Chapter 18
the eighteenth chapter
AMOS
Marco reaches forward to stir the embers of the fire.
He’s about to open a door he hasn’t walked through in a very long time.
I’m sure there are a whirlwind of thoughts taking shape in his mind right now. His eyes are locked on that starry canopy as though it's anchoring him.
“I used to pretend the stars were a magical blanket over me and Mum,” he begins.
“As if they stood a chance of keeping us safe.” A dappled glow flickers softly across his face.
“When I looked out my window at night, I could almost imagine a world without him. Without all the shouting, without fear or pain.” His jaw tightens slightly.
“And I so badly needed there to be a world beyond those four walls. Because it was my own private hell.”
The words sink like a stone, heaviness blooming inside my chest.
He pauses before braving the deep.
“My name was Mark Watford back then. I grew up in a tiny town called Jundah.”
I’ve never heard of it.
“Where is…?”
“Middle of nowhere. Population one hundred and thirty on a good day.” The warmth drains from his voice. “Only time Jundah gets mentioned on the news is when it floods.”
I try to picture it.
A town that small, a region that remote.
“I’d never even been to a real supermarket until I was sixteen.
” I turn toward him in surprise. “But it wasn’t so much the town I loathed, it was my dad.
Selfish prick never gave us a chance. Drank all our money away, gambled the rest. Raised his fists instead of dealing with his anger like a real man. ”
He stares into the fire.
The flames match his mood.
“Homophobic slurs. Mind games. Intimidation. He used to lock me outside during thunderstorms before I was even potty trained, just to hear me cry. Mum would end up paying for it if she tried to help me. He loves to wind her up.”
The knot in my stomach tightens.
He’s been dealing with this his entire life?
I’m guessing that the panic attack during our beach trip wasn’t his first.
My brave sweet boy.
“We were trapped in that place. We didn’t even have a car or a phone. He left us both with bruises, black eyes, or broken bones whenever he lost his cool.”
Inside my veins, the blood begins to boil.
My hand grips the arm of the chair as he speaks.
“Sometimes we had to go hide next door at the neighbor’s house until things blew over. But Mum would always take him back. Every damn time. When I was little, I was terrified of the monsters tattooed on his arms. Skulls and demons, that kind of thing.”
◆◆◆
So many things are beginning to make sense.
No wonder he stays away from booze and ink.
I swallow hard.
But Marco's face softens.
“When I was five or six, I stole a page from this book I found while playing with the kids two doors down.
It was a photo of a house at the beach." His smile is bittersweet. "I noticed power lines in the corner of the picture. They looked kind of similar to the poles on my street. And I was convinced that if I just followed those lines out of town, I’d eventually reach the sand. I made pretend sandcastles in the back yard out of dirt. I was too young to understand that the nearest coastline was a two or three day drive. Even the closest bus stop or dentist was more than two hundred kilometres away.”
The fire crackles as his story unfolds.
“When I was old enough to yell back at him, I found my way to the edge of town. Never got far in that sweltering heat. One of the locals would always find me and drag me home. Dad would be waiting with his belt. I kept begging mum to leave him. Couldn’t leave her there alone.”
His voice breaks at the mention of her.
Is this the she that he left behind?
Tears well in the corner of my eyes.
I rest a hand on Marco’s knee.
His words flow quickly now.
“I stayed far longer than I should have. But one day he hit me so bad, I passed out on the floor. Knew I had to make a choice. Wait for him to kill me, turn out just like him, or leave it all behind. So I created a new identity, a new name and appearance so he could never ever find me. I’ve been living a secret life.
Because he will kill me if he gets the chance. He’s made that very clear.”
I can barely control the pain, the rage I feel toward his father.
That worthless bastard, robbing my love of his childhood.
I ache as though each blow was directed at me.
If only I could rewind time and shield that precious kid somehow.
Marco’s shoulders loosen, but the sadness in his eyes is palpable.
“Finally found the courage to escape without her when I was fifteen. Two days before my birthday.”
His shoulders loosen, but the sadness in his eyes is palpable.
I kiss him lightly on the wrist.
“How did you...?”
“Hitched a ride with a contractor as far as Longreach. Then I worked in a motel kitchen for a couple of months.” His voice brightens slightly. “You’ve heard me mention Beth?”
“Yeah, you were on the phone with her once. Said she was the closest thing you have to family?”
“She has been for more than eleven years now. I tried to steal a tablecloth from her restaurant the first night I slept on the streets. It was so cold, and I needed a blanket. She noticed my cuts and bruises. I was looking pretty rough with my black eye and split lip. She was kind enough to offer me a job and a bed until I could save enough money for a bus ticket to the city. She still calls me every month just to check in and see how I’m going. Maybe you'll meet her one day.”
I’ve never adored the name Beth as much as I do now.
“I’d love to meet her,” I beam.
“She’s the one who helped me get a job when I arrived in Brissy. And a bank account, some decent clothes, a proper birth certificate.”
He’s endured so much.
I want to cradle him in my arms forever.
“You were still a kid. You must have felt so alone.”
He nods slowly, reaching into his pocket to retrieve a small notebook.
The cover is creased, the edges wilting with age.
“I've never shown this to anyone before.”
He hands it to me.
◆◆◆
Inside I find a list several pages long, scribbled in pencil.
“These are names of towns?”
Marco nods.
“This is the notebook I had with me on the bus ride to Brisbane. Nineteen hours overnight. I was so nervous. Kept myself busy, writing down every place we passed through. Especially names that made me smile.”
Muckadilla, I read.
Mungallala.
The handwriting in the notebook doesn’t look like his.
Boyish. Uneven.
Nothing like the neat, tidy handwriting in his appointment schedules.
Einaeb. Trihs.
Retaw selttob.
Doof.
“What’s this? A secret language?”
“That was my escape checklist,” he laughs. “I spelled everything backwards. Doof means food.”
I cover my mouth to hold back the sob, but I can feel it brewing.
I can only imagine the strength it must have taken to pack that bag, being forced to make a choice like this at such a young age.
“And all these stars?” I ask quietly.
“Kept drawing them whenever I was missing her,” he shrugs. “Or feeling scared. I never realised until I got to the coast that my starry sky wouldn’t be there.”
Page after page of penciled galaxies fill the rest of the book.
I press my hand against them, wishing I could undo the past.
But there’s one thing I still need to ask.
I hold his hand to my chest, hesitant to say it.
“Baby, the burns and cuts on your back… did he?”
Marco averts his gaze, giving a subtle nod.
His words are barely audible.
“Glass bottle when I was twelve, because I took a shower for too long. And cigarette butts in the dark while I was asleep. That one started when I was four.”
“Four?” God, I feel ill. “You were a baby…”
My voice cracks open.
Fuck being strong.
Pushing my chair back, I kneel beside him.
This time the tears spill before I can stop them.
I wipe them roughly with my sleeve, but more follow.
My protective arms are decades too late, and I know there’s no way to erase it.
But still I wrap myself around him, as if by some miracle my love could ever be fierce enough to undo everything that’s ever hurt him.
“This hug is for Mark,” I whisper. “And this is for you.”
My lips are salt-streaked from heartache.
I kiss him as though he’s the only man in the world.
Because for me, he is.
His body crumples and I catch him, the dam bursting at last.
He’s carried this secret for so damn long, living each day as though he’s being hunted, haunted.
In his mind, the monster looms close.
In his mind, he’s still that little boy.
Fear has become a cage, a life of endless shadows.
We’ve never cried together before.
It feels surprisingly intimate.
I’ll kneel on this gravel for hours if I have to.
Neither of us are willing to let go.
“I’m so damn proud of you.”
“Proud of me?”
“You got away from that asshole. You followed those power lines to the beach. Little Mark would be so happy to know that.”
His head rests against my shoulder, eyes reflecting the glow of the flames.
My hand strokes up and down his back until his breath calms.
I'll never let anyone hurt you again, I vow silently. Ever.
We let the tears flow without shame.
His voice is muffled against my shirt.
“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to tell you all this.”
“And I’m so glad you did,” I say. “I know it took guts.”
“I was scared to say anything. Thought you might be angry that I lied.”
“Because you changed your identity to protect yourself?”
“Because I told you I was from Longreach and that Beth was my only family.”
I smooth a hand against his cheek.
“And there’s truth in that. You weren’t loved the way you deserved. But you are now.”
Oh fuck.
Have I just said it?
I know the L word makes him nervous.
It makes me nervous too, if I’m honest.
“No need to be scared,” I say to both of us.
◆◆◆
We cross the grassy slope back toward the dock.
The lake is serene and glassy, a twin reflection of every constellation.
I rock him gently, and for a while neither of us speak.
His eyes are still puffy, but the tension in his body has softened.