When I had seen James again after all those years in the Opera house, I ought to have felt disgusted; sick at the memory of how he had used me. But I hadn't.

Instead when I saw him I had been half aroused. The counselor that Ivo had sent me to had said that it was natural to associate the physical appearance of someone who abused you with the pleasure of the sexual act. It was a way for the mind to understand the situation, if the production of good hormones in the brain is stimulated by something then the brain believes it to be good. I believed it to be good for certain.

I remembered all the times during classes when he would seek me out, send me notes via other students. They all said much the same and usually ended in a request for me to come to his dorm room that night.

I didn't have the courage during any of the therapy sessions to confess that it wasn't the sexual acts that stimulated me. It was the approval.

At first when he encouraged me into his bed, I protested. The other boys were almost certainly awake but as he soon pointed out, it didn't matter. His strong hands would hold onto my hair as he guided me under the covers. The feel of him in my mouth would make me gag and he would reluctantly pull back. I believed this to be kindness, concern for my well being. Perhaps he simply didn't want to have to clean up if I was sick.

I was convinced that I simply had to get used to it. Life at Leythe would have been much worse had I not had James to protect me initially. I would have become someone's rent boy anyway so why shouldn't I be glad it was at least someone who cared for me?

When I had told Ivo about my lonely childhood he had merely continued on with whatever he had been doing.

'That's quite common in only children,' he had said, devoid of sympathy.

I knew then the reason why I felt I didn't love him. It wasn't that I didn't know how to love, or that I was frightened of commitment. I was frightened of him and his similarity to James. The love letters and the rewards.

He said things that made me feel like I was even useless at being myself.

Ivo is the one with no idea how to love. He wants to better me at the same time as wanting to be better than me.

Now he kissed my neck and ran his hands along my chest.

"I've missed you," he sighed happily.

The worst part of being away from Ivo for so long, was knowing that inevitably I would be back here. Not because I love him but because he loves me.

I recalled how as a first year in University I had argued with my partner on an assignment and as a consequence our work was terrible and we both received harsh criticism. I had been angry that because of them I was no longer a favourite with the lecturers and I blamed them entirely for it. It was only a few years later that I realised I could have just swallowed my pride and apologised. I could have at least been civil and we would have done well.

When it came to Ivo, my pride was as degrading to swallow as whatever James shoved down my throat, but that's what it takes.

I would never be free. However I was no longer as concerned about being free from Ivo. I had blamed him entirely for my own unhappiness without seeing that I was as much to blame. I had run away from my past, from everything that had hurt me and left me in the position that I now am.

"Mmm, Ivo. We can see that counselor, yeah?"

He stopped sucking on my neck then and looked at me. Pushing himself off me he sat on the bed and pulled me into a hug.

"Yes. Yes, anything. I'll do anything. I can't lose you again."

I could feel him shake and I figured he must be crying but I knew better than to call him on it.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered severely. "It's all my fault. I've been the worst boyfriend."

I'd never heard him say the word boyfriend before and I almost laughed.

"I don't mean to be so cold. I'm just not sure what you want, what you need. I want to hold you and love you all the time but the more I push you away the more you want me," he said quickly.

"I'm old and dull with nothing to offer. I suppose my insecurities get the better of me. I need you to want me like I want you."

I swallowed.

"I thought you were tired of putting up with me, that you were bored."

He pulled away to hold me at arms length, a look of horror on his features.

"Oh God, Tim. Never," he said earnestly.

He kissed me passionately and I wasn't expecting it. He accidentally bit my lip and I cried out, almost crying out again when he let go of me immediately.

"Sorry!"

"No, it's fine. Really."

I pushed him back and straddled his waist, pushing his lips open with my tongue and weaving my fingers into his short hair.

He only needed one hand to push me back and hold onto my jaw and feeling his strength made me more excited. I didn't know if I should be afraid. In any other situation, having someone stare so deeply into your eyes is unnerving but as Ivo surveyed me I felt connected to him.

"I just want you to be happy," he said after a while; like it was the simplest thing in the world.

My parents had always wanted me to be successful, my teachers had wanted me to be passable. Boys at Leythe wanted me to be fuckable.

So many people over the years of my life had told me how much they admired me, how much they loved me. No one had ever wanted me to be happy however. At least not for my own sake. The thing about Ivo saying it, was that I believed him.