Steven stares at the blood on his fingertips, the red creating a dye on his hands.
"You need stitches." He strokes a path down Brendan's hair, where it's still afflicted by the aftereffects of Warren's attack.
"No," Brendan replies, immediately taking Steven's hands and directing him towards the sink. Steven allows himself to be led, watching as Brendan runs the tap and washes his hands underneath the faucet, the blood swirling away and being replaced by clean skin. Brendan's hands cover the marks that the ties have left on the boy's wrists.
They stand in silence, Brendan's touch light and sparing.
"Your head could be split open."
"I think I'd know if it was," Brendan says quietly, moving soap gently over Steven's forearms.
"Just get it checked out, please."
Brendan sighs, closing his eyes momentarily and leaning against the mirror, taking his hands off Steven.
"After everything that's...you want me to go to the hospital, leave you on your own?"
"I can stay with him."
Brendan turns, looking at Walker with barely concealed distaste. The man's surveying them from the bed, body stretched out, a look of casualness that makes Brendan want to scream.
"Oh, here we go."
"What?" Walker asks, eyebrows raised.
"I knew it was only a matter of time before you started chiming in, trying to throw your weight around."
There's an edge of aggression to Brendan's actions, and Steven has to put a hand on him warningly, the Irishman beginning to advance forward.
"I don't want you collapsing on the floor, Brendan. That's it. There's no ulterior motive."
Brendan lets out a disbelieving laugh, his body tense and rigid underneath Steven's touch.
"There's always a fucking ulterior motive with you, isn't there? How did you even know where we were? Did you organise the whole thing with Warren, is that it? Is this your plan, to lure us back here, get me to leave and then have Steven all to yourself?"
Brendan sees an emotion flicker across Walker's face, something he's rarely seen from the man before: hurt. It looks foreign, as though it doesn't match his features, doesn't align with the image that he's built in his head of who Walker is.
"I saw Lynsey and Doug in the English classroom, and they said they hadn't seen him. I just wanted to check on him, see where he was."
Brendan scoffs, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. "Of course you did. Because that's your business, isn't it?" He shakes his head, shrugging his arm out from Steven's hold. "Did I ever tell you to do that, Simon? Did I tell you that you could be the one to look out for him?"
Walker leans forward on the bed, arms crossed. "With all due respect, Ste would be in a much worse condition right now if I hadn't walked in when I did. He would have been -"
"Yes, alright. We don't need the details," Brendan interrupts, starting to pace the cell. "I could of...I could of dealt with it on my own." It's a mumble, barely audible, his eyes glassy and unseeing.
"Brendan, your hands were bound. We all know that if you could of, you would have helped."
"Don't patronise me."
"I'm not."
Brendan moves forward, crushing Walker against the wall. Steven surges towards them, clawing at Brendan's back desperately, but to no avail. Brendan ignores his presence, his eyes focused on the man before him.
"Don't you dare patronise me."
"It wasn't your fault," Waller says slowly, and Brendan can feel the man's pulse flittering under his hand, the erratic thrum of it. He wants to do what he couldn't earlier, wants to brandish his fists and use them like knives. He'd fought against the ties so fiercely that he'd half believed that he could work himself free, could be strong enough to escape. The shelf had rattled behind him as he'd pushed against it, would have made the whole damn thing tear from its holding if he could have reached Steven, stopped the boy from lying on the floor, pale and unmoving, eyes wide with fear, looking like he was resigned to his fate. Accepting it.
Brendan's so tantalizingly close, wants to do the kind of damage that'll feel sweet and heady, will replace all this chaos with something that sends power spiking through his veins. But he can hear Steven's voice filtering through, the frantic need for him to stop, to turn around and face him and let go of Walker, but he can't. He can't. It's something real and concrete to hold onto.
Walker doesn't seem to sense the danger that he's in, or if he does then he's intent on ignoring it.
"We need to talk about what we're going to do with Warren." They've left him there, slumped against the floor, and the thought that he could have already woken up terrifies Brendan. He'd left Steven alone for less than an hour and the man already wormed his way in, got him trapped and defenseless. Steven's here but it's not enough, not close to the certainty that Brendan needs.
"I'm gonna kill him."
There's no other option now, never was from the moment that Warren laid a hand on Steven. It's what Brendan should have done months ago, should have made sure that the job was finished, that there was no room for error, no hospitals or comas or comebacks, just a permanent removal of the man from all their lives.
He hears a quiet voice behind him, a trembling lilt to it.
"No."
Brendan doesn't allow himself to face Steven. "It's not up for discussion."
"If you think that I'm not getting a say in this -"
"You're not," he says unequivocally, praying that for once in his life Steven will let this go, won't be forceful and argumentative, will just listen to him.
"I'm not letting you kill someone for me."
"Then let me kill him for me. Because I'd really enjoy it. Don't be selfish."
Steven doesn't laugh. "And what, get yourself another life sentence? Because that would make Cheryl and your kids really proud, wouldn't it? And how am I meant to live out there, knowing that you're on your own in here forever?"
"It would be worth it."
"For you, maybe. But not for me. Nothing's worth that."
"What's going on?"
They stare into the doorway, following the direction of the voice. Brendan backs off from Walker, and the man uses the distraction to slink away, out of the room and out of sight while Brendan stalks towards their visitor, his eyes dark as he stares accusingly at the American.
His hands are solid around the boy's neck, his grip firm. He can see Douglas's eyes beginning to water, his face redden from the pressure that Brendan's exerting. There are voices filtering his senses, Douglas's own strained one, but only one is able to reach him, entering through the white noise.
Steven's hands are on his own, trying to force him to release his hold, but Brendan easily ignores the boy's touch, not allowing it to distract him. Douglas is pinned against the wall, back slamming onto it every time that Brendan decides to go that much further, cause that much more pain. It's a game, except it's lost its fun: Brendan needs to do this, had been baying for blood since the moment that he saw Steven trapped in the library beside him.
His questions are demanding, his voice twisted with anger and something that's far more entrenched, dangerously close to hurt and fear and the grief that's clawing underneath his skin at how close he came to losing Steven, at how he had to watch while Warren took something that wasn't his.
His hold tightens.
"Stop!" Steven's desperate now, scraping his nails along Brendan's arms and hands to try and make him let go, but Brendan's getting far too much pleasure from watching Douglas's contorting face.
"Brendan, I'm begging you."
His grip lessens: he remembers what happened the last time that Steven had begged and fought.
Douglas takes in a deep lungful of air, using the opportunity to try and regulate his breathing, fucking lucky that he is still breathing.
Steven senses his hesitance, his tone persuasive, his voice low.
"Just come and sit down, yeah? I'll get you some water."
Brendan wants to laugh; hollow, manic, furious laughter at how fucking ridiculous and wrong this is, Steven comforting him. Talking to him as though he's the one who needs protecting.
"I don't..." He stutters, palms growing damp and clammy, the artificial lighting in the room feeling too exposing, shining brightly on him like a spotlight. He's suddenly aware of how out of control he must look. Steven's lip is cut, his clothes are covered in the blood from his own wounds and the ones that were transferred between the two of them, and the first thing Brendan does is this - puts his hands around Douglas's throat, half believing that perhaps he can fix everything if he has someone to blame.
"You should never have left him," he whispers. It's still not erasing anything, still isn't making it better. Douglas has the good sense to look guilty, doesn't try to escape from Brendan's proximity when his hands slacken, looks like he thinks he deserves this.
"It wasn't Doug's fault."
Brendan doesn't look at Steven, just closes his eyes and allows himself to listen to that voice, to the familiar sound, lets himself believe that he's here, that he's safe. Steven's beside him, and Brendan can feel their arms brush against each other lightly, can smell the aftershave that the boy had applied this morning.
He wants to hold him, but he doesn't trust himself to be able to let go.
"He should have stayed with you."
He can hear Steven begin to argue back, is surprised when Douglas intervenes, voice rising above them both.
"He's right, Ste. I should have known. I should have felt that something wasn't right. I'm just glad that you're okay."
There's silence, and neither of them fills it with platitudes, don't reassure Douglas, so much easier for him to think that they've thwarted any danger, that it could have been so much worse.
Brendan has to open his eyes, images flickering behind his lids, intimidating and unwelcome; he can still see the smile of satisfaction on Warren's face, and the blankness of Steven's eyes. He remembers the sound of the flies of Warren's jeans being undone, and the absolute certainty that Brendan had about what was going to happen next.
He was closed lipped and obedient when Seamus had come into his bed when he was a boy; with Steven, he felt like his organs were being ripped from him, torn out by his need to save him. He wanted to be back in that bedroom with his father, would have done anything if it meant that Steven was somewhere else entirely.
He hadn't been able to take the power back.
"Shall we tell Ethan?"
"No," Brendan replies immediately, grateful for the distraction.
"But he'll want to know -" Douglas tries to insist.
"What he wants and what he needs aren't the same thing. Trust me. Surviver's guilt."
"What?"
"He'll feel guilty," Brendan explains. "That it was Steven, and not..."
Douglas frowns, staring between the men. "Wait, what exactly happened in there? Did Warren -"
"Haven't you got somewhere to be, Douglas? You're good at that, aren't you? Disappearing?"
Douglas closes his mouth, swallowing the argument that threatens to rise.
"Please, can you just not?" Steven rubs his hand over his face, looking more exhausted than Brendan's ever seen him. The golden tone that's always been a permanent fixture of his skin has faded to a stark paleness, making him look older than his twenty three years.
"Can you two just pretend to get along for five seconds?"
"Your boyfriend's just tried to strangle me," Douglas says, stroking his neck, hands gliding over the patches of colour that have developed. "If you start threatening Lynsey for leaving him too -"
"I would never," Brendan interjects, has never hurt a woman in his life, would rather die than lay a hand on the person who gave him a chance in here. "She can do better than -"
"Please." Steven's staring at them heatedly now and it deflates Brendan, the boy's anger making his own crumble. "I want...I want to get changed." He stares down at his stained clothes and Brendan follows his gaze, wonders whether Douglas can tell, can sense what happened to Steven in that room. Does he look different now? Is it noticeable, what Warren did? What he tried to do?
"Of course," Brendan says, voice quivering before he clears it, steadies it. "I'll leave you alone." He heads towards the door, a hand on Douglas's shoulder to steer the boy.
"What are you -"
"You're coming too," he insists, and some of the tension leaves him when Douglas is out of the room; he doesn't like this closeness, hasn't understood the concept of friendship for years, nor sought it out, and he wants it for Steven even less. The boy's too desirable for his own good. Anything could happen.
Brendan turns back towards Steven, eyes downcast as he fumbles for the edge of the door, beginning to close it and allow him privacy, feels suddenly ashamed at the mere idea of seeing Steven without his clothes on. He won't want that, won't want anyone to see him that exposed.
"I didn't...I didn't say you had to leave." Steven isn't looking at him. There's no hint of the boldness there that Brendan's come to know. It's left him. He's too quiet, too tentative. Too entirely unlike Steven.
"It's okay. I'll just be behind this door. Call me if you need anything." He trails off, nothing that Steven could need him for after he let him down when it mattered the most.
Brendan closes the door before he can see Steven's reaction. He's relieved that Douglas has already gone, doesn't trust himself around him when Steven's not here to act as a buffer. The only thing that's stopping him from seeking him out is the knowledge of what Steven would say if he did: the look of disappointment, and the threat of rejection that would arise because of it.
Brendan leans his back against the door, preventing anyone from seeing inside the screen window, and to try and mold his body into it, make him stay in place so he can't hurt anyone.
God is playing games with him today. Douglas is gone from his path, but Walker strolls towards him, still casual as fuck, and Brendan releases a drawn out sigh that doesn't even begin to convey the true frustration that he feels about the situation. There's nowhere he can escape to in here, and a man like Walker is impossible to hide from.
"Fancy sharing?" He nods to the door, and Brendan stares him up and down until he gets the message, leaning against the wall instead.
Brendan doesn't share.
"How's the kid?"
"How do you think?"
"What did Warren do to him?"
Brendan shakes his head resolutely: no comment.
"I'm not trying to pry."
"That's exactly what you're doing. This isn't a gossip magazine, Simon. I'm not going to feed you the latest scoop. This is Steven."
"I just want to know how bad the damage is."
Brendan turns towards him, a sneer on his face. "Why? Is that how you get your kicks?" He scans Walker's face, trying to ascertain if there's a twisted satisfaction there, a reaping of rewards from Warren causing so much destruction.
"Did you really mean what you said before? You think I planned this?"
"Do I have any reason to believe you didn't?"
"I wouldn't do that to Ste. To you."
"How many times have I heard you being like this? Innocent, sincere? I know you too well," Brendan reminds him.
"Then you'll know that I've never raped anyone in my life. I'd never even think of helping Warren -"
"He didn't penetrate him." Brendan's voice rings out, making Walker still in his own protestations, his argument dying on his lips. He didn't want to tell anyone about what happened in that room, but if Walker thinks that Steven was fucked then he'll start thinking about it, imagining it, and he won't, he can't.
"He stopped...you stopped him before he could." It kills him that he can't say that it was him, that he stopped it.
Walker smoothes his hand over his face, does a good impression of a person who cares.
"That fucking...he was going to do it in front of you, wasn't he? Make you watch the whole thing."
"That was the plan." Brendan says stoically. He should of given Warren more credit: he'd devised the entire thing perfectly, knew what would cause maximum impact, would hurt the most.
"What...what did he do?"
Brendan looks at him, lips tightly drawn together, hands gripped into fists by his side.
"I told you -"
"I'm not enjoying this." Walker says shortly, disgust peppering his voice. "You think I wanted Ste to go through that? But you need to think about these things, Brendan. Get the boy some help."
Brendan snorts. "You're advising me to get a shrink for him now? You? You've spent your whole life mocking people like that."
"Maybe you've converted me."
Brendan stiffens, looking at him sharply.
"I saw you and...what's his name? Daz?"
"Desmond," Brendan says before he can stop himself, feels a strange twinge of irritation at Walker for getting the name wrong. He realises his mistake, coughing to disguise the rising discomfort there. He should have outrightly denied it. "When did you find out?"
"A couple of days ago."
"And you just happened to be skulking around the therapy centre?"
Walker shrugs, playing idly with his nails. "Maybe I followed you."
Brendan rolls his eyes. "Of course you fucking did."
"I was curious about what could make you leave Ste on his own, knowing that there was a sadistic rapist pig on the loose. Can't blame a man for worrying."
"No, but I can blame a man for stalking me."
Walker looks at him indulgently, as though he's doing a good deed, is a virtual saint for being this patient. "You call it stalking, I call it showing concern."
Brendan ignores his convoluted version of logic.
"I'm doing it for Steven. To...stay with him," he admits, looking anywhere but at Walker.
"I don't blame you. I'd do anything to keep the boy in my bed too."
Walker raises his hands in defense when Brendan advances towards him.
"I almost hit you once today. Please give me an excuse to do it properly this time."
"You're so dramatic, darling."
Brendan grabs the lapels of Walker's shirt, pressing their foreheads together, panting angry, hot breaths.
"Don't ever call me that."
"Does this remind you of anything? You, me, anger..." Walker licks a stripe across his lips, a hint of a smile playing upon them.
Brendan lets him go.
"Why did you come here? Was it to tell me that you know about the therapy, use it against me?"
Walker smoothes down his clothes, removing the creases that Brendan's created.
"I wanted to see if Ste's okay. And to remind you of my offer."
"You're not involved in this. You're not any part of it."
"I could be, if you for one second think about what's best for him instead of you."
"So splitting us up, making him think that I didn't want to be with him - that was in his best interests?" Brendan asks incredulously.
"In all fairness, you're the one who didn't trust him. Who pushed him away. Who started flirting with Kevin - although I can see why. He's good in bed."
Brendan's sure that if they were holding glasses right now, Walker would clink them in his honour, raise a fucking toast to him.
Brendan laughs, the opposite of what he wants to do.
"Just hear me out," Walker continues. "Then you can always say no -"
"No."
"Brendan," he says sternly.
Brendan crosses his arms, glancing quickly into the window to find Steven balling his stained clothes up into a pile, a hoodie, t-shirt and a pair of tracksuit bottoms replacing them. Even from a distance, Brendan can still see the cut area of his lip, the red rings around his wrists from the ties that Warren used. He's not the same, even with new clothes.
"Go on," he murmurs. He never wants to see Steven like this again, can't risk it. His pride's going to have to take a back seat.
"Whenever you see this therapist -" Brendan flinches. This therapist. "I'll look after him. Lynsey's beautiful, but she's not exactly going to stand much of a chance against Warren, is she? Look at what happened today - she took her eye off the ball, and that's all it took. A couple of minutes, and Ste was gone. I won't do that. Ever."
"I don't want you to be alone with him." Brendan can't even believe he's negotiating. Everything's screaming at him not to. "Go to the canteen, or the gym, or the games room. But don't take him to your cell, or his. If I find out that you have -"
"I don't think Ste would let me, would he? Like I said - stubborn fucker."
Brendan's jaw is rigid. "And don't ever call him that."
Walker sighs, but says nothing. A silent agreement, however reluctant.
"If you even mention your contract -"
"It's not my fault if the boy brings it up."
Brendan stares at him warningly.
"You really need to get one of those sense of humour things."
"I'll put it on my shopping list," he drawls. "If you even try and touch him -"
"Then you'll kill me. I get it, okay? We'll talk about the weather, and the colour of the walls, and how good a fuck you are..."
When Steven opens the door of the cell, it's to find Brendan pushing Walker against the wall. The boy rubs his forehead, weary.
"You're like my parents sometimes."
Brendan breaks apart, embarrassed to have been caught. "I wasn't going to..." He stumbles, doesn't want Steven to think that he was about to hurt Walker, even if he was. Even if it's exactly what he needs.
"Yes you were," the boy says knowingly, lacking the energy to be appalled. He's pulled his sleeves down in an attempt to cover the marks of the binds, but his clothing isn't long enough; his wrists peek out, and Brendan feels a stab of pain whenever he sees the scars, so much worse than his own.
"You've changed." He feels a fool for stating the obvious.
"Yeah."
"I can get rid of the other clothes, if you want," Brendan says, keeping his voice soft and measured.
"Why?" Steven asks, confusion clouding his expression.
"I just thought...you might not want to keep them."
Steven shrugs. "They're just clothes. I'll wear them again."
"Right." Brendan shuffles, looking towards the floor. "Steven, I've got some...business to attend to. Walker's going to stay with you."
Steven looks between the two men in disbelief. He's battle scarred, but he looks beautiful, and it hurts to look at him, and it hurts to look away.
"You're leaving me with him?"
Walker pretends to be offended, gasping.
"If you don't want me to -"
"No, I just...I thought you didn't..."
"Things are different now."
Steven nods, understanding leeching through.
"I won't be long." Brendan's about to take the boy's head in his hands, about to kiss him, but he stops, visibly withdrawing. "I'll see you soon."
"Brendan?"
His voice sounds pleading, and Brendan forces himself to look.
"This...business. Be careful, yeah?"
He nods, not truly a promise of anything, and leaves Walker and Steven in the hallway.
Warren's found by a screaming female officer. Turns out Walker played him a little visit since they left the library, and Brendan watches as he's carried out on a stretcher, his genitals covered up by a blanket, the thin material not managing to cover the word rapist written with ink, splashed across his chest.
It's one of Walker's games: humiliation. He won't be happy if one of the nurses has to scrub the writing off. He wants Warren to be awake and see it, wants him to remove it himself, the ink spiralling down his skin, a reminder of what he's done.
Brendan can't smile, can't get any satisfaction from the act. There's nothing that makes this better.
When he knows that Warren's been disposed of, carted back to the hospital that he was removed from days earlier, he begins the search for Silas. He watches as Tony frantically scans the area, questioning the staff about how this could have happened, where the CCTV tapes are.
He hadn't bargained on the grandfather being able to twist and manipulate situations just as skillfully as Brendan can; the old man's killed some privileged, Oxford-bound women, and with education comes money. Some of his victims rings are worth enough to be effective at quietening and cajoling. The CCTV footage of Warren attacking Brendan and Steven will never be seen again, the jewellery lying securely in the officer's pockets.
Brendan wants to tear his skin off when he finds out that Silas has been taken in for questioning, the first and only suspect in Warren's attack. It'll be hours before he's released, and he will be released - it's women he hurts, not men. There's no concrete evidence, and this isn't Silas's style.
They'll be too many people around now that the prison's on high alert, Tony worried about the chances of an attacker striking again. Brendan's lost his chance. Silas would have been the second person that he's killed.
He stands back as the library's cordoned off, only noticing after several minutes that Tony's calling his name.
"Are you okay, Brendan?"
There's concern there, and Brendan considers it for one uncertain moment, what it would be like to tell Tony the truth. To trust that the justice system could give Warren the punishment that he deserves if they knew what he'd done to Ethan and Steven, and countless other men. That he wouldn't merely be locked away for another ten years before being given a reduced sentence for good behaviour, his days spent intimidating and raping the men who aren't strong enough to fight back.
Brendan doesn't have that trust. The authorities never stopped Seamus.
"I'm fine."
Tony nods, seemingly appeased, touching Brendan on the shoulder before going to speak to the gathering officers.
Brendan spends the rest of the day inventing new ways of avoiding Steven.
Brendan doesn't come back. Ste grows more anxious, more impatient, glancing up every time he hears the sound of a door opening. He struggles to hide his disappointment and concern when it's not the right person - when it's Doug or Ethan checking up on him, instead of the one he wants.
Simon stays by his side, making Ste and Ethan stay in the room while he takes a piss in the bucket in the corner.
"Brendan said I couldn't be on my own with him."
He makes a poor show of someone who's not enjoying this.
Ethan mutters under his breath the entire time, "I don't think this is what Brendan meant," but Ste gets the feeling that it's helping him, being here with them. Having Walker to fight with is giving him something to do, something to take his mind off Warren.
They haven't talked about what happened. After Ste made a mumbled excuse over how he got injured - "I fell over" - he hasn't probed any further. All Ethan knows is that Warren's back in the hospital after an attack, and somethings made him fail to question them further - perhaps the knowledge that he knows that they're involved, that there's something more.
Ethan notices Ste quickly looking up as he hears footsteps approaching outside, looking down in resigned defeat when an officer walks past.
"I'm sure he'll be back soon."
"That's what he said four hours ago. You don't think..." Ste nibbles on his lip, feeling his heart lurch. "You don't think somethings happened to him?"
"Nothings happened to him," Walker interrupts, as though they're being faintly ridiculous. "Brendan's a big boy - pun intended. He can look after himself."
"Yeah, but -"
"Sweetheart, relax."
"That's easy for you to say," Ste fires back angrily. "You don't have your boyfriend on his own after his skull's nearly been smashed in. He could be unconscious somewhere."
"Honestly. That imagination of yours."
Ste rests back against the wall, scowling. He wants to break free from the room, but he knows that Walker's under strict instructions to watch him. He wishes that he'd break the rules like he always does. He wants to see the Walker of old, the one who had given him the moonshine and not cared about what havoc he caused.
The room's silent. It sounds empty without the familiar sound of Brendan's Johnny Cash CD filtering through. Ste misses it. It crept up on him slowly, the fondness that he has for it now.
"Your boyfriend?"
Ethan breaks the silence first, sounding amazed and uncertain what to do with the word, testing it out on his tongue.
"What?"
"You called Brendan your boyfriend."
"I didn't say that."
"Yes you did."
Ste stops, trying to remember. He's sure that he didn't say that.
"I just meant that...I want him here." His voice breaks. Pathetic.
"I'm sure he'll come back any second now."
Simon says nothing. Ste wonders if he has that same conviction.
He repeats Ethan's words inside his head like a mantra, but he doesn't see Brendan again that night.
There's a draught in the room, and Ste pulls the covers up over his chin, still finding no relief. It's a permanent type of coldness - he's sure that even in the height of summer he would still experience a chill in his bones.
"Are you awake?"
He considers remaining silent, pretending to Doug that he's already fast asleep. But he hears the concern in his friend's voice, and he can't do it.
"Yes. I can't sleep."
"Me neither." There's a pause, and Ste can almost sense Doug trying to find the words. He hates that this is difficult now, that he's difficult. "If you want to talk about what happened -"
"I sucked Warren's cock." He's tired of people tiptoeing around him, tired of trying to hide the truth.
Doug doesn't say anything for a moment.
"Oh."
Ste nearly laughs.
"I'm not expecting you to know what to say."
"No, I just...it's been happening to Ethan for years, but we've never really talked about it. I didn't know if he wanted to."
Ste looks up at the ceiling in the darkness, making out its curves and textures, the jagged edges from years of decay and use.
"I've got nothing to hide." He doesn't. Not anymore. "He made me deep throat him. Then he put me on my front. He was going to fuck me." His voice is calm.
"Ste, I can't...I can't imagine what that must have been like. I'm so sorry."
"It's not your fault."
"You know what I mean. And...it is my fault. We should have had your back, me and Lynsey."
"I wandered off. I was asking for it really, wasn't I?"
Doug sits up in bed, shifting the covers off him. Ste continues to stare straight ahead.
"Don't ever say that. You didn't ask for any of this."
"I knew that Warren wanted to hurt Brendan though, didn't I? I knew that he might use me to get to him."
"And that means you deserved to be raped?" Doug asks, horror spiking through his voice. "This is because of Warren, not you."
"Maybe you think that, but...not everyone does."
"What do you mean?"
Ste balls the cover up in his hands, twisting it. "Doesn't matter."
"No, tell me. Has someone said something?"
"Don't be daft."
"Then what did you mean by that?"
Ste abandons any attempt to sleep, can tell that Doug's not going to let go of this, won't be distracted by a change of subject.
"Brendan doesn't seem to...want to touch me."
There's no seem about it - Brendan doesn't want to touch him.
"What are you talking about?"
Ste tries to remain nonchalant. "Haven't you noticed? He could barely even look at me. He couldn't wait to get away."
"Is this because he left you with Walker? I'm sure he just had something to do -"
Ste scoffs, Doug's words sounding weak and insubstantial, not taking the edge off his doubts. Brendan had barely spoken two words to him, didn't even suggest that Ste spend the night in his cell.
"He doesn't want me now. I'm damaged goods." His voice sounds close to breaking, is impossibly small.
He hears Doug move from the bed, and blinks rapidly when the light is switched on. He brushes his eyes hastily with the back of his hand to catch any tears, but they're dry.
Doug sits at the foot of his bed, and Ste wonders if he's doing it to prove a point: I want to be around you. I want to touch you.
"You know that I'm not exactly a member of the Brendan Brady fan club, but he cares about you. He wouldn't ever think that."
Ste's unwavering. "Course he would. He won't want to sleep with me now, will he? He hates Warren, and he's...he's been all over me."
"You really think that Brendan's feelings for you are that shallow?"
It scares Ste that he doesn't have an answer to that. It's only just occurred to him that perhaps they are.
"Maybe he'll start looking elsewhere again - maybe Kevin..."
His mind's attacking him with painful thoughts, and he can't stop them from infiltrating him. He knows how needy and insecure he must appear to Doug, but he's beyond that. There's nothing within him that can stop the incessant ebb of worry.
"If it was the other way round, would you stop wanting him?"
Ste avoids Doug's gaze, doesn't want him to read anything behind his eyes. "No, but -"
"Exactly. So why would Brendan?"
"The one time that I need you to hate him..."
Doug smiles, but it's a flicker, over too soon.
"You should talk to him. Tell him that you think this."
Ste draws his knees up to his chest. His wrists still ache, and he lays his cut lip against them, trying to soothe them with the soft, wet pressure.
"I can't." He's certain of that; Brendan wouldn't know what to say. "He's never told me, Doug. He's never told me that he loves me."
There's the obliged look of pity on Doug's face, and embarrassment that they're even discussing this.
"Brendan's not really the type. I don't think he ever said it to Vinnie either."
"I know, I just thought..." I just thought that I might be different. "I think about him. Always. He's always there, in my mind. I can't get him out. I didn't expect him to say it back, when I told him. I thought loving him was enough. But now...I didn't know how painful it could be. The person you love, not loving you back."
"I think he does love you, Ste. In his own twisted, fucked up Brendan way. I'm not saying it's right, or that I approve, but it's not up to me, is it? It's about what you want."
"I want him to be free." Ste says, lying back against his pillow again, a wave of tiredness overcoming him. "I want him to get out of here. I want us to be together. I want him to look at me the way he used to, before Warren. It scares me, Doug. It scares me how much I love him."
"What do you mean?"
"Love's meant to be a good thing, isn't it? Like you and Lynsey - you're happy together. Maybe it's complicated, and it's not always perfect, but you're together. You work. It's...healthy. Normal. Me and Brendan aren't normal. He'd kill for me. And not just if my life was at risk, but over crazy, stupid things - if someone hurts me - Doug, he'd break someones arms if they even looked at me funny. And I...the lengths I'd go to for him. The things I'd do. If I could never see my kids again, I think I'd be okay - I think I'd survive, as long as I had him. That's not the way it's supposed to be. A father, a person - that's not right. Amy would never forgive me if she knew. I hate myself for it, but the one thing I can't lose is him."