Chapter 4 #2
It was hard to believe what happened that morning.
He was lucky he’d not broken any bones. It had been reckless, leaping at the bike.
Then again, maybe not so reckless. Look what it had led to.
Look where he was living. He stared at the pool.
Never in his dreams could he have imagined a job like this.
He hadn’t seen his bedroom yet, but he knew it would be lovely.
Newt twisted the waistband of his boxers in his fingers.
He’d never felt safe naked. Not as a child when Sean used to flick his backside with some item of clothing, or when his father used to tease him about the size of his cock.
Not when he was locked up in the YOI or prison.
Not in the hostel. It always felt as if he was inviting trouble when he took his clothes off, so he showered only long enough to get clean.
He never lingered. He didn’t need to have that mindset now, though he still felt a little uneasy.
He sat on the side of the pool and dangled his feet in the water.
No one had ever touched him in the wrong way, though that wasn’t true of some of the looks he’d got.
Invitational, threatening, leering. He’d done everything he could to make sure no one realised he liked men.
Not that being straight would have saved him if one of the bigger guys had decided he liked the look of him.
Those sorts of men didn’t care whether or not the guy they’d selected to give them blow jobs or take their cock in their arse was gay.
He’d never seen anyone being forced but he doubted saying no was an option.
Newt stood up and went to get a blue-striped towel from a neatly rolled stack on a shelf.
He dropped it next to his clothes, then took off his boxers.
Time to stop worrying. He didn’t bother with the steps but just slid into the water, groaning with pleasure.
Oh God. So warm. Like a big bath. He’d not had a bath for over seven years.
The pool was shallow enough for him to stand with his head out of the water, so if it turned out he couldn’t remember how to swim, he wouldn’t drown.
Swimming turned out to be like riding a bike or—hopefully—driving a car.
Once it was learnt, you retained enough in your head to manage the activity, something called procedural memory.
He’d learnt about that on his course. It was a type of unconscious, long-term memory, where you could recollect something without having to think.
Pity that didn’t work for River’s speech and reading.
Though it made him wonder if River had ever watched his own films. Would he remember the script?
It was worth trying. Or they could try singing songs River knew?
Newt headed off for the far end of the pool doing front crawl.
He’d never swum without trunks before. It felt wrong and a bit weird, but even before he’d reached the end of the pool, he’d changed his mind.
Having nothing between him and the water was freeing.
And because he probably wasn’t supposed to be doing this naked, it felt even better.
He’d toed the line for so long, followed the rules, now he had the chance to be a little bit bad, he was enjoying it.
He’d try and get River in here with him tomorrow, though he’d have to borrow some of his swimwear.
Hopefully something baggy just in case his cock let him down.
He thought again about River’s behaviour.
With all the warnings, Newt really had expected him to be worse.
If he’d been in River’s situation, he’d have been frustrated, angry and unhappy too.
Lashing out at people who were trying to help him was sort of to be expected.
Newt remembered enough from his degree course to be able to help him, and to understand what was going through his head, though he was nowhere near an expert in speech therapy.
That required two years of post-grad study.
At one point, he’d thought about pursuing that and decided against it, not just because of the cost, but awareness that he might be unable to get a job afterwards because of his criminal record.
It was soul-destroying to have that albatross around his neck for the rest of his life when he’d never done anything violent.
Was it any wonder he wanted nothing to do with his family?
They couldn’t give him back those years he’d lost or make his future what he’d wanted it to be.
His front crawl improved the more lengths he swam but when he grew tired, he climbed out.
Newt pushed to his feet and dragged his fingers through his hair to shed some of the water.
He froze when he thought he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.
But there was no one in the room and when he looked through the glass, he couldn’t see anyone outside, so thought he must have imagined it.
Maybe a bat had flittered past the window.
Newt dried himself off, wrapped the towel around his waist, picked up his clothes and went upstairs with his bag from the hall.
He picked the room next to River’s. It was a palace compared to what he was used to.
Instead of a single bed with a thin mattress and cold concrete floor, this room didn’t just have a large bed, but a couch and a small table, along with a beautiful bathroom.
The grey carpet under his bare feet was soft and thick.
He’d probably never have a bedroom as lovely as this, ever again.
Let alone the fabulous bathroom. No bath, but it was shiny clean with underfloor heating.
The shower was the longest he’d taken in years.
When Newt came out of the bathroom, he dressed again.
He needed to make sure River ate something.
As he emerged from his room, he could hear him clattering around downstairs.
Newt found him in the kitchen, making himself a sandwich, struggling to spread peanut butter.
He didn’t offer to help. River was feeling helpless enough already without being reminded of it.
“Is that all you want? You don’t fancy cheese on toast? Or beans on toast?”
River ignored him.
Newt made himself a sandwich too. “Would you like a coffee or tea?”
No answer.
River picked up his sandwich and left the room. Patience and persistence were key. The years Newt had spent locked up had been good preparation for dealing with Mr Awkward.