Important News
(message from Kabr:)
As always thank you so so much to all our readers, followers and reviewers! Every word written encourages us and inspires us. Unfortunately, I have a confession...I am no longer going be writing UP with Mercurial. My last writing will be in chapter 16. I have found myself a job and with that, the husband, the boy and the household I just wont have time to continue writing. I am going to miss it immensely and have loved every single word I have written and I am feeling very sad to not be writing with the beautiful Mercurial any more. Of course she will continue and with her incredible talent and amazing plot bunnies the story keeps getting better! In her words I am not going to be sad that its over but be happy that it happened.
A/N (From Merc:)
So so so sad :( I can't even begin to tell you guys. I did contemplate rushing to finish it (and not telling everything we wanted to) or not continuing to write it, or taking some time off and finishing it later. But I'm really enjoying writing it, and I've really loved the response from you guys so I think I'm going to continue – if that's OK with you?
Kabr will continue in a sort of part time beta role, and secretly I'm hoping she might find time to come back for the dramatic end, but I do know she's far too busy to consider anything at the moment.
If you are happy with me continuing we have some plot twists and turns and angst ahead – we're just coming to the end of 'part one' and 'part two' will be significantly more angsty I think. It will also include more of the Brady-Hay kids, and a blast from the past, aaand don't worry I have a lovely fate in store for Terry – ick! In the short term we will of course (eventually) let you know what happened to the money/Ste when he returned home before meeting Blake. Also I promise I'm not going to keep repeating scenes at the start of chapters – we just thought this was the best way of catching up with Ste).
Chapter Warnings:
Angst.
References to sexual actions.
Chapter Fifteen – Ste Hay.
It's a proper 'orrible night. Business is slow, everyone fightin over slim pickin's. It don't help that it's Christmas Eve, cos all proper people are home with their families so those here are the desperate low-life sorts that normally I would do anything to avoid – you never know what these guys have got. And just like that I remember. I can't stop thinking about the Browning test I had earlier, panic proper floods every time. Right now I would do anything to take my mind of it but barely no-ones here. I've had two at the minimum end, which means that, with the cut Blake gets, I've earned a fiver. At least it's enough for a warm meal tomorrow. I sit with my back to the door, sink further into my trackie, anyway looking pissed off means I get more business – adds to the scally look don' it?
I can sense someone in the room, lookin' at me, but I can't be bothered to turn around. I'm still feelin a little of the high from the last hit, my muscles feel furry. The client smells pretty good though, and he's got this deep English accent as he asks me for prices. I get a good feeling so I give him the full menu. If I earn twenty-five from him, that's thirty all together and I won't have to go back to the squat tonight.
But it's him innit? Brady. He tricked me, putting on this stupid accent. He traps me as I try to leave, and he's dead angry, but I'm numb. I can't feel owt. My life is ruined and I'm dead inside.
He pulls me to him, traps me and I'm faced with all those memories – of happiness and warmth and love. It was fucking love OK?! Everything he did for me, for us, you don't do that for someone you're just fucking – believe me I should know. I have regulars.
"What happened to the money, Steven?"
Was that all only two weeks ago? Life can change on a knife edge, sommit Terry taught me, that.
"Gone innit?"
"Care to explain to me how that sort of money just goes?" He pushes and pushes and he's gonna make me talk about it and I just can't, I can't even think about it.
But it's his smell innit? That smell that used to make me feel safe, used to feel like comfort. It's here in this nightmare I live in and he's come to rescue me again, so what am I supposed to do but cry and let him hug me and gimme those old fake promises? But I know his sort of 'rescue' now don' I? I know it lasts days at the most and I end up worse than when I started. I know I can't trust him.
I pull my head away from his shoulder. I see Roscoe a little scared for me, it's his turn for working the door tonight and has to report the figures to Blake. He'll lie for me if he has to, but after the last time I know neither of us can take another warning.
I take one last breath in of Brady.
I count back from three.
"Let me go," I whisper a warning, although it's me that's got him.
"Come again?" He asks, dead confused, like.
"You paying?!" I demand, shouting, hopin' someone will hear me over the music. "Cos I'm missing trading hours, me."
"No Steven I'm not gonna pay – do you really think I'm gonna let you-" and his 'ands start to cup my face warm and gentle, like. That way he did that used to feel like help and safety, I can't let him do this.
I push him back.
"Having a problem here mate?" Roscoe asks, and I do the only thing I can do.
"No, it's fine – customers just got a little greedy but we've talked it through 'aven't we and he's just going."
"Steven."
"Go!"
***K&M***
He did go didn' he? Only not properly. I felt his eyes on me. I couldn't see him. I knew he were watching though. I was picked up, not a too bad looking bloke this time – an American business man 'ere closing a deal. I saw Brady shifting in the shadows as I closed the door.
Mr America tells me to strip – drunkenly tells me all about what 'e wants; and all I can hear is Brady's raised voice from just outside the door. I don't even want to think about what's going on out there so I try to concentrate on what Mr America is saying, try to block out Brady and convince myself I don't care what he's doin'. I hear Brady's proper boomin' voice get louder and angrier before I recognise another voice. Blake.
Shit.
I scamper clumsily round the bed, hastily hositin up my trackies, no time to zip up the hoody as I leave the room. I don't have time to care that I'm runnin' out on a client or what Blake will say when he sees me. I fling the door open just in time to see Brady shove Blake backwards against the front door, anger flashing like fire in his eyes. Blake composes himself well quick and straightens his suit. Then he proper smirks at Brady.
Blake's smugness is like a light switch for Brady, right. It's like he's pressed the wrong button and I can almost see it send electricity down his spine and create this ripple of energy. Brady appears all calm, like, but I can see the signs. I know 'im- I notice his teeth grindin', the clenched fists, proper big pupils. I can see the slight flushin' of his cheeks and little beads of sweat startin' to appear on his forehead.
"If there's a problem with one of my boys then I'm sure we can sort it out." Blake says dead calm. "Did you not get what you were looking for or did they not tend to your needs?"
Brady scowls and takes a step forward, without thinkin' I step in front of him.
"Brady, please don't. Just go yeah?" I ask tryin' to keep my voice proper steady.
He don't take his eyes off Blake for a second.
"Get out of the way, Steven."
"Oh so you know Ste then?" A small smile curls round Blake's lips. "A regular are you? He's one of our best, will do anything and everything and takes it like a pro, oh but Ste." He says fixing those cold dead eyes on me, "we will chat later but Browning phoned, no more specials for a while OK?"
Time dies.
I've worked here long enough to know there's only ever one reason Blake says, 'no more specials'.
And now 'e's sayin it to me – it's torture. It's the loose pavemen' I slipped on and broke my foot when I was five, and it's Terry's fists every time he pounded into my stomach, and it's the look in Leah's eyes when she told me her arm was broke, and it's the needle Warren's men pushed into my skin, and it's the ice Brady pushed me onto, and it's my first client. And it's every client. It's every man I've ever fucked as I cycle back through my memory like I'm flipping a scrap book of payin' men, attemptin' the impossible - trying to work out where I fucked up, who my mistake was.
I stare at Brady, knowing I've lost him, knowing I'm 'ere for good – he won't want me now will 'e? No one will, 'cept Blake, 'cept these low lives.
Then everything happens in a blur. The back of me thighs bush against the step as Brady pushes me to the side before jumpin' forward - pushin' Blake hard up against the door.
"You make another crack about Steven again and I will kill you. Do you understand?!" he growls at Blake through gritted teeth.
Blake laughs then splutters from the pressure of Brady's arm on his throat. "More than just your rent boy is he? He is very pretty." He rasps.
Brady removes his arm from Blake's throat but proper quick brings his left arm back then lands a punch into Blake's stomach, right in the breadbox. Blake leans forward, winded from the force of the punch. Brady brings his arm back to punch Blake again but I grab it and hold on as tight as I can, like. He's too strong for me though and shakes my arm off.
"Please Brady! It's not worth it," I say knowing he'll just reject me when Blake shares the news anyway.
Brady takes his eyes off Blake and looks towards me as if tryna do everything in his power to not beat the crap outta him. I see the fire in his eyes calm a little as he looks at me, it's like I can hear his 'eart slow. He leaves Blake spluttering against the wall, and steps closer to me. He pulls up the zip of my hoody, closin' me off from the world. His eyes are a deep blue sad and I feel them over my skin, but it's almost like he can warm me. With the zip done up, he takes a second and then it seems to take all his will strength to barge past Blake and open the front door.
"Let's go, Steven." He says tryna motion me out the door.
"I don't think so," Blake interrupts. "Ste still has work to do, he has a client in there who's waiting for his money's worth." You can see Brady's lips proper snarl but Blake talks dead quick. "Maybe there's someone else we can tempt you to while you're waiting - I have to say Brendan I didn't think Ste would be your type, thought your boy would be more….impressive. Less… what's the word? Ste, what is the word?" He says and he's trying to get me to say it, he's tryin to get me to tell Brady this evenin's news – Brownin's result. Tell Brady there's proof I'm dirt, inside and out.
I stare at Brady, I know already what he's gonna look like when he knows. His skin will pale, his eyes darken, and he will look like he's scorning himself – like he hates that he's surprised I'm dirt when he's always known it. And he'll leave, and I'll never see him again.
"What the fuck are you on about Patrick?!"
"Ste Hay," Blake bellows, and I feel my skin chill like I'm bein told off by the headmaster. "Something you want to tell Brendan here?"
"Steven?"
"I've caught something," the truth slips easy cos Brady's lookin at me like that.
"What?"
"Caught something, one of the clients have-" my words don't go anywhere.
Blake's boys get checked every two weeks by Browning, mine was today and I don't need more than me orders to know what the result is. There is only one reason Blake says 'no more specials'.
Brady swallows hard like he's tryin not to wretch.
"One of the clients have what, Steven?"
"Chlamydia," Blake gives the word that seals my fate like he's proper happy.
I've never seen Brady's face like it is the moment he hears that.
"Bren please don't," is instinctive.
Brady snaps his head round to look at Blake.
"Say that again," he asks dead slow his accent like broken glass.
Blake smiles not at all frightened, "you're little boy has chlamydia, should have been more careful."
Brady starts to launch himself forward at Blake. He throws a punch to Blake's nose sending blood pouring down his face. Blake touches the blood and looks at his fingers. The swellin' already startin' to show on his nose and around his eyes.
Blake's calm is like a wave, you can see it ripple.
He speaks dead calm, despite the clearly broken nose, "look Brendan, I don't think this is necessary. We can sit down and discuss it."
"What's the matter Patrick? Only like to mess with young boys, do ye?"
With one swift motion Brendan pushes Blake out the front door, into the porch and onto doorstep. He scrambles to his feet as Brady moves slowly towards him, like a tiger stalkin' it's prey.
I quickly follow them out. "Please stop, please!"
"Stay inside," Brady warns.
Blake's quick and whilst Brady is talkin' to me he plants a right hook on Brady's face and I hear the crack of his eye socket as the force whips his head backwards. Blake follows up his advantage, breathing hard. He lands another punch this time to Brady's jaw and I see the small spray of blood spurt from his split lip.
The force of the punch has spun Brady round so he's facing me. I flinch at the sight of the cut above his left eye and the trickle of blood from his lip. Instinctively I reach out my hand to tend to the cuts but he bats it away.
"Steven…Go….In…. Side…. Now!" He pants.
I back up to the front door, have no intention of going inside, though. I can't just leave him!
Brady turns and spits out some blood before wiping the rest away on his sleeve. He brings his leg up and kicks Blake hard in the gut, sending him backwards onto the pavement, trippin him on the step. Brady wastes no time in landing another kick to Blake's gut.
"Get up you sick Bastard!" Brady bellows.
He picks up a crumbling wooden chair and brings it up above Blake's head. My hearts proper poundin'. Brady won't let it end like this. He wants to make him suffer. Wants Blake to feel the pain.
"Please, Brady, don't!"
The chair is crashed right on top of Blake.
There's a little bit of stillness.
Then Blake breathes a couple of times. Wobbles slightly to his feet and runs forwards and barges right into Brady. They push into each other and start strugglin'. Brady has got an arm free and his muscles settle into a rhythm of punchin' into Blake's ribcage.
They will kill each other before either lets up.
"Stop it! Both of you stop it!" I scream as loud as I can but they can't or don't want to hear me.
I need to get their attention so I scan the street and spot Brady's car. I pick up a small plank of wood and start to bring it down hard on the car, smashin' the windscreen, all the windows. I'm screamin' as I'm right dentin' the bonnet and the doors. The car alarm starts wailin'. I drop the wood. Both men stop and then look up at me.
Brady pushes Blake back 'ard, and starts stormin' towards me, red hot anger in his eyes.
"What the fuck Steven?"
Behind him I see Blake pull something out of his pocket. My heart starts thumping and I can hear ringin' in me ears.
"Bren! He's got a knife!"
He freezes as Blake swipes at his back with the blade. I swear I can hear a sort of swooshin' noise as he swipes back and forth. Cutting 'im rather than stabbin' 'im. Brady swears before whippin' round and getting' another small swipe to the chest. He grabs Blake's wrist tryna get him to drop the knife. There's a struggle for it. I see it glint in Brady's hand, a glint in his eyes. Then Blake's on the floor. Brady kicks him to the ground. Kickin' him hard over and over. I think for a second he's killed him, but Blake's still active just damaged, badly.
I run up and put my hands on his shoulders. "Brady, come on, leave it." I try and pull him back. "He's not worth it!"
Brady flinches at my touch but sniffs, inhales deeply and his shoulders relax as he steps away.
"Ok. Ok." he agrees.
We both take a couple of steps back, to the other side of the stree', Blake splutters out a curse laced with blood as he's crumpled on the ground. A couple of the guys from the 'ouse, Blake's pets, come over to us. Brady places 'is arm in fron' of me – so he's seperatin' them from me but I know they won't come nowhere near.
"It's OK," I tell Brady as one of the pets nods at me, before carrying Blake away, I think he's kinda glad someone got one over on the boss.
"It's OK?" Bren asks, turning to me with eyes wide as saucers – you can still see he's proper stressed, there's a vein bulging in his head. "It's OK?! What part of this is OK? What the fuck did you do to my car Steven?!"
He walks over, leans over it like it's some sort of baby.
"Answer me!" He orders.
I shrug, scuffin the ground.
He's over with me in three quick strides.
"At least fucking look at me!" He says, cupping my face, bringing my gaze to him. He looks like he's sad again, he sounds it too when he asks, "Steven, what happened to you?"
I take a step back from him – the answer looking me in the face. He happened to me innit?
"Steven for fuck's sake! Look at the car!"
I don', I stare proper point blank back at him.
"Had to get you to stop didn't I? I mean what the 'ell did you think you're doing Brady?" He's Blake! No-one takes on Blake unless they've got a death wish.
"What do I think I'm doing?! What the fuck do you think you're doing Steven? Why are you here? Who the fuck was that man?!" He says pointing towards the 'ouse – to Mr America.
"A client."
"A client? A client?! No, I'm not having this - you're not gonna sell yourself anymore!" He barks, like he can instruct me.
"They aint all got-"
"What they've got doesn't matter. You're too young Steven!"
I smirk, ironic that innit? "Didn't stop you!"
I snarl at him and he snarls back, anger, real anger in his eyes. But I don't feel scared, not proper, I guess I know he's never gonna hurt me, no matter how disappointed he is in me.
I hate him for being disappointed in me, but most of all I proper hate myself for making him disappointed.
"Anyway I'm 17!" I say, I can hear my voice sounds proper different, I sound like a little kid again. Like just talking to Brady can proper change me.
"You're underage to be working here," he points out slowly like he's explainin.
"You think I had a choice?" I bite back and then I like regret it…cos I know he didn't mean it like that.
Over the car alarm I hear that bloody song about Christmas start up again. Blake's been playing this on repeat the last three nights – like a countdown to the main event. I used to cry every night when Leah and Lucas' singing faces would be replaced by the faces of men screaming in gut-twisting pleasure. I don't cry anymore.
Time sort of slows between us, and it all feels softer now – like it does when I've first taken a hit but this is drug-free. This calm is all Brendan Brady – even more fake than poppers! He looks at me with the bright blue eyes I've seen in my sleep and I struggle. I still haven't convinced myself that what I felt in his house was phony, not proper.
We stand just starin' at each other, just stood in the street with all this destruction - the chair, the car, the blood and all we're doing is lookin at each other, like the world don't matter.
Working here we all get this feeling, like our skin don't fit and are bones are on show and you can see everything inside us - our lungs which don't breath and our hearts which don't have life. We feel like every single person can see it. We call it the Blake effect.
Brady looks at me now, and smiles, gentle like, not like he's 'appy but like he's saying 'ello. And I kinda loose it a little bit, the Blake effect. I can't feel 'im no more. I can feel Brady though, and as he steps closer I can feel my lungs start again cos I can breathe 'im, like I can breathe Brady into me. And I can feel my 'eart cos it fucking hurts. Why the fuck does Brady still do this? Why the fuck does he have to act like he cares? I don't need him to pretend no more. I know what I am now, Browning's result proved that. And the Blake effect was just starting to feel OK.
I look at the cut by Brady's eye, it looks proper bad, swelling already. He's such an idiot. I take the disinfectant wipes from my pocket. Roscoe gave them to me after things got bad with Blake the first time. I bring it up to him, wipe it over the cut and he grabs my wrist, fingers tight. My skin burns, our electricity bringing me alive. I can feel him all over me. Fuck! Yes! I thought I couldn't feel like this anymore. I thought with all the naked skin I've had on mine that my cells just don't respond the same. But I guess it's that I only feel like this with Brady.
I know he feels it too, I can see it in the way his eyes flash. He stares at me so I stare at him back – he's the one that's scared of us.
"You don't have to do that."
"Just let me fucking look at it will you?" I insist, the cuts looking proper bad now.
He lets go of my hand and I trace the outter edge of the cut with the antiseptic.
"I'm not your problem, Steven."
"You will always be my problem," I say quickly, shakin my head and laughin at him a little – like it would be that easy to just forget about him!
And then I think about what I said – the way it sounded, kinda like a confession, me tellin' him that this aint nowhere near over. And you can tell he's thinking that too. It's kinda awkward for a moment and I can feel his breath against my cheek. And I just wanna feel him everywhere. But my finger slips against the cut and his eyes tighten and mouth stretches.
"Don't be such a baby," I say and he smiles like he used to when I teased him.
He lets me clean the cut for a moment or two, and I move to the one on his forehead. And as I stand on tiptoes his eyes go to my ear, the tear just below the hair line. It's small now, almost invisible. Blake don't leave marks that'd put off the clients. His finger presses against it, and then he feels up into the hair, across the mark where it gets deeper.
"Jesus, Steven."
"It's OK," I tell him quick, I always wanna reassure him.
"Who did this to you?"
I don't tell him at first - he don't need to know does he? It would just make it hard for him to do what he wants to – leave me again. But then he like tilts his head to the side, his eyes proper clear, that look that says 'you and I both know you're gonna tell me eventually, might as well be sooner'.
"Blake." I answer 'im. "It's OK though, right?"
It's proper fine now and I kinda deserved it anyway. My fifth day here, me and Roscoe really didn't wanna work. So we hid out by the bins smoking weed. The boy on the door that day said he'd cover for us, he didn't though. Blake's got barbed wire locked in his drawer for times like that.
"No, Steven this will never be OK," he says in that voice he used to tell me I was dynamite and you know all that other crap. And his eyes are like that, like he proper believes in what he's saying, believes in me, believes I'm better than this – worth more than this. Even now, even with this disease. And there's so much emotion running through me that I can barely breathe – but I want it, I'm not scared. Brady's like a tidal wave, one I wanna get sucked into.
We just stare at each other, it feels like hours pass but probably only a couple of minute's innit. Time does funny things when we stand close. He steps closer like he knows I want him to kiss me, his eyes darken like that and he breathes in – he breathes me in. He leans just a little further forward and I can almost feel the brush of his tash on my nose. I can almost taste him, I feel my lips part for his.
And then Blake's here. I can feel him first – he has this presence like a bomb, everyone knows when he's in a room, you can just sense it.
I panic and Brady can see it.
"I'm getting you out of here Steven, alright?"
He never gives me a real choice does he? He grabs my wrist and pulls me out of the street. We run.
Blake's hot on our heels as we leave the brothel, so we run and we run and we run.
I escape this nightmare with the only one who's ever cared enough to know.
***K&M***
I get lost, but this is Brady's city innit? He always knows where we're going. We run till the blood pounds in my head, and the world gets dizzy and I collapse against a brick wall. I bend my knees, catchin my breath.
Brady lays a hand on my shoulder but it's like he proper don't wanna touch me. He moves it quick.
I try to pretend it doesn't sting when he leaves me. I try to act like I don't feel more dirty under his touch than any client.
"OK?" He asks, and there's concern in his eyes, and I can feel that.
And I nod, I think I might be now. When I met Blake I thought my life would change, I thought I'd be OK with not being OK. But I guess no-one has the power to change my story but Brendan Brady.
When I can see straight I take a look around. We're in some sort of alley way, it's all big concrete buildings and shadow. It's proper late now. You can tell when it's 4 in the morning, you know - when the world goes dead silent? Cos everyone's at home sleepin'. I know exactly what it looks like. Tonight looks a little different though – like there's a buzz beneath the surface - you can see it in the windows of the houses down the lane, feel it in the sky. It's Christmas Eve. I close me eyes and get a little image of Leah and Lucas' smilin' faces. I see 'em at Brady's when we first got there – Leah in that pink princess bed, Lucas under his football duvet. I puff out that breath that always catches.
I haven't been sleeping at 4 for a while. When I went back to Terry's, sleep wasn't exactly a luxury I could afford – when you sleep you're vulnerable. So I spent a lot of this time outdoors. The last few days though, 4 has been spent making strangers scream and collecting pay.
I had some proper crazy clients. I was one of the runts so I got the bad un's that were regulars – the ones that had extra special requests. I've done some scary shit. I look across and up the torso, the arms and the tash of the man standing next to me. I wonder if he knows that the idea of sleeping him with makes me more scared than any of those? At least with the clients I knew I wouldn't end up in a worse place than when I started.
I could live with what Blake's men made me feel. Blake lifted my skin open and poured disease inside; he didn't change a proper thing about me though. But Brady did. The last time I saw Brady I wanted to change every scrap that made me, me - I wanted to tear meself to pieces, destroy meself and be someone else, cos maybe then he would of loved me back.
I watch him cross the road dead quick, and shoulder against this padlocked door. He does that twice and then the door crashes open revealin' a set of steps that twist and wind up. 'e rests his 'ands in his pockets as he raises an eyebrow and sort of calls me silently to him. Me body obeys. He's just above me as we walk up the steps.
***K&M***
It's dead dark going up, there's no light, and I scrape around the wall that feels weirdly damp. I feel his hand reach for mine, 'is fingers fit between me own and I let 'im lead me. I feel a bit better like that.
"Hang on," he says before I hear him bash against another door.
Lights burst quickly - close blinding lights of the flood lamps on the concrete roof; medium orange lights of the street lamps nearby, and then all sort of different colours across the city. I feel my stomach dip - remember how close we were when we last saw lights like this. God that felt incredible. I look at 'im quickly, wonder if he even remembers that – course he don't. Weren't love for him were it?
I shiver a little cos it's dead cold, but he takes his leather jacket off and wraps it around me. We're on the roof of a deserted car park - you can see the white lines of the bays, the tire screeches on the tarmac.
"Me and Chez used to come here when we were kids." He tells me, though I didn't ask. "And Foxy," he adds as he shoots me a look, like it's supposed to mean more than what he's just said.
I roll my eyes, I don't flippin' care anymore – he can 'ide behind Foxy all he likes but he's not the reason he's scared of being in love – he can't be. You don't get that scared unless it's something within you.
We walk to the end of the road and 'e jumps up the concrete wall. Sits on the edge. I never told him this but I'm a little scared of heights, me. Well not heights exactly, just fallin' from them, or being pushed. And this height is proper massive. He waits for me though and I can't show I'm scared can I? So I sidle up next to him, trying not to look down.
He moves in closer to me so our legs brush. I can smell him from his jacket around me. I can feel his warmth next to me. And I hear the sounds of his breathing drifting by me. And I think - things might be alright now. Least the city's dead beautiful from up here. When the calm comes it feels like nothing can hurt us when we're as high as we are. Nothin' but him maybe.
He flips open a flask, drinks it slowly, and passes it ' me. It's whiskey 'e's givin' me. I guess he don't think he needs to protect me from owt anymore.
"You never let me drink," I feel myself say, my lip pouting.
Quick I swig his drink - more than I can take and my throat burns and eyes sting.
He smiles at me like I'm young and he needs to protect me.
"Whatever it takes, Steven."
"For what?"
'e looks dead at me, unblinkin'. Time ticks dead slow, before he whispers, "till you talk to me."
"You wanna know how I got there? With Blake like."
"Yeah, Steven, I wanna know how you got there."