"What on earth were you playing at!"
I lay in the hospital bed, eyes fixated to the ceiling and angry. A nurse, who has been looking after me with a grim face since our arrival, finishes bandaging my forehead where Micheal hit me and asks me how my breathing is. I nod to indicate I'm okay, and she walks off, scribbling onto a clipboard.
"Seriously Ae, I cannot fathom the level of stupidity and utter foolishness you exhibited today." My Head of Sixth Form continues lecturing me, maintaining his "you're acting like a child" narrative.
"I am so disappointed in you, you're a good kid and I don't understand what came over you..."
I don't know what happened when I passed out, all I know is when I woke up I was being wheeled through A&E on trolley bed, and Michael was being lead, firmly by the arm, elsewhere by a stern looking male nurse. My throat is sore, my neck stiff, my head pulsing and my body generally feels like someone has lined it with lead.
My teacher's yelling is hurting my head more than it already does, and he hasn't even given me the time of day to explain myself. I just want to be back in my apartment watching a movie with Pete. No scratch that; I just want Pete. There's only so much more of this I can take before I lose my mind.
He rises from his chair, starting another period of pacing.
"You can't just punch someone because they upset you – what's going to happen to you in the real world if you do that, huh? You'll go to prison for assault!"
That last word bugs me more than anything he's shouted at me since I woke up.
"Assault?" I say, lowly, shuffling to an upright position in my bed.
"Young man, are you talking back to me?" The teacher stops and raises an eyebrow.
"Sir, please can you listen to me?" I maintain eye contact with him, trying to convey my frustration and desperation. He stuffs his hands into his trouser pockets.
"Fine. Tell me then Ae, what justifies this inexcusable behaviour?"
I swallow, knowing what words I need to say, but not confident in my ability to utter them without breaking down – and it's not even my trauma.
"You said 'assault' but... but, that's exactly why I had to do what I did." Now, more than ever, I need to pick my words with the utmost care.
"You're not making sense," he says, impatient.
"At the ball, back at Christmas, Pete-" I try to explain, balling up the edges of the plastic-like hospital blanket in my fists.
"Pete? What does he have to do with this." His refusal to listen to me frustrates me even more, but suddenly, the Sixth Form Secretary appears by his side clutching a smart phone. She speaks in a low voice, glancing at me with concern in her eyes.
"Steven, you need to see this." She hands him the phone and he tosses me a look that reads "I'm not done yet" before playing the video on the screen. It's shaky, and loud. I hear kids cheering and the distinct shouting of Michael and myself. I hear once again the slurs that bastard hurled at me, and the sound of bodies hitting the floor in what I can only guess is our fight. Both staff watch the video, highly concerned, but something in particular makes my teacher's face fall.
"You see, I just want to make that fucking twink squirm - he's got such a good ass and soon he'll know what real dick feels like."
He quickly pauses the video having seen enough, and turns to me with a much more serious expression. He looks up for a second, searching for the right words, and while part of me feels relieved... and slightly smug that he's having to eat his words, I also feel nauseous hearing Pete spoken about like that.
"Clearly," he begins, "there's something more serious going on behind the scenes and perhaps-"
Before I even realise what's happening, someone sprints past both him and the secretary and dives at me, arms flinging around my neck and head colliding with my chest. A pain shoots through my body at the impact, but I very quickly realise who it is.
"Pete?" I exclaim, tears flooding to my eyes as I allow myself to just act on instinct and wrap my arms tightly around him. I raise his head with my hand. His face is tear stained and blotchy, nose runny and eyes bloodshot. I laugh shortly, my eyes clouding even more.
"I didn't die, why are you acting so dramatic?" More tears slip from his eyes and I wipe them away with my thumbs, heart wrenching.
"I could hear you fighting," he cries whilst clambering up on to the edge of the bed and tracing his fingers over my white bandage, "but I couldn't bring myself to watch you get hurt so I hid away like a coward."
I grab his hand, pressing it firmly between my own.
"Look at me," I say, "if anyone here is a coward, it's me. I couldn't confront my emotions and turned to violence." I admit, the guilt of what I've done pooling in my stomach. He smiles weakly and hits my arm very lightly.
"Promise me you won't go fighting people again," he chokes, tucking stray hair behind my ear with his free hand. I place my lips briefly to his forehead, desperately trying not to cry, when I'm reminded of where we are by our teacher. He clears his throat. The secretary, still holding the phone, has a small smile on her face, and speedily turns on her heel and heads to the other end of the ward.
I shuffle over and let Pete sit properly next to me, and slightly to my surprise he wraps an arm around me and my head rests against his shoulder – isn't this usually the other way round? Either way, I'm not complaining.
What follows is difficult, and something I do not want to repeat. Pete, with a tense body and a lump in his throat, retells the story of what happened in London to our Head of Sixth Form, who sits heavily in his chair with sympathy in his eyes. I hold Pete's hand, squeezing it hard as he discusses the finer details of his assault. While I am filled with immense pride for his bravery, I cannot help but be aware that his trauma will not end here.
Once Pete finishes talking, the teacher expresses his sadness and disgust over what happened before sliding a phone out his pocket, turning and walking purposefully toward the other end of the hospital where Michael had been taken. I smile, fully aware of the sheer rage that son of a bitch is about to be met with. But I don't want to think about him, not anymore.
"Pete?" I ask, interrupting his fussing over my cushions.
"What is it, Ae? Are you in pain?" He responds, quickly and urgently.
"No – well yes, but that's not the point. Can we go home now?" I plead, the hospital smell and uncomfortable gown beginning to get on my nerves. He jumps up from the bed without another word and hurries off in search of a nurse, returning with a discharge form and a clear bag containing my belongings. He draws the curtain around the cubicle. With a sigh of relief, I slip out of the creaky bed and shed myself of the gown. Pete takes it from me and folds it up neatly and begins to arrange the bed while I change back into my blood-stained clothes – how classy.
Pete finds me a pen and I scribble my name onto the discharge form, and then we exit the ward, leaving the form with the receptionist who's expression reads 'I am fed up of teenage boys getting into fights and wasting NHS resources'.
As we enter a hallway, I see a flash of yellow in the corner of my eye. I stop, peaking through the small window into a singular-bed room. There's a policeman wearing a high visibility jacket holding a notebook, walkie-talkie flashing intermittently. Then, to my delight, I see Micheal, nose bandaged and face bruised lying on the bed, arms folded, staring at the ceiling and crying. I beckon Pete over, and he places his face next to mine, a hand quickly covering his mouth to conceal a gasp. I link my arm through his and lead him away, not wanting to get caught snooping. He leans into my ear and whispers, "I think that might be called 'karma'". I laugh, and he smiles, the pain in his eyes much lesser than of late.
Things are going to be okay, even if it takes time.
---------
Back at my apartment I was treated like a princess. Pete, regardless of my insistence that I could look after myself, tucked me into bed and kept me fed with a steady stream of soup, comfort food and hot drinks. That night he washed my hair for me, changed my dressings, and did not stop until I was asleep. While I was concerned that he was ignoring his own emotional stress, the pounding in my head and my pulsing bruises repressed my urge to resist him.
The following morning, we were visited by the police.
The officer, clearly used to dealing with students, referred to us as 'lads' and was generally very friendly. I described to him the altercation I had with Michael, and he revealed that the video had in fact been filmed by Ben, and while he would not normally condone filming physical fights, it had been helpful in discerning who was at fault. I was given a sharp warning to not fight in school again or face suspension, which I accepted sheepishly. But then he turned to Pete.
Once again, the video was key in building a case against Michael. As the officer described it to us, he had openly hinted at future assault, which gave further credence to Pete's account which he again, bravely relayed. And once again, I remained firmly by his side. We were thanked for our cooperation, and the officer gave Pete an enveloped filled with meditation techniques and helpline numbers for assault victims before bidding us goodbye.
We spent the rest of that day reading through the guidance Pete had been given, trying out some yoga positions marked out on a picture guide and eventually collapsing into heaps of laughter on the floor when we realised how foolish we looked. This time, I took the time to fuss over Pete. I knew how valuable this time was, and how he needed both mine as well as his energy to focus on his emotional recovery.
And I'd be damned if I was going to desert him now. No way in hell. I am far too deep in love with that boy, and you'd have to kill me to take me away from who I love.
--------
A year and a half has passed since I gave my statement to the police. I am glad to say that Michael was expelled from school, moved to a youth detention centre for a while before being transferred to a special school on the other side of town for kids who can't be placed in mainstream schools. Over that time I have experienced emotional turbulence and emotional hardship, but the person I am today is strong. I am confident in myself and my life, and have found such solace in my best friend and my partner; Ae.
It is cliché to say I could not have done it without him, but I feel that sentiment so deeply, and would happily scream it from the very top of a mountain. But for now, to myself on this train will have to do.
It's summer, we've finished Sixth Form. Exams behind us and university just around the corner, we're headed to Bournemouth beach to celebrate our hard work and freedom. The sun is high in the sky, its glare through the train window straining my eyes, but I frankly could not care less. Ae is next to me – he always takes the isle seats wherever we go – having an intense but cheerful debate about football with Brandon and Ben. I don't really understand it, but the grin on Ae's face is infectious, and I cannot contain my own smile.
Tabitha and Milo are in the seats opposite us, both asleep with one earbud in, heavy music spilling into the carriage. They never once left each other's side all this time I've known them, nor have they never not had my back, or given me undying support, and for that I am eternally grateful.
I think 'tranquil' is the only word that really describes how I feel currently. In comparison to the emotional rollercoaster of last year, both myself and Ae dedicated our time to growing as people and also as a couple. Ae has matured. He's bigger, the direct result of becoming gym partners with Jack, and generally looks... older. But, older in a way that he hasn't all changed. I'm not explaining myself very well, am I? He's more studious now, and I am immensely proud of his academic achievement over the last year, even if he is easily side-tracked by, er, his hotblooded nature.
We're both legally adults now, and our emotional maturity definitely matches up to it. Tabitha, in her eagle-eyed way, frequently tells me that we act like an old married couple that only just met – still sickeningly sweet, but stable in our relationship.
I love him. There are no other words I can say that so perfectly sum up my feelings for him. He is my rock, my lover and my best friend. We lead each other through the dark and always find the light at the end of the tunnel, no matter its length. My roots are with him, and his with me, and together we are grounded. Does that convey it enough to you? I love him.
In my reverie I tap him on the shoulder, a pout on my face. He turns around instantly, subtle concern in his eyes. "What's up?" He says, holding my hand and running his thumb over the face of the watch he gifted me all the way back then. I have worn it daily ever since.
"I just wanted to remind you that I love you." I whisper, the rattle of the train carriage and the hum of the engine masking my words to everyone but him. A smile cracks across his face and he turns his body fully toward me. Somewhere in my subconscious I hear Milo awake and exclaim they can see the sea. Both Ae and I turn our heads, met with the glistening blue of the ocean stretching across the horizon.
"It's beautiful," Ae breathes, cupping my face, glancing only briefly at the sea. "Pete?" He asks. I nod, covering his hand with my own.
"As far as the horizon stretches, you'll stay by my side, right?"
I roll my eyes. "You know it goes on forever, don't be silly." I sigh, but I understand the real meaning of his words.
"That's the point." He grins, and places his lips to mine for a brief moment. "You're stuck with me forever now, you know?" He jokes, eyes locked on to mine. I allow myself to briefly examine his face, my senses to take in the smell of salt and the familiar scent of what I can only describe as 'home' before me.
"I wouldn't have it any other way."