Chapter Eight Soda
chapter eight
Soda
By Monday, Aaron found himself in the welfare office.
Archie, the prick, had grassed him up. What happened to a good old-fashioned beating? Plucked out from his morning lecture before Kenny had even started it, then frogmarched to the Student Centre, he was now sat on a fabric chair so close to the floor he couldn’t make a bolt for it. Across from him sat Drew Whitmore, according to his lanyard, the university’s counsellor, waiting for him to explain his actions.
“I’m sorry to pull you out of class,” Drew said, glasses tipping to the end of his nose.
He was an older bloke. Probably in his sixties. Looked like a religious one too, with all the church paraphernalia scattered around the office. And his notepad, resting on his too-thin legs, crossed and snaking around each other, kept slipping off his drab brown suit trousers paired with a yellow jumper. He looked exactly how Aaron would expect a bloke who had to listen to students piss and moan all day. Not an ounce of personality left, having had it sucked from him by poor-little-privileged-kids. Probably why he was so thin.
“But we have to ensure the safety of other students, and whether you’re able to continue your studies here.”
The sterile light leached all the colour from the room and Aaron drummed a staccato rhythm on his thigh with his fingers, peering at the leaflets and posters on mental and sexual health defacing the walls. He wondered if Heather had chlamydia. And if she did, had she given it to Kenny already?
“Can you talk me through what happened?”
“When?”
“When you got angry?”
“Wasn’t angry.” Aaron popped his ankle over his opposite knee, foot twitching. “Was perfectly calm.”
Drew hummed, a vibrating sound that caught in his throat. He wrote something down on his pad, which fell from his leg, and he had to catch it before it slammed to the floor. Again.
Aaron had thought he’d got away with it. There’d been no retaliation over the weekend. Some boys went home at weekends, or had jobs, or played sports, so they’d stayed out of his way. He’d gone to the union bar with Mel, but the dancing hadn’t erased his troubled mind the way it used to, and he’d slunk home to read his textbooks. Might not be what people expected him to do, being a swot. But he liked to be one step ahead and more of an enigma. All he kept seeing, though, all he kept fixating on, as he’d roamed the dancefloor wanting to switch off or reading through boring mounds of drivel, was Dr Kenneth Lyons fucking a woman named Heather .
Even now, sat across from a stick insect with receding hair and creepy over-sized knuckles, his mind raced through thoughts of Kenny’s tough hands holding her down by her throat. His rough fingers grazing her delicate skin. Rasping beard leaving scratch marks on her neck, and how his luscious hair would fall into her face in a sweaty mass of passion as he pounded his overly large cock into her.
“You hit another boy in the face with a cupboard door.” Drew probably expected him to feel some remorse about that.
“I said ‘excuse me’.”
“Was it an accident?”
“Prick didn’t move out of the way.”
Did Kenny wear a condom to fuck Heather? Which ones did he favour? Extra thick, extra-long? Or did he prefer those scented ones filling up the jar on the welfare desk? And did he unravel it over his glorious, leaking prick, or did she do it for him while he fingered her?
“You ripped the door off its hinges.”
“That’s just bad craftsmanship. Maybe they shouldn’t opt for shit flatpack in student digs.”
Maybe Heather was on the pill. Or had one of those coils. Kenny would fuck her raw then.
Drew shifted in his seat. “I have to decide whether to let your corporate parent know what happened.”
Aaron snapped out of his rage to him. “Why the fuck do they need to know?”
“It’s a duty of care.” He raised his bushy, grey eyebrows. Why didn’t he trim them? “Do you not want them to know?”
Aaron turned away. “Couldn’t give a fuck. What are they gonna do? Tell my mum?” He chuckled.
Drew stared at him. “Why did you do it?”
“Because he pissed me off.”
“Why exactly?”
“I don’t know. Because he’s a prick.”
Drew cocked his head. “Do you feel remorse?”
“As in, do I feel remorse in general, or for that incident in particular?”
Drew waved his pen clutched between his forefinger and thumb. “Either, or.”
“I’m not sorry. He deserved it. He should be in here talking to you about why he’s such a massive homophobic racist.”
Drew wrote that down. Or wrote something down. Aaron couldn’t see what it was over the notepad on his lap as he raised his knee to shield the page. But Aaron had sat opposite many a therapist in his youth and they all wrote the same thing. That he was a troubled young man who needed to learn how to control his emotions.
What fucking emotions?
Did Kenny scream her name? Or did she scream his?
“How was your life before here?”
Aaron furrowed his brow. “What?”
“You’ve been in care.”
“And?”
“I’d like to know how that’s been for you.”
“Shit.”
“Can you elaborate?”
“Really shit.”
Drew wrote more words down on his pad, face stoic and unreadable. Aaron twirled a lock of his quiff between two fingers, reading up on how to spot the symptoms of meningitis. Is meningitis contagious? Could he get it, spread it onto Heather and they’ll lie side by side in hospital beds with Kenny having to choose which one he saves?
“Why did you choose this university?”
Dr Kenneth Lyons.
“Liked the location.”
“Where were you before?”
Perfectly happy not knowing Dr Kenneth Lyons.
“London. Woolwich.”
“Before that?”
“Why the fuck do you wanna know?”
Drew took off his glasses, nibbling the arm. “I’d like to get to know you a little. You seem annoyed. Angry at the world. Is there any reason why that is?”
Dr Kenneth Lyons.
Why couldn’t he shake this? Why couldn’t he rid himself of this dark, suffocating grip bearing remnants of Kenny’s hand around his throat as he’d kissed him, producing a seething force, living and breeding, spreading like a parasite, taking over every corner of his mind, consuming his every thought? Why did he fucking care ?
Drew popped the lid on his pen and turned behind him to his desk, where he dumped the notepad. When he turned back, he linked fingers and clutched his knee.
“Whatever you say in here is confidential.”
“I wish I’d killed him.” Deadpan delivery didn’t even make the bloke flinch.
He didn’t believe him. And he patiently waited for more. Aaron laughed. Which turned hysterical, so he scratched two hands through his hair, messing up the glorious pink quiff he’d spent hours styling so he’d turn up at Kenny’s lecture looking hot enough to fuck. Except he was here . Wasting himself on a bloke who looked like a Halloween decoration.
“Of course, I’m angry. Why wouldn’t I be fucking angry?”
“Because another student took a dislike to you?”
“Couldn’t give a flying fuck about that. Most people don’t like me.”
“Because he took a dislike to a friend of yours?”
“Rahul isn’t exactly a friend. He’s just a lonely kid. Confused and unsure. Probably wrapped in cotton wool all his life. Had his choices made for him. He’s not used to having his own mind. So doesn’t know how to take what he wants.”
“What does he want?”
“Me?” Aaron chuckled. Maliciously. Confidently.
“And do you like him that way?”
“I have my eyes on someone else. But I could keep him warm if that don’t work out. But I’m not sure he’ll last long out here.”
“Why’s that?”
“If you should make anyone come to therapy, it’s him. Flight risk. He’s this shy, quiet lad. No one would even care if Rahul went missing. He’d probably get all the way home and get married before the uni noticed.”
“Would that worry you?”
“What? That he went back home?”
“That he went missing?”
Aaron shrugged. “No skin off my nose, is it? There’s always someone else waiting in the wings for me.”
“So it isn’t him who’s making you angry?”
“No. Nor because some dick head called me a bender. Or because he showed himself to be a racist. Not at him at all. I just have this fucking knot, right here.” He prodded his chest. “And I can’t get rid of it.”
“What do you think is causing it?”
Dr Kenneth Lyons.
A timer beep went off. Saved by the bell. Aaron stood. “Are we done?”
“For now, but I’d like you to come back.”
“Is it voluntary?”
“No.” Drew leaned behind him for a pamphlet and passed it over. “I’ll send your schedule to come see me to your email. Please do. If you fail to show, administration might consider it a failure to comply. They’ll strike you off the course.”
Aaron snatched the leaflet and looked it over. Mindfulness classes. He scrunched it up, shoved it in his bag by his feet, then flung the bag over his shoulder and made for the door. “By the way, I’ve not seen Rahul since Friday.”
“Thank you for letting me know.” Drew reached behind him for his notepad and pen, once again scribbling it on his lap. “Would you expect to see him over the weekend?”
“Pretty sure he wanted some, so yeah.”
Drew peered up over his pad, face stoic, pen writing.
Aaron ripped open the door and bashed headfirst into a sturdy chest.
“Whoa.” Dr Kenneth Lyons stepped back, hands up.
“What are you doing here?” Aaron hated that his heart thumped a little faster.
“Came to see why you weren’t in my lecture.” Kenny peered over Aaron’s head at Drew. “Was it really necessary to take him from a core module?”
“He assaulted another student.”
“Didn’t assault him,” Aaron sang over his shoulder. “He was in my way.”
“Do you break the bones of everyone in your way?”
“Is a nose a bone?”
“Yes.” Kenny and Drew said in unison.
“And cartilage. You broke the bone.” Drew pointed the tip of his pen at him. “Quite impressive for opening a cupboard door.”
Aaron met Kenny’s gaze and once again, the world made little sense. Because there was a tiny, miniscule smidgen of a foreign concept that Drew had alluded to earlier called ‘ remorse’ at the way Kenny looked at him right then. As though he was disappointed .
But Aaron was Aaron and over his shoulder threw out the comeback flavoured with all the sass built over years and years of defending himself. “Sounds like a him problem. Shouldn’t stand too close.”
“What’s the suggestion?” Kenny asked the counsellor, ignoring Aaron’s smirk.
“He comes to see me once a week until we feel he’s ready to navigate the transition.”
Aaron rolled his eyes.
“Fine,” Kenny said. “Make sure the sessions don’t clash with his classes.”
“Of course.”
Kenny angled his head and Aaron, like the obedient dog on a lead he was, followed him down the corridor, out of the bustling student centre, and trundled down concrete steps into the wide expanse of the campus. The autumnal breeze a welcome coolness to his hot cheeks.
“You okay?” Kenny asked, stalling at the bottom of the steps.
Aaron shrugged.
Kenny bit his bottom lip. “You want to talk about it?”
“I just did. And I get to talk about it every week from here on in. It’ll be like reliving it.” He rubbed his hands together in glee.
“Let’s get a coffee.”
“What?”
“A coffee. I need one. Let’s get one.” He angled his head for Aaron to follow him.
“I don’t like coffee.”
“Then you can watch me drink it.”
Aaron hitched his thumb at the student centre behind him, inside which housed the large cafeteria. “They sell coffee in there.”
“Not there.” Off Kenny sauntered, an effortless grace in his movements, slow and deliberate, almost teasing.
Aaron traced the contours of his sculpted arse framed by snug fit chinos, paired with a shirt and jumper combo. His hair left loose, caught in the breeze, strands lifting and floating like the rustling leaves on the trees wafting the faintest scent of a crisp autumn day, Kenny could grace the glossy pages of the university prospectus. God, it was depressing.
How was it him ? This professor? This stuffy academic ? How was it him making Aaron feel things? Dr Kenneth Lyons was poison. He’d known that years ago. He’d ruined his entire life. And now he was here, messing with his mind and making him think things. He’d never thought it possible to have feelings for another person, and when he had, on occasion, wondered what sort of bloke he might end up with, it wasn’t this guy. Yet here he was, chasing his tail, following him to go get a coffee, which he detested .
Aaron caught up to him, Kenny weaving along the winding footpath snaking through the heart of the campus. His pace never faltered, almost hurried, passing under archways and beside glass-fronted lecture halls. The paths connected one faculty building to the next, forming a labyrinth of walkways and feeling increasingly detached from the bustling student centre they’d left behind.
Then, Kenny stopped at a quieter part of campus, tucked away toward the back where the Art Department resided. The air seemed different here, hushed, as if the noise of the campus couldn’t quite penetrate the secluded corner. Kenny obviously wanted privacy to have his coffee. And he bundled up to a wooden deck, rustic charm softened by the low hum of conversation from a handful of students scattered on benches outside.
“Sure you don’t want one?” Kenny angled his head to the hole in the wall serving coffees and pastries. “It’s good.”
“Tea. Milk. Two sugars.” He dumped his bag on a vacant wooden picnic bench and let Kenny order.
He came back with two takeout cups, raining sugar sachets and wooden sticks onto the table, then straddled the bench seat opposite him and sat. Neither said anything as they peeled the tops of their drinks and added sugars, stirring. Then Kenny took a sip, watching him, sipping on whatever coffee got him through the day. Aaron wrapped his hands around his tea, waiting.
“What happened?” Kenny eventually asked.
“Smacked a prick in the face with a cupboard door.”
“Why?”
“Because it felt good.”
Kenny sipped from his coffee. “Does it still feel good?”
“Yep.”
“Cling onto it. It’ll fade and you might feel the need to do it again.”
“Only if I’m provoked.”
“What provokes you?”
Aaron cocked his head, eyes narrowing. “How was your date ?”
Kenny didn’t move. Not a flinch. As if he’d expected it. “As well as first dates go.”
Aaron sucked in his bottom lip, refusing to look away from him. Kenny challenged him right back. God, he was hot.
“Why are you here?” Kenny asked.
“Because you told me to come with you to get a hot cup of shit.” Aaron flicked Kenny’s coffee cup with his fingers.
“Why are you at this university? In my class?”
Aaron sniffed, leaning away to attempt more nonchalance when inside he raged and boiled and seethed. “There aren’t many places offering the bursary packages for poor little care kids like me. Three six five accommodation? A welcome pack? A grand in my pocket? Thank you very much.” He lifted his tea in a toast. “You’re working your corporate responsibility thing well.”
“We call it widening participation. Corporate responsibility is allowing staff time off to volunteer, or giving donations to charity, getting students to collect rubbish in the parks.”
“Then thank you for widening my participation.”
“Why Forensic Psychology?”
“It is my dream to help shape how the police, courts, prisons and probation services understand and react to victims, witnesses and offenders.”
“Hello Google.”
Aaron winked.
“You said in your personal statement you were interested in the rehabilitation of offenders?”
“Did I?”
“What makes you interested in offenders in particular? Not victims or witnesses?”
Aaron shrugged. “Offenders fascinate me.”
“Why?”
“You’re not writing any of this down.”
“This isn’t an interview. Or a therapy session.”
“What is it then?”
“Me deciding if you’re worth my time.”
“And so far?”
“So far, you’ve given me fuck all.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Aaron widened his legs under the table to bash his knee against Kenny’s with a suggestive smirk. “I’ve given you something .”
Kenny shifted away, sipping his drink. “Where were you in care?”
“Not you as well.”
Kenny furrowed his brow.
“Counsellor Stick was asking all about my background, too. What is it? You got boxes to tick?”
“If we have, we’ve already ticked them.”
“Congrats.” Aaron lifted his tea, took a sip.
“You went to college in London.”
“Correct.”
“Where did you live?”
“A half-way house in Woolwich.”
“Where were you before then? Which school?”
“Many of them.”
“In London?”
“Fuck. Why do you care? I got the grades. And if people would actually let me attend the lectures and do the assignments, you’ll see I’m pretty smart.”
“I don’t doubt it. You’re sharp. And you know it. Your personal statement is simpler than it could be, just like how you strengthen your accent when you’re playing tough. But when you relax, or you’re off guard, your real accent comes out. Softer. I’d bet home counties. And when I ask questions, you deflect with responses designed either to satisfy me or to provoke a reaction. You are smart. And it’s likely a defence mechanism. But it’s not unconscious. You are entirely aware of what you’re doing.”
“Oooh, you’re good. Can see why you’re rated five star on Trust Pilot.”
“Were you in a private school?”
Aaron held his gaze, heart thumping. Then laughed. “I’m a care kid. What do you think? London Borough of Newham paying for me to go to Eton?”
“I think you had a vastly different beginning to your education than to the latter half.”
“I was home schooled until I was nine.” Why had he said that?
Kenny nodded, glancing over to the trees with a miniscule smile, as if congratulating himself for being so damn intuitive.
Prick .
Yet Aaron felt a hint of pride, too. Not for having been schooled differently to most in his early years, which had given him a thirst for music, the arts, and nature, but for giving Kenny a reason to feel triumphant in his assumptions.
Why the fuck did he care about confirming Kenny’s suspicions?
“What happened when you were nine?”
“Got taken into care. Shunted from one placement to the next. Couple of years in one foster home. Couple of years in another. Got into the half-way house at sixteen because I ran away from—” He shut his mouth, picking up his tea and drinking from it to prevent rattling his life story. Or, well, Aaron’s life story. Because he only started at sixteen. Before that…well, before that, he’d been someone else.
Kenny watched him, as if waiting for him to continue. When he didn’t, he asked another question. “Where are your parents?”
“Sitting in an office at the local authority.”
“Not your corporate parent. Your real parents?”
“Surely you should know not to ask a kid from care that. They could be in the ground.”
“If they were, you’d tell me they were.”
“Did you fuck her?”
Kenny inhaled, his whole body rising from the seat. “Who?”
“Heather.”
“You know that isn’t within an inch of your business.”
“I know.” Aaron took a sip of tea, eyebrows rising. “So did you?”
“No.”
Aaron couldn’t prevent the smile, so he let it loose. And he chuckled, bashing his fist on the bench and biting through a celebratory grin, much like Kenny’s, when he’d discovered he’d been right about Aaron’s upbringing.
“I kissed her.”
Aaron looked up. “With tongue?”
“No—”
“Then is that really a kiss?”
“Aaron.” Kenny lowered his voice. “You know this can’t happen?”
“What can’t?”
“We can’t have conversations like this.”
“I didn’t ask you to take me here, did I? You fucking did. And I ain’t asking you to fuck me, am I?” Aaron cocked his head. “Do you want me to ask you?”
“There are probably hundreds of men in this university who’d queue up to be with you.”
“I know.”
“So choose one of them.”
“I would if I could.”
“Why can’t you?”
“Cause I swallowed your spunk, and it’s given me a taste for it.”
Kenny darted his gaze to the other students. They were all too far away, lost in their own conversations to have heard. So he turned back. “That’s the most honest you’ve been.”
“I know.”
Kenny sighed, hands clasping around his coffee. “That was a different me.”
“No, it wasn’t.” Aaron shook his head. “That was the real you. This one is the fake.” He waved his hand over Kenny. “The one pretending he doesn’t feel what he’s feeling.”
“You think you know how I feel?”
“Yeah. I do.”
“Go on. Enlighten me with your profound psychological evaluation of my state of mind.”
Aaron leaned forward. Grinned. “You can’t stop thinking about my mouth stretched around your ten-inch cock. Or how you bit down on my neck to mark me. How you picked me out of that club because of some weird, psychic, fucking thing . You’re obsessed with me.”
“That’s your analysis?”
“Yeah. Bet my grand bursary on it.”
“What makes you so sure?”
Aaron swallowed, throat dry. He was hovering dangerously close to the edge of a cliff. And he wasn’t sure if he wanted to jump off or not. But he leaned forward, holding Kenny’s gaze and, voice low, said, “Because I fucking feel it too.”
“Aaron—”
“I don’t want to,” Aaron cut him off. “I didn’t ask for this. Do you think I want to keep thinking about you? About your hand wrapped around my throat? I went there to dance . That’s all I wanted to do. Fucking dance . Forget. Get through to midnight not thinking about it. Then you come along. You . Fucking you ! Dr Kenneth Lyons.” Aaron laughed, shaking his head manically, forgetting where he needed to draw the line.
Kenny stared at him a while longer. “Who are you?”
“Aaron Jones.”
Kenny narrowed his eyes. “Why can’t I find an Aaron Jones at any school in London in the past five years?”
“Surely there are a ton of them?”
“Not you, Aaron Jones.”
Aaron said nothing. Then a beep from a phone in Kenny’s pocket glided over the unrest. Kenny fished it out, checked the screen, then pocketed it. He stood, stepping over the bench.
“If you hurry, you’ll make the seminar.”
“What if I sack it off?”
“If you want to stay on the course, Aaron Jones, you’ll need to stay out of trouble.” Kenny clambered down to the pathway.
“Will you see her again?” Aaron called after him.
Kenny twisted to face him. After a moment of contemplation, he nodded. “Yes.” Although it was a rickety yes. As if he was convincing himself it was the right thing to do.
“Why?”
“Because I need to.”
“That’s not gonna keep me out of trouble, is it?”
“Then think about your dream.”
Aaron snorted, and fuck knew what made him sing, “Dream a little dream of me…”
Kenny stalled. Stared at him. Lips parting.
“Better hurry, doc.” Aaron slipped out his vape, inhaling it. “Class starts in five.” He blew out the smoke.
“That’ll kill you.”
“No, it won’t.”
He already knew what would.
Dr Kenneth Lyons.