Liarholic

by Kingsley Ash

  ‘What's this for?’ I say.

  ‘To help you find your way back so you don't get lost.’

  ‘Just going to the kitchen, baby. I think I'll be okay.’ I tug at the thread.

  ‘To remind you. I know you won't always come back to me in this happy moment. Plenty of times you're going to come back to a bad place and bring your monsters with you. I accept that. I always have and always will. I love you more for it.’

  ‘Amylocks . . . you’re like nothing else.’

  She looks into my eyes and sees that human thing. Capable of being wounded, capable of being cured, exposed, defenceless. I can see it frightens her, knowing how much I hate that feeling, but she forces herself to finish.

  ‘That's why I need you to come back to me right here. Not some other place. I know how many dark corridors there are inside you, places for you to get lost in. I don't want you to come back through one of them.’

  ‘What do you know about my dark places?’

  ‘I’ve got dark places too, Shepherd. I see your soul naked and raw. I see it from the inside.’

  I don’t close myself up. I look into her eyes for so fucking long.

  ‘Pretty black in there?’ I say, feeling some kind of shame.

  ‘Not as completely black as you think. You've got a few good places in there. Always come back to me in one of them.’

  Spent my whole life living lies . . . found someone I can be my honest self with.

  ‘You’ve got me twisted around your little finger, Amy.’ I hold my bound hand out to her. ‘Twist tighter, Amylocks. Make sure it doesn't break.’

  I'm standing in the kitchen getting Amy her glass of water, thinking about Amy’s tits. I've wasted a whole lotta hours of the day doing that.

  I love how she looks when she comes, at least as much, maybe even more than I love how she looks when I tell her I love her. She frowns so hard, she looks like she's trying to do complicated maths, right before her eyes go as starry as the inside of my head.

  And the completely vicious way she twists her hips when she convulses on my cock, like the only reason I have one, is to get her off. I think about that until I realise the water is running over the edge of the glass and over my hand.

  When I reach to turn off the tap, I see the string around my wrist. She says she’s seen inside my soul, and I don't doubt that. I see it in her eyes all the time. So if she says she's gonna guide me out of the black places, I believe her.

  As I pour off some of the water, I feel this little tug on the thread. In a hopeful little voice, Amy calls out, ‘Would you really make a sandwich for me, if I wanted one?’

  ‘Sure, Amylocks. Peanut butter?’ I say.

  ‘Yes please. With jam?’

  I look down at my sketchpad on the kitchen table. I’m designing a new tattoo. A lion’s head with a tribal pattern circling it. Amylocks, Max, Baby Viola, and Violet — these names will scale the corners in scripture. It will cover the left side of my chest, guarding my heart.

  My little tribe.

  When I move to the fridge, she unravels some more thread to make sure I can come back to her.

  EPILOGUE II

  YOU

  THIS LOVE ISN’T fixing broken strings. It's finding someone as twisted as you are, and loving you for it.

  There’s a fine line between love and madness. I don’t expect the world to get it. Shepherd did the cruel things he did because he wanted me for himself. He needed me to be his. Who doesn’t want to be loved that much? So madly. So passionately. That they’ll risk everything.

  We swim naked. The Norwegians on the rocky beach pay us no mind. Their children scoop glass jellyfish from the water and arrange them in geometric shapes upon the rocks.

  We swim out beyond the beach to where a line of yellow buoys mark the end of the safe area. We tread water, kiss.

  Shepherd vanishes below the surface. I feel the water eddying from his body as he kicks downwards, see his solid shape slip out of view.

  Shepherd reappears beside me. ’Swim down with me, Amy. Don’t want my mermaid princess to miss all the whiz-bang. All the shock and awe, baby.’

  ‘Under the water? Do I need to keep my eyes open?’

  ‘It’s salty, but yeah, you need to keep your eyes open. Come on. Don’t be afraid of the dark.’ And he vanishes again into the blue.

  I take two deep breaths, then follow him down, find him shadow clinging to the chain that tethers the nearest buoy. I swim to him. Sudden shock of white against clear-green water. The salt stings my eyes, and the water distorts Shepherd — all dark eyes and ink, his body far away.

  I sometimes contemplate his tattoos. The basket, the mermaid. What they meant when he got them, and what they mean now — but he’s never said and I’ve never asked. Some things never change.

  He points up and around, and for a moment together we watch the sunlight twinkling through the green. Then I look back down. I see his chest pass my face, then the shock of his cock, and he is gone. I look up and see him silhouetted at the surface, darkly handsome in the light.

  I let go of the chain. The water swooshes me up like magic.

  ‘Kinda transcendent, eh?’ Shepherd says.

  ‘Kind of magical. Do you think Max loves it here?’

  I promise with all my heart, Daisy, I will love Max like my own son. Shepherd and I will protect him from the monsters. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you from yours. I hope you’ve found happiness in that perfect place up above the sky. You’re not dead, not to me or to Max. You’ve just walked on ahead of us. Rest in peace, little Daisy.

  Shepherd must see the pain in my eyes, and so he kisses me. ‘Max is gonna smash life here, baby. I’m gonna make sure of it.’

  When I was nine, I made a happiness machine. I look at Shepherd. I look at his eyes lit up like a star. I think the happiness machine wasn’t broken, after all.

  He turns over in the water, and slips away from me. I breathe in and follow him under the blue.

  I find him at the same place on the chain. We bring our faces close to each other and kiss. Bubbles leak from the side of Shepherd’s mouth. He pulls himself down the chain, kicking with his feet. Then he isn’t there.

  I don’t panic.

  I follow him on down the chain, hand over hand.

  Sharp bolts of cold water to breasts, face and body. Everything mud-dark. Everything winter. Keep calm, I think, you must keep calm. I look up and can’t see the surface.

  I can’t see what is right in front me.

  And then I remember.

  The night Shepherd confronted his father, we went straight to the police station. My father was arrested. He pleaded guilty to historical child abuse. My DNA proved it. I was the result of his rape of Elizabeth. He also pleaded guilty to attacking her. He is in prison now, and will be for life.

  The Wedding Day film was one of my father’s own creations. He was the cameraman.

  As for the woman who I thought was my mother, I won’t mourn her death. I still don’t understand why she would protect her husband before her own child.

  I had no idea how close I’d been. The trips to Pleasurepark, the gift of the camera. But somewhere inside, I must have sensed what was happening. I think it was the reason my mind got broken. The never-ending checks were my way to distract myself from the horrifying truth.

  I pull myself farther down the chain. Calm hand over calm hand. You cannot breathe deeply because you cannot breathe, but you can keep calm. Shepherd is there. He is there, and he will protect you.

  Darkness to fight your darkness. Evil to fight your evil.

  My hand finds his hand before I can see him, an edgeless form in the darkness. I bring my face very close to his, find the outline of his eyes and read in them that all is perfect. He smiles, draws his fingers to my face, kisses me.

  I hold him very tight for a moment and he wraps a leg around mine. Then I feel him uncurl from me. His shadow passes and vanishes.

  The sounds: metal chainlinks tightening. Dist
ant cracks and clicks. An alien pressure against my eardrum. A wave, I think. Is that what a wave sounds like this far under?

  I let go of the chain. I’m light, I have no up, no down. For a moment I wonder, should I kick? Keep calm, I think, you must keep calm in the dark.

  Then the pressure against my eardrums lessens, and the coldness of the dark water is below me. I see again the sun through the surface. The light. There is Shepherd too, and then there’s me, my head above the water, breathing again, smiling again.

  We sit naked on the rocks, drying ourselves in the strange Nordic sunlight.

  I feel an odd sensation so I turn to the man who knows me best, and bring my hands to press into the depths of his heart. It’s a little frightening when I feel it beat so fast under my fingertips.

  ‘Be careful, Shepherd, or your heart might pop.’

  ‘I know,’ he says. ‘I don’t want it to stop.’

  The world can say what it wants, believe what it believes, but I know what I know. And what I know is that Shepherd, with all his darkness, with all his ghosts, loves me completely. Because when I feel alone, like nobody cares, and tears fall freely from my face, and my throat begins to ache . . . I feel it. Deep inside me. Like he will always love me, and I don't have to be afraid of the dark. Not anymore. Because it doesn't just feel unconditional — it is unconditional. Forever. And always. It's not something I learnt. It's not even describable by saying it is something I feel.

  It's just — just some thing I know.

  EPILOGUE III

  ME

  A year later . . .

  HM Prison and Young Offenders Institution, Nazareth

  Looking up at the red-brick walls that once caged me, I’m a tight ball of tension. The last time I left this place, I swore I’d never come back. But here I am. Every cell in my body is screaming at me to turn the fuck around and get the hell outta dodge while I still can.

  The hell am I doing here? Why would I put myself into the grinder? They’re gonna rip me apart.

  Fab5 puts his hand on my shoulder. ‘You alright, Shepherd?’

  I nod but I can’t find the words.

  ‘We need to get inside,’ he says.

  Inside. Again. But this time I’m walking into a different entrance. I was a teenager back then. Now I’m a grown man with a smashing family. My life is better than I ever dreamed it could be. Everything is different now.

  I live in a luxury house, sat right by a stunning fjord, with my tribe. I’ve got the perfect supportive wife in Amy. Max is like a son to me, and Baby Viola is my whole fucking world.

  I’m a self-made billionaire. My future is secure. Yet the thought of going back into this birdcage scares me in a way I never expected.

  The guards barely look at me when they take my ID at the security check. If they recognise my face or my name, they don’t show it.

  ‘You know where you’re going?’ one of them asks us.

  ‘Wren,’ Fab5 says.

  A pretty name for an ugly place.

  All the wings at Nazareth are named after birds. Birds that don’t normally end up in cages. There’s Lapwing, the induction unit, where new inmates spend their first night inside getting used to how the institution works. Then there’s Quail, for those convicted of the most violent crimes. Wren, where we’re going today, is the healthcare wing where inmates with substance abuse problems and addictions are taken care of. Wren. A tiny bird with a hopeful little tail. Setting for the worst days of my life.

  And I’m going back in there.

  I follow Fab5 down the corridor. I lag behind. It’s like my body is resisting this return to the scene of the crime. I remember this corridor only too well. The alternating panels of bars and blank brick walls. The blast of cold air as we walk through the open barred parts. I breathe it in.

  It’s better than the smell inside. Old dinners, body odour, desperation. It takes me right back and not in a good way.

  Fab5 is walking fast now. We’re running late and nothing runs late in a place like this without consequences. But I want this moment in the corridor to last longer. I need more time to get myself sorted. Get ready to make my entrance. Fab5 doesn’t get how important that is. In those first few seconds, everything’s gonna be decided.

  ‘This is going to be good,’ Fab5 assures me. ‘Can’t think of anyone better suited to talking to this lot than you are.’

  I wanna believe him but then I catch a glimpse of myself in a toughened glass panel, and I know exactly how they’re gonna see me.

  Who’s that prick in the designer jeans? What’s his hair like? Who does he think he is?

  Pretty little white boy.

  I hear the hiss of angry voices I thought I’d long forgotten.

  You gonna die, pretty boy. You gonna die.

  The guard who lets us onto Wren raises his eyebrows when he sees me. He remembers me and he nods his approval, but he stops short of shaking my hand. I don’t have time to remind myself if he was one of the good ones. There were some good ones, a couple who actually seemed to care. And then there were the rotten ones.

  Fab5 is rushing me on.

  Then it happens.

  As I tread into the wing, I look right. I can’t help it. It’s automatic. And the cell I see there makes me catch my breath. The door is open like a hungry mouth and suddenly I’m falling back through time. I can hear the alarm and the shouting and feel the panic as clearly as if the past seven years haven’t happened. I can feel the shaking and the shivering. My skin is crawling again. The voices won’t stop goddamn talking. They’re talking to me now.

  You’re a piece of shit. Nobody here cares what happens to you. Why are you even alive, orphan boy?

  Fab5 notices I’m distracted and yanks me back into the present.

  ‘Shepherd. They’re waiting for us. Come on.’

  He pulls me along with him.

  Sixteen inmates are sitting in the middle of the wing on a circle of grey plastic chairs. There’re two empty seats. One for Fab5. One for me. When we approach, the inmates start heckling. Clicking their tongues. Cussing under their breath.

  Pretty little white boy. Who am I? What have I got to say to them?

  I start to size them up, reverting to my old survival techniques. I should know how to handle this. I’ve been here. My old defence mechanisms kick into action and I give myself the talk. I go through my audience one by one, rating my chances.

  You could have him. You could have him too. He’s full of shit. He’d never fight.

  The inmates stare at me and I stare right back. We’re like dogs now. Guessing at each other’s strength. Bluffing. Hackles up. Who’s going to slink away first? They slouch in their chairs. They talk among themselves. They want me to understand that they don’t care why I’m here.

  They don’t give a shit who I am. Nothing I’ve got to say is gonna be relevant to them. Nothing I say is gonna make a difference. I’m just like all the others. Coming in here to make myself feel damn superior. Don’t mean shit to them what some white pretty boy in designer jeans with his hair all nice and styled has to say about what they’re going through.

  But I know you. I know you all.

  The hissing and the clicking get louder.

  Fucking stupid white boy.

  They know they can say what they want in here. There’re no guards at this meeting. It’s like any other twelve-step gathering. It’s anonymous. What they say now, they say in confidence. It stops here. Those are the rules. For half of them, that’s the only attraction.

  Pretty little white boy . . . don’t know fuck . . .

  The open cell door is nearby. I could turn and walk away. Close it. Sink down onto the floor with a blanket tight around my neck and this time see it through. I can feel it. My body remembers. The rising blackness. The pain. The fear. The smile of my girl sparkling through my brain as I struggled for a last breath.

  My conscious mind fights to take back control.

  You’re different now. You’re not that unl
oved boy. Dig deep, and find the grit in you.

  I think of sunshine, lemon drops, baby smell and Maltesers.

  I straighten up. The people in front of me are just kids. They’re in the high-dependency unit of a young offenders institution. They’re all here because they fucked up or got fucked. Some of them are barely conscious. They can’t focus on what’s in front of them. They’re here because they need help. I can give them that. I can tell them what salvation really means.

  I look straight at the kid who’s been giving the most lip, then I turn to point at the open door.

  ‘You see that cell?’ I say. ‘Seven years ago, that’s where I almost succeeded in taking my own life.’

  The mouthy kid looks confused. Someone else laughs. I nod at them.

  ‘Yep. That’s right. I was in here for armed robbery.’

  The circle is silent. I’ve got their attention now.

  ‘I was here,’ I say, ‘and it nearly fucking killed me. So don’t tell me I don’t know what it’s like.’

  Now they’re listening. The kid who looks like he’d be the most trouble leans forward in his chair.

  When he does, I feel the rope unwinding itself from my neck. I take another breath and this time it properly fills my lungs. I’m still here. I’m still alive. The door of the empty cell closes and this time I’m on the outside.

  I’m the man I am today because of you, Amy. Because of our little tribe. For better or worse, you help me put the bad to rest. You bring me back from the dark places.

  I’m not lost property, anymore. My mother claimed me. I changed the question mark on my skin to a V. My existence is no longer a question.

  I wasn’t born bad. Life chipped away at me and moulded me into an angry, scared young man. Amy and me, we apply this same understanding to all the people in our lives, even the people who hurt us. We were all children once, relying on the adults who were supposed to love and care for us. Knowing this, helps us find peace and maybe, one day, forgiveness.