by Claire Davis
ThE InvAsioN
of
ADaM
by
Claire Davis
and
Al Stewart
Beaten Track
www.beatentrackpublishing.com
College life, fun nights out, guys everywhere—Adam thought his life was perfect…
Until he met Tork.
Green-haired Tork creates origami models and reads Dickens. He lives in supported housing, and he is absolutely not impressed by money.
Adam and Tork come from opposite worlds, but even as Adam fights it, the attraction stays strong.
Will Tork win the battle to understand his past and be well? Is there another Adam beneath that polished surface? Can they overcome their differences, and will there be dancing at midnight?
Find out what happens in a year of Adam, Tork, and Dickens the cat.
Sequel to The Invasion of Tork but can be read as a stand-alone.
* * *
Content warning: this story includes reference to self-harming and non-explicit intimacy between consenting male adults.
ThE InvAsioN of ADaM
First published 2015 by Beaten Track Publishing
Copyright © 2015 Claire Davis and Al Stewart
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent publisher.
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
ISBN: 978 1 78645 001 2
Cover Artist: Noah Homes
Beaten Track Publishing,
Burscough. Lancashire.
www.beatentrackpublishing.com
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
Dedication
Prologue… Christmas Eve
Chapter One… Ten Months Previously
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
The Christmas Eve Dance
About Claire Davis and Al Stewart
By Claire Davis and Al Stewart
Acknowledgements
With thanks to:
Ofelia, Amy, Kristan, Kaarina Luoto, V.W. Singer, Flo, Layla, the jellies, and all the people who read The Invasion of Tork, and requested a sequel.
With even more thanks to:
Debbie McGowan, Noah Homes, Jonathan Penn.
Dedication
This story is dedicated to baby Christopher
* * *
Synergy
Touch me and I am warm,
Smile and I am brave,
With you I am ever strong,
Beside you I can never fail.
V.W. Singer
* * *
Prologue…
Christmas Eve
Tork
All week he’d fought the craving, but now it was just metres away. Walking turned into a lope, until the concrete floor resounded the slaps of his desperate, running feet. He had to see, just this one last time. He ran past crumbling walls, turning finally around the last corner.
The garage was still there.
Relief and disappointment battled away inside his head as his eyes roamed the walls—the dripping corner, piles of rubble, black bags and litter, the shelf… It was all the same, waiting for him, silently, as if knowing he’d be back.
His heart thudded so violently, the shock waves landed right on the tips of his ears, and for a while, oily nausea halted the panic.
shouldn’t be here…
ungrateful and disloyal…
Just in time, he remembered to breathe and thought of Adam’s sleeping face. One hand clutched the other as Tork let his eyes roam the wreck, telling himself he would not come here again, ever. But still, his fingernails tried to dig in, too deep. It took more focus than it should to uncurl them before they broke the skin. He had to keep them cut very short, cut off the avenues for opportunities.
He shook his head angrily, trying to clear it of stupid reminders. Months of therapy…yet occasionally he still felt bound by the bad things.
Rule: pain is pure and as solid as the sky and the earth. It will never let me down or abandon me.
“And the rule is shit and has no power over me,” he said firmly, counting his heart’s beats until they slowed.
Of course, he just wanted to remind himself how bad it was here; he had no reason to be guilty about the visit. Prickling unease made him look cautiously back through the alleyway, but there was no accusing blonde head. Tork wasn’t doing anything wrong, but coming here today would be difficult to explain.
Last year, this abandoned garage, away from the world, had been his only home. Now he had a flat, and was happy, but…
He trod carefully through the puddles, towards the shelf where he had once placed his belongings and things of great value.
“Tork!”
Tork jumped, banging into the wall as he spun around to face the voice. Adam. Of course it was Adam. Tall and handsome, he stepped into the opening like an urban warrior climbing through a poster.
“What are you doing here?” Adam demanded. “You said you wouldn’t come again. Why would you wanna come to this shithole?” He threw his hands on his hips and waited.
“You followed me?” Tork asked carefully, not wanting a row.
“I was just making sure you were OK.” Adam flung his arms out defensively. “Why didn’t you answer my call?”
“I am sorry. I came out for a walk, and then—”
“A walk? Out here in the land of the apocalypse?”
“—and then, I remembered I was near. There is an item I left here, long ago.” Tork wanted to kiss Adam now, though. He wanted to walk away and leave this sorrowful place forever. Even in this wasteland, Adam shone. Occasionally, the brightness was too much, like looking at the sun without blinking.
“You left what? Part of your lung from coughing? The smell of piss? Why would you come here, when you could be with me?” Adam clamped his lips firmly, but not quickly enough to stop the wobble.
Tork looked at him steadily, waiting for Adam to rub his forehead. He always did when he was upset or hurt.
“No. Let me show you what I left. It means a great deal to me.” He held out his hand.
Adam glared at it, and for a minute, they both waited for him to ask Tork when he’d last cleaned it. But those days were gone.
Adam stalked across and grabbed his hand, then kissed it tenderly. “I was worried,” he murmured, rubbing his forehead with the other hand and shrugging.
Tork squeezed his precious hand, and pulled him closer. “Look, just there. See that shelf?”
Adam leaned to look, his blonde hair falling across his handsome face. “What am I meant to be noticing?” He frowned.
Most of Tork’s abandoned origami models had grown damp and collapsed, but the tinfoil star still stood proudly. “That star. See?”
Adam peered sidelong at Tork, his lips twitching. Not exactly a smile, but near enough.
“I saw you once, outside the shelter, singing Christmas songs. A year ago, now. You were in a very bad mood and probably singing swear words.”
Now Adam was definitely smiling.
“It
made me think of a star, with bad attitude. See how its corners all turn at different angles? It is saying, ‘Yes, I have to be here shining, but I don’t like it. I am bright and beautiful, but fuck you all.’ That star is going on the top of our Christmas tree.”
Now Adam was laughing, his wide mouth cracking open and his dark blue eyes gleaming. “Whatever, dude. Get the crappy star and let’s get out of here.” But he was pleased, picking up the star and gently cradling it in his hand. “What about those?” he asked, pointing at what was left of the models.
“Let’s just go, and never come here again,” Tork whispered, wanting to get Adam home. “Just rubbish, and we don’t need them.”
They left together, but at the last minute, Tork saw Adam scoop up the old shapes and hide them in his bag.
* * *
Awakening
From an eternal feeling winter
to a glorious spring you take me.
Burnt down by brilliant wildfire.
Kaarina Luoto
* * *
Chapter One…
Ten Months Previously
Tork
He kept away from the other young people in the flats, but it was Monday morning, which meant the dreaded ‘Community Meeting’. Every week, they had to assemble together in the main building and supposedly talk about community matters—antisocial behaviour, life skills, and other terrifying-sounding concepts that made Tork’s heart race.
At first, he didn’t have to go, but after a few weeks, his integration worker decided he was ready to face all the other young people who lived in the Citywise supported housing complex.
And here he was, slinking at the back, like always. Of course, it was useful to know about drug taking and kitchen hygiene, but what he yearned to be doing was the real day’s task—reading and analysing the next four chapters of the hefty book on his bed. But thankfully his ungrateful thoughts were interrupted by one of the staff.
“Does anyone have any community concerns this week?”
Tork thought about pollution and the small patch of spring flowers beginning to bloom outside his flat. He was extremely worried about the welfare of the stray kitten who sat outside his window on the fire escape, but did that count as a community concern?
“Yeah, I’m fucking sick of you idiots throwing up on my doorstep. Piss off and do it somewhere else,” one of the girls said, looking around at the room, challenging.
“Thank you, Kirsty. Anyone want to answer that one?” the worker, Alex, asked, reasonable as ever.
“It’s always Kevin,” a boy shouted. The rise in his voice made Tork long to edge away towards the door, slip through and escape.
But he had to try. They had already given him so much, and now, here, he was living his dream. He had warmth and safety, a shower twice a day. Community matters were as much his responsibility as everyone else’s.
“Fuck off!” another boy, presumably Kevin, spat, but his voice lacked conviction. Tork had seen him too, staggering around every night, with eyes like doom.
“Kevin, thank you for owning up,” Alex said brightly. “We have group rules about alcohol, which everyone signed. Come and see me later for a chat. Anything else anyone wants to bring up before we look at how to open a bank account?”
“The rent’s too high.”
“You’re ripping us off!”
Their complaints were indecipherable to Tork. It was a supported housing project for young people in distress. People like himself. He watched Alex patiently explain again why she had no control over the rent.
Out of the corner of his eye, outside the window towards the bushes, the flowers were just beginning to open. Their fragile leaves blew in the wind, making him feel guilty for having to fight off his desperation every time he came to one of these meetings.
Coward.
The little cat was sitting outside, waiting for him like always, not brave enough to come too close, but seeing him there made Tork smile.
A movement drew his attention to Kevin, who always sat alone because the other kids said he smelt. He had black fingernails, brown teeth. He made Tork’s heart ache. Kevin looked up bleakly, and for an instant, they locked gazes. Tork smiled and nodded slightly; after a moment, Kevin smiled back.
“OK, everyone, can we all sit around the table? I have some bank forms here for us to look at.”
This was bad, because Tork would have to sit facing people. Looking at him, leaving him nowhere to hide. He was very stupid not to have worn his hoodie to hide under. His integration worker was wrong. He would never be ready for this.
“C’n I sit next to you?” It was Kevin.
Tork remembered his manners. “Of course. Please sit here next to me, and we can help one another.” He stared at the bank forms bleakly.
“Does anyone already have a bank account?” Alex asked, looking around at the shuffles and blank faces.
Tork had never spoken at a meeting or a life skills class, even when Alex looked pointedly at him. He just couldn’t.
“Tork? What about you?”
He felt the weight of their looks, crushing him like a gigantic cheese press. Terrible warm trickles of humiliation and fear flooded his body and crept under his skin, up his neck and into his face. He could be packed up and off within five minutes. Being homeless wasn’t so bad, and anything was better than this.
“Yeah, I have,” Kevin spoke loudly, and miraculously, the attention moved away from Tork just in time for him to breathe.
If he sat on his hands, no one would see the shaking or the sweat.
Alex began to talk through the process, and after a few moments of head-banging panic, the room came back into alignment again. They were, after all, just kids.
There was no real reason for fear, but that didn’t stop it.
“I haven’t really,” Kevin whispered. Instead of words, he began to draw whirlpools on the bank form, pressing down harder and harder on the paper. Anguish was trapped in there, Tork could see. Kevin couldn’t write.
“What’s your second name, Kevin?” he asked, writing ‘Kevin’ on his own form.
“Miller. Kevin Miller.”
“Date of birth?”
Kevin thought.
“Not sure, mate. July twentieth, I think.”
Tork’s heart stuttered at this. Even when he’d been at his lowest, he’d always known his own birthday.
“Do you know the year you were born, Kevin?”
Kevin shrugged.
“How old are you? We can work it out together.”
They managed to fill in the whole form while all the others left.
“Fanks.” Kevin grinned, his brown stubs looming out of his mouth. It was hard not to stare at them, but Tork smiled back.
“You are very welcome. I like your drawings. If you like, I can show you how to make paper models.”
“What about you, Tork?” Alex took his arm, and Tork involuntarily pulled back.
Rule: no touching.
“I already have a bank account. I lost all the papers, but Mike helped me to get them back,” he whispered, knowing she was watching him carefully.
“How are you doing, love? You seem to be out every time I come round.”
But it was already way too much for one day, and smiling at her as he ran was the best he could manage.
* * *
Adam
All the way up the tram line, his bad temper just grew and grew. This was a shit part of town, and people like him shouldn’t have to come here. He shook his head in disbelief at all the garden sofas and litter…
At the burnt-out cars…
At the gangs of kids…
At all the boarded-up houses.
But mostly, he shook his head at himself, for coming here when he had a perfectly nice college flat over the other side of town, far away from this plague city…
Where his friends were all talking about the Summer Ball dance at the end of the academic year…
What had started out as a minor annoya
nce bubbled away inside him, like a bad bottle of champagne, and by the time the tram reached his destination, Adam wore resentment like an ill-fitting cloak.
Why the fuck can’t we meet at my flat?
Why can’t Tork be normal?
Adam noticed some girls giggling at him. He knew he looked good, but he still moved back a little from the window to catch a glimpse of his reflection before getting off. He liked to look his best, even though he was only visiting the dump.
The housing place was just a little way from the tram stop, so thank god he didn’t have to walk far in this town that everything good had forgotten.
Adam hunched inwards as he strode quickly towards the flats, not so much in case anyone he knew saw him, but because it was dangerous. Every time he walked down this road, he felt like some gangster was going to steal his coat or his phone. He wasn’t scared, just superior.
By the time he got to the block, he was almost running and swore to himself this was absolutely the last fucking time he came here. He could be seeing at least ten other guys, most of whom still sent him daily texts. They all lived on the right side of town, all had phones… But none of them made him sweat the way Tork did.
The outside door was locked. In his irritation, he hit the buzzer a little too hard. The small speaker crackled, and his heart sped up. In an instant, he forgot the tram ride and his temper.
“Yes?”
“Yeah, it’s me.” He swallowed, determined that this time his voice would remain steady—manly—at all times. He needed to be in control.
The door into the block of flats clicked open, and he scaled the stairs quickly. Tork’s door was still closed. He banged, much too loudly.