Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
I t’s late afternoon by the time Arkin and Dad return.
The 100 plays on the TV. Neriah has already watched it countless times. It’s now her comfort show when she’s not buried in a book.
My room is too quiet and empty without Arkin. I hate to admit that I’m worried about him. So here I am, watching the show with my sister to keep my mind occupied. It beats overthinking alone.
The door opens, and my father enters first. Then Arkin.
I start to smile as Arkin appears in the doorway to the living room, but then he walks past without making eye contact, and I stiffen on the couch.
What the hell?
“Arkin?”
Momentarily distracted from the show, Neriah peers at the doorway. Arkin is gone. She shrugs her shoulders as if to say, ‘that’s strange.’
“Hey, kids,” Dad says, distracting me from the growing unease as he enters the living room.
I stand up. “What happened to Arkin?”
Dad visibly flinches before he schools his expression and looks back at the hallway. It’s empty. Arkin is upstairs. Something is wrong.
“What happened, Dad?” I ask again.
I swear to God, if he doesn’t tell me soon, I’ll lose my damn mind.
Dad runs a hand through his short hair. I’ve never seen him look so haggard before, like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. “We had a meeting in town after his therapy session.”
“And?” I probe.
“His uncle is up for parole.”
I’m stunned into silence. Parole? Did I hear that correctly? That can’t be true. It’s only been a couple of years. But then I think back on other abuse cases. Lengthy prison sentences are rare.
Neriah is listening now too, having turned away from the TV.
“How can he be up for parole already?” I ask.
Dad shrugs helplessly. “He got ten years. This is Britain, son. He’ll be out in half that time with good behavior. The wife paroled last year.”
My eyes bug out. “What?”
“I’m just as frustrated as you.”
“How is that bitch out already?” I don’t know the details of what happened, but she should be locked up for several more decades.
“Language,” Dad admonishes. “She’s out on parole with strict instructions to stay away from Arkin and his siblings. If she comes anywhere near them or tries to contact them, she gets sent straight back to serve out the rest of her sentence.”
“She shouldn’t be out at all.”
Mum joins us, rolling the wedding band on her finger, a sad expression on her tired face.
“I agree,” Dad says. “That’s the legal system for you. It’s not fair. But at least we’ve done everything we can for Arkin.”
“Have we though? You’re sending him away to Scotland of all places, to live with relatives no one knew existed until recently.”
“Don’t start this again,” he pleads. “Arkin is a grown man. We agreed to house him temporarily because it was the right thing to do, but the young man can’t live with us forever.”
Shaking my head bitterly, I scoff. “So much for your Christian values, huh?”
His jaw hardens, but one pleading look from Mum and he turns to exit the room. I walk after him, not letting him off the hook that easily. “You think your God will approve of this? That you’re turning your back on Arkin?”
Dad spins around, cheeks blotchy red. “Watch your mouth, son. Arkin has family out there. Relatives who want a chance to get to know him. They’re what’s best for him right now. Not us. Don’t you see that God has offered Arkin a second chance?”
Frustration slams into me like a freight train. “This is England, Dad. Look around you, for fuck’s sake. No one believes in God anymore. Your God”—I do quotation marks—“doesn’t care.”
“Zachary!” Mum’s sharp voice rings out behind me. Dad and I remain locked in a stare down for a moment longer, and I almost tell him there and then that I’m into guys, just to rub it in his fucking face and destroy his hopes of a perfect family. But I can’t do it. I can’t do that to Arkin. I can’t take the best thing that’s happened to me and weaponize it against my father because I’m angry and scared. Instead, I storm upstairs, taking the steps three at a time, and slam the door shut behind me.
Screw my parents.
After a few moments of banging the back of my head against the door while muttering curses, I scan my empty room. Where’s Arkin? Confused, I push off the door. The one to my bathroom is closed, so I cross only to find it locked. I rattle the handle. “Arkin, open up.”
Silence follows. I try the handle again, but it’s definitely locked.
“Please open the door,” I plead.
Seconds pass. The door remains locked. My throat is suddenly clogged. I try to swallow, but it fails to shift the lump lodged there.
“Please,” I whisper in a shaky voice. “Don’t shut me out.”
Pressing my forehead to the door, I take a few deep breaths.
“I heard about the parole meeting.”
Still no answer.
I can almost taste the fury when I think of the possibility of his uncle walking the streets as a free man. One day, I hope Arkin will feel strong enough to tell me his story, but until then, I’ll love the broken parts of him. The scared parts. The parts he wants to hide from me.
“Let me hold you,” I beg, digging my forehead into the wood to the point of pain. “Let me be there for you.”
Let me love you.
Nothing.
After what feels like hours of me pleading with him to open the door, I turn around and slide down until my ass hits the floor. My legs stretch out, and I stare at the ceiling to stop the tears from falling, but they soon trek down my cheeks unhindered.
I hate the thought of Arkin alone and upset. Scared of the future. A future that should make him feel safe. The worst is over and now is his time to thrive and rebuild what was broken in the night.
Helplessness and rejection weigh heavily on my shoulders. I want to do more. Be more.
But most of all, I just want him to let me in.
At some point, after the sun sets, I drag my ass to bed and collapse on top of my sheets. Restless dreams haunt me that night, and I wake several hours later when soft fingers graze my cheek.
“Hey,” I say in a croaky, sleep-heavy voice as I shift into a sitting position.
Arkin stands there in his gray joggers, his sky-colored eyes uncertain in the dim light.
Without speaking a word, he asks for permission to be around me again. To be let into my world.
I check the time. 2.37 A.M.
“Do you want to go somewhere?” I ask.
His answering nod is barely visible in the dim light. I get out of bed, swiping the car key and cap from my desk. Arkin follows me outside. We tiptoe downstairs. The house is quiet except for the creaky floorboards. As we enter the balmy night, I carefully shut the door behind us. Arkin is already halfway to the car when I make my way down the front steps.
Minutes later, I’m backing out of the drive. The roads are quiet this late at night. The radio is on, but I’m not paying attention to what song is playing because Arkin has his hand in mine and everything is finally alright again. To think he can tear me apart and then glue me together again effortlessly should frighten me, and I guess it does in a way. But now as we’re driving down the dark, empty road, while Arkin reaches out to stroke his fingers through the curls at my nape, the fear is a distant memory.
If only I could exist in this moment forever.
A smile plays on my lips. I can feel it.
And when I glance at him, the dimples in his cheeks deepen.
We don’t need words. Why? Because his fingers on the back of my neck speak their own language as they trail through the kinks peeking out from beneath my backward cap.
“Promise me something,” I say, removing his hand from my neck to kiss his knuckles.
Of course he remains silent, and that’s okay. I like his silence.
It wraps around me like a warm blanket, stirring my soul as it whispers between us.
“Promise me you won’t forget about us.” I can almost feel his inquisitive frown, and my heart beats harder as I rest my head back. “When you’re in Scotland.”
His silence, like a kiss against the sensitive spot below my ear, has a shiver dancing across my skin beneath my hoodie.
“I’ll wait for you.” My quietly spoken words are a promise. Now that I’ve found him, I’ll always be here, craving him and the emotions he awakens.
I kiss his knuckles again, memorizing every prism of this moment. Like a sparkling diamond when the sun hits it just right.
Fifteen minutes later we pull up near the ancient ruins. Tall trees tower over us as we exit the vehicle, their leaves rustling softly overhead as a breeze sweeps through the clearing, stirring the dried leaves on the ground.
Arkin is bathed in streaks of moonlight as he shuts the car door.
He looks at me over the roof, and my belly swoops low. I open the boot to remove a folded blanket and a flashlight then enter the small trail in the woods, and Arkin follows behind, his footsteps silenced by the soft ground.
It’s a short walk from the car. The beam bounces off the trees and their scraggly branches on either side of the trail, which looks spooky now. I occasionally smile at Arkin over my shoulder, and his mysterious, intense eyes bore into me intently. We soon reach our destination. The abbey ruins stand bathed in the moonlight, the crumbling walls casting long, jagged shadows across the clearing. The forest beyond is silent, as if it can sense the anticipation thickening the air—as if the trees themselves are listening intently to our combined heartbeats.
“Come on,” I say, reaching for Arkin’s hand. “Let’s explore the ruins.”
The broken arches reach toward the star-strewn sky as we enter. Ivy curls over the stone, and a faint mist clings to the ground, disturbed by our footsteps. The long-forgotten fountain comes into view, and I can almost hear the faint trickle of water that once flowed through it and picture how it sparkled in the silvery moonlight back in the day when monks called this place home. The air is cool and damp, carrying the faint scent of moss, wildflowers, and late night.
After spreading the blanket on the damp grass, I sit down and pat the space beside me.
Arkin’s clothes carry spicy hints of his cologne as he lowers himself down.
Somewhere in the forest, an owl hoots to signal its presence to others.
We both sit staring into the distance, arms wrapped around our knees, each deeply lost in the inevitable heartache looming on the horizon. The clearing feels alive, not with noise or movement but with something quieter—an unspoken weight of tomorrow.
“Do you believe in fate?” I ask quietly out of nowhere.
Arkin rests his stubbly chin on his arms, looking sideways at me with the smallest hint of a smile. Fuck, he’s so damn beautiful. Especially out here beneath the silvery moonlight.
All I can do is stare.
He steals my cap, puts it on his head, and then turns the beak backward. I reach out to shift the dark strands peeking out from beneath the cap away from his brow. His skin is warm and smooth. “I’m in love with you.”
My confession makes his eyes glitter, and I lean back on my hands, unable to dim my smile. The truth is that I could sit here all night with him. We don’t have to do anything. His presence is enough.
Behind us, near the bench beneath the ruined arch, the night seems to gather more intimately. I lie down on my back, with my arms beneath my head, and inhale the crisp air. Overhead, the broken frame of the ruins opens to the sky, revealing a perfect view of the full moon.
“I wonder how many stars are up there,” I say.
Countless ones. Billions. Trillions. More than the human brain can begin to comprehend.
Arkin settles on top of me, his hard body lined up with mine. “I love you too.”
My chest can’t possibly contain all these emotions. The pressure is too much. It’s almost painful.
Framed by the starry sky overhead visible through the broken frame of the arch, Arkin finally speaks, and I listen intently. Each word flows into me, hooking my heart and burying deep roots, like the ones beneath us.
“I was a kid when my parents passed away. It was sudden. They left us with the babysitter one night and kissed us goodbye. That was that. We never saw them again. Shortly after, our caseworker informed us that we would go live with our uncle and his wife. Two people we’d never met before. Our dad had been estranged from his brother, so they had no contact, and, as far as we knew, Mum had no extended family alive. No one came forward to claim us, anyway, except for our uncle.”
As I trace the line of his jaw, his stubble rasps beneath my fingers. “I can’t imagine how scared you must have been.”
A muscle clenches in his cheek. “My siblings were younger than me. I felt responsible for them.”
I swallow roughly.
“Our uncle was neglectful from the beginning, but the abuse didn’t start until months later. My uncle had a mean streak when he drank and would take it out on his wife, or us. Especially my sister because he soon learned he could control me through her.”
A rush of anger has me fisting my hands for a moment to distract myself before I trace the muscles in his back through his shirt. He’s alive, he’s safe, and that’s all that matters.
At least until his uncle gets parole and is set free again.
No, I can’t let myself think about that now, or I’ll hurt someone.
“Sometimes, I used my silence to punish him, which he didn’t like much. So one night, he turned the tables on me, and from that moment onwards, he would hurt my siblings if I made a noise. Even the slightest cough. Some days, when he was bored, he lashed me with his belt until I bled. If I cried out or made a noise, he would rape my sister.”
Ice runs through my veins, and my hands still on his back.
Arkin swallows, and when he speaks again, his voice is a whispered rasp. “So… I stopped talking.”
His uncle stole his voice.
“It was the only way you could protect them,” I reply, and he dips his lips to mine.
“Yes…”
“After I finally escaped and alerted the authorities, things moved fast. My uncle and his wife were arrested shortly after and charged with child neglect, abuse, and sexual assault of a minor, amongst a slew of other charges. I thought we were safe and out of harm’s way, but then they separated us, and I’ve had limited contact since.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, wishing there was some way I could change what happened to him. Some way to ease the pain. Of course there isn’t. All I can do is listen.
“There was an inquiry at the time, and child services had been alerted on numerous occasions, but they’d failed to act.” He kisses me again as if he needs to inhale me to keep from suffocating, and when he breaks away again to press his forehead against mine, I remove the cap and thread my fingers through his soft hair.
“I lost everything,” he admits in a haunted voice. “My parents, my siblings, my voice. I thought the hardest times were in that house—and they were, don’t get me wrong—but after my siblings were adopted, I found myself alone in a group home with kids I couldn’t communicate with because I was too frightened to speak, and a bleak, uncertain future. It felt like I’d failed my family somehow.”
“You saved them,” I say with conviction. “You got them out of there. That was all you, baby. Don’t let the voices win. It’s not your fault your uncle is a monster. You did everything right.”
This time when he kisses me, I melt into the potent agony seeping from him and into me through every hard, demanding sweep of his tongue. “Thank you for trusting me,” I say as he kisses a trail down my neck.
His lips return to my mouth, quivering and soft. “I feel safe with you here.”
Shielded by the night.
“This is our place.”
More kisses and sweet whispered confessions. “I’ve wanted to talk to you for so long,” he admits. “I’ve wanted to answer your questions. To make you smile and laugh, like your family and friends. It frustrated me when my throat would close up and the words wouldn’t come.”
“Well…” I brush a strand of hair away from his brow. “Then let’s drive out here more often at night.”
Arkin rolls off me, and I snuggle into his side. The sky will lighten soon, but we still have time before we need to head back. I want to savor every moment with him here, where he feels safe enough to escape his demons for a little while.
Lost in thought, he strokes his fingers over my shoulder in a soothing, absent-minded rhythm. “It wasn’t always a choice not to speak,” he says with a soft exhale. “There were times afterwards when I wanted to engage in conversation, but something stopped me, and I couldn’t break down the barrier that kept me from voicing the thoughts in my head.” He stares up at the twinkling stars, his other arm cushioning his head. “It’s difficult to make friends when you’re like me. Kids my age would call me a retard and other hurtful things. All the while, I wanted to shout, I know how to speak. Because I did. I just couldn’t get over the fear of what would happen if my uncle found out about it.” He hesitates a moment. I stay silent out of respect, sensing there’s more he wants to say.
Eventually, he clears his throat. “You must think I’m ridiculous.”
My brows crash together, and I push onto my elbow. “I would never think that of you. Everyone responds differently to traumatic experiences.”
He looks unsure, his throat rolling, and then he reaches up to trail his fingers over my jawline. “I’m not sure I can talk when we leave here. I want to be able to promise you that, but I don’t think I can.”
“Baby, you don’t have to promise me anything. If this is the only place where you feel safe”—I nudge my chin at the ruins surrounding us—“then we’ll come here every night to talk. No one else has to find out. It’ll be our secret.” When he looks at me, a warm, slightly mischievous smile curves my mouth. “I think I like that idea, actually.” I lean down slowly and brush my lips over his, whispering, “I like your voice, Ark. I like that it’s only mine until you’re ready to share it with the world. But mostly…” Our noses brush, and he exhales against my lips as he pulls me on top of him. “I like that you feel safe with me.”
No more words are spoken after that. We undress beneath the blanket of stars, kissing and fumbling with our clothes. I rip my top off, and then I’m yanking on his belt. Arkin matches my fire, and as our souls finally become one, a mild breeze sweeps through the abbey.