Chapter Fourteen Repetition
chapter fourteen
Repetition
“Who the fuck’s that?” Callum dropped the living room curtain back into place and turned from the window.
“A colleague.” Jude tried to keep his tone flat. Neutral. Hoping that would be enough. But Callum had always been able to read him. Peel back whatever mask he tried to wear.
“Colleague, huh?” Callum glanced towards the window again, looking beyond at where Jude supposed Warren was retreating to his car, thinking how he’d had a narrow escape.
Least one thing was for sure, Warren wouldn’t be seeking him tomorrow. Or the next day. Jude’s rudeness would be enough to turn anyone off. Another silver lining that he wouldn’t have to hear the rejection.
Callum adjusted the curtain again. A month now of living in perpetual dusk, the air heavy and stale, was wearing Jude down.
Summer was long gone, autumn at its peak, yet it would still be nice to let real daylight spill into the house.
Most days, though, Jude hid in his bedroom, listening for the sound of the door, waiting for that blessed moment when Callum left.
And he did leave. Sometimes. But he always came back.
He had a key now. Changing the locks would be pointless.
Callum would force his way in, claim the place all over again, using what he knew to keep Jude compliant.
“Doesn’t look like a colleague to me.” Callum cocked his head, scratching a hand through his buzz.
“He’s a teacher.”
“He’s a fucking pervert.” Callum stepped closer to him. “That’s what he is. Coming round here to get a sniff of you.” He groped himself over his jeans. “Wants to stick his dick in you. That’s what he wants.”
Jude closed his eyes. It didn’t help. Callum’s breath was at his ear, warm and sour, his voice a snake coiling tighter.
“Fine by me, lamb,” he said. “Used to like watching you. On your knees, eyes all big, lips all wet. Passing from one to the other.”
“Don’t.” Jude’s voice cracked, the word barely there.
“Don’t what?” Callum’s tone was pure mockery. “Remind you what you are?”
It took everything Jude had to open his eyes and meet his gaze. “How long are you staying?”
“You trying to get rid of me?”
“I’m trying to find out if you have a plan. One that doesn’t involve me.”
Callum chuckled, low and knowing. Sniffed once. Then he stepped back, sauntered over to the sofa and dropped into it, stretching his arms wide along the back, hooking his ankle over one knee. The pose of casual dominance he’d perfected years ago.
“If you want to entertain, go right ahead.” He tucked his hand into his jeans, palming himself. “I’ll watch. Might even jump in. It’s been a while.”
Jude headed towards the kitchen, because if he stayed in that room he’d say something he couldn’t take back. Or worse, something Callum would twist and use and spark the match that hadn’t been lit yet.
He threw his glasses case on the counter, then braced his palms on the laminate, hanging his head. There had to be a way out. He couldn’t let this start again. But every time he thought about picking up the phone to call the police, his mind hit the same wall: What exactly would I tell them?
That an ex-convict, freshly out on license and supposedly rehabilitated, had let himself into his home and wasn’t leaving?
They’d ask how he knew him. And he’d have to tell them the truth, or enough of it for them to guess the rest. That he’d once lived with him.
That back then, he’d traded favours, sexual favours, for safety.
For food. A roof over his head when there was nowhere else to go.
That staying quiet about what Callum and his mates had been doing had been part of the deal.
And that sometimes the deal didn’t matter.
Sometimes, Callum hurt him anyway. Sometimes, he’d let his friends do it.
Jude closed his eyes, memories pressing in. Hands that didn’t ask, laughter that didn’t care. He forced them back.
You’ll sound pathetic.
You’ll sound like you wanted it.
They’ll ask why you didn’t report it before.
And if the police came? What then? At best, they’d ask Callum to leave. He’d smile, all false charm, and talk his way out of it. A misunderstanding, he’d say. He thought they were still together. He’d nod politely, walk away…
Then he’d come back.
No piece of paper would keep him out. A restraining order wouldn’t silence him.
If he couldn’t hit Jude, he’d go for something else.
Something crueller. He’d poison the air around him.
Whisper into the right ears. Use those photos to show the school exactly who they had standing in front of their kids.
Jude had passed every DBS check. He was clean.
Cleared. But in teaching, all it took was one whisper.
One rumour. The truth wouldn’t matter. Lies had a way of staining everything they touched.
And if Callum did that, if he took away the one place Jude felt like himself, Jude didn’t know if he’d survive the next time Callum came back.
So he stayed there, braced on the counter, breathing slow and shallow, trying not to think about the inevitability of it all. The air shifted when hefty arms wrapped around his waist from behind, heavy and unyielding, lips hovering over the side of his neck.
“Don’t worry, lamb,” Callum said into his ear. “I have a plan.”
Jude tensed. Froze. The air ripped from his lungs.
“I’m owed some money.” Callum leaned back enough to speak, but he kept his arms locked around him, groin rocking into him, as if he was checking him out from behind.
“Once I get what I’m owed, I’m off.” He then yanked the tails of Jude’s shirt from his chinos, tugged it up, and hummed in satisfaction.
“Still there.” His smoothed his thumbs over the ink. “Yeah… still there.”
Then he pushed Jude forward over the counter.
“Don’t.” The word tore out of Jude before he could stop it. “Please… don’t.”
He’d told him no before. Politely. Begged. Even shouted it. It only ever fed him. Callum wanted to hear him plead. To stretch out the moment until Jude broke. So Jude had learned quickly that silence was safer. That letting him take what he wanted was easier than fighting.
But right then, the fight was back. Raw. Clawing through his chest, scraping at his ribs like it wanted out. He wanted Callum gone. Out of his house. Off his skin. Nowhere near his body. The need burned so fierce it almost drowned out reason.
Almost.
Because he still remembered the one truth he’d learned too well. The one that kept him breathing.
He didn’t have the power to make him leave.
Callum paused. But he stayed there. Suffocating Jude with only his heady presence. Hands roaming up his back, heavy breaths suggesting he was getting himself ready. Then a sharp buzz cut through the air. One of Callum’s burners. He stepped back with a low chuckle.
“Saved by the bell.” The sound of plastic scraping denim as he fished the phone out didn’t feel like safety. But Jude would take it. A click, and Callum’s voice tuned casual, businesslike, and he wandered into the next room.
Jude stayed bent over the counter for a moment, muscles locked, swallowing down air in deep pulls. He straightened by degrees, forcing his spine upright, coaxing himself to breathe as if nothing had happened.
Then his phone rang.
He flinched hard, pulse kicking. Fumbled it from his pocket with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking. “Yeah?”
“Hey, Jude? It’s Nate from Carter Cars. Alfie’s dad?”
Jude could have cried.
“Sorry it’s late but the part for your Romeo came in about five, so I stayed back and fitted it. If you want it tonight, I can hang around… or drive it over.”
Relief punched through Jude’s chest so hard it left him dizzy. “I’ll come get it.”
He ended the call before anything else could be said, grabbed his keys from the hook, and slipped out before Callum’s voice from the other room could follow him into the night.
The walk to Carter Cars was long, the wind off the sea carrying the tang of salt and rotting leaves, sharp enough to sting his nose.
But the cold outside didn’t trouble him half as much as the darkness he’d left behind in his house.
He trembled, survival mode burning through him like static.
He’d been without his car for weeks. If it was finally ready, maybe he could breathe again.
Maybe he could run. His trainers scuffed over gravel as he cut through the park, breath misting in quick bursts.
By the time he turned the corner past the chain-link fences and the Carter Cars forecourt came into view, he was breathless.
Light spilled from the open garage bay. Inside, Nathan was at the workbench, sorting tools, with Freddie behind him, leaning against his Peugeot, watching Nathan with a lingering gaze.
Jude slowed without meaning to.
“The survey came back all sound,” Freddie said to Nathan. “We’re good for the exchange in a couple of weeks.”
“Perfect.” Nathan clanged a tool into the box. “Told the old man we’ll be out before Christmas.”
“Be so fucking good to get some time together.”
Nathan glanced over his shoulder. “We’re together now.”
“This your idea of a date. Me watching you get all filthy.”
Nathan chuckled, sliding a spanner back into its rack. “You love me filthy. And I’m fixing your car. Should I be charging you for the view and all?”
Freddie tilted his head, roaming his gaze from the oil-streaked overalls hanging loose around Nathan’s waist to the vest clinging to his shoulders. “How much is your full service?”
Nathan turned to face him. “Expensive.”
Freddie widened his grin. “Babe, half these tools will be mine the second we move in.”
“Still not letting you anywhere near my tools.”
“Too late.” Freddie winked, waggling his tongue. “Been near your tools plenty.”
Nathan shook his head, crossing the floor in two easy strides. “Then you need to be dirty too.” He swiped a smear of oil across Freddie’s cheek, grinning when Freddie made a mock-offended noise.