Us Against The World

Voices. That's all they were - floating up through the floorboards from the hallway below. Three different tones, three different people. The words were muffled - difficult to decipher, but still audible. In the dark room, only filled with shadowy shapes, they were the only things which could have been of any interest to me - but yet, they were not. I knew what they were saying, despite the noise being little more than a low rumble; it wasn't hard to guess what the indistinct words were.

It had started with the doorbell being rung, followed by the scratching of the lock, opening of the door and then the stamping of boots on the doormat. Stephen had spoken first - quietly, with a hint of nerves. "We appreciate you coming, really. She's not come out of the room for days and we have no idea why. We wouldn't leave her in any other circumstance, but - well, you know."

"Of course, it's no problem." The second voice was the familiar low husk belonging to no other than Cyrus. I squeezed my eyes shut upon recognising his tone. Why did it have to be him?

"Thanks, Quincey." Melanie was last, along with the rustling of waterproof material as she struggled to put her coat on. "We shouldn't be too long, unless things run overtime. You'll try and talk to her won't you - she won't even respond to us. For any reason, you might be different, that's all we can do."

"Yeah, sure. You know I'm not any good in these situations, but I'll try. Do you know what the matter is?"

"No, like Stephen said, she hasn't come out of the room for days." She continued. "It's in complete darkness and she won't eat anything - I'm worried something chronic about her. It's ever since we came back from the hotel, that morning, although I don't think our leaving would have been the cause of it; she seemed fine before we left. Maybe she had a fight, with her friends, would that be it? Do you know anything about it?"

"No, I don't... But I'll see if I can find out, don't worry. Just take your mind off of it whilst you're out - that's what is important right now."

"Okay, okay, we'll go - we'll miss the appointment otherwise. Do you promise to call if you need us?"

"Of course." The door scraped across the floor once more and closed, leaving just Cyrus and I in the house.
There was silence for awhile, other than the steady patter of raindrops hitting the windows, before soft footsteps crossed over the floorboards below, and entered into the kitchen. The running of water from the tap, a clink of china, and the boiling of the kettle soon followed. It seemed strange for such noises to be so loud in an quiet house. It wasn't something I had ever experienced before. I'd grown up to the sounds of children arguing, yelling and thundering up and down corridors. Silence was foreign - and not completely wanted. Silence was loneliness. It was some time before he ventured up the stairs, and even then he was hesitant. I didn't want him here - I didn't want anybody here, but I was powerless to stop him.

He came slowly up the hallway, stopping outside of my door. There was a knock a few seconds later - a quiet, nervous knock. I didn't reply to it, only pulling my duvet more tightly around me and burrowing up to the wall as closely as I could. I felt safer there; enclosed in a warm cocoon. The door handle clicked as it was pushed down, the carpet swishing against the bottom the the door as a chink of yellow entered from the hallway. I hadn't expected him to stay outside - he'd never been one for tactful boundaries. The mattress dipped as he sat down on the end of the bed, his silhouette outlined by the doorframe of light. Again, there was a silence before he softly murmured "Hey." I didn't reply - I wasn't capable of replying. Even if I had wanted to, it seemed impossible. "I... Stephen and Mel are worried about you; they say you've been in here for days." He trailed off, his voice cracking as it had a custom to do. "You need to tell us what's wrong... We can't help you otherwise." They wouldn't have been able to help, even if they did know. "Is it... Have you had a fight with someone - Ceri perhaps?"

As quickly as I'd been rendered unable to talk, I found that I could once more - born purely out of anger. "Do you really think that I'd be like this, over Ceri?" My voice was little more than a croak - it hadn't been used in days, and my throat was dry.

"I suppose not. However, If you won't tell me what the matter is, I'm left with no other choice than to believe that that's it."

"I... I can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"I just can't!" There was no way that I could say what had happened to him. I had previously thought that he was one I could confide in, but this? This was so different.

"If you're not going to say, then there's really no point in me staying." The bed springs creaked as he stood up, and suddenly, I didn't want him to leave. I didn't want to be alone again.

"Cy, please... Just please stay." I choked out, turning my head to look at his figure shrouded in darkness for the first time.

"No." His tone was resolute, hard even. "I'm going downstairs. If you want to talk about the problem, then I'll be in the living room. If you don't - well, you can just stay here." He turned on his heel, and left, forcefully shutting the door behind him, leaving me in complete darkness once more. I didn't want to be without anyone else - the thought was terrifying, but I couldn't, just couldn't, tell him. Why couldn't he understand that? I didn't want to fight against him anymore - he was too stubborn, even for me.

It was cold out in the hallway - and dark. He had turned off the hall lights, and there was little sunlight due to the rain outside. Again, it was gloomy downstairs - other than in the living room, which was lit with a simple side lamp and a small wood fire in the grate. Cyrus was sitting on the sofa, in the place we normally fought over, reading a book. He began to talk, without looking up from his page, as he heard me stand in the doorway. “So, are you now going to tell me what the problem -” He stopped short as he finally turned away from the book to look at me. His brow furrowed in slight confusion as he placed the book on the arm rest, slowly standing up. “What... What happened to you face?” I could only shake my head as he hesitantly walked over, his eyes wide. I didn’t know what it looked like; I hadn’t looked in a mirror in over three days - not since that fateful Thursday night. But judging from his expression, it certainly wasn’t pretty. He reached out his hand for a moment, as if to touch my jaw, but seemed to think better of it and slowly lowered it back down. “It’s all bruised...”

“Cy, please...” I couldn’t continue to talk - it was all far too much. Before, I’d felt numb, unbelieving, but that all turned to pain that split second. As the overwhelming tears streamed down my face, he froze before quickly taking a step forwards and enclosing me tightly in his arms. I would have thought that it would have repulsed me, after what had happened, but it didn’t. His embrace was warm, comforting, with a deep feeling of safeness within it.

As I clung to him with a new-found disparity, I expected him to push me away - yet, he did not. He, instead, slowly led me over to the sofa and sat us both down, softly murmuring the entire time. “Shh, it’s okay. Everything is going to be okay, don’t worry.“ I wanted to believe him – more than anything, I wanted to believe him. But I couldn’t; not after what had happened. It seemed impossible to ever truly think that nothing bad was going to happen again. He stayed silent long after I had stopped sobbing into his jumper, still soothingly rubbing my shoulder in a circular motion with his hand – a comforting gesture. Once I had managed to completely quelled the tears, he drew back to try and look at me properly. "I… I know that you don’t want to talk about this, but you have to – we can’t help you otherwise."

"You wouldn’t be able to help me.” I could only mumble into the soft wool covering his shoulder, simply wishing that he’d leave the entire subject alone. I wanted to forget, not remember.

“I can’t judge that unless you tell me… Will you at least answer my questions?"

Not wanting to look at him I just burrowed my face further into his neck. He simply responded by tightening his arms around my shoulders and moving his chin to rest it on top of my head. "Maybe.” I eventually whispered.

“Right… This incident, whatever it is, happened on Thursday night – you weren’t at school on Friday?"
I slowly nodded. "I didn’t want to go to school. I couldn’t face it. By the time that Stephen and Mel came home, it was too late to go in."

"Okay… And it happened… On your way home from school?” This time, I could barely nod, let alone speak. The memories were flooding back with a vengeance – the rough, gritty hands, the putrid whisky odour and the pain… Oh, the pain. “Were you mugged?”

I let out a shaky breath, trembling slightly. “I wish.” Mugged – what an idealistic thought. As his silence continued, I came to realise that he wasn’t quite understanding it. “… There was a man, on the train with him – a drunk, I thought… I didn’t really pay much attention to him until he – he…” I stuttered, unable to say it, squeezing my eye shut and finishing with something else. “He must have followed me back."

Cyrus' breathing hitched in his chest, against my cheek, as it finally dawned upon him. "And this… Man. He – he attacked you?” Once more I nodded. “Evangeline, I – … Just one more, please just answer me truthfully… Did he… Did he rape you?"

That word. That vile, truthful word. I didn’t want to hear it – to think of it as that. It made me stiffen in response – and that was the only answer that he needed. The tears burst forth once more; it was something I no longer had control over. I didn’t want to cry, to be weak, but I didn’t have the capacity to stop it. Cyrus didn’t talk, nor seemed to even breathe, for what seemed an eternity. Eventually, he moved his neck, laying his cheek against the door of my head. "Nothing is going to harm you again, sweetheart, I promise you. You’re safe, I won’t let anyone hurt you."

"I know.”

“I… I’m sorry for being horrible earlier – in your room. I really did think that you’d had an argument with Ceri, or Emerson, or gotten upset over some boy. I was just trying to make you angry so you’d tell me. I would never have done it if I even thought for one moment that it was… This."

"It’s okay. It worked, anyway, I suppose."

"But it wasn’t right of me at all – it could have harmed you badly. I’m not going to even pretend to understand what you’ve been through, but I do know how much it hurts… To be betrayed by the greater humanity, to feel vulnerable wherever you are.” He trailed off, his tone becoming dream-like, almost translucent to the ear.

“What happened to you Cy?” I quietly asked, wiping my face with the back of my hand. “What makes you so wise?"

"I don’t like discussing it.”

“I didn’t like telling you either, but I did."

"This is… Different. I’ve only even talked to one person about it."

"Stephen?” I guessed as he shifted slightly in anxiety.

“No. Stephen knows, but only because the person I confided in told him – with my consent, of course. I just don’t like talking about it myself, it makes me remember, and I don’t want to do that."

"Again, I never wanted to re-live what happened –"

"Okay, okay.” He sighed, shaking his head the best he could in such a position. “You’re good at guilt-tripping, do you know that? Or maybe I’m just susceptible to it. Either way-"

"Cy, please. I don’t want to feel alone in this."

"Right… Right.” He muttered, his entire body becoming rigid as his voice tightened. “But I’m only ever going to tell you once, and I never want you to ask about it again."

"Maybe you should talk about it – if you’re so uncomfortable, talking it is supposed to be the best thing.” I didn’t believe that, there was no way in hell that I believed that, but I needed him to tell me, for no rational reason whatsoever, and persuasion seemed the only way for that to happen.

“Not in this circumstance. In others, yes, but not this one.” He spoke stiffly – a tone which I hadn’t heard him use in a long time. “I don’t want interrupted, or questioned upon it and I’m only telling you because… Because it’s only fair, okay?”

“Alright.” I agreed – he didn’t want to speak about this, I knew that, but how he was going to despite that, truly meant a lot to me.

“Okay. Right.” He stuttered, his breathing, again, out of rhythm. “You remember what I told you about my father – inheriting the business?” I just nodded, not wanting to put him off. “Well, as I said, my Nana died when I was six. My father, I think, was badly affected by this. He'd always been a bit of a drinker, and gambler, in the best of times, but after Nana died, he went completely off the rails. He would stay out a lot at nights, often several at a time, and whenever he was around, he was a raging drunk. It was simply better to keep out of his way - I learnt that quickly. My mother was no great comfort to either of us; I know that she suffered from post-natal depression after I was born, and that never really left her; there was a long-standing history of mental illness on her side of the family. When I was about five, she fell pregnant with my younger sibling, but miscarried early in the third trimester, due to a hemorrhage of some kind - I didn't really understand at the time. She wasn't an warm person even before that, but after... She seemed little more than a shell. It was always Nana who raised me, who took care of the house and made sure my father kept his head above the water. But, like I said, after she died, everything changed. The business suffered badly due to my Father's demon habits and he turned to the worst possible solution - loan sharks. In a few short months he ran up millions of pounds worth of debt to these sharks. They aren't exactly notorious for being nice, but these particular ones were the darkest of them all - they would stop at nothing to make sure they received their money back. Of course, I had no idea about any of this - I was just a child. My biggest concern was about whether dinner was going to be made that night, as it had become more frequent that not for there to be nothing to eat since Nana's passing."

He stopped for a moment, his breaths become even more shallow. "It was only a few weeks before my seventh birthday that it happened. My father, for the first time in months, seemed sober. He was taking my mother out to the theatre for their wedding anniversary - she'd been a heavily pregnant bride when they'd married. Anyhow, I was in my bedroom reading a book whilst sitting on the carpet when my father entered the room. He was dressed in his best suit, but he looked sallow and unwell. His expression was unreadable - almost grim, but with a forced smile upon. I was too young to recognise it as sadistic. I simply couldn't understand it. He entered my room slowly, walking with a hindrance, his hands from behind him. He told me that I was a good son, but the world was too dark for someone like me. He said he had something for me - a present of sorts. I was curious about what it would be, as any boy of that age would have been." Again, Cyrus paused, not wanting to say any more. He had raised his head by this point and was staring at the fire in the grate with a look of pure fear. Wetting dry lips with his tongue, he continued, his voice scratchy and full of pain. "He drew out a silenced handgun from behind his back, with a shaking hand. He shot me twice - once through the thigh and once though the stomach. He probably meant to aim for the head and heart - fatal blows, but he missed. And, like anyone would, I screamed. I was in agony - I'd never know pain of any similar magnitude. This would have alerted my mother, but before I even knew what had happened, he had turned and fired across the hallway, into their bedroom where she was. He left my room then, and went downstairs, leaving me crying. I tried to drag myself across the floor - I wanted my mother, my Nana, I even wanted him at that point. I didn't understand what was happening. Then I saw through into their bedroom. My mother was slumped over at her dressing table, a torrent of blood running down the white guild legs. He'd shot her through the back of the head without even a second's hesitation."

Cyrus stopped, raising one hand to press his knuckles against his forehead. I'd never seen him look this way - upset, angry, frightened all at the same the time. It was hurting him to talk about it; I knew that. "You don't have to continue." I murmured. "You don't need to tell me anymore."

"No," He resolutely shook his head. "I'm not finishing now. Not before the end." Squeezing his eyes shut, he stayed silent for a few moments longer. "I lost a lot of blood, from the bullet wounds, and I was only half conscious. But I could smell petrol, kerosene it turned out. My father drenched the entire house in the stuff, then set it alight before hanging himself from the rafters in the living room. The house was quickly consumed in fire, but it was slow reaching my bedroom. Eventually, however, it did. I couldn't move out of fear and pain - I could only watch as the flames creeped closer, only whimper as they engulfed me... I woke up over a week later in hospital with over sixty per cent body burns to the torso, arms and upper legs. 'Miracle Child' they called me - so lucky to have survived. So lucky to be covered in open wounds, to have severely smoke damaged lungs - to be in agony every waking moment. I had twelve surgeries on fire-gorged vocal chords alone. It was eighteen months after the incident that I could vocalise any noise at all - that's why my voice is all funny now; they never fully recovered and the scars, my scars, the doctors tried to fix them the best they could, but it didn't really work. Twenty-four skin graphs and three solid years later, I was discharged from the hospital and put straight in a care home - I was completely estranged to any relatives which remained. A lot of press coverage surrounded the entire ordeal; I've since learnt the true facts that I didn't understand properly back then. He thought that killing us all would be better than suffering the loan shark's wrath when they realised he couldn't pay back their money. The life insurance covered what the company owed the sharks, and just about managed to recover from its downturn. Perhaps he was right in his thoughts, I wouldn't know, but what kind of sick fuck can look their son in the eye and shoot him?" He ground his teeth together, jaw clenched as he let out a long-held breath. "I know that I'm not normal, I know that I act differently from how I should. I don't react in the same way that many people would, but that's only because of what happened. I - ... I still have nightmares about what happened; nothing scares me more than the thought of fire. It's not my fault, you know, the way I act. I just don't know any different."

"Yeah, I know." I murmured, wrapping my arms around his neck and he pulled me closer, the knurled scar on it seeming far more prominent than ever before. "No-one should ever have to go through that." It seemed unreal - a grotesque series of events, something that could only exist in a film. If he hadn't been trembling so violently, I would have had half a mind not believing him - thinking that it was merely a fictional tale as his dragon story had been. But it wasn't - it was real. He'd lived through every moment of it. Every painful, petrifying and heart-wrenching second.

He finally tore his gaze from the fireplace, looking down at me for the first time since he had began to speak. His eyes were large, watery and unblinking. There was a lost look about him, like a scared child. "And no-one should have to go through what you are right now."

"It doesn't seem real - almost like a dream. I just want to forget about it, but I can't."

Slowly nodding, he moved his jaw as if chewing on something. "You feel numb, for a while... And then the pain truly hits you. It's terrible, whilst it lasts, but it does fade over time."

"When does it stop?”

"I'll tell you if I ever find out."

The was a comfortable silence, during which we just sat there together, calm for no reason other than the knowledge that there was someone else who understood. I was tired, I'd barely slept in days, and with the warms of the room and the feeling of safety, I was beginning to fall asleep against his soft shoulder. "Cy...?"

"Yes?"

"You'll tell Stephen and Melanie, won't you? I... I don't think I can do it myself."

He nodded slowly, his rough chin rubbing against my forehead. "If that's what you want."

"Where are they? What did they have to go out for?"

I had a vague idea - I wasn't entirely stupid, but I simply wanted to know when I was going to be let in on the ‘big secret’. "I think..." He began slowly, his voice sounding sleepy as well. "That that is up for them to tell you, not me."

"Okay." I accepted that; if it was what I thought, he was right in saying it. My eyes grew heavy with sleep, and I welcomed it, before one last thing. "Cy..?" I again murmured, the now even rise and fall of his chest becoming a sort of strange lullaby.

"Yes?"

"Thank you... For listening."

“Anytime.”

////

It seemed many hours later that I awoke to the sound of the front door shutting. In a bleary-eyed state, I attempted to sit up, only to be pulled back with a hoarse whisper of “Pretend to be asleep.” Obeying for no reason other that I would actually have liked to go back to sleep, the door to the living room clicked open not more than a second later, and someone entered - judging from the light footsteps, it was Melanie. She paused in front of the sofa, not making any noise for a seconds before lowly calling Stephen through.

He walked through a lot less quietly, and spoke loudly when he entered “Oh, that’s good - he’s gotten her out of that blasted room!”

She quickly shushed him, before speaking in a lowered, somewhat angry, tone. “What does he think he’s doing?”

“Oh, don’t be daft, love. It’s completely innocent.” It was only then that it dawned on me what they were talking about - the closeness of Cyrus’ and my position.

“I wouldn’t be so certain.”

“I don’t think he even know what sex is; he’s harmless, really.”

“Stephen, of course he knows what it is, unless you’re suggesting that Angel -”

“It wasn’t meant to be literal, you know that.” Stephen roughly sighed. “Go and put the kettle on and I’ll wake them up. Hopefully, he’s managed to get something out of her.” Her footsteps echoed out of the room and once the door was shut, Stephen walked back over to the opposite arm chair and sat down. “Alright, she’s gone, you can ‘wake up’ now.”

With a squeeze on my arm, as if telling me not to, Cyrus spoke. “How did you know that I was faking?”

“You still have your glasses on, idiot. You know as well as I do that if there’s even the slight chance that you’re going to fall asleep, you take them off so you don’t accidentally break them.”

“I seem to have overlooked that.” Cyrus yawned, stretching out slightly. “Has she ever not been suspicious of me though?”

“Of course - but you can’t deny in this circumstance that you are being highly suspicious.” Stephen chuckled quietly before becoming serious once more. “Did you find out what’s wrong - with Eva? Did she tell you?”

“I, ah - yes. But don’t wake her, Stephen, she needs to sleep. Leave her here, and I’ll talk to you in the kitchen.”

“She need to talk to us, I -”

“Please, just go to the kitchen and I will talk to you about it. She doesn’t want to tell anyone else, not that it’s you, but she just doesn’t want to talk about it in general.”

“Right, okay.” Stephen’s voice turned quiet, less jovial than usual as Cyrus moved me off of him and laid me out across the sofa, as one would with a truly sleeping person. “Wait. What happened to her face?”

“Kitchen, now.”

They left without any more commotion and I sat up once I heard the door being shut. A low rumble of voices pursued through the wall joining to the kitchen, as they had from downstairs earlier that day. Only, this time, I couldn’t make out any words whatsoever - only a rise and fall of tones. That didn’t matter - I still knew the topic of their conversation.

It seemed like hours later when the noise stopped and the three of them returned to the living room. The atmosphere was uncomfortable - a tense feeling was obvious. None of them spoke, but Melanie sat down beside me and simply wrapped her arms around me in a hug. And for one moment, one fleeting, scarce moment, it almost felt as if I had a mother.