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Thanks: To arcadie and troublesometwin1, thank you SOOOO much for all your reviews. You've both helped me amazingly and I think you deserve a huge clap. I'd give you Xmas cards, but I don't know where to send them. So, have a Christmas luv instead, guys…X-one for arcadie, X-one for troublesometwin1! Thanks again you two, I can't believe your dedication!

Note: I don't know if I'm allowed to do this, but I will anyway. All of you out there who are sitting around wanting a better alternative to my writing, try arcadie's fics, they knock spots off mine. 'Cowboy Lost' is a particular favourite of mine and was partly inspiration for 'Tainted Purity'. What are you waiting for? Go check 'em out! I'll still be here when you get back!

Chapter 3: 'Silver Sorrow'

(Fulton)

"It doesn't matter where I go or what I do, I'm never accepted. The Mighty Ducks…why did I have to be transferred to a new team? The old one was bad enough…everybody knew I was different in some way and avoided me…but this is worse. They all hate me. It's almost like being at home again.

They won't even talk to me. Except to make snide comments or insult me. They don't know how much it hurts…or maybe they do? Why can't they just leave me alone? What have I ever done to them? Well, the Hawks match…but I thought they were better than that…turns out the Dream Team's just like everyone else.

Except Charlie Conway. He welcomed me, said hello, tried to be nice; but Jesse Hall pushed him back again, made him shut up. They all just stood and glared at me…I felt so small and dirty…but they can't know about…me, can they?

Did they see? The scars are deep and very dark, but I was so sure I'd kept them hidden…just like everything else. They don't realise the pain, don't see the damage…it's better that way.

No one should ever know.

I wish I didn't either."

I shut the diary with more force than intended. My hands are shaking badly and I know my eyes are wet with unshed tears. I can't read any more right now.

The same thing happened last night. I could only read a few pages before I had to put the book down and try to forget everything. Adam's life was worse than I ever thought…how did he live through all that? It's more than I can bear just reading it, but he dealt with it every day of his life…

A lump forms in my throat as I realise what a truly brave person he was. All the times when we laughed at him for being a loner or ignored him because he wasn't 'interesting' enough…he put up with it, added it to everything else…and we kept piling it on…

And he never blamed us.

If I believed in angels I'd think Adam was one. He was so quiet and calm, yet filled with so much rage, turmoil…shame…and some of it was our fault. It was the Ducks, his own team…

"They're putting up with me now, but only because I can score goals for them. I can still see the mistrust and even hate in their eyes…well, some of them. Jesse's the worst, but at least he's open about his feelings. I admire him for that. It's something I've never been able to do, and probably never will be able to.

But Charlie…there's something strange about him. I get the feeling he's not who I first thought he was…that doesn't make any sense, I know. What I mean is…he's different inside. He shows one Charlie to the public but there's another just lurking within him, and I don't think it's a very nice side…"

It's amazing. Adam saw the one thing the rest of us couldn't. He could see the true Conway, the monster inside…and he paid dearly for it. I rub the scrawling cursive reflectively, trying to imagine him writing these very words…the form of them is so unlike any of his writing I've seen before. Usually it's so neat and elegant…this is messy, hasty and viciously scratched into the pages. These aren't just Adam's thoughts written here, they're his feelings. These pages are full of the emotions he couldn't deal with…he poured them out onto paper so he wouldn't have to keep them locked inside. That's why he always seemed so calm, so quiet…this diary was like a sedative. It drained him and made him passive for a while. And when the diary wasn't enough…?

I turn to a page that's darker than the rest. The writing is difficult to read, as it's obscured by thick, shadowy smears. The page crackles when I touch it…this is Adam's pain. Not the writing…the blood. A faint noise causes me to focus more clearly on the page, where I see a small, shining pool wrinkling the already imperfect surface, and as I watch, another falls to join the first. A steady rain of sorrow dampens the open page as choking sobs begin to throb from my throat in a melancholy, hollow moan.

It's all our fault…

"…Fulton?"

(Dwayne)

Despite my misgivings, it's good to see Eden Hall again. At home there was too much time to think, too few things to take my mind away from the past few weeks. But here there's noise, activity and the urgency of everyday life. I can at last bury myself in something and give it my full attention…ignore the truth for a little longer perhaps…

It's time for me to go back. There's a feeling of guilt when I think about how I've just abandoned Fulton, left him to deal with everything on his own…it was selfish of me. But will he accept me? I've tested the frail strains of our rather new friendship, will they prove stronger than I thought, or will I be rejected by the last person I have? The thought is frightening, and a knot of apprehension tightens in my gut, making me feel sick and weak. I wouldn't be able to handle the pain of his anger…but why? Do I see him as a friend? Or maybe…

"…Fulton?"

I can't believe it. There he is, sitting on his bed, just the way I left him a week ago, as though he hadn't moved an inch. It's almost like my fervent thoughts and memories have caused him to appear from nothingness…and a surge of shame floods my stomach as I realise the brink they had been teetering on.

He heard me, though, and now I can see him clearly for the first time in weeks. Obviously my short holiday has cleared some things up, because only last week I barely knew if he was there or not. Now I can see so much more. He's looking thinner than before, as though he hasn't been eating properly, and there's a soft vulnerability in his shady eyes, watered with flowing tears. At once I'm at his side…what's happened to my big, strong Fulton? My protector and friend? Why does he look so small and defeated? As my mouth forms these words, he falls onto my shoulder, sobbing quietly and gripping my shirt in tortured fists.

"Even we were guilty Dwayne…we were supposed to be his friends and even we were guilty!"

"What…?" I don't understand what he's trying to tell me, but before I can ask for a straight answer, Fulton thrusts a book into my hands. I look down, momentarily startled, at the small, blue cover. It looks like a notebook, the kind kids use in class…I pull back the cover and read the first page:

This journal belongs to Adam Richard Banks.

"Oh…" It's the most I can say. I returned only moments before, thinking that I had at last put everything behind me, willing to make a fresh start, and now here's the one thing that can bring it all flooding back. One, small, battered book. I wasn't ready for this. As I let the journal tip back, into my lap, it falls open at a random page. I can't stop myself from reading the entry. As I skim the obscure writing I shudder at the dark stains I know are Adam's blood…but there's something else, wet and shining on the page…Fulton's tears. This page alone is now layered with the pain of more than one person…it's like a work of twisted, screaming art. The writing itself is wild and angry, shaking all over the page and blanketing it are marks of hate, shame…

And over those are three damp spots of silver sorrow. I begin to add my own, holding onto Fulton for fear of losing the last of my sanity.