Chapter 12
THEO
All week it’s been eating away at me that there’s something not right about Bailey.
How he acted at the harbour reminded me of when I first met him.
The way tears glistened in his eyes as he struggled to talk; that’s the Bailey I’d forgotten.
The Bailey I’d cleaned up in the woods when no one else gave a shit.
The Bailey I wanted to protect from his shitty mum. The Bailey I swore would never hurt me.
I want to know why he’s acting like he doesn’t remember the night I left.
That’s why I came here. But being that close to him was like sitting next to an open fire.
Warm and familiar at first, then gradually getting hotter until it felt like the flames would consume me.
I don’t know why I thought I’d be able to get through tonight.
I turn the cold tap on and splash my face to cool down just as the bathroom door flies open, banging against the wall.
“What the hell was that?” Bailey demands.
Nope. I was definitely wrong to think I could talk to him. I freeze at the sound of his raised voice, staring at my reflection in the mirror. I see my eighteen-year-old self, wide-eyed and scared looking back.
“Teddy, we need to talk about this, because I don’t know what’s wrong. This is more than just the break up.”
Of course it’s more than the fucking break up.
“I didn’t mean to end things between us, I swear. It was Shane—”
I turn to face him. “What was Shane?” I snap, feeling like I’m vibrating out of my skin.
“Everything! He said I didn’t deserve—” He cuts himself off, then grabs my arm, stepping into me, backing me into the corner. “Just tell me what I did, please.”
I put my hand on his chest to stop him getting closer, unable to think or look at him. He’s messing with my head, like he did all those years ago.
“Come on Teddy, you know me. I wouldn’t have said those things to you if I had no other choice. I loved you—”
“No. You don't do that to someone you love, Bailey. We were kids. Neither of us knew what love was, but that wasn’t fucking it.” I push his chest again but he doesn’t move.
“I wish I’d never met you,” I rasp. A sharp pain shoots through my chest as the lie leaves my lips.
However much I hate him now, I know I loved him once.
I must have, or else it wouldn’t hurt so bad.
I’ve never felt anything close to it since.
Bailey’s mouth goes slack, and he puts his hands on the wall either side of my head. “You’re a liar … you don’t get to say the time we had together meant nothing to you, Teddy. I was there too. It was everything.”
I’m shaking my head before he’s even finished. My breath hitches as I meet his gaze. Tears threaten to spill from his eyes, light bouncing off rings of gold. Memories of that night try to push through, but I close my mind to them and try to focus on breathing.
His chest rises and falls quickly as he draws short breaths.
He looks terrified, and so much like the sixteen-year-old Bailey I remember that I find it hard to piece the two versions of him together.
Fractured moments slip through: the first time he spoke to me, the first time I kissed him … the first time I told him I loved him.
Bailey rests his forehead against mine, and I freeze at the contact, trying to swallow around the lump in my throat.
Tears stream down his face as he holds the knife to my throat. “You made me do this!”
“Move,” I say hoarsely.
Ignoring me, he leans closer, breath puffing against my lips. “No.”
“Move!” I shout over the high-pitched wailing in my ears.
Bailey growls in frustration. Tearing himself away from me, he punches the mirror, glass shatters everywhere, and I collapse to the floor with my arms over my head, a whimper falling from my lips.
Flames burst through the glass windows climbing up to the roof. A blistering heat bites at my ankles as the ropes catch on fire.
“Jesus … I-I’m sorry, Teddy,” Bailey chokes out. He touches my arm hesitantly, and I flinch away from him, trying to back myself further into the corner.
“Fuck,” he breathes.
Head still buried in my arms, breathing through the nausea, I listen to him pacing the bathroom.
“Shit … okay. I don’t know why I did that … I don’t know what the hell is going on.” The desperation in his voice is palpable. “Should I get Robbie?”
I look up and shake my head. If Robbie finds out, he won’t stop to think before going for Bailey.
My ears have stopped ringing, and I don’t feel as though I’m going to throw up anymore.
With a clearer mind, I focus on Bailey. Trying to reassure myself that if he wanted to hurt me again, he would have done it by now.
“I really think I should get him,” Bailey repeats.
“No,” I manage to say through a tense jaw.
Rubbing a hand over my face, I take one last deep breath before gripping the sink to pull myself up.
I’m hit with a headrush and sway, trying to catch my balance.
Bailey stays as far away from me as he can in the small room.
I look around and see there’s blood splattered across the floor and amongst the shards of glass—dripping from Bailey's fist clenched tightly at his side.
“Clean yourself up,” I say calmly, as though I didn’t just break in front of him.
I open the door and hear a choked sob. When I look over my shoulder, Bailey’s wiping away tears roughly with his undamaged hand. My chest tightens at the sight of it.
He said he doesn’t know what happened to me the night I left England, and I think I'm starting to believe him. I’m not ready to unpack what that would mean, so I slip out and let the door swing shut between us.
An hour passes as I roll from side to side, moving the cover off, then on, then off again until I’ve had enough.
I jump out of bed, heart thumping and body vibrating with energy.
I check my phone and see Isla’s posted a few pictures from the pub last night: Rob and I deep in conversation, Rob winking at the camera, me frowning.
Then a bunch of photos from the barn restoration.
I pause on a photo of Bailey kneeling, hammer held mid-air as though he’s about to bring it down.
An Alice band pushes his hair away from his face, his brow creased in concentration. He seems so normal …
I storm into the bathroom and turn on the shower, hoping to clear my mind, but once I’m under the water it goes straight back to Bailey. How terrified he looked when he begged me to tell him what he’d done.
A growl of frustration escapes me as I press my fists into my eyes.
I don’t want to think about what it means that he can’t remember.
Was it such an insignificant time in his life that he just forgot?
Whilst I have to relive it every time I close my eyes.
My head spins, and I lean against the cold bathroom tiles.
I just need to fucking sleep then I’ll be able to think more clearly.
My cock throbs uncomfortably, and I look down to find that I’m hard.
It’s been weeks since I’ve had any kind of relief.
I want to ignore it, but the release might actually help me get to sleep, so I pump a little conditioner into my palm and reach down to massage my aching balls.
My cock kicks at the sensation, and I slide my hand up the length of it, taking a firm grip.
I try to think of nothing; just feeling my hand work over my shaft in a steady rhythm. My thighs tense as my foreskin rubs over the sensitive head, each pass of my fist dragging me closer to the edge—then the memories flood in again. They flash through my mind so quickly it makes me dizzy.
Bailey lies under me, and I grip his sweat-slick thigh. He clings to my shoulders as we grind against one another desperately. Then he’s suddenly leaning over me, eyes filled with tears. My wrists and ankles are bound tight by rope, the sickly sweet scent of death thick in the air.
I gag and release my softened cock, slapping my hands against the cold tiles. The echo ripples around the bathroom, and I collapse to my arse, letting the shower wash away my tears.
There are no clean cups in this bloody house.
I slam another cupboard door shut and groan when I see the mountain of washing up.
It’s eight in the morning and I’ve had little to no sleep; I just want a coffee.
I do the only sensible thing I can think of—ignore the mountain and pluck out a cup and a teaspoon.
“Morning.” Robbie’s voice, gruff from sleep, fills the silence. I watch as he walks into the kitchen … wearing just a jockstrap. I freeze with the kettle in my hand.
“Close your mouth, you’ll catch flies," he says, pushing two fingers under my chin.
I smack his hand away.
“So, you and Bailey, huh?” he asks, leaning against the counter, crossing his arms.
“I’m not talking about Bailey.” I keep my head down and finish making my drink.
“Why? Was it that bad? Isla seems to think—”
“Yes! It was that bad,” I bristle, turning to point at him. “You and Isla need to mind your own business. I mean it.”
“Why didn’t you tell us? Or me, at least. You know, out of everyone, I would understand.
Twelve years Theo, and you said nothing about making friends, or having a boyfriend while you were in England.
Now I’m thinking you’ve been hiding other shit from me, because when you came back to Skye, you were a different person.
If that had something to do with him, then I want to know,” he says with a bite to his words.
And that’s exactly why I couldn’t tell him.
I doubt much would have stopped him from going straight to Surrey to find Bailey back then.
He would have got in trouble and I’d have been dragged into the spotlight.
I didn’t want to relive the experience over and over with every person I told.
Because it wouldn’t just stop at Robbie, or Isla.
I’d have to tell my parents, my grandparents, the police.
It’s my fucking story and I should be able to decide if I share it or not.
For twelve years I let it fester beneath my skin and haunt my dreams. But now … this is the most I’ve consciously thought about that night since I came back to Skye, and I’m not sure my memories can be trusted anymore.
“I can’t take you seriously when you have your arse hanging out,” I say.
“Stop changing the subject,” he counters. “Tell me why you hate him so much?”
My grip on the cup tightens. I’m done. I need to get out of here, to go for a fucking walk or … something. “I’m leaving now.”
“No, you’re not. Talk to me,” he says more softly, taking a step towards me.
Not again—my body feels fit to burst. I’m trapped, and he's not going to let me leave.
“Let me help y—”
“I said no!” I yell.
Shit. Coffee drips down the white wall and the shattered remains of my cup lay scattered across the stone floor.
“Okay …” Robbie says, staring at the mess I made. “You’re not doing this shit with me, Theo. Not again. Go get your gym clothes, we’re going out.”
“I don’t want—”
“Theo,” he says, raising his voice. “Go get dressed.”
I leave the kitchen like a scolded child and go upstairs to get ready.
I hadn’t even realised I’d thrown the cup until I saw it broken on the floor.
It’s been years since I've been this out of control.
My memories are bursting at the seams, threatening to consume me.
I stare at my reflection in the wardrobe mirror, determination flickering in my eyes—I think I'm finally ready to pull on the thread.
When we get to the gym, Robbie heads to the punching bag, handing me his spare boxing gloves. “You need to work some of that anger out. You need to talk to me … or someone. Anyone, Theo. You can’t keep it inside like this.” He stands behind the bag, holding it steady. “Start punching.”
I’m silent as I hit the bag, each punch jarring as it sends a dull ache through my arms and shoulders. I keep going until the adrenaline I felt earlier releases in short bursts of energy.
“I met him when I was sixteen,” I say, “about a month after we moved to England. We played a game of football together and his brother made a bad tackle. Fucked his nose up.” My breathing speeds up as I pick at the old wound.
“I helped clean him up, and should have left it at that, but I wanted more. I wanted to be his friend.” Punch.
“I wanted to look after him.” Punch, punch.
“I fucking fell in love with him, Rob, and it made me weak.” Punch, punch, punch.
“His brother warned me not to get close, and I ignored him.”
The memory of that day comes to me so fast, I have to stop punching, feeling as though my heart might explode. It was the last time I’d spoken to Shane …
“Bailey likes to play games. Just be careful, yeah?”
I search his face, not believing a word coming out of his mouth. His ice-blue eyes hold my gaze, cold and unblinking, lips curling up into a grin.
The memory shifts to the night that destroyed me.
Ice-blue eyes stare back at me, wet from tears, yet cold and distant.
Blue.
Always blue.
My breath hitches as I meet his gaze. Tears threaten to spill from his eyes, light bouncing off rings of gold.
They have different eyes …
I gasp for air, leaning heavily against the punching bag. Either my memories are so distorted they’re playing tricks on me. Or Bailey wasn’t …
“Hey, are you okay?” Rob asks, putting a hand on my shoulder. I shake my head, stepping away from the bag.
“I’m done.” I bite the velcro on the gloves to rip them off, feeling sick. If Bailey wasn’t there, then that would mean Shane—why the hell would he have done that?
I only just make it up Robbie’s stairs to the en suite in time for the contents of my stomach to come up. As I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, there’s only one thing on my mind.
I need to speak to Bailey.