Chapter 5
Five
The war between them lasted almost a week.
River was determined he’d win. Newt kept smiling.
River kept scowling. Newt behaved as if River was being perfectly reasonable when he knew he wasn’t being reasonable at all.
Newt’s tolerance drove River nuts. Particularly annoying when it was supposed to be the other way around.
Max rang almost every day and River sat seething as Newt told him everything was fine, that they were getting on well and River was ‘no problem at all’. Bastard.
Childish petulance made River awkward about everything.
Newt’s patience never faltered. Every day he sorted out the mess in River’s room, gathered everything that needed washing, made the bed, tidied what needed tidying, then went down with the laundry.
And fucking smiled, chattering cheerfully as he did it. Bastard!
Speech therapy was another battle. Newt kept trying to persuade him to speak, showed him apps he could use and River stayed silent. Newt never gave up, just waited, tried again later, and that annoyed River more than it should have done.
Physio wasn’t a battle between him and Newt but the usual tussle with Jorge.
The sessions were the only times Newt left him alone, when River sort of wanted Newt to save him.
River hated Jorge with a passion. Physio shouldn’t hurt that much, should it?
Not during, nor after? When Jorge had gone, River dragged himself to bed and fell asleep.
Whenever Newt came in and woke him, River just kept telling him to “fuck off.” But he didn’t.
Newt was nowhere near as easy to get rid of as the rest had been. Each time River held up the You’re fired sign, Newt laughed and pretended it said something completely different. “I have nice hair? Thanks.” Or “You like my arse?” It had been hard not to laugh.
Food was another battle. River sometimes ignored the meals Newt had prepared and made his own. The only time Newt reacted was when River tipped food into the bin and Newt lectured him.
“Please don’t throw food away. It’s unnecessarily wasteful. If you won’t try to communicate what you want, I have no choice but to guess. If you don’t fancy it, then leave it. I can eat it another day.”
River was furious that he felt guilty. He existed on sandwiches because he was making a point.
When hunger and boredom got the better of him, he scraped the meal Newt had made into a plastic container and took it to his room.
It looked terrible but tasted fine. It all ended up mixed together in your stomach anyway.
He continually let his room get into a mess, dropped his clothes where he took them off, made no effort to straighten his bed.
There were towels all over the bathroom floor.
And a mini-mountain of shoes in one corner of the bedroom.
He’d start to sort them and get fed up. Three days he did that and Newt never batted an eye.
River took books off the shelves in his office and left them on the floor.
Took out all the cereal boxes and left them on the work surface.
How far could he push Newt before he broke?
How much more could he take from Jorge without screaming?
On the seventh day of their battle, River woke in his room after a late-afternoon nap to find Newt sitting on the chair, as usual, but he was asleep, which wasn’t usual.
He sprawled like a lazy cat with his legs spread, arms flopped by his side and his head barely supported by the chair back.
There was a book about the Romans on his lap.
At least River assumed it was. There was a gladiator on the cover.
He’d noticed that Newt didn’t have many clothes.
One pair of jeans, which he was currently wearing, and grey jogging bottoms when the jeans were being washed.
A couple of cheap plain T-shirts. Two cheap sweaters, one with a rip.
Why was that all he’d brought with him? Was he on the run from an abusive relationship? Where did Max find him?
He quietly swung his legs off the bed and pushed to his feet.
Newt always seemed to be moving. Cleaning, tidying, sorting…
This was a chance to see him when he wasn’t.
River had noticed if he stared, it made Newt uncomfortable.
Catnip to River. It wasn’t as if it was a hardship staring at him.
He just didn’t get the chance to do it very often.
Now, he could stare all he wanted and he went as close as he dared.
No green eyes on view but River let his gaze wander over every other inch of him.
Sharp cheekbones, straight nose, strong jawline…
His ears stuck out a bit from his hair, a little pointy at the top.
Maybe he’s a faerie. River allowed himself a rare smile.
His neck was slender and River imagined putting his mouth there, sucking, leaving a mark…
And his cock thickened. Oh fuck. That was good and bad, though as long as Newt didn’t—
Newt opened his eyes, took one look at River and freaked out.
He flung himself off the chair in such a panic, he fell on the floor.
What the hell? River stepped away. What did Newt think he’d been going to do?
Newt quickly regained his composure and pushed to his feet.
Fortunately, River’s cock had also freaked out and was limp again, otherwise Newt might have had an eyeful of the bulge in his jeans.
“Planning my murder?” Newt asked.
“Fuck off.” River wanted to say sorry but he couldn’t. He swallowed hard. Try! “Sn…st…ow.” Fuck. That was the most he’d tried to say for days.
“Were you by any chance trying to say sorry for freaking me out? Or was it—what are you doing in my room again, wanker? Or—is that book on the Romans any good? It is.”
River held up a finger. Not the middle one.
“The first?” Newt asked. “Sorry for freaking me out?”
River nodded.
“I apologise for overreacting. You startled me. I really am just trying to help you. I wish we could communicate. I wish you could tell me what you want. I know it’s not much fun for you but you can get better.”
River shrugged.
“I’ll assume that’s a yes, I understand.”
He could assume whatever the hell he wanted.
“Max said you can’t read or write. Are you just fluent in fuck off?”
They were the only words he’d mastered so far.
“The fact that you can say those words whenever you like shows that language will come back. It’s a positive sign.”
Oh. River perked up. No one else had told him that.
“Sometimes people recover from aphasia to find they have a foreign accent. So don’t be upset if your voice sounds wrong. It can be fixed with therapy.”
What the fuck? River’s voice was his life. He was so tempted to tell Newt where to fucking get off but all that would come out of his mouth was a load of nonsense, so he pressed his lips together.
“If I ask questions, will you answer with a nod or a shake? Please?”
Being polite wouldn’t get this guy anywhere, but River was tired of fighting, tired of sandwiches and mashed up food, tired of not winning, tired of a life he didn’t want.
“Do you want to get better?”
Idiot. Of course I do. I’m not going to nod.
“I’ll take that as a yes. You’re fed up and frustrated.
I would be too.” Newt paused. “This is going to sound weird but being miserable can be sort of comforting. It’s a state of mind that becomes a habit.
People adapt to their surroundings and circumstances and if they expect to be miserable, then that’s how they continue to feel.
You need to break the pattern. Do something different. ”
Fuck the hell off. River didn’t like being miserable. But then, had he done anything to improve his mood?
“I have an idea for something we can do outside tonight, but you have to eat first. Sit at the table with me. Not bring your food up here.”
Outside? River didn’t want to be curious, but he was. And he was hungry.
“Will you come down?” Newt asked.
River shrugged.
“I’ve made enchiladas. They were on Linda’s list. I’ll go and heat them up. Twenty minutes.”
As Newt left the room, River’s gaze slid to his backside. Small and tight and… Fuck! Bad idea. Really bad idea. Exactly the sort of arse that River liked. He wasn’t into bubble butts. Not that he’d ever touched… Oh God. He couldn’t go down now for a bit.
He unzipped his jeans, slid his hand inside his boxers and… He went soft. Fuck my life.
When River went into the kitchen, and saw what Newt had done, his jaw dropped. Everywhere he looked there were strips of white paper stuck to things. There was writing on them. Labels. I can’t fucking read. Irritation surged. But what was he going to do? Have a temper tantrum and stamp his foot?
Newt was washing dishes. River came up behind him and waited to be noticed.
When Newt turned, River let out a laugh.
Newt had labelled himself: his forehead, chest, arm, stomach plus a long strip of paper that hung out the front of his jeans.
Very long. Four letters. Could be penis but River suspected it was cock.
Or dick. He looked at it carefully. It had to be cock.
The first and third symbols were the same.
So a C? He could remember how to spell? Oh God. His heart clenched.
“I don’t think anyone has ever stared so long at my crotch,” Newt said. “If you keep doing that, I’m going to get the wrong idea.”
River was so tempted to unzip him. Just to piss him off. But then maybe he wouldn’t have been pissed off and that would have led River into water deep enough to drown in. He put on his best blank expression.
“I know it looks childish, but it will help.”
River said and did nothing.
“Do you want a drink?” Newt asked.
River filled a glass using the fridge dispenser. He was going to drink the water himself but he offered it to Newt.
“Thank you.”
Then he filled another one.