the crowd under the flashing lights, Charlie was fairly sure someone had been videoing them.
"Oh yeah," Nate grinned, his eyes crinkling mischievously – as they often did when he and Charlie teased each other. "You should be out there dancing, too."
Charlie smirked, and shook his head in amusement.
He often found himself a little jealous of the way Nate always seemed so at ease with himself. Dancing was not something Charlie felt comfortable doing in public (or at all). It was like being naked.
"Nah, you know dancing's not really my thing." He shrugged. "Anyway, those girls seemed to like you. Thought I'd leave you to it."
Nate's grin was snatched away.
"They were making fun of me," he grunted.
"Oh," Charlie uttered, a little surprised, struggling to match Nate's testimony up to the evidence he had seen.
"They were trying to get me drunk," Nate explained dismissively, "Make me do something crazy…"
"No, I doubt…" Charlie caught himself.
What was he going to say? That he doubted anyone would be unkind enough to do that? He knew that wasn't true.
Charlie was well aware that Nate had a tendency to overreact at the best of times. He got emotional very quickly. And people at school frequently took advantage of that.
"I think they hate me," Nate almost whispered, shaking his head.
"Nah, I…" Charlie tried – and failed – to protest.
Nate took a few steps forward – and then staggered sideways. He stopped, taking a hold of himself.
"I think I need to…" Nate murmured, gesturing at the space beside Charlie on the kitchen table.
Charlie shuffled over slightly, and Nate sat down with the grace of a sack of potatoes.
Man, Charlie thought acerbically, he really was drunk.
Nate clamped his fingers around the bridge of his freckled nose for a moment, then leant heavily against Charlie.
Charlie made to react, but quickly realised that Nate was barely able to stand up, so he let him lean there.
"You know that feeling you get when you're stilling… when you're sitting still, but the whole room's rushing towards you?" Nate muttered.
Charlie threw a sideways glance at him, the muscles in his neck tense. "No…? You're not going to be sick, are you?"
"Only if you say 'sick'," Nate muttered with a grin.
"I think you've had enough to drink."
Nate laughed softly. "You always look after me, Charlie."
Charlie couldn't help but smile – but it didn't last.
"Don't know how much longer for," he mused.
Nate paused, shooting him a puzzled look. "What do you mean?"
Charlie inclined his head in a shrug.
It wouldn't last. Life moved on. Took you to new places. And then everyone here would forget about him. Even Nate.
Wouldn't it be easier then? Easier to move on with nothing keeping you in the old place?
"Well, you know," Charlie reasoned, "I've got university next year. I don't really want to stay here. I just want to… get out, you know? Leave this place behind."
"I know what you mean," Nate added quietly. "I just… I don't want you to go."
His voice was strange. Charlie couldn't quite describe how.
"Is this why were you saying you thought those girls liked me? You try'na get rid of me?" Nate murmured.
Charlie looked at him. Nate was still quite drunk, but at least he seemed more in control of his words now.
"Nah. I just thought… I dunno… that you were trying to impress one of them?"
"Well…" Nate croaked, defensively. He looked as though he was about to say something else, but didn't.
"Do you fancy one of them?" Charlie guessed.
Nate looked up at him, almost disgusted. "One of those girls? No! Do you?"
"Uh, no, I guess not."
He thought about them for a moment. Dressed and heavily made up like they were trying to impress some guy. Trying too hard to impress…
Charlie halted that train of thought. Was that rude? He felt like that might be sexist, or something?
"Not really my type," Charlie concluded.
"Well, what is your type, then?" Nate asked him.
Charlie frowned, but he seemed genuinely curious. "Hold on. I thought you hated talking about this sort of thing?"
He had vivid recollections of Nate's angry outbursts about relationships, and people being in them just for the sake of it, whenever they witnessed 'public displays of affection' in the common room.
"Well, it's different with you, isn't it?" Nate mumbled.
"Is it?"
"Yeah. I actually give an f. Go on. What's your type?"
Charlie's mouth crumpled into what must have been a thoughtful grimace. "I don't really know."
"So there's never been someone?" Nate ventured. "Someone you really like?"
Charlie scratched the back of his neck. It took him a moment, but there was someone in his life he had actually considered asking out.
"Well, maybe… one person."
"Oh? Who?" Nate pressed him, gaping at him with an intense look in his eye.
The only person Charlie could bring to mind was the girl in his class. But that ship had sailed a while ago now. He barely spoke to her anymore, unless he absolutely had to.
At a loss for anyone else, he went through with it.
"I thought maybe. You know Livvy? She's in my physics," Charlie hastily explained. "I think I liked her."
Nate grunted. "Really?"
"Yeah. Well, I thought I did," Charlie answered, trying to get this thread of conversation over with as quickly as possible.
"Did?" Nate queried.
"It's just something she said. Like, it turns out she wasn't who I thought she was…"
"She is really shallow," Nate growled, twisting into a more comfortable position against Charlie's shoulder – which was less comfortable for him.
"What do you mean?"
"She talks about everyone behind their back. Makes out like she cares about things, but doesn't really," Nate practically spat.
"Yeah, I noticed that," Charlie conceded, after a moment.
"She's like those girls out there," Nate said, in a hushed, bitter tone. "If they're not doing whatever they're doing for themselves, they're trying to impress their 'peers'."
Nate made an air quote sign with his free hand. His other arm was trapped between the two of them.
"Well. What's your type then?" Charlie returned the question.
"How d'you know I have a type?" Nate muttered, mock-offended.
Charlie grinned. "Well, it's kinda obvious from what you just said."
"Hmm…" Nate mused. A familiar, mischievous smile returned to his lips. "Maybe I do have a type…"
"All right?"
"Someone… nice."
"Yeah," Charlie agreed.
"Kind… "
"Well, of course."
"Funny. Clever. And really, really hot," Nate uttered suggestively.
It made them both smile.
He would miss this, when he went to university. He would miss hanging out with his best friend. He didn't want it to be over, even though it would be quite soon.
Nate suddenly seemed fascinated by the toggle hanging from Charlie's hoodie.
His voice dipped: low, dejected. And very far away – as though his thoughts were taking him somewhere else. Away from this godawful party.
"I don't think I'll ever find that person."
"Really?"
"I don't think anyone would love me."
"I don't know about that," Charlie dismissed him.
"No?"
"No."
A moment hung in the air between them. Charlie wasn't sure what to fill the void with.
"I'm sure there's a nice girl out there somewhere," he said cheerfully.
"Yeah…" Nate grunted.
He dropped the toggle he had been playing with. It swung back and forth for a few seconds, until Charlie clamped his hand against it, to stop it moving.
Nate didn't seem to believe him.
Charlie could see it though. He could imagine Nate being happy with someone he really cared about.
He'd always known Nate to be kind and fiercely loyal. And he was quite handsome. Charlie was certain he'd find someone.
Himself, on the other hand, he had serious doubts about. He had never any strong feelings for anyone – not like that. And he was always hideously uncomfortable whenever someone hinted at the idea.
Maybe he wasn't ready for a relationship yet. Maybe he just wasn't interested. There were better things to think about, as Nate often said. University, for one.
Charlie was acutely aware of an awkward silence between them, which was dragging on for some time.
Nate suddenly sat up straight, and looked at him. His blue eyes were hazy, tired. As if, Charlie later realised, he no longer really cared about anything.
"Do you remember how we became friends?" Nate asked.
"Uh, yeah," Charlie began, without really considering how his sentence was going to end. Hadn't they been friends since like, always? "We… weren't we in the same maths class?"
Nate continued to stare at him, without speaking.
His stomach caved in, suddenly becoming a hollowing black hole. Was he wrong? He had forgotten! Crap.
Charlie scratched the back of his neck, and started again.
"No, of course, we didn't talk until-"
"Until you saved me," Nate muttered softly. Charlie met his eyes.
Charlie puffed out a 'well…'
"I picked you up off the floor after those year nines stole your lunch money."
Nate smirked. "Seems so trivial now, doesn't it?"
"Trivial," he pondered, "Never used words like that before then. I must have seemed like an idiot to you."
Charlie shook his head. "No. I've never seen you as an idiot. And there's nothing trivial about being bullied."
Nate took a deep breath. "I just. I never… I just wanted to thank you for it. I never did."
"You don't…"
…have to thank me for anything…
The words were trapped in Charlie's throat.
Nate's mouth twitched. "I don't think I'd still be here if it weren't for you."
Nate looked away for a second, nervously playing with ring, running his fingernail across the engravings.
Charlie was about to question what he meant, when he noticed a weird change in Nate's eyes. His deep blue irises, still a little unfocussed, were drawing him in. They seemed to shine; he wasn't sure if they were happy, melancholy, or both.
He didn't realise what Nate was trying to tell him.
He didn't expect Nate to lean forwards, and kiss him.
Nate had placed his hand on his cheek, and Charlie felt Nate's lips press against his. He kissed him so gently that it made Charlie's head spin.
Time seemed to slow down, and Charlie's mind exploded with words, thoughts, feelings, and questions.
What? How? Why?
He didn't know. He didn't know how to feel. He didn't know what this meant.
Confused, Charlie scrambled away, almost falling off the table in the process, and regained his balance by backing up against the kitchen cabinets.
Shock was plastered across his face.
Nate – his best friend – had just kissed him.
"What the hell?" he gasped.
He was gay? Nate was gay?
And he'd just gay-kissed him?
Nate read his expression, and turned away, shaking his head in slow, acute arcs, angry with himself. Finally, he hung his head, and his eyes were lifeless.
"What… what was…?" Charlie breathed.
"I'm sorry," Nate muttered. His voice shared the same vitality as his eyes. "I shouldn't have done that."
"Are you…"
"It's not 'cause I'm drunk," Nate replied, looking into his eyes. He was telling the truth. "You're the only person I care about anymore. I don't know how to say this, but…"
He rubbed his eyebrows. "Since we met, I've felt something."
There was a painfully long pause, in which neither of them moved. Charlie was completely dumbfounded, almost fearing what Nate was about to say.
"I love you, Charlie. You're my best friend and I love you."
His voice shook, as if the words were physically painful to utter.
Nate stared at him for a moment, then turned sharply away, thrusting his fist under his nose, in a failed effort to prevent the tears from rolling down his cheeks.
Charlie wanted to go over, stop him from crying – like he used to when Nate had been upset after a particularly tough day at school.
But that was a long time ago. Now he couldn't move. He didn't know what to do.
"Are you… is this some kind of joke?" Charlie asked, and immediately wished he hadn't.
This wasn't a joke. Nate was being more serious than he had ever known him to be in his life. Nate was hardly ever serious. He was always trying to be funny. This unsettled him.
Nate simply laughed. And it was the scariest, most emotionless laugh he had ever heard.
"That's what this is to you? I'm a joke to you?" Nate growled, angrily clawing at the tears streaming down his face.
"No, No!"
Charlie tried to explain himself. "I don't… want those guys out there to pick on you just because you're…"
He couldn't quite say it. He couldn't quite say the word, and didn't know why.
"Because I'm what?" snapped Nate. "Because I'm gay?"
"Guess what, Charlie. They already do!" He yelled at the tiled floor.
"I didn't…"
"I've hidden that from you, Charlie," Nate uttered despondently, his words slow and slurred again now. "Because I'm ashamed. I thought you'd understand."
"Okay, you're… you're gay, I get it," Charlie nodded enthusiastic. He made to step forwards, but Nate swung towards him.
He was trapped. In this nightmare – where Nate was unleashing his fury on him.
"No, you don't. You don't have any idea!" Nate's voice rose, frustrated. "I've been trying to tell you. For years." Every word was like a stab to the chest.
"I never realised…" Charlie's response was pathetic.
"Years, Charlie. I've hidden this. Maybe I should have told you sooner, maybe I never should."
Then Charlie said something stupid.
"You're not making this easy for me."
Nate lost it.
There was a moment in his eyes; a spark, which lit an inferno of rage.
"Easy?" he roared. "For you?"
Nate didn't move towards him. Instead, he seemed to shrink against the kitchen table.
"This last year has been hell. This is our last year of school. I have no clue what's gonna happen next. I'm failing at everything. My parents hate me. Everyone hates me."
He swung his arm furiously toward the door. The music was still pounding out there. Nobody could hear what was going on in here.
"Everyone out there hates me, because I'm just some…"
He caught his breath in a sob.
"It's broken me. Not knowing if I could tell you. Scared I'd lose you if I did."
The edge of Nate's fury wore away. His tone was softer, but he was still livid.
"I can't handle the thought of you not liking me.
"And now it's happening," Nate ventured. "Isn't it?"
Nate searched him, but Charlie couldn't respond.
"I was only holding on, because… Because I thought…"
The rage was gone. Nate was crying again.
"I thought you liked me?" he managed.
Nate stopped. Stopped caring.
"Forget it," he murmured, defeated. "Doesn't matter…"
Charlie couldn't move. He didn't know what to do. He was frozen. He was petrified. The handle on the cupboard door pressing into his back was the only sensation he could feel.
Do something, he screamed, in his mind.
It doesn't matter what. Just tell him you care.
Tell him something.
Don't just stand there!
Time stopped.
Charlie couldn't breathe.
The kitchen around him dissolved. The tiles cracked, and fell into a deep, dark chasm. The cupboards splintered and imploded violently, as the world faded into darkness.
Charlie desperately wanted to reach out, to do something – anything.
He was being torn away from the past – back to the here and now.
He was so close to saving Nate. He was right in front of him. He had to break out of this memory. Change it. Show that he cared.
But Nate was falling away from him, vanishing in the dark. His burgundy t-shirt was the last thing Charlie saw of him.
Charlie fell to his knees, and stared into the void, empty.
The scene had been played to him, real as the day it had happened. And he had been powerless to stop himself saying the stupid things he had said.
He was completely and utterly defeated.
He started crying. He couldn't stop himself.
Charlie had relived this moment a thousand times. He wanted nothing more than to go back; erase the moment Nate decided that nothing mattered any more.
He wanted his best friend back.
Now…
"Oh…" a smooth, yet cold and sinister voice breathed. It might have been female, but Charlie couldn't say for certain. "It seems I have unearthed your… nightmare. You buried it so very deep, and now I see everything…"
Charlie looked up, into the darkness, exhausted. He was too drained to respond.
He was on his knees before this thing. The voice had shown him this vision.
"You've dreamt it so many times, but each time… it is different. Except for the end," it hissed, "You can't change it. No matter how hard you try…"
Charlie blinked, the last of the tears escaping him. The voice was familiar, but his head was spinning and aching too much for him to concentrate.
He moaned: "Who are you…?"
"I'm from the Dark Places of the Inside. I am all that you fear. I am your nightmares!" The voice seemed to echo all around his head.
"Ohh… yeah," muttered Charlie. He looked up, summoning his last ounces of courage and energy to speak up. "No, sorry, I still don't know who you are."
The voice laughed, seeming to pass by his ear.
He flinched, and immediately regretted his half-hearted attempt to stand up to this voice.
Charlie twisted round, following the direction of the snickering taunts, and leapt to his feet when he saw what was behind him.
"You?"
