I step from the bathroom, making for my bed. The cuts are clean; the water washed away the blood...the memory will always stain though...
I retrieve the bandages from this morning, wrapping them swiftly around my arm, the movements deft from long practise. Pinning the ends neatly, I lean back against the wall and close my eyes, sighing. It has to stop, it's killing me, and I know it is, but if I don't do this I'll go mad. It helps me to deal with everything throws at me, gives me a better sense of who I am and what I could be...but they're just dreams, it won't ever happen...I'll never achieve my dreams, because that's all they are-dreams. They're not meant to be real. Wishes don't come true, I learned that as a kid when I wished that my life was someone else's, but it didn't happen. I would wake up in my room morning after morning and silently scream at God for making me live, for giving me the life that no one else wanted...it wasn't fair...I lost all faith in religion...how could someone supposedly so 'kind', 'all-knowing' and 'benevolent' hate a kid so much that he gave him an abusive father, violent brothers, a weak, useless mother?
A slow, quiet knocking at the door interrupts my condemning thoughts. Annoyed at the interruption, but curious, I rise and open it, surprised to find Charlie standing out in the corridor.
"Hey Adam, mind if I come in?"
"Um...no, not at all..." I'm rather speechless at his appearance, but interested in the motives behind it. Why is Charlie at my dorm room? I suppose he wants to talk, but what about, and why to me? Sure we're friends, but it's never been as close a relationship as the one between Dwayne and me. He sits on my bed and I catch the stare he gives me. I realise that I'm still dressed only in a towel, but it doesn't bother me. Why should it? The times we've been in the same showers together, the whole team wandering around the changing rooms in nothing but towels and occasionally in the nude (that was mostly Fulton and Portman, until Bombay caught them and threatened to report them for indecent exposure), with the exception of Connie and Julie, which is understandable, although Luis was disappointed to say the least.
I smile at Charlie, sitting beside him. "So" I ask, "what's on your mind?"
Charlie looks straight at me, his gaze unnervingly piercing, as though he's searching for something. "You." He answers, continuing to stare. I shift uncomfortably. There's something in the way he's looking at me that makes me feel...odd, almost like I'm being assessed for something...
"...Oh..." I'm lost for words, it wasn't the answer I was expecting, but I don't know what was. "Why?"
Charlie shrugs and finally drops his gaze. "Just wondering if you're alright. You left in kind of a hurry at dinner."
"Yeah...I'm fine..." What's he playing at? He's never been bothered before, why now? He reaches out and puts a hand on my arm, making me shiver. My discomfort is growing, but I don't know why. How could a friend make me feel like...like...like my father does? And why? What is it about him that makes a shiver of filth creep across my skin? I want so much to pull away, but his fingers have closed about my arm, bruising me. I try to protest, but Charlie puts a finger to my lips, hushing me. I frown. "Charlie, what are you...?" He cuts me off and I begin to wonder at the wisdom of letting him into the room. A thrill of fear trickles down my spine. What have I done? A predatory glint is shining in his eyes, a sparking light that causes my knees to weaken and my stomach to wrench into knots of fright. I feel like I'm going to throw up, but he's right in front of me, trapping me...
"Don't be scared Banksie, it won't hurt..."
"What...?"
"Come on...I know it's not your first time...I know all about your dad..." I jump and sit bolt upright. How does he...? An ugly smirk pulls at his face, his teeth glinting in the dim lamplight. I'm trembling violently, the blood's pounding in my head. I don't want to understand what he's saying; my mind is rebelling at his words. How did everything change so quickly?
"Don't worry Banksie, it's all right...I'll make it all go away..."
I shuffle away from him and feel the chill surface of the wall against my bare back...there's nowhere for me to go...
"Don't fight it Adam." I shudder at the use of my name. Coming from him it sounds wrong, like it belongs to someone else...but at the same time it makes the scene more real...more personal...I close my eyes and turn away from him. My throat closes over, I can't speak, can't tell him no...he puts out a hand and runs it through my hair, his fingers rough and harsh, dragging at my scalp, making my head ache. I feel tears gather in my eyes.
"Crying? Banksie, I never knew I meant that much to you." The smirk evolves into a killer's grin and I whimper, trying to slide backwards off the bed. But Charlie seizes the opportunity and forces me down, his fingers clawing at my flesh, leaving gleaming trails of blood.
"You can't fool me, I know you want it...I know what you are...I can make you forget..." But I know in my heart that I'll never forget. There are things you can't shut away, no matter how hard you try; I should know.
"You'll thank me for this." He mutters into my ear, his breath hot and rapid. I make a last bid for freedom, pushing at him, trying to rise, but it's useless. He's smaller than me but stockier; I'm not strong enough...He snarls and twists his fingers into my hair, pulling my head back and exposing my throat. For one, unreal moment I think he's going to bite me. "Tut tut Adam, you don't think I'd let you away without a little...kiss?" I squirm frantically. I don't want this, don't deserve this. But Charlie's determined. I cringe as he clamps his mouth onto mine, his hands gripping the back of my head, forcing me against him. He pulls away and I taste blood on my lips, feel raw pain pulsing through them. He grins, his teeth stained a hellish red and I sink back against the bed, the fight over. He's won, and he knows it.
"That's better, now, isn't it? It's so much easier when you're willing..." I feel the towel slide from my waist and close my eyes. He's going to take that last part of me, the only part I hold dear: respect for my friends. I can feel the tears hot on my face, but I don't scream. I've learned not to.
I hear the door close but don't get up. I can't. Humiliation burns my insides and I bury my face in the duvet, crying uncontrollably. He's left me with nothing. I can never feel the same about anyone again, let alone Charlie Conway. He's deceived me, taken away my rights as a human, made me into something less than an animal...an object, a thing to be pawed at will, taken up when he feels like it and ignored when he doesn't need me. I could report this, I know I should, but what would I say? What would others say? That I deserved it? That I should be used to it? If I let this get out, he would not only deny it, he would tell them the truth about my family, about the things my own father does to me...I couldn't handle it. I did think nothing could be worse than what he's just done to me, but the repercussions of a charge against him would be much worse than anything he's put me through already. No. I'll keep my silence; deal with it in my own way, as always. I don't know how long I've been lying here, discarded and forgotten, curled into myself for the warmth no person can now give me. The tears never stopped, like the blood. It's everywhere...there are cuts, bruises...both new and old...the slashes on my arm have opened up again, the welts on my back are sore, I'm sure they're bleeding, the buckle marks surrounded by a mass of black and purple skin.
It wasn't the first time my father used a belt on me...his favourite is the one with the sunburst buckle...the one that hurts the most; leaves the worst marks. I can't remember what it was I did or said...probably nothing. He's never needed a reason, much like Charlie...
I barely flinch as the door opens once more...I knew he'd be back. They always are. I tremble as warm arms cover my bare skin, unusually gentle. That's not Charlie...it can't be. I'm too dazed to care. Someone pulls me up and wraps me in warmth; I realise now that I'm shivering violently, my teeth chattering. A face swims into my vision, vague and indistinct at first. I force my brain to concentrate and it materialises into Dwayne. His eyes are wide and horrified, he's crying and saying something to me. I shake my head, I don't understand. All I know is that I don't want to be touched. I don't want anyone near me. His face creases in anguish as I shuffle away...I begin to make sense of his words...
"Please, Adam." He sobs. "Let me help...I'm so sorry, oh God I'm so sorry!" I understand his words, but they still don't make any sense. His expression is horrified as he looks at me. "What has he done?" He reaches out to the bite marks covering my chest and neck, harsh and bright over the sombre black bruising of my brothers' parting gifts. I pull away, ashamed, drawing my knees up to my chest. I can't look at him and I feel my face flush. It's happened before, yes, but no one's ever found out...except Charlie. I can't bear to see Dwayne's expression, I know what I'll find-disgust, loathing, maybe even hate. Yes, that's what I'll see. Hate. He'll despise me for being so weak and useless, he'll be disgusted by me, by what I let happen. It's all my fault, I shouldn't have-
"Adam?" His voice interrupts my thoughts and I raise my head a little, but not enough to meet his eyes. I can't face that, not now, maybe even not ever. "Adam, I know what he did...you have to let me help you. Please, Adam, you're bleeding..." He tugs at my arms and when he doesn't meet any resistance pulls me from the bed, leading me to the bathroom. I sit silently on the edge of the bath as he runs water into the tub. I've already taken a shower, but I'm no longer clean. The stench of Charlie coats my skin, reminding me endlessly of the betrayal, the pain...I watch the water rise, imagine sliding beneath it, never surfacing again...Dwayne helps me to stand and I allow the blanket he put there earlier to slide from my shoulders. I'm not bothered. It was Dwayne who found me, Dwayne who saw me curled naked against the world, Dwayne...
"Dwayne?" My voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. He smiles through his tears as I murmur his name, glad that I'm becoming aware of my surroundings once more. His sweet, honest face lights up and I blink slowly, reality crashing around me, bringing my senses back to me. I begin to surface from the bubble of shock that protected me against the harsh, jangling reality of what just happened. I stumble backwards, tearing at my own hair. "Help me!" I'm screaming, my voice rising in horror. I call out to my only solace. "Please Dwayne, help me!" I'm weeping hot tears of shame, reaching out for a rock in the midst of my raging storm. Dwayne's face crumbles in misery as he's hit by the full torrent of my distress. He pulls me into the safety of his arms, rocking me like a child while I weep on his shoulder, gripping his shirt in my fists and smothering my cries of endless torture, trying desperately to escape. The wounds go deeper, the tears come from much more than Charlie's assuming violation of my body. Years of hate, pain, anger and depression hit me before I can prepare myself. It's more than I've ever had to handle. I feel like I'm being torn in two, a burning, towering rage conflicting with the deep, aching pain; all locked away for as long as I can remember, released by one selfish act perpetrated by someone I thought was a friend. Dwayne continues to comfort me, hushing me and murmuring meaningless words in my ears until my shock and terror pass.
I'm leaning against him, breathless from the shaking, violent sobs. The tiles of the bathroom floor are cold and smooth against my feet, the walls a gentle, calming aquamarine. Watching the reflection of the bathwater shifting over the tranquil colour I feel myself sink into a surprising state of calm. Dwayne shifts, pulling me away from him. I'm taller than him, I notice absently, but that didn't seem to matter, he gave me the one thing I needed. I wipe my eyes on the back of my hand, sniffing.
"Sorry Dwayne, I didn't mean to-"He cuts me off with a shake of his head.
"It doesn't matter, Adam. What matters is that at last I'm here for you." He smiles softly and prods me towards the bath. "Now, get in." I give a watery smile and dip a toe into the water. It's lovely and warm and I quickly slip in, wincing as the various cuts, welts and bruises sting at the contact. Dwayne kneels beside the tub, taking up a sponge and handing it to me. I give him a significant stare, but he shrugs.
"No way, I'm not leaving you here alone Adam."
"I'll be fine."
"I don't care, I don't want to leave you again." He watches as my eyes stray towards Fulton's razor sitting between the taps and frowns. "I don't know what's been going on here, but I intend to find out." I look back at him, my expression one of guilt. He just blinks slowly, his eyes never wavering from mine. "You need my help Adam. Please, just accept it?" I look away, unable to answer. It'll cost me too much to relate to him everything...the poison runs too deep, it's already killing me...it can't be drawn out.