When Brendan stands on the doorstep it's like Ste's looking into a different lifetime – a million years ago. It knocks him for six… to see him like that. That sharp suit, piercing blue eyes, hands casually stuffed in his pockets, rocked back on his heels and screaming masculinity.
In many ways Brendan is a faint memory of a different existence, but in many others it's like he never disappeared at all. He's vivid, and Ste's stomach still bubbles when he sees him; reminiscent of all those years ago. For a second… just for a second… Ste feels like that boy again. It's like those long three years have rewound.
But then he remembers.
And how dare Brendan show up here. How fucking dare he. The man that ruined Ste's life… over and over and over. The man that Ste dedicated years to loving, to trying not to love, to trying to move on from. The man who declared to Ste that he loved him, promised him everything, and then ditched him the same day. The man that made his life a living hell – played on his mind like a dirty little desire he couldn't get rid of. The man that Ste left a secure life with his husband for. The man that somehow had Ste believe again that he had changed… he was the one.
The man that moved in with him, made love to him, made his heart ache with love and happiness. The man that Ste – for some stupid, blind reason – put all of his trust in, even after everything.
The man that got his prison sentence, took Ste's heart and CRUSHED it into a million unfixable pieces. Same as he'd crushed it many times in the past, but this time was by far the worst, because Ste had been convinced – utterly convinced – that they were for keeps this time.
"You go. Move on, find someone else." Those cold, dark, bleak words are still so clear in Ste's head.
"Y… You… You what?!" Ste had gaped back. It hadn't made sense at the time. Ste had been so fucking stupid and naïve that this had completely thrown him – he hadn't seen it coming in a million years.
It had simply destroyed him, in more ways than he could have anticipated. Ste had given up everything for Brendan, devoted everything to him, and now Brendan was walking away from him as though he were nothing… as though he never was. Like everything they'd been through together was a lie.
It had shattered Ste… but he doesn't remember it now. Muddled months of trying to visit Brendan in prison, trying to phone him, and being outright rejected. He couldn't reach him… like a bad dream where you run and run and can't get anywhere. Like it was Brendan's God Damn fucking right to deny Ste his free will. It was all a bad dream, and apart from a few hazy memories, he's shut it all away in the back of his mind.
Until Brenan shows up so shamelessly on his doorstep. Like the ghost of the past gravitating into this alternate universe.
"Who's done this to you?" He asks Ste.
And the sheer audacity of that question is disgusting.
"You did." Ste says fiercely. And he slams the door.
Because whilst it wasn't Brendan who put the drugs in him, it wasn't Brendan that took his kids, it wasn't Brendan who stole his money… it was Brendan that set him on the path. And Ste blames him completely. Always has, always will.
XOXOXO
Ste is shaken and stressed, even an hour after Brendan has gone. He chain-smokes a whole pack of twenty fags – not his own fags either, and he knows his boyfriend will be pissed at him for it. There are no roaches for a spliff, and all the coke has gone. This fucking shithole just got shitter; it's completely empty.
Ste's phone rings at around 5:15pm; his boyfriends picture flashing up on the screen; "ANDY CALLING". Ste looks at it for a little while… and there's an inexplicable sense of guilt creeping up his gut. Not cos of the fags, but cos of Brendan. Of course. It's always Brendan. It's a feeling that's vaguely familiar; reminiscent of all those years ago when he was with Rae, or Noah, or Doug. What he feels now is only slightly similar though – because he was a different person back then, who's persona was lively with emotion. He's drained of that now, and any significant feeling is only ever a low numb creep in his skin, never reaching the surface.
"Hiya." He says flatly into the phone.
"Keep the door on the latch; me mates are comin' over." Andy barks at him down the phone. There's traffic in the background. He sounds out of breath.
"Oh." Ste blinks, surprised. "I thought it was gonna be just us two tonight."
"Change of plan."
"You coulda fuckin' told me!" Ste snaps, unable to stop himself. He hates Andy's friends with an absolute passion. Detests them, in fact.
"I'm tellin' you now!" Andy snaps back, "Get some beers in will ya?!"
"No, fuck off, get 'em yourself."
He hangs up the phone immediately, lighting up a cigarette-butt dished from the ashtray. He shouldn't have sworn at him like that, and Andy will be a nightmare later because of it. Ste will be making it up to him all night. But right now he doesn't care. This day's gone from bad to worse and WHY… WHY the FUCK… is he STILL thinking about Brendan?!
Unbelievable. His life with Brendan was so long ago, so far removed from his life now that even harbouring thoughts of him is like mourning the dead. Only now it's the waking dead, because he's aware that Brendan exists… and that he's out there somewhere. And that warms a strange place inside the pit of his stomach that definitely should not be warmed by him. Nor anyone for that matter. That's the place that stings the most when he gets hurt.
He ends up getting the beers, only because he's gagging for one himself.
He then ends up stuck on the edge of the sofa like the mute straggler as Andy and his mates banter loudly amongst themselves with crude innuendos and tasteless anecdotes. They swig beer and pass joints, and Ste TWICE finds himself skipped in the circle as the spliff is passed around – like he's literally invisible. Fuck it; he's used to it with these twats. He's nothing but 'Andy's wet hole' to them. All of them in their mid-to-late-30s, their tracksuits paid for by benefits, their drug-habits paid for by selling stolen goods.
"Why were you bein' such a little twat to me on the phone, eh?" Andy asks Ste once they get a private moment, "I got ya some trainers today, but you can fuck off if you want 'em now."
"I'm sorry." Ste mutters, eyes fixed on the ground, "I hard a hard day, y'know."
"What, sittin' on your arse, smokin' my fags?"
"No." Ste replies, detecting the sulkiness in his own tone. "I'll buy you some more, anyway."
"Yeah with my cash."
"Oh, I fuckin' WON'T then!"
"OY!" Andy shouts, loud and properly angry this time; there's only so much sulky back-chat he can handle before his impatience with Ste peaks.
But then he softens, and is quiet when he says, "Wipe that stupid look off your face. Smile for the lads."
And directs Ste back into their ring of fire.
Ste endures another hour of their laddish heckling and repartee, listens acutely as their voices gradually start to slur with being drunk and getting stoned. It's only a matter of time now before their eyes start to rake over him and the comments start; the ones constructed to undermine him into submission.
He's not going to give-in to them tonight though. He's feeling angry and defiant, and this evening it's a definite 'no', no matter what powers of persuasion Andy tries on him. He's heard them all before anyway.
"What ya bein' such a little pussy for, Ste?! It's just a cock – you've sucked 'em before."
"I've been dead nice to ya all week, and this is how ya repay me? Showin' me up in front of me mates?!"
"It turns me on. And I know you like it when you get into it."
"C'mon, the quicker you go in there with 'im, the quicker you get out."
"Look, I owe Matty a ton of cash, alright? If you don't do this, he's gonna have my neck – is that what you want?!"
Tonight Ste decides to nip it in the bud before the idea is even posed. He shuffles up close to Andy on the sofa and rests his head with affection onto the broadness of his shoulder. On occasion this simple move has proved suitably endearing for Andy; reminding him why he fell in love with Ste in the first place.
"I'm dead tired, me." Ste mumbles.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I might call it a night. Go to bed."
"Fuckin' hell." Andy scoffs, "Anyone would think it was you that was out makin' a livin' all day, not me."
Ste has half a mind to retort that selling drugs on the street is hardly a living, or much of a strenuous task given that Andy does lines with most of his customers. In fact what he's really been doing is getting fucked all day, whilst Ste's sat in a cold flat with no gear at all. But pointing his out is not going to help his case.
He simply snuggles closer instead and whispers, "Thanks for gettin' me them trainers. I am grateful."
Andy sniffs ungracefully, "Hmm. I'm still makin' my mind up bout whether you're gettin' them."
Well that's good. An improvement on the 'definitely not' of an hour before. Ste smiles. He might actually get away with this tonight.
He's about to add flattery to his schmoozing-technique, before he's interrupted by a loud banging on the door. A knock that is forceful and definite.
Andy scans the room. All of his mates are here, so it isn't anyone he's expecting.
"The fuck is that?" He mutters.
Like a sixth sense, Ste already feels uneasy.
Andy's mates keep talking among themselves as Andy goes to answer the door, so Ste has to really strain to make out the voices. But the guest's voice is instantly recognisable. A low Irish haunting drawl.
"Is Steven here?"
"Steven?!" He hears Andy answer back, "Don't know a 'Steven' mate. Do one, will ya?!"
"Now that's no way to greet a guest, is it?" Brendan's voice is strong; condescending, impenetrable.
He has no idea who he's fucking with.
And Ste finds himself jumping up immediately; running towards the front door to stop Brendan making the biggest mistake of his life.
"Oy – you heard 'im, get out of here will ya?!" He barks at Brendan. He tries to push past Andy, put some space between the two men. But Andy doesn't budge.
"You know this posh twat?!" Andy demands at Ste.
"No, not really." Ste dismisses. He tries again to get between Andy and Brendan; to close the door. But Andy's not having any of it.
He and Brendan are almost the exact same height, but they're like chalk and cheese. When Andy squares up to him, his fierce brown eyes meet Brendan's blue ones, which right now are glimmering with fake amusement; the kind of amusement that is tightly-wound and could snap into violence in a second.
Andy looks rough, brutal, ready for a fight. Brendan look poised, severe, fierce. Andy's shaven head and tattooed neck contrasts distinctly with Brendan's polished, well-cared for suit and moustache. Their demeanours completely oppose, but ring equally dangerous in Ste's mind. He knows them both well enough to know he has to stop any confrontation – now.
But as Andy squares up to him, Brendan becomes distracted. His eyes travel from Andy to Ste, and melt in concern. Ste feels suddenly self-conscious although he knows he shouldn't; he doesn't have to prove anything to Brendan. But he's now hyper-aware of how large his pupils must be, and how his body is rocking slightly from the mixture of drugs and booze. Brendan's eyes disturb him as they penetrate him with his concern.
"OY!" Andy suddenly shouts, "The fuck are you lookin' at mate?"
And he shoves Brendan, hard.
"Andy don't!" Ste cries, "He's not worth it."
"You better tell me who this mother-fucker is, right now."
"No one!" Ste insists.
"I'm Brendan Brady." Brendan says plainly; unaffected by Andy's evident fury. The arrogant idiot. "And you put your dirty hands on this suit again, we're gonna have a very serious problem."
"Is that right?" Andy hisses.
"Yes." Brendan says, with genuine irritation. "It's Aramani."
This only seems to make Andy angrier.
Ste's heart hammers uncomfortably. "Andy please," he tries again.
Andy turns to him, red-faced and furious, "YOU BEEN FUCKIN' ABOUT WITH YOUR EX?!"
"NO!" Ste insists, "No – I swear down, no!"
"Christ," Brendan comments, with feign breeziness. He scrutinises Andy shamelessly, "You're an angry little fella, aren't ye?"
Andy seethes. "I'm gonna give you three seconds to get off my property."
"Council's property… technically."
"One…"
"Andy, please…" Ste begs futilely.
"Two…"
"Brendan, FUCK OFF!" Ste changes tactic.
It's Brendan though, that says "Three."
And then it all happens in a flash. Brendan seizes Andy by the scruff of the neck, and with admittedly impressive strength, somehow manages to pull him from his feet and out of the flat, onto the balcony of the apartment block. He slams Andy into the outside wall, up in his face; vicious and dangerous.
But by the time Ste has run out with them, Andy already has his pen-knife pushed up against Brendan's stomach, and the two are still – daring each other to make the next move.
"Go on," Brendan's voice practically hisses, "I dare ye."
"No… Andy, you'll go back to jail!" Ste croaks desperately.
Brendan stares Andy in the eye and declares, "You know Andrew… " He points to Ste, "that man there is worth ten times what you can give him."
Ste's stomach flips in fury. The hypocritical fucker. To say such a thing to Andy, when he's hurt Ste more than Andy ever could. When Andy went to prison and had the decency to call and stand by Ste throughout his whole six months inside – instead of casting him away like Brendan did.
"Oooo yeah!" Brendan cackles, sounding almost deranged as Andy presses the knife harder, warningly, into Brendan's belly. "Oooph, harder! Jus' like that!"
"I'll fuckin' kill ya." Andy hisses.
"Andy, please!"
"Big man with a blade, ain't that just…" Brendan ponders for a moment, "… Cliché."
And now Andy's mates are starting to trail outside – and they may be stoned out of their minds, but these are guys that jump at a fight when they see the opportunity. And Ste has been witness to it far too many times; he knows the result of their joint efforts, and it's never ever pretty. FUCK. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He knows in the dark pit of his mind that he should just go inside and let these guys do their worst to Brendan. It's what he deserves for everything he put Ste through – or at least Ste would like to think that.
But somehow he doesn't.
And as they rally round Brendan, Ste screams out, desperate, "ANDY WAIT! I… I invited 'im here. Cos… cos I thought he'd bring some good stuff with him… for us… for free… cos Brendan deals, like big-time dealin' – remember I told ya?"
This has bought him some time, at least. They've stopped rounding on him and their fists - although clenched - stay firmly at their sides.
The allure of hard free drugs is enough to fracture Andy's unwavering thirst for blood as well.
"Give us the stuff, and you might get off lightly." Andy hisses to Brendan.
To which Brendan only snorts in amusement, "Now do I look like the type that chauffer's crack to the crack-heads?"
Ste grits his teeth tight. The man clearly has a death-wish.
"No, but you can get it for us…" He tries weakly.
"Actually I think if there's ever a reason NOT to give people drugs, you guys are a fine advertisement."
The gang stiffen. Ste can hear their breathing hitch, their fists tighten. They start slowly rounding on Brendan again.
Ste's at a loss to know what to say now, but he knows he has to keep talking, to keep stalling and perhaps somehow a way out of this will arise.
So he continues, "No, Andy, listen right… he's just messin'. He's got loadsa dealers in this area. Haven't ya Brendan? I know you have."
"Not for you, Steven." Brendan says; and his tone is - for the first time - serious.
"Right, that's it." Andy growls, "Time's up mate."
In a sharp movement, Brendan pushes himself away from Andy and the knife (slamming Andy's head hard against the wall as he does so), but that only leaves space for a hard punch in the stomach from Matty – by far the biggest and most brutal of Andy's cohort.
"NO!" Ste screams, as they all reign in around Brendan. Fists pounding, and the hard soles of their shoes slamming down into flesh.
And somewhere among the chaos and sounds of grunts, shouts and fists, he hears Andy demand, "Get him inside, will ya?!"
Next thing he knows, he's being dragged into the flat by a pair of strong, muscular arms. Nigel, the mid-40s skinhead, has one arm wrapped around Ste's shoulder and neck, the other holding his hands behind his back. And no matter how hard Ste struggles, he can't fight this weight. He's pulled inside the flat, and then Nigel slams the door and Ste can't see or hear any of it anymore.
"YOU BASTARD!" He screams, as Nigel stands and guards the front door – blocking Ste from the violence outside.
"Shut the fuck up." Nigel sighs with casual, dismissive tone.
"No… THEY'RE GONNA KILL HIM!" Ste cries.
"So what?!"
"So…" Ste feels his chest tighten, stomach clench, heart hammer. He's not felt like this before... not for years anyway. This state of heightened emotion is something he's been withdrawn from… and preferred it like that. Now it's like he can't even breathe. "We have to stop 'em."
But Nigel's not listening to him, and if he were he would never regard Ste's opinion as anything noteworthy anyway. Ste finds himself helpless; trapped and overlooked, with some form of punishment almost certain to be waiting for him once Andy has finished doing whatever he's doing with Brendan.
Ste takes deep breaths and convinces himself that Andy won't take it too far… can't take it too far because his last stint in prison had been 'fucking hell' and he won't want to go back there again any time soon. He convinces himself that Brendan will fight them off, because this is Brendan Brady remember – the cold-hearted, vicious, hard-fisted psychopath.
He tries to convince himself that's true, anyway.
He snorts up a generous line of coke; hoping that it will keep those unwanted emotions away – emotions that are no good to him anymore.
And he doesn't cry. He hasn't cried for years.
