Dwayne turns as I step from the bath, handing me my towel over his shoulder.
"Thanks." I mutter grudgingly. I quickly pull on a pair of boxers, picking up my t-shirt and heading for the door. He follows wordlessly, his presence both comforting and unnerving. I don't know if I'll ever feel safe again, not even around my friends. I can't trust anyone now, all I see behind their kind faces are snarling, grinning visions of Charlie...I'll never be free, not while I'm still alive...
I halt in the centre of the room, staring at my bed. I can't go near it; just the sight of it causes the shame and disgust to well up again. I can't breathe, I'm suffocating, my face is buried in cloying darkness, there are hands...from past and present...grabbing, clawing, bruising...I shake my head to rid it of the vivid memories, my hands balling into fists. Dwayne lays a comforting hand on my shoulder but I flinch and jump away, staring around wildly. But all I see is my old friend giving me a sorrowful look, his eyes glimmering with the pain of rejection.
"I'm sorry." I whisper, hanging my head, but he just shrugs.
"It's okay Adam, I understand..." He seems about to say something, but changes his mind and closes his mouth indecisively, sighing. "You can't sleep in that bed tonight." A simple statement, and achingly true. I just shake my head, still mercifully numb. I can't sleep in that bed ever, not with the memories it now holds. "What about Fulton's bed?"
"I don't...I need to ask..." My voice is quiet, little more than a whispering murmur. Dwayne just disregards my answer with a curt wave of his hand.
"He won't mind, I'll explain. Tomorrow we can see if you can move rooms...if you want?" I just shake my head, staring resolutely at the floor. He pauses for a moment, the silence tense, but then turns and begins to shift Fulton's things from the bed he chose. It's hard to believe that we've only been back for one day and this is our first night...one that will always stay in my memory...
"Adam?" His voice interrupts my thoughts. I slowly look at him and he points to the bed, the covers of which are turned down. It looks comfortable and inviting, the pillows full and soft. I battle with the fear rising within me and slowly make my way towards it, all the while keeping my gaze on Dwayne. He's hurt by my mistrust, but I can't help it. It's not just my body that's bruised and beaten, it's my soul as well. As I climb into the bed Dwayne disappears into the bathroom, returning with a first-aid box in his hands. I give him an enquiring look and he nods towards the tiny room behind him.
"It's mandatory, every room has to have a kit under the bathroom sink." I didn't know that. The thought of why or how Dwayne knows about the first-aid kits never enters my head.
"What are you going to do with it?"
"Wrap up the worst of your cuts." He sits on the bed beside me and asks me to turn around. I comply and hear him open the box. A cold cream is spread on the long cuts striping my back, causing the breath to hiss between my teeth. He pauses, allowing me to relax before he applies more. "This is to get rid of infection. If the wounds get dirty you could get blood poisoning, which is very dangerous and potentially fatal." He squeezes my arm slightly. "We can't afford to lose our star player." I close my eyes and sigh wearily.
"Please Dwayne, I don't want to think about hockey right now."
"...Sorry." He continues to apply the cooling, soothing cream, taking only five minutes to finish the job. I wait while he rattles around the interior of the first-aid kit, pulling out a few rolls of bandages after a brief struggle with some loose band-aids.
"Okay Adam, this'll hurt but I have to do it." He indicates a chair by the bed. "You'll have to sit on that, so I can reach round you." Without speaking or making any indication that I've heard him, I stand and place myself gingerly on the hard-backed chair. I ache everywhere; pain shooting through every joint and muscle, causing my head to swim for a moment. Dwayne touches my shoulder lightly.
"You all right?" I nod, shaking off his hand as I do so. I hear him heave a small, sad sigh and take up a roll of bandages, stripping off the cellophane and peeling the end from the roll. I feel his finger press against the centre of my back, holding the soft cotton down. He leans around me, slowly wrapping the white bindings around my back and chest, pulling them tightly and covering the vivid gashes well. I sit motionless through the operation, keeping my mind carefully blank. I'm thinking only about the most trivial of matters, probing any deeper would reopen the emotional wounds, shattering my mind and soul further. A blank mind is what keeps me sane.
Dwayne securely fastens the ends of the bandage and tells me I can return to the bed. I can tell there's something on his mind: he seems preoccupied and twitchy. I slide into it once more, feeling the tightness of the cuts on my back and the dampness of blood. I wonder dimly as I settle myself gingerly against the pillows if they'll ever heal, but dismiss the thought as ridiculous. Of course they'll heal, I've still got the scars from previous beltings; scars that won't ever fade...like many of the marks marring my body. I shift over slightly as Dwayne seats himself on the bed beside me, his silence unsettling. I feel sorry that I've done this to him. I never intended to hurt such a sweet person, but I can't help it. It's all Charlie's fault, it always is. Just like when he fought me last year during the early morning JV-Varsity match he deliberately slammed his stick down on my wrist, knowing it was still healing. It meant that I had to be benched for the next three matches; another letdown for a team that already hated me. Nobody saw, of course. Getting caught isn't Charlie's style. I doubt if anyone would have cared anyway...Almost as though my thoughts summoned Dwayne's attention, he stirs and speaks.
"We need to talk Adam."
I'm reluctant to agree. "About what?"
"You know what." He reaches across and picks up my right arm, his hand warm. I notice that I'm oddly cold. He turns my wrist so that the scars catch the light, shining with an unearthly, pearly shine. They seem strangely beautiful, the contrast of the fresh, purple gashes breaking them viciously. I can't look at them, can't stand what they represent. I turn my head and look away, tears welling in my eyes once again.
"Why are you doing this to me Dwayne? Why are you torturing me?"
"I'm not trying to hurt you, I want to help...I...I know what you're going through." Why has it cost him such a great deal to say this? And what does he mean? How could he possibly know what's in my head? I turn back to him and see that he has his head in his hands, tears leaking through his fingers. It's the one thing that brings back to me the memory of who he is. He's not someone to be afraid of, he's a friend, and right now it looks like he needs me. The irrational fear drains from me and I stop trembling, no longer uncomfortable around him. As I reach out a tentative hand, he pulls away and jumps from the bed, his face shining with tears.
"Don't, Adam. You don't want...I can't..." He turns his back on me and folds his arms protectively across his chest. What's happening? A moment ago it was I recoiling from him and now here he is running from me? I rise from the bed once more and move towards him, my hand reaching for his shoulder. He has composed himself swiftly and turns before I can step closer. My hand drops to my side at the look in his eyes. His face is calm, but there is turmoil writhing in the blue depths-the windows to a disturbed soul.
"Dwayne?"
"It's like I said, we need to talk." I pause, and then nod. But before we can go any further the door to the room opens and Fulton walks in, yawning and carrying a decidedly heavier backpack than the one he left with that clinks when he slips it from his back. He doesn't immediately notice that anything's wrong, but as he closes the door behind him and looks into the room he frowns and I realise just how odd the scene must look to him. Dwayne and I are standing side by side, my chest is swathed in bandages and I'm covered in cuts, bruises and teeth marks, and Dwayne isn't even meant to be in our room. He drops his bag on the floor and rushes towards me.
"Jesus Adam, that's one hell of a fight you've been in! Can't I leave you alone for a few hours without anyone beating you up?" He turns his attention towards Dwayne, immediately aggressive. "Was it you? I'll mutilate you, you little-"
I cut him off before he says something he'll definitely regret. "Calm down Fulton, it wasn't Dwayne, half of it wasn't even from tonight." My voice is weary.
"So you were beaten up tonight? If I find out who it was I'll-"
Again I stop him mid-sentence. "Relax Fulton." I sigh and look at Dwayne, who shrugs.
"Maybe you should tell him the full story before he does anything and then let him decide what he's going to do?" I nod slowly in agreement, still reluctant to dredge up the dreadful memories I'll have to in order to tell them everything they want to know. But my trust has been restored, Dwayne has made sure of that. Fulton is looking slightly confused and I sigh resignedly.
"...Okay..." I indicate the floor. "We should sit down, this'll take a while." Thank God tomorrow's a Saturday. Term usually starts on a Monday, but students turn up the Friday before so that they can spend the weekend adjusting to school life again. Those who don't board just come back on the first day, obviously. I ease myself onto the floor with a groan, crossing my legs beneath me and waiting for the other two to follow suit. They seem surprised, but sit on the floor anyway, casting curious glances at each other. Fulton is the most astonished, as he hasn't witnessed anything of the last four hours, but Dwayne is mostly surprised that I've decided to open up at last.
We're all sitting in a huddle on the plush carpet, Fulton and Dwayne staring at me whilst I sit motionless, putting my thoughts in order. There's no sound other than those of various students running up and down the corridors, shouting to each other and laughing happily. Their emotions are completely alien to me. Vaguely I wonder if I've ever experienced true happiness, if I've ever let loose a genuine laugh. No such moment stands out in my mind and I sigh, breaking the silence of the charged atmosphere. It acts as a signal to Fulton, who clears his throat and speaks into the thick gloom.
"What's been going on Adam? This morning you said I'd got the wrong idea, but I don't think I have. You're keeping something from me, I know you are." His expression is one of mild hurt. "I would've thought you could put your trust in me by now. We came to the team at the same time, years ago, both as outsiders and both rejected by the others." The reproving look deepens. "I thought our friendship meant something to you, but obviously I was wrong." Guilt surges through me and I hang my head.
"I'm sorry Fulton, really I am...but there are some things that can't be shared...not without consequences..." He looks confused. It's time to talk, but where do I start? With my life or with Charlie? Making a quick decision, I take a deep breath and prepare myself for the trials ahead.
"Tonight, after you and Portman left, Charlie came to the room." Fulton is clearly trying to be patient, but he can't see where this is going. Dwayne just looks at him and nods once to show that this will have a point and conclusion. I continue. "I'd just come out of the shower, I was tired and not thinking clearly...I let him into the room without asking questions."
"Why would you-?" Dwayne hushes him swiftly.
"I realise now how stupid it was but how was I supposed to know at the time? He looked distracted and was acting strangely...I thought there was something wrong, but I can see that it was all just an act." I close my eyes, the wisdom of hindsight torturously painful. "I wish I'd seen through him at the beginning..." I pause a moment, waiting for my eyes to clear and the trembling to stop. "He was staring at me constantly, sizing me up...I was getting uncomfortable and tried to distance myself from him, but he changed...suddenly...but all the time he was in control of his actions, I know that for certain.
I wish now that I'd thought to get dressed, or at least to keep my distance, but I don't suppose it would've made a difference...he may have enjoyed a challenge..."
"Adam..." Fulton's voice is unsure; he's desperately trying to avoid the message behind my words. "What're you saying? What happened? Did he hit you?"
"Amongst other things."
"What?"
I sigh, my voice wavering. "Charlie...he...he raped me, Fulton." From the corner of my vision I see Dwayne lower his head; even he's startled by the frankness of my admission. Fulton is sitting with his mouth open, his eyes wide and shocked. I may have released that one secret to him, but it's not going to make the others any easier. The silence doesn't last for long, as Dwayne speaks up, his voice thick.
"It was me who found him. He was on the bed where Charlie left him, bleeding and crying. Charlie was very...rough with him, but..." I decide to take over.
"Not all these marks were made by him." I indicate the cuts, slashes and the bandages. "I know you've been suspicious about these marks, but you don't know the full story..." again a lengthy silence ensues. Fulton eventually speaks.
"Why don't you tell me?"
"I will, but please, be patient with me...I've never told anyone...it's something I've held onto for years..." I take another deep breath.
"It started when I was about five. My father used to play hockey until he was injured and so he forced me and my brothers to play, but he wanted us to become greater than he ever was, so he was always pushing us to our limits...but I was never as good as my brothers. I was never what he wanted me to be...no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't please him.
"My father's always had a violence problem...ever since I can remember he's beaten me...usually with anything that comes to hand...but he left my brothers alone...they've always been good at hockey, my oldest brother's got NHL tryouts in a week, the other was a Hawk in Pee-wee, like me and he's gone on to a university team...I've always had to compete with them. When I had to join the Ducks he was so disappointed in me, like it was my fault the boundary lines had been changed." This is harder than anything I've ever had to face, including returning home every holiday. I know I'm crying, but don't care...it's one more way to release the pain. "My brothers picked up his habits, of course...his violence...they're older than me, stronger. The one sport they found they enjoyed more than hockey was beating me up, and he lets them. He's even proud of them for what they do...calls them 'real men', not like their pansy of a brother who can't even play properly..." Fulton shifts angrily, fuming with impotent rage at my family. "You learn to get used to the beatings; after all, bones heal, bruises fade...but there are some things that push a person beyond their endurance..." I shake my head, the old feeling of being unclean returns with a vengeance. "I grew up quickly, I had to...in fact I can pinpoint it to one particular day...my eighth birthday.
"I didn't have a party, I had few friends, but even if I did have a lot of them I wouldn't have had a celebration...how do you celebrate another year of a life like mine?" I shake my head, my tone becoming bitter. "My parents remembered my birthday, but disregarded it. I didn't expect anything else. There were a few cards from relatives who remembered me, but no other indication that the day was different to any other...but it would become so, so different...
"I was in bed, half asleep when he came into my room. I remember the door shutting ever so quietly and wondering who was coming in to see me. I even hoped, foolishly, that maybe someone had at last come to say goodnight, to tuck me up and kiss my forehead warmly, lovingly. I opened my eyes and saw the dim outline of my father walking towards the bed, I sat up to switch the light on, but he stopped me, taking my hand in his..." I shudder, the tears becoming heavier; a sob chokes me and I try to stifle it. "I'll never forget what he made me do...it was the first night of my adulthood. I had grown up in the space of an hour...one long, torturous hour in which my own father raped me repeatedly, groping and pawing, his hands hot and sweaty..." My voice breaks in disgust and I begin to weep inconsolably. Dwayne and Fulton sit motionless, aghast. I have to try and console myself as neither of them want to have anything to do with me, but its impossible. I wait for the sobs to subside a little and look up through my tears, holding out my arm. They both stare at the hundreds of scars covered by fresher, darker cuts, including the ones made last night.
"This is the only way I can deal with it...I've been self-harming since I was nine...the abuse has never stopped...every time I go home I blockade my bedroom door in the hope that I'll get one night of peace, but he always gets in...there's no stopping him...during the day I have to go out around the streets to avoid my brothers, but the beatings still happen...there's no escape..." My voice trails off and I hang my head, unwilling to look at my friends, afraid of what I'll see. I'm startled out of my despondent reverie when a pair of arms encircles me, their intense grip comforting. I finally let go of all the pain and despair and cry unrestrainedly onto Dwayne's shoulder for the second time tonight. He soothes me gently, allowing my rending sobs to shake us both, never once saying anything. Fulton stands in the background, bewildered, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. He looks slightly helpless, but it doesn't matter to me. He's already done enough just by being here, that's all I care about...they're here for me...