This is rated R.

It was late. Seth wasn't sure on the exact time. He had lost track somewhere between Ryan's apartment and the bus station. It was still dark outside. By the look of the sky, the sun would be coming out soon.

Ryan hadn't said a word the entire ride to Newport and his mouth remained firmly closed as Seth led him through the house and out into the backyard.

Everything raged at Ryan's intrusion, working together as if knowing the wishes of the rest of Newport society. As if they could somehow detect that he had never been amongst such wealth, the few palm trees swayed in the uncommon wind, bending and twisting to get a better look; the grass waved and turned its spiked eyes away; the pool rippled ugly curves of chlorinated blue water, whispering to the concrete and soil as it spilt over the edge and seeped inside; only the pool house glass invited him, remaining serene and reflecting back the cruel greetings of nature.

Seth felt a shift in the air as he cautiously walked ahead of Ryan to the pool house.

"This is it," Seth said, opening the door.

Ryan brushed past him and took a look around. He set down a black duffel bag containing everything he owned in the middle of the room.

Seth eyes were more critical now in the safety of his own home. They saw how Ryan favoured his left leg; how his knuckles were bruised and swollen, the corner of his eye smeared with blood; the way he tensed every time he pulled in a breath.

"So?"

Ryan scowled. "So, what?"

"Is it okay?"

"Yeah. It's...fine." Ryan looked at the bed, tensed and cracked his neck. "Should I just... or do you want me to take a shower first?"

Seth coughed. His stomach knotted up. "What?"

Ryan reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of condoms. He threw them onto the bed and limped toward Seth. Ryan's eyes were empty as he looked through Seth. Taking off his shirt, he wiped off the blood from a cut near his eye that never got the chance to heal; it always seemed to get reopened just when it was almost scarred over. Seth wondered if there were scars like that inside Ryan too.

Ryan pulled his wife-beater over his head, unbuckled his belt and let his jeans drop to the floor. Standing in boxer shorts, he was tan, scarred and astonishingly beautiful.

"Holy Fuck!" The words left Seth's mouth and it was as if someone else had taken charge of his brain. Sometimes Seth still felt guilty when he cussed, like his Mother or Rabbi Altman would come around the corner and scold him for saying such vulgar things. He didn't feel guilty now. Spellbound was a better word. There Ryan was, practically naked in front of him, and he wasn't so sure he would be able to risk temptation if it was constantly presented to him like this, but this time he had to. If he was ever going to gain Ryan's trust now was the starting point. "I told you-"

"Told me what?"

Ryan stepped out of his pants with some difficulty, but Seth was still too mesmerized to really notice.

"Uh, this," he said, pointing to the crumpled clothing carelessly kicked aside, "I don't- you don't.... any of this."

Ryan was still moving toward him. Even the bruises on his ribs and fist-sized welt on his leg didn't deflect from the chiselled features of his body. Seth would never look like that. He was all harsh lines and sharp angles, hardly the perfect specimen for a seventeen-year-old boy. Ryan was smooth and compact, the kind of body they painted on charts for anatomy class. Seth wanted to touch him to make sure he was real.

"I'm not stupid," Ryan said, edging closer.

"I never said you were." Seth tried to swallow but his throat was too dry and his tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth.

Ryan's cut had stopped bleeding, but his eye was still red and swollen. "Let's just get this over with so I can get my stuff and go, before it gets any later."

He was close enough now for Seth to reach out and touch him. He wanted to get away...or move in closer. He didn't know which one he wanted more. Trust, he reminded himself. That was more important.

Seth shook his head, trying to reassure Ryan. "Look, it's been a long day... You're hurt and Theresa's gone and I know that must suck, but I offered you a place to stay and I meant it. I don't want anything more than that from you."

Ryan laughed. It was cold and bitter and sent chills down Seth's spine. "Tell me why you're doing this?!" There was something desperate in Ryan's eyes. Something that made Seth feel like his chest was caving in.

Seth scratched the back of his neck. "Because I want to," he said, tentatively. The tiles on the floor held his attention for a full minute. He noticed one had cracked. He knew the next time the maintenance man--or whoever it was that looked after the house--would replace it soon. It was so easy to get things fixed in this house. As soon as someone noticed something was broken, it got fixed. Seth wondered if someone saw the cracks in Ryan's armour--like Seth had seen through his interactions with Theresa--if they saw inside his heart; that it was chipped and fragile, how long it would take for someone to notice, how long it would take for someone to fix him. Only, he wasn't so sure Ryan really could be fixed or that he was even broken. Maybe he just saw things that weren't really there, because it made himself feel good to think that he could help. Taking in a large breath, he pulled his eyes back up and looked at Ryan. "I want to help you, because I think you need it...and, because...I-I like you."

Ryan's fist curled at his side. Seth wished he hadn't noticed. "Don't fuck with me, Kid!"

Fucking him or fucking with his head was the last thing on Seth's agenda. Trying not to pee his pants was taking top priority. Ryan was violent. Seth knew that, but hadn't really thought about the consequences of having Ryan's temper aimed at him.

Seth took a step back even though he knew it made him look like a chicken and served Ryan's purpose. "I'm not. I wouldn't do that."

They stared at each other. It was a stand off. Seth was no match for Ryan. He averted his eyes.

A minute passed. Seth cleared his throat. "There's bandaids and stuff in the bathroom. You know, for your..." He pointed to Ryan's cut.

Ryan's hand automatically traced the open wound. He looked over his shoulder at the bathroom door and then fixed his eyes back on Seth.

"Have a shower and just...relax. I'll get you some clothes and some food. You must be hungry, because I'm starving. I don't think I've eaten since breakfast. And even though breakfast is supposed to be the most important meal of the day, I think lunch and dinner are pretty important too and since I skipped those, I could use food. You?"

The strain in Ryan's shoulders seemed to ease. His fingers relaxed. Ryan nodded. "Okay."

Seth barely made out his words. He felt his heart rate slow and ease back to normal. "Okay? Okay, then. I'll, uh, I'll just go and you...you do your thing."

Seth didn't spare another minute. He turned and walked out the doors, leaving Ryan alone.

With Seth gone, Ryan took his first easy breath. He still had reservations. There wasn't a person alive who didn't want to just help someone and want nothing in return. Everyone wanted something in return. It had set him on edge. Truth was, he'd been on his own for too long. He'd forgotten how to feel. How to show gratitude. How to accept help. For all Seth's awkward, almost dorky behaviour, he was a decent guy. Over the short time he'd known him, he'd treated him well. And there was something innocent about him; something that made Ryan feel a little peace -though, he would never admit that out loud. Seth was like an elastic band. It was like, no matter how hard he pushed, Seth wouldn't back down, he kept coming back more resilient than before. Ryan wondered what it would take to make him snap. He really didn't want to know. He didn't want Seth to break. It almost hurt to think about it.

Ryan stepped into the bathroom --the pain in his leg making the journey seem like a mile instead of a few measly feet. The room was spotless. There were clean towels hanging on a rack, fluffy and the colour of peaches; soap sitting on the counter, three perfect white bars stacked like a pyramid; bottles of shampoo and conditioner lining the tub basin, each labelled in French with pictures of white and pink lilies.

The room smelled like flowers -not the cheap, fake, bottled kind, but like real flowers. Ryan found the bouquet on a shelf beside the mirrored cabinet. He pulled on it and exposed the organized innards. Gauze, tape, bandaids and antiseptic solution stared back at him. He pulled it all out and set it on the counter, flipping the cabinet door and getting his first real look at himself. What he saw shocked him.

This wasn't his face. These weren't his eyes looking back at him. He wanted to smash his refection.

Theresa was gone and everything was fucked-up. He, was fucked-up. Ryan felt the walls pushing in on him. He took in a deep, calming breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them again and looked in the mirror, all he saw was a face. It didn't matter how busted up and broken it looked. It could have belonged to him or anyone else. It didn't matter what was in his eyes.

Turning, he looked back at the tub. He didn't want to get anything dirty, but the likelihood of that was impossible. There was dirt in his hair and blood on his face and all that had to go somewhere. The basin was gleaming white. He'd have to clean it after he was done.

The water poured easily from the taps when he twisted on them and it took him back a little. Getting the right temperature, he pulled off his boxers and stepped under the spray. The water pressure felt good on his neck and back. He moved around slowly, letting the water cascade over his shoulders and eventually flowing onto his chest. It seemed he could stay under the water forever, letting all the noise in his head fade into the echo of the bathroom. He lathered and scrubbed until his skin felt raw. Soap got into his cuts and stung but reminded him he was alive. Ryan felt strange washing his hair with something that probably cost more than anything his mother had ever owned. But, as the blood and dirt melted away, he didn't give it a second thought.

The minutes ticked by and the water continued to pound down on him. It was too hot. Ryan felt dizzy. He lowered herself to sit on the edge of the tub and water slipped off his body and onto the floor. Ryan wasn't used to this. It was too...normal. He was used to dirty showers that stunk of puke and housed colonies of bugs. He felt strange. And suddenly, he got the urge to do something he hadn't done in years... Cry. He wanted to cry. He wasn't even sure he remembered how. And if he did, he wasn't positive he'd ever be able to stop. Pulling himself up, despite his body's protest, Ryan steeled himself against the tears in his eyes. What the fuck was the matter with him? Only pussies cried. Holding back his anger, he turned off the taps and watched the remaining water slip off his body and slide down the drain.

The tiles felt cold under his feet and he relished in the change of temperature. Steam billowed off his skin and made the room a hazy sauna. Wrapping the peach towel around his waist, he stepped up to the counter and picked up the bottle of antiseptic. Splashing some on his facial wounds, he waited for the sting to subside before he breathed again. He replaced everything where he'd found it and mopped the water on floor with his underwear. He frowned, feeling like a fool.

Putting his dirty clothes back on was pointless, so Ryan walked out of the bathroom in just the towel. He was still alone. That was fine with him, because it meant he could just take a moment to look around, to see how the rich lived.

Ryan looked at the fancy art on the tables and walls and scoffed. These people knew how to waste their money.

The bed called to him. He stepped down and allowed himself to sit on the edge of it. It smelled clean like his shirts used to on laundry day when he lived with Theresa and her mom.

Ryan shook his head. This place was surreal. Clean sheets. Clean towels. Clean everything. It had been a long time since he'd had all three of those things at once. His eyes felt heavy and his head was clouded. How had he gotten here? He was so tired. Seventeen and so bloody tired.

Letting his body fall back, he allowed his eyes to close. The bed was soft under his back and masked the pain in his ribs. He felt weightless, secure. Safe.