Page 41 of Troy

I know Raff is awake, I can feel the tension rolling off his body. I also know my body craves his touch. I feel safe with his strong arms around me, but the thoughts in my head—this is never going to end; there will always be people, supporters of his vile father, who won’t forget me—still battle with my emotions.

As I lie here—as high-strung as he is—I try to calm myself, using techniques I learnt after Franco died. I know it’s going to be a long night, but then Raff speaks. His voice so quiet, I strain to hear him.

“I know how hard this is for you, Troy. I know, because it is hard for me, too. I don’t want to be within a hundred feet of that evil man and I haven’t seen him for over ten years. He still scares me, makes me feel small and weak again. This is not because of what he has done to me, but because he has hurt so much more this time; because he hurt you. You; the sweetest, kindest, most beautiful man I have ever been lucky enough not only to meet, but to fall in love with. He hurt you, knowing how much it would hurt me. It seems that he has always watched me. He has never forgiven me for surviving and thriving, away from his control.

“He lied when he said he was after seeing Corrigan. Mason has proof that he had been monitoring my movements, which, by default, brought you into his crosshairs. How am I ever going to be able to make that up to you? My only choice is to bring him to his knees. To prove to everyone that he is a violent psychopath. And to do this, I need to face him again and send him to jail. I need to stand up to him as the man I became. Despite his abuse, not because of it.

“I love you, Troy, so deeply that if you turn away from me, I don’t think I’ll survive. You are a part of me now. You are so deeply ingrained in my soul that you leaving me would fracture my heart. If you really choose to not go any further with the court case, I can only accept that. I will bring him down; I cannot live with him still a free man, I have no choice but to carry on. You being by my side will keep me strong. Every scar, every bruised and broken bone he inflicted on you, I would take for you, and more, if it meant keeping you here with me.”

When Raff grows quiet, I still hear and see his words floating around me. How can I deny this man justice? How can I even think it is easier for me to hide away, rather than hold my head up and be proud of who I am? I am a survivor: I survived his beatings, I survived the loss of the person I loved, I survived the loneliness of leaving home and running far away. I survived the absolute rejection from my family. So, why should I care if they see me now? Don’t they know who I am? Because I am a good man. A strong man. A man worthy of loving, and of being loved.

I unfurl my legs, my back stretching as I straighten, and hear Raff’s breath catch in his throat as he feels me move. I sense his hesitation, holding his breath, waiting for me to do something. Speak. Move. Touch. Any of them. He simply wants me.

But I need to work it out myself, and even though I know he means every word he says, I need more time to think. Bed is not the place for me to decide this; I’m too close to his heat, his scent, to him and he clouds my mind.

Rolling onto my back, a foot-wide gap exists between us but I stretch my arm out, the palm of my hand facing up, ready for his. “I understand, I really do but, please, let me work it out.” I whisper.

“Okay.” Raff’s sad voice echoes around the room.

I let my hand slide towards him, stopping as it nudges his, a sigh escapes me as his finger entwine with mine.

“I love you, Troy.”

“I know. I love you, too.” Suddenly, I’m exhausted and feel my eyelids drooping shut. The lyrics of a song I’ve been listening to a lot lately jumps to mind and the tones of Troye Sivan’s Talk Me Down swirls through my mind. Very appropriate; most of his lyrics are.

“I want to sleep next to you,

but that’s all I want to do right now.

I want to hold hands with you,

But that’s all I want to do right now,”

Waking up, my hand is still ensconced in Raff’s. We fell asleep with our hands clasped together, the knowledge makes me smile and shift. Raff adjusts as I move, turning on his side, letting go of my hand. I slide to the edge of the bed to slip out but Raff fidgets and mumbles nonsensically into my hair. Even in his sleep, he kisses me. A moment later he is fast asleep again, allowing me to leave.

I forgo my morning shower and decide to go for a run, so, moments later, I’m out the door and head down the drive. Without purpose or direction, I clear my mind and wait for any answers to come to me, but there’s nothing beyond the sound of my feet pounding the deserted streets. My iPod in my ears, I move to the upbeat flow of my running playlist.

This feels good. It is the first time since the attack, and the strenuous, physical therapy, that I have let loose and run. Apparently, my knee injury wasn’t as bad as the doctors first suspected, once the swelling had gone down and I was lucid enough to move it. Being this fit helped, too. I imagine Raff’s face when he realizes that, not only am I gone, I’ve gone running, it makes me laugh; I know he’s going to be furious with me.

Returning home, I hear Raff and Corrigan in the kitchen and Raff is agitated. I bet any money he’s pacing, and running his hands through his hair.

“Where the fuck is he? The cars are all here, so is his cell. Has he bugged out already?” Raff spits at his brother. “Nico hasn’t heard from him either, so, any minute now, he’s going to come tearing up the driveway, all guns blazing.”

“Then maybe you should have waited, Raff. He’s a grown man and he told you he wanted time and space. Why couldn’t you have waited for him? This is you, bro; you jump before you think. You always have. Don’t hand him the ammunition to kick your ass to the curb. And, why would he leave here, this is his home. It’s not yours.”

Okay, enough eavesdropping. I stroll in the through and watch Raff spin around and stare at me, looking me over from head to toe, then his eyes narrow. “You went fucking running? Shit, Troy, are you crazy? Do you want to bust your knee again?”

Fixing my gaze, I watch him step away from me then, silently, walk past him. I am not the baby he thinks I am.

“Way to go, Raff; you actually helped load the gun then. You’re such a dick!” Corrigan bursts out then I hear footsteps behind me.

For the first time in forever, I lock the bedroom door after I enter. Heading for the shower, I feel every happy endorphin the run induced wash away and I’m left in confusion.

I spend an hour in the sun, after calling Nico and filling him in on what’s going on in my mind and in the house. I let him bollock me for running, but only because he would do the same thing; running is his go-to when the shit gets tough, too. I realize what I want to do: I want to visit Franco’s grave. I get up and make my way inside. Raff peruses some of the legal shit Mason left last night; this time I pay him the respect he deserves.

“I’m going out, I won’t be long, I promise.” Permitting my fingers to graze his arm, I don’t miss the flare of hope flash in his brilliant, emerald eyes. They dim as quickly when I move on and he nods.

The cemetery bathes in bright sunshine and quite a few people visit their own lost loved ones. I pass through quietly, bringing only a single white rose; Franco’s favorite. What is Raff’s?