Everything had gone better than he'd planned.
Warren's absence from the prison meant that there was a calmness and sense of freedom that hadn't existed in years. His meeting with Tony had amounted to nothing - he'd asked him whether he knew who was involved in the incident, but they both knew that he had nothing to pin on him.
Brendan wasn't some stupid little kid, he'd thought this through, made sure that there was no evidence left behind. He'd worn gloves so there wouldn't be any trace of fingerprints on Warren's body or the door of the cell. It hadn't been too difficult to manipulate an officer into tampering with the CCTV equipment - he'd chosen one of the guys who he knew hated Warren, had come to know the names of their children and wife through years of listening in to conversations and using them to his advantage.
All he'd had to do was threaten him, convince him just like he'd convinced Darren that he had men on the outside who would do his bidding. The footage of Brendan going in and out of Warren's cell had been deleted, destroyed forever.
Tony had called it convenient that the one tape they'd needed had gone missing.
Brendan had called it unfortunate. "Sorry you won't be able to catch the guy, Anthony."
"Don't worry Brendan, we'll catch them. I'll find some other way."
Tony was about as scary as a child dressed in a Tinker Bell costume. Brendan had left the office knowing they had nothing on him.
He knows that that night he'll sleep securely, safe in the knowledge that Steven is all his. For the first time he feels that he has full ownership of the boy, that he no longer has to worry about Walker. He'd had to resist the urge to kick the door of Walker's cell off its hinges when he'd been in there with Steven. The boy was right, he'd never known Walker to force himself on anyone. That wasn't his style. Brendan would rather be dead than sleep with someone who he knew had raped a person.
But it hadn't been enough to stop his mind from furiously working, imagining all the different scenarios that were taking place in that room. He knew how charming Walker could be, knew the kind of hold he had over people, whether they were young like Steven or older like him.
There had been points in his life when he'd been at his lowest ebb, hadn't received visits from Cheryl in weeks because she was on holiday. After Vincent's death it had felt like the world was out to get him, that someone was making him destroy everything in his life, bend it and break it till it barely resembled normality. He'd had no one but Walker, and he hadn't been so out of it to not know that the man was playing on these insecurities, these vulnerabilities.
He'd given into it though, seemed like the only comfort he could have at that period, had only rejected him so many times before at last he'd kissed Walker back, had cuffed him to the bed with the material of a jumper, straddled his legs and fucked him so hard that he'd seen Walker hobbling away afterwards, seemed to think that a fuck wasn't a fuck unless it hurt.
He'd kept out of sight outside Walker's cell, had made sure that he wasn't seen, but hadn't been able to stop himself from leaning against the wall with his ear, had fruitlessly tried to listen in, to here something, anything. The sound of Steven crying, of shouting out like he'd told him to do if he felt in danger.
He was scared to hear it, and he was scared to hear anything different. Of Steven giving in.
It had felt impossible, agonising to have to stand by the door and wait for Steven to come out. When the door had opened suddenly Brendan had scanned the boy's face, urgently checking for any signs of bruises or tears. He'd visibly relaxed once he'd seen that it was clear, albeit pale and shaken.
Steven had walked until they were out of sight, until they were round the corner, although truth be told Brendan could have kissed him right in front of the door with the relief that he felt at simply seeing him again. This wasn't what he'd signed up for, and it was only at Steven's insistence that he'd allowed him to follow Walker to his room. Brendan wanted them in open spaces where he could see them, where he could be sure exactly what was going on.
On their own in the corridor Steven had put his arms around him, and Brendan didn't have it in him to refuse, felt himself give over to it and return the hug, had clung to the boy's back, reached his hands underneath the material of his t-shirt and stroked against his warm skin.
He'd felt the boy breathing against his neck, knew that Steven was surprisingly tough, surprising given the weight of him and his age, but anyone would be intimidated if locked in a room with Walker. He was intense in everything he did, would stare at someone he wanted like they were a fascinating species of insect until you felt trapped in a corner, examined.
"Are you okay?" Brendan had cupped Steven's face in his hands, searched his eyes for any sign that Walker had overstepped the mark.
"Fine." Steven didn't sound so certain.
"He didn't touch you, did he?" The mere idea made Brendan furious, willed Steven to say no because the possibility that anything had been done to him was unbearable.
"No, he didn't lay a hand on me."
Brendan sighed, intensely grateful. Killing Walker hadn't exactly been on his to do list that day.
"It's over, Brendan. The contract...all of it. I didn't sign it, and he let me go."
Brendan wasn't naive enough to think that it truly was over, knew Walker far too well to presume that he would accept it that easily. He wouldn't be surprised if Steven's rejection would add further excitement to the challenge, would make him all the more interested.
But there was Steven, kissing him, choosing him, and it felt like a victory, like maybe he'd managed to stop this game of Walker's from escalating, had prevented Steven from being a pawn, from Walker doing irreparable damage to the boy.
He'd felt giddy, picked Steven up and swung him round, tips of his toes off the floor, the boy letting out a shocked booming laugh. Brendan kissed him while he was mid air, didn't care that anyone could walk past. He relished the way Steven clung to him, his hands strong and firm, not a hint of the tentativeness that Brendan had once expected from him. He should of given him more credit from the start. He was capable in ways Brendan hadn't even expected, had more talent than he had fantasied.
That night he has Steven on all fours on the bed, has made sure that he's facing away from the door to give them some semblance of privacy, strokes down the boy's back, looks golden like every other part of him, soft underneath Brendan's hands.
Steven's mesmerising, the way he gives into it so willingly, so completely. Brendan struggles to hold back a laugh at the way he bends over, bum all but wiggling in his direction like it's beckoning him to put his dick in him. He has the perfect view of it, the smooth globes facing him, watches as his cock enters Steven, watches it slip into that perfect tight pink hole, is enough to make him want to come sooner than he'd anticipated.
Steven has a rare moment of quiet at first, leans forward on his elbows on the bed, seems overwhelmed, only responds with a kind of distant humming noise when Brendan caresses his stomach, asking "Are you okay?"
The boy reaches for his cock, starts stroking it already, signifying to Brendan that he's more than okay. He'll definitely have to try this position with Steven again, can feel from the way the boy's legs are shaking that he's overcome by it, that he won't last long.
Brendan concentrates on measured, deep strokes, doesn't take long to make Steven start shouting out, unintelligible noises which sound to the human ear like one long moany breath. At first he reaches for the bedsheets, balls them into fists so hard that Brendan thinks he'll make holes in them.
Then he disarms him, reaches for Brendan's hands which are on Steven's stomach, takes them into his own, intertwining them with his fingers. Brendan's starting to think that the boy has some kind of hand holding fetish, had noticed it in the cooking class when Steven had swung them together like that was something they did, like it was a natural occurrence. Brendan can't understand why he hadn't shrugged him off. Why he hadn't wanted to.
When they come Steven lies sprawled on the bed, pants and laughs, his chest flushed pink. Brendan finds it impossible not to return his smile, marvels at the way that Steven's eyes light up too.
He's definitely turning soft in his old age. If he isn't careful he'll be stuck with these thoughts, won't be able to remove them from his mind even when Steven's no longer here.
He pulls Steven deeper into the bed, feels immediately sleepy, the way he always is post orgasm. Maybe it's also the way the boy nestles close to him, has seemed to have found his own spot underneath the crook of Brendan's elbow, likes to fall asleep there, a hand on top of Brendan's chest. He strokes the hair there and Brendan can't keep his eyes off the stark differences between them, the fact that Steven's own chest is so bare and smooth. Despite their contrasts or maybe because of them, they look right together.
Brendan rests underneath the covers, thinks that Steven must have already begun to drift off to sleep. It's only sometime later - an hour or two perhaps - that he feels warm lips on his neck, the slightest hint of stubble and a pair of hairy wrists brushing against his thigh, hands reaching for his cock under the covers. Jesus. He's never met someone who wants him this much.
He waits, wants to see what Steven plans on doing to him. The boy disappears, his head under the sheet, and Brendan grows harder from that alone, the idea that he can't see Steven but he can feel him, can feel him touching him everywhere, fingers roaming over Brendan's legs, trailing towards his stomach, lips kissing his belly button. He tries to be patient while the boy reaches his destination.
Steven swipes his hand over the head of Brendan's cock, and Brendan looks at the ceiling, wonders how something like this can possibly happen in the hell that he's in, where nothing good ever grows, where there's no light at all. He should be questioning whether Steven is real at all or if he's conjured him up, but he doesn't want to lose him even if he is a figment of his imagination. He'll accept this alternate world gladly.
Steven puts his lips around him gradually, beginning just at his foreskin at first, slowly easing his mouth over the rest. He's getting more confident at this, now effortlessly opening his mouth wider to take Brendan in all the way. Brendan's wary of saying anything to break the spell, lies back on the pillow and closes his eyes instead, doesn't want to deter the boy in any way.
But fucking hell, the sounds that Steven is making. He sounds like he's eating his last ever meal, is sucking and slurping obscenely, only his feet visible, peeking out from underneath the covers, is leaning back on his heels. Brendan casts the covers aside then, the desire to see what is being done to him becoming too strong.
Steven grins up at him, non verbal way of saying "I know what you're up to, you pervy bastard", and Brendan shrugs, "I'm only human."
Steven looks at him while he sucks him, has hooded and dark eyes which reveals every perverse thought he's having, his mouth shining with spit. The usual artificial lights of the prison are off, but he can still make out the boy in the darkness, the outline and contours of him, his hard cock lying against his stomach, trapped between his knees.
He's good at holding out, concentrates on counting in his head. His mind inadvertently strays to the image of Walker's face if he were to peek through the window at this second, make out their bodies in the room, Steven with his beautiful lips around Brendan's cock, doing what Simon so wishes the boy would do to him. He imagines Simon's eyes widening, banging on the door in frustration, knows that he shouldn't want this, that he doesn't truly because of the repercussions, but he can't deny that the idea delights him, that it causes him to laugh, the movement raking through his entire body, causing his legs to spasm.
Steven notices, brings his lips off Brendan's cock, looks almost like he's tearing them away as though they're forever merged now, and stares up at him.
"What are you giggling about?"
He isn't, is he? He doesn't giggle.
"You're proper ruining the mood here." Steven pouts, seems to think that Brendan is laughing at him.
He sits back up properly, causing Brendan to regret his lapse. If he had known that the boy would stop and sulk he wouldn't have laughed.
"It's nothing."
"It's obviously something. Do I look silly, is that it?"
So fucking insecure. Brendan can't understand it, doesn't see how Steven can't know exactly how he really looks.
He knows he has to calm the boy down, otherwise they'll be sleeping in separate beds. Steven is more of a handful than Eileen had been.
"I'm not laughing at you, kid." He tries to sound reassuring.
"Can you not call me kid?"
He doesn't see what the problem is. That's what he is, barely out of his teens.
"My stepdad used to call me that."
Brendan feels like an idiot. The first time an officer had called him Brenda he'd flipped, had punched them before the man could react. He'd called Steven 'kid' dozens of times when they'd first met, and he'd kept calm. He realises the patience that that must have took now. Brendan doesn't think that Steven's stronger than him, he knows.
"Come here." He lowers his voice, softens his tone, hopes that Steven will realise that he's sorry.
The boy crawls towards him. Suddenly Brendan no longer has the desire for him to return to what he'd been doing. It doesn't feel right, not after what he's just said, and he wants Steven to feel safe in his arms, to replace any thoughts of Terry with this instead.
He says nothing, just strokes up and down Steven's arm, back and forth, back and forth, hoping that Steven will gain comfort from the methodical nature of it.
"I wanted to kill him, you know."
Brendan stills in his movements. He hadn't been expecting that. He waits for Steven to continue.
"Terry. I used to think about it. Like anyone would I guess. But I didn't...I didn't have the guts."
Like you did. It hangs in the air between them, unsaid but undeniably present.
"It doesn't take guts, Steven." He needs to be clear about that, can't let Steven think that he's brave or a hero. "I was a coward. If I'd have been strong I would have kept him alive."
Steven turns to him, eyelashes so long and dark that it's a shock.
"No. How could you...I mean after what he did to you. You had no other choice, did you?"
Fuck. The boy actually thinks it was some kind of last resort. Brendan wonders how long it will take before he messes with his head so much that Steven's moral compass becomes permanently skewed.
"I had every other choice. I wasn't trapped in his house anymore. I was free. Married, had kids. I chose to go back, to kill him."
He's terrified that his kids think this too, that they're making excuses for him, filling in the gaps that Brendan's left because he refuses to see them. The idea that Eileen's turned them against him hurts him just as much, but it's preferable to Declan and Paddy thinking that this is what you should do, that this is how you seek revenge.
"Then why did you?" Steven says quietly.
He can't answer that, doesn't know where he'd even begin. Steven's asking him to explore something which he thinks is better off dead, consigned to the past. It's been years since anyone has asked him why, since they've actually wanted to know. When he'd never answered the questions had eventually stopped, so that even if he'd wanted to give a reason he no longer felt able to.
"Born to be a killer." Brendan smirks, pretends that this fact doesn't sicken him.
"That's not true," Steven says immediately, and Brendan hates him for having that much belief, knows that he's bound to break it eventually.
He wants to ask him why he's so sure, why he thinks that after knowing him for this short time he can tell that he isn't all bad. Brendan isn't naive enough to think that everyone whose ever been raped goes and kills their attackers, hammers them to death. He chose to give into that monster inside him, so why does Steven think that underneath this apparent affection, even what could pass as intimacy, that he didn't just wake up one day and decide that it would be fun to murder his father?
"Maybe if you talked about what happened..."
The boy's stabbing at the wound again, and he isn't ready to bleed, not even close. He doesn't know why Steven's insistent on this, he wants to talk, thinks that Brendan has all these clever words about what Seamus did to him, thinks that he can be his fucking therapist or counsellor, doesn't understand that to talk would be to remember, and he can't remember, he doesn't want to.
Vincent never asked him. Simon never asked him. Macca never asked him. For the first time in his life someone isn't letting him forget.
"No." He says it gruffly, and it comes out more casually than he expected, wonders if Steven can guess how he feels like a pressure cooker inside, overwhelmed and set to burst, to explode and do far more damage than he had done to the boy's back when he had first arrived.
It wouldn't be something a massage and some cream could heal. Steven hasn't seen him like that yet, the rage unstoppable, is capable of turning someone's belief in him to disgust and fear. It's not what he wants to do, but the boy keeps on pushing it, and fucking hell, doesn't he realise that he can't talk about what Seamus did to him?
Steven's tense in his arms then, he can feel it, clearly worried that he's overstepped the mark. Brendan wants to tell him that he overstepped it a long time ago, that from the moment he'd moved into the cell he'd been tearing down the walls, destroying the boundaries that Brendan had put in place. He was persistent, treated Brendan like there was something there that wasn't hollow, broken. Brendan wishes he could see what Steven sees.
Brendan turns around so that they're chest to chest, face to face. He knows he doesn't have much of a hope of sleeping like this. It isn't the most comfortable of positions but it allows him to be close to Steven, to reassure him with his face and eyes and mouth that he doesn't have to be scared of him. He kisses the boy lightly, has found that there's a certain joy to it, that not everything has to be intense and rough and all consuming, that some things can simply be, that there's a pleasure in gentleness.
Steven's hands settle around Brendan's back, pulling him in. The boy can't just lie there, he has to touch, to be touched, and Brendan thinks maybe he's finally met someone with the same hunger as him, where desire is never sated.
"Night Bren."
He hears Steven's breathing beginning to settle into a sort of rhythm, knows that the boy has fallen asleep within the space of ten minutes. Brendan smiles.
Well he would, wouldn't he? I'm giving him quite a work out these days. Must have tired the poor boy out.
He thinks he'll find it impossible to get to sleep after the images that are now in his mind, expects to be consumed by the same nightmares that have plagued his dreams on and off for years.
It feels like he's barely closed his eyes and it's morning again, and he wakes up curled around Steven, a possessive arm laid around the boy, Steven instinctively pulling him closer when Brendan shifts in the bed.
"Where are you going?" He mumbles, sounding half drunk.
"Got to put my best suit on, Steven."
"What?" He rubs his eyes, looking dazed but still far too flawless for this early.
"Visitors day."
A day he half looks forward to and half dreads. The time when he hears how Cheryl's doing, and the time when he'll have to look his sister in the eye and listen to her talk of appeals and pretend that he didn't murder their father.
"Oh crap. I forgot." He sounds guilty, and Brendan can just imagine his mind wandering to Amy and the kids, the last time he'd seen her and she'd stormed out of the room like a child acting at being an adult.
"It's better that way. Forgetting the visits. You miss them less."
"I don't even know what I'm going to wear. I don't want to look a complete state."
If Amy knows Steven at all then she'll be used to the tracksuits, to the dirty trainers and the creased polo neck tops. He isn't made for suits - Brendan's sure that he'd look fucking amazing in one, that he'd command a whole room effortlessly despite the gawky angles and uncertainty, that everyones eyes would be drawn to him regardless. But it's like this, Steven searching for a tracksuit that is at the very least clean, that Brendan likes him the most. Steven feels the most like him.
"Amy's not coming to judge you on your attire, is she?"
"I'm surprised she even agreed to it. Especially after last time."
Brendan can't imagine what Steven would have done if she wasn't coming, thinks that he'd come back from seeing Cheryl to find that the boy had ripped the wallpaper down in frustration, that the sink would be torn out from its holding. Part of him wishes that he wasn't being placed in that position though, in a room and not able to touch Steven, having to watch him hugging and kissing Amy, and he won't be able to reach him, thinks he might go mad from it.
"Just try and keep her there for more than five seconds, yeah?"
Steven pokes his tongue out at him, the cheeky fucker. Brendan reaches out and gives his arse a slap for good measure, can't let the boy be having all the fun here.
"Ouch!" Steven grabs at it, strokes it to try and soothe the sting. "That proper hurt, that!"
"Bet it made you hard, didn't it?" Brendan raises his eyebrows, willing the boy to argue back.
Steven shakes his head, grin shining through despite his best intentions.
"You're such a cocky git, you."
"Well did it?" Brendan asks again, looks at Steven's groin to try and determine if he's hot or cold.
Steven turns around, purposefully throwing him off the trail.
"None of your business." There's warmth in his voice though. Playfulness.
Brendan wants to remind him that he owns that arse, that he's had it every night, had Steven begging for it in a variety of different positions.
He doesn't think coming in his suit would be the best idea though, and Steven's only just found a clean pair of trousers himself.
He puts that idea on hold, nervously straightening out his trousers and shirt, winces when he brushes his knuckles against a button.
"Still hurts?" Steven never misses a beat.
"A bit."
Strange, he'd never felt it yesterday when the boy's hands had linked through his own.
"You are daft, you know."
"I know."
He's starting to regret not having a mirror, could have Steven's cum all over his face for all he knows.
He guesses that he doesn't by Cheryl's reaction, presumes that her usual response - to hug him until he feels like there's no air left in his lungs - means that he at least looks presentable. She looks like she always does, like she's going clubbing, has her curls out in full force, what looks like a new pink dress and a pair of skyscraper heels.
Brendan ignores the catcalls from the other men, has had a lifetime of practice when it comes to his sister and visiting hours.
He tries to hide his hand when he sits down, but Cheryl's quicker than he expected, booms out "What happened to you?" like she wants the whole world to hear.
"Just did something stupid, didn't I? Smashed it through a mirror."
Sometimes the truth is the safest bet.
"Why?"
Good question. He stumbles, doesn't truly know where to begin, decides that there's only one answer that sounds at least sane, if not slightly alarming.
"I got angry."
Cheryl shakes her head at him, continues to be surprised by his behaviour, and he doesn't understand why, wants to make her see sense and realise what he's in here for in the first place.
"Are you sure? You didn't get into a fight did you?"
Cheryl still has those first few weeks of his incarceration in her head, thinks that because Brendan was initially pushed around, beaten by Warren and some of his cronies that it means he never toughened up, that he's still letting people have the upper hand. He'd rather her think this than the truth, that he soon evened the score, that he fought back and made sure that no one would ever touch him again.
"You should have seen the other guy. Poor thing was a heap of glass on the floor."
Cheryl sighs, rolls her eyes indulgently. "That's your way of telling me to drop it, right?"
He smiles, not a confirmation but not a denial either.
"How are you and Nate?"
It only took about a year for him to stop saying Cheryl's boyfriend's name reluctantly, for him to realise that he's actually a pretty decent guy, not someone who's going to fuck her up.
"Fine. He said he's going to visit soon."
Soon always tends to amount to next week, next month, next year. Brendan can't blame him. The only time Nate had visited he'd nearly been savaged to death, had to be rescued by several officers when one of the men had started on him, accused Nate of looking at him like he was scum.
Brendan had pointed out to the guy that he was indeed scum, had bared his teeth and brandished his fists when they'd tried to swing a punch at him.
"What about you? How have you been?"
"Fine." Brendan waited for the inevitable feeling that he was lying to come, but found that it didn't appear.
Fuck.
"What?" Cheryl's looking at him inquiringly.
"What?" He directs back at her, suddenly paranoid.
"You looked surprised for a moment there."
He fidgets, eyes traveling to where Steven's sitting with Amy. She looks calmer today, hasn't got that haughty expression that was present last time, is holding the boy's hands and looking like she's giving him a pep talk and it's not the first time. They're a couple in all but the title, and Brendan feels his throat clench, mouth dry.
"Are you going to tell me what this is about then?"
Brendan draws his eyes away reluctantly, wishes he could be invisible and shuffle his seat towards Steven and hear the entire conversation.
"I know you, and only two things make you this happy. Bacon and men."
Brendan laughs, thinks that perhaps Cheryl will drop it if he passes it off as a joke.
"Since when do you think I'm happy?"
"Since you don't look so miserable."
He seriously considers trying to change his expression back to how it used to be to get her to stop.
"And as it's not a weekend and there's no bacon...I'm guessing it's a man. Right?"
Brendan knows she's just been dying to do this, to have the chat. He can imagine her planning it in her head for years, dreaming of the day when they'd talk about men together.
"There's no one, Chez."
His sister had never been supposed to find out about that part of his life, but it had been unintentionally introduced to her when Eileen had phoned her up, telling him all about how she'd found Cheryl's big brother in bed with her nephew, in the process of giving him orgasm number two.
"I think it's good that you're moving on after Vincent."
Sometimes he wishes she had an off button.
"I mean it's been a long time since he..." She stops, fiddling with her hands. "But I want you to be careful."
Brendan looks at her sharply, wondering how it's suddenly gone from her being pleased for him to her giving him a warning.
"These boys in here are vulnerable Bren, and..."
Boys. He hasn't been able to hide that he has a type from her then.
"If you decide to finish with them, then..."
Jesus. She's already imagining him ending things with Steven, of casting him aside and looking for greener grass.
"Who says I'm going to?"
Cheryl can't meet his eyes. "Don't get angry with me, okay? It's just that's what you usually do. These things aren't forever."
Doesn't she realise that that's all he has, forever? That there's an endless expanse of time stretched before him, that he's never going to see her outside this room again.
He knows that this thing with Steven isn't going to last that long, but this time it's not because of him, it's because of the boy. There's a time limit on this thing, but if there wasn't, if Steven was a lifer...
"Yeah, I know." He's saying it through gritted teeth, doesn't want to raise his voice at Cheryl, couldn't bear it if she walked out of that door. She's the only person whose stood by him.
"I'm sorry I shouldn't of...I should be concentrating on what matters. Your appeal."
He winces, waits for this moment every time she visits, knows it's coming and dreads it with a burning intensity.
He usually makes do with humming noises, yes and no and of course Chez, I agree Chez.
He's not sure he has the patience for it today.
"I don't think it's a good idea." It's the first time he's ever spoken the words, and she turns pale, looks like he's just fired a bullet into her chest.
"What do you mean? We need to get you out of here."
He thinks about saying it then, I did it, I killed dad. I'm sorry, not for what I did to him but for what it's done to you. Perhaps the hatred she'd have for him would be worth it, to free them both, to get rid of the years of lies, to finally say something that's real. But he can't risk that chance, can't risk her wanting to understand, of asking him why.
"We've been here before. They've got evidence."
"Yeah, because someone set you up." She's beautiful when protesting his innocence, looks like a stubborn and passionate child, eyes sparkling with the promise of tears.
He loves that she cares enough about him to lie to herself like that, to say fuck you to all signs pointing to him being the one who did this, all of this.
He feels the need to soothe her, reaches for her hand like Amy's done with Steven, whispers "Yeah, yeah of course Chez" because any alternative is too difficult, a mountain that he just can't climb.
"It's dad's birthday in a week."
He feels his hands begin to sweat, removes them from Cheryl's. He'd forgotten all about the date, hadn't remembered Seamus's birthday for years before he'd died, so why would he start now? He's in his head every day already. He doesn't need to have an added day to dwell on the past or mourn him.
"I can take something to his grave for you if you want. Flowers or something."
He's not a flowers type of guy, never has been. And not for this. Never for this.
"Don't worry about it." Brendan hopes that that'll be the end of it, but Cheryl's determined, always loved Seamus in a way that would make Brendan feel nauseous. She was his baby girl, would dress her up like a fucking doll, dainty bow on top of her head, a dress that he would make her model for him, twirling round the room.
"You must want to do something for him." She's staring at him like she has no comprehension of why he wouldn't, has always been blind when it comes to their relationship. "He'd be devastated to see you in this place."
She's crying openly now, has been years but she still has the same reaction every time she visits him in prison. It usually comforts him, having to be the strong one, trying to protect her from it all. But Seamus's name is tainting everything. He knows exactly what his father would think about him being here, had always seemed to expect that Brendan would end up behind bars, had told him when he was sixteen that he was "no good, never will be."
She's not stopping.
"He loved you so much."
She says all this like it's words from God that she's reciting, he loved you, he thought the world of you, I know you had your problems but all parents and children do sometimes, he still adored you.
It's as though she's afraid that if she doesn't say it it won't be true anymore, and Brendan wonders what picture she'd be left with, if for even one moment she'd see the ugly truth, what Brendan's been silently saying all along.
She can't face it, isn't ready, will never be ready, just recites it over and over again, "he loved you."
It seems to happen quicker than lightning. One second he's in his chair and she's talking, the next the chair's been knocked down and Cheryl's staring up at him, looks startled. Brendan's aware of his hands shaking, scans her body for any sign that he's hurt her, and thank God he doesn't think he has, or a dozen guards would be dragging him back to his cell. Instead they've circled around him, and he raises his hands in a defensive gesture, signifying that he's in control here, doesn't even know how he got out of control.
The other men and their visitors are staring at him now. Some are smirking, look like they want to congratulate him for making a scene, for adding some entertainment to their day. Steven's not smiling at him though, looks anxious and confused, and there's barely concealed judgement on Amy's face, looks like all her worst fears about the kind of men Steven would be surrounded by have been confirmed.
Brendan swallows, tries to act the opposite of deranged and violent, is sometimes uncertain whether he even knows what that means anymore, only seems to manage it these days when he's locked in his cell with Steven.
He picks up his chair slowly, attempts to have an air of calmness about him, watches as the officers keep a close eye on him but relax somewhat.
"What just happened?" Cheryl asks.
He'd been hoping she could fill in the blanks.
"Sorry. It was nothing."
"Nothing? You just started shouting at me to shut up."
He hates himself for being capable of saying that to her, has managed to keep this thing contained for his entire life, and it's not going to come out now, he refuses to let it.
"Sorry Chez," he repeats. "You know how this place gets to me."
For a minute he thinks she's not going to give up, but she lets it drop, welcomes the lies again and rejects the truth, and he appreciates this world she lives in, thinks it must look like rainbows and sunshine, taste of candy floss, no room for misery and degradation.
When visitors hours is up he hugs her, holds her close like he used to when they were kids, feels like the only thing he feels sure about is that she'll be back next week, that even if he knows Seamus will fill the conversation like he always does, she's here too, he's not left alone with the memory of his father.
Brendan searches for Steven when they're led back to the main prison, is separated from him, the boy lost within the crowd, however ordered the officers try to make it.
He heads back to the cell, thinks that Steven might have returned there. He's curious about how things went with Amy, wants to delve deeper into what exists between them, can't stop the nagging thought that what if there's still something there, and she's just waiting in the wings for his return. He feels like he's having to watch his back constantly, that the boy's too desirable for his own good, has to fight off the mother of Steven's kids and Simon, is no longer sure what's the bigger threat. Simon has the brains, the strength, but Amy's the one that Steven's going to be returning home to, had his heart in the first place.
When he opens his door he finds that he's not alone, but it's not Steven who's waiting for him.
"Hello Brendan." Walker smiles tightly, leans against the door frame like Brendan's a guest who he's inviting it.
"What do you want?"
"I think it's time we talk about your young cellmate, don't you?"