The Stepfather (MxM) ✓

Chapter 1

I took a breath and forced myself to move, if only to nudge him with the toe of my boot - breathing a sigh of relief when he didn't react. I slumped against the kitchen drawers, catching my breath, eyes locked on Henry as his shoulders rose and fell with every breath.

He was still alive.

I didn't know if that was a good or bad thing.

What I did next was purely instinctive. I'd only have a few minutes before he woke up, and I didn't want to be there when that happened. Scrambling from the floor and sprinting upstairs to my room (tripping over my own two feet on the stairs in my haste). I could have just locked the door behind me, braced myself for another onslaught once he woke up.

But I didn't. Instead I rummaged under my bed, digging out an envelope that I had shoved back there months ago.

There were three things inside of the envelope.

A short note, a number, and a one way plane ticket.

It took a minute for me to bite the bullet and dial the number, hands still shaking. The phone call was brief, and I barely gave the person on the other end the chance to speak.

"It's Sam. I'm coming over."

Then I hung up. I didn't want to hear her response, and I didn't have time anyway.

In hindsight, I should have given some more details. What if she had called back, and Henry had answered? I never showed Henry the letter, but there was always a chance he could find me.

Granted, that would mean he would want to find me in the first place.

What I was doing was the best for the two of us. It was. It had to be.

After the call, I grabbed a duffle bag and shoved what I thought of as the essentials into it. Clothes, passport, a book, and the envelope.

My entire life in one backpack. Instead of dwelling on that, I counted myself lucky that I could travel light.

When I made my way back downstairs, I was quiet, making sure that he hadn't woken up before getting to the door. It was only when I started to pull the door closed behind me that I heard a low grunt.

Okay. Definitely time to leave.

Hiking the bag higher up on my shoulder, I started to run.

Taking a cab to the airport would have bled me dry of any funds I had on me, so grabbing the nearest bus to the airport for a few quid was my best option.

The ride was uneventful, and yet my heart still raced. Clearly it hadn't caught up with the fact that I was out of immediate danger. Other than standing up to give my seat to a heavily pregnant woman when she cast daggers in my direction (in my defense, I was a bit too dazed to notice that she was pregnant in the first place - eyes fixated on the seat in front of me), nothing happened. But I was on edge enough to think that something would. Something would stop me in my tracks and pull me right back to where I started.

I had just left my father bleeding on the kitchen floor.

What kind of monster did that?

A monster of circumstance was the only answer I could come to.

It was when I was six that I noticed the picturesque childhood I had was a sham. My parents went from hiding arguments behind closed doors, to out in the open for their kid to see.

Their arguments weren't unlike the ones that Henry and I had now.

But they escalated day by day until they turned into screaming matches at night, so loud that I had to cover my ears with a dinosaur pillow and the neighbours banged on the walls for them to shut up.