Page 7

Chapter Six

Heart of Glass

Aaron watched the taillights of Kenny’s car disappear into the gloom, the world constricting around him, darkness pressing in far heavier than the weather. The warm rain had soaked through his clothes, clinging to his skin like the emotions he couldn’t shake.

Fucking feelings .

Rationally, he knew this wasn’t about him. He could hear the echo of countless therapy sessions and Kenny’s own patient explanations: You have attachment issues, Aaron. You need to understand that people have lives outside of you. But knowing didn’t dull the ache twisting through his chest. Knowing didn’t stop the surge of old, familiar feelings churning inside him like a storm. Feelings that told him he wasn’t enough.

He’d never be enough.

Not for someone like Kenny.

But that was his pattern, wasn’t it? The fallout of realising the world didn’t revolve around him. That it never revolved around him . Not like how it had used to, and then he had to learn the hard way that people left, sometimes without warning, and the void they left behind was an abyss he was always teetering on the edge of. But knowing that didn’t make the feeling of abandonment any easier to swallow. If anything, it made it worse. Because he knew the terrain too well.

His thoughts spiralled, picking at the fragile threads of his self-worth. The whispers of his trauma seeped in like poison: He doesn’t want you because you’re not enough. You’re just a nice fuck. A distraction. Someone to pass the time with until he has something real to hold on to.

The rain ran cold down his spine and he could hear Kenny’s voice in his head, calm and clinical, reminding him that catastrophising was a hallmark of his trauma. And his past had conditioned his brain to magnify rejection into devastation. But understanding the psychology of it, naming it, tracing it back to its roots in his childhood, didn’t stop the flood. The overbearing pain .

In a complete act of utter spontaneity, he yanked out his phone and even though he hovered his thumb over Kenny’s name, he wouldn’t be calling him. That would be too much—too vulnerable, too exposing. Instead, he scrolled down and tapped on Jayden’s name. He didn’t call his mate from the care home often. Rarely at all anymore now he didn’t need to constantly ask for money or ask him to get him out of a scrape he’d landed himself in. But Jayden got it . Not in the exact way Aaron did—Jayden’s mum wasn’t a serial killer—but she was just as unhinged, having been unable to care for Jayden as a kid and shunting him into the same care system. Growing up in chaos like that left scars that never fully faded. And despite the brief, messy thing they’d had years ago, which barely counted as a relationship and had meant little beyond Jayden helping Aaron feel in control of his body again after the nightmare of being unconscious and raped, Jayden was the closest thing to family Aaron had.

So when he answered on the third ring, voice loud over the noise in the background, Aaron almost shed tears at the flippant easiness . “Hey, A! Whas-sup?”

Aaron hesitated. Now that he had Jayden on the line, the words felt jammed in his throat. “You busy?”

“Yeah.” Jayden’s laugh was distracted. “At rehearsals. But I got two minutes if you were calling to check my bank details and transfer me that thirty quid you owe.”

Aaron closed his eyes, exhaling. Right. Banter. Normal. He could do that. “Uh, yeah, sure. Must’ve sent it to the wrong account.”

“Sure you did.”

Aaron forced a smirk. “Can I ask you something?”

“Is it about whether you’re in love again?”

“No.”

“Good, ‘cause I think we both know you are.”

“Ha, yeah.”

“So is it back to money?”

“No.” He shifted his weight, trying to force down the knot in his chest. “I get my loan in a couple of days. I’m sorted there.”

“Good. Go on then, ask away.”

Aaron rubbed a hand over his forehead, the cold rain still clinging to his skin. He didn’t know what he wanted from this conversation. Clarification? Justification? Acknowledgment?

Fuck it. “If your fella…” Aaron winced, realising he’d completely blanked on the bloke’s name—Jayden’s partner of a few years now. There was an age gap there too. And if Aaron let himself think too hard about it, he’d have to admit that all those therapy sessions had been right. That maybe, when they told him kids like him had daddy issues , they weren’t pulling it out of thin air.

“Rick,” Jayden supplied, completely unfazed, snapping Aaron out of the spiral before he could dissect why kids from care so often gravitated toward relationships built on power imbalances.

“Right. Rick.” Aaron said it like he hadn’t just needed a reminder. “If his mum died, would he want you to comfort him?”

A pause. Muffled voices. Then a slam—probably a stage door shutting behind Jayden as he stepped away from the noise. “Did your bloke’s mum die?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit, mate. Sorry.”

Aaron swallowed, nodding even though Jayden couldn’t see him. “Yeah.”

Jayden hummed, like he was thinking. “And you’re asking if I would expect Rick to ask me to be there for him?” He didn’t take long to answer. “Yeah. Course.”

Aaron’s stomach twisted. “Right.”

Jayden wasn’t stupid. He caught the meaning immediately. “Your bloke didn’t, then?”

“No.”

Jayden let out a breath. “Bruh. Don’t take it personally. He’s grieving.”

Aaron clenched his jaw. He knew that. He knew . But that didn’t stop the gnawing ache in his chest, the way his mind spun in circles trying to make sense of it.

Jayden’s voice softened. “I get why it stings. But some people… when they’re hurting, they don’t know how to let people in.”

Aaron scoffed, shifting his grip on the phone. “ I’m that person.”

“I know.” Jayden didn’t miss a beat. “So don’t pretend like you don’t get it. How many times did I have to drag your arse out of hiding when shit got too much for you?”

Aaron’s chest tightened. He wanted to argue, but there was nothing to argue about. Jayden was right. Aaron had spent years pushing people away, making them work for his trust, for his presence. And Kenny had been the one who was always there . Always waiting. Always patient.

Now the roles were reversed, Aaron didn’t know what to do with that.

Jayden continued, voice steady. “Some people shut down when they lose someone. Not ‘cause they don’t care about the people around them, but because it’s easier to suffer alone than to let someone see you break. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t want you there.”

“Then why didn’t he just say that?”

“Because grief is messy, bruv. You should know that better than anyone.”

Aaron closed his eyes. He did know. But knowing didn’t make it easier.

“Look. If you care about him, just let him know you’re there. Even if he doesn’t say anything back. He’ll know. And when he’s ready? He’ll come to you.”

“Will he?”

There was an all-consuming pause until Jayden broke it with a flippant , “Sure.” He then let that sit for a second, but, in typical Jayden fashion, shattered it quick enough. “Now, let’s get back to the important issue. My thirty quid.”

Aaron snorted, tension easing just a fraction. “Fuck’s sake. Surely you don’t need thirty quid anymore. Your fella owns a fucking theatre.”

Jayden laughed, easy and warm. “Don’t make me send debt collectors, bruv.”

Aaron rolled his eyes, but something in his chest loosened. He wasn’t fixed. He wasn’t okay. But for now, at least, he wasn’t drowning.

“Laters, J.”

“Come see my show.”

“Sure.” That seemed to be the lie of the evening.

Cutting the call, he forced himself to move, dragging his feet through the rain-slicked car park and over the muddy mound leading to the rows of blocky, utilitarian buildings making up the University of Ryston Student Accommodation. It had been months since he’d last set foot here. The summer holiday had emptied the place out back in May, students scattering to their family homes or shared off-campus flats. But Aaron had stayed behind, the lone fixture in an otherwise transient space. His care-leaver bursary covered his rent, ensuring he had a roof over his head even when the block felt more like a ghost town than a student residence.

Back then, the silence had been oppressive, amplifying the loneliness he tried so hard to ignore. But June rolled around, and Kenny no longer had lectures to teach. Staying over at Kenny’s place had started innocently enough. One night stretched into two, and two into three. Until, without ever discussing it, Aaron just… stopped going back to his room. Kenny hadn’t asked him to leave, and Aaron hadn’t wanted to. Being there with Kenny had felt easier than he’d ever expected.

Now, walking the familiar path back to his old room, Aaron couldn’t shake the hollowness creeping in. The place wasn’t just empty of people. It was empty of him. The life he’d built over the past few months, the makeshift home he’d found in Kenny’s bed, suddenly felt distant. As if maybe it had never been real at all.

Aaron pushed open the main door to his block, letting it slam shut behind him with a hollow echo rattling through the empty hallways. It smelled faintly of disinfectant and damp. Exactly as he remembered. Ten doors lined the corridor, including his own, with a communal room and kitchen at the far end and two shared bathrooms tucked awkwardly in between. It was dead quiet. No voices, no music, no laughter. Only the distant hum of the fridge in the kitchen. The first-years wouldn’t move in until tomorrow, which meant the block was a void of lifelessness, a waiting room for the chaos of the new term.

He sighed. In a couple of days, he’d be the out-of-place third-year. Twenty-one years old—this coming Monday— and stuck in a block with a bunch of teenagers who’d just left home for the first time. But he dug through his bag, searching for his key, swearing under his breath as he fumbled through the mess of receipts, chargers, and loose pens. He hoped he hadn’t left it at Kenny’s. Although…that could give him an excuse to go back there, especially since he had the spare key he’d swiped tucked safely on a chain in the secret pocket of his bag. If Kenny ever noticed it was missing, Aaron could feign ignorance and claim he hadn’t taken it. After all, how would Kenny know it wasn’t where he’d left it? And if he went back to Kenny’s, he could sneak beneath his sheets and just…stay there.

His fingers closed around the key at the bottom of the bag. Damnit. So much for that excuse. He wrangled it into the lock, but before he could turn it, the door to the room next to his flew open with a crash, and someone burst out, startling him so badly he nearly dropped the key.

“Fuck yes !” The unmistakable squeal jolted his senses as Mel launched herself at him, locking her arms around his neck in a bone-crushing hug. “I hoped that was you!”

Aaron staggered back. “What the fuck?” He leaned away, taking her in.

Mel hadn’t ever been one for subtlety, and tonight was no exception. Her hair, previously a vibrant turquoise, was now a shocking magenta, cropped into a jagged pixie cut framing her sharp cheekbones. With a sheer black top layered over a neon green sports bra, ripped skinny jeans, and combat boots splattered with what looked like paint, multiple rings adorning her fingers, and eyeliner smudged just enough to look intentional, she was a sight for sore fucking eyes. And empty hearts.

She grinned. “Surprise! You’ve got a new next-door neighbour.”

Aaron blinked, furrowing his brow. “What? Seriously?”

“Yup!” Mel beamed, leaning casually on the doorframe. “Couldn’t stand the house-share crap last year. Everyone’s so fucking messy. I need my own space, y’know? So I applied for accommodation and, ta-da, here I am!”

“But Mel, this is a boy’s floor.”

Mel barked a laugh that echoed down the empty corridor. “Oh, sweetheart, where’ve you been? It’s all gender-neut now. Unless you specifically request different, they stick you wherever. And I made a very specific request to be next to you.” She shrugged. “Figured us solitary, third-year misfits should stick together.” She shoved him playfully, grin turning sly. “Plus, let’s be real, I have zero interest in staring at boy bits.”

Aaron snorted. “More worried about the boys looking at your bits.”

Mel straightened, gesturing dramatically to herself, from her magenta pixie cut to her combat boots. “What part of this screams hetero, up-for-it, and appealing to beer-drinking, toxic masculines?”

Aaron let out a laugh, a real one, the tension in his chest easing for the first time all evening. And he reached out to pull her into a hug. A proper hug. Tight, grounding, the kind he didn’t hand out often. “So fucking glad you’re here.”

Mel softened for a moment before rubbing his back with a knowing touch. “You all right, sweets?”

Aaron didn’t let go, burying his face in her shoulder for a heartbeat longer than he probably should. When he finally pulled back, he shrugged, his grin faltering at the edges. “No.”

Mel tilted her head, sharp gaze cutting through him like it always did. “Your room or mine?”

Aaron peered behind her to the room that had once belonged to someone else he thought he could have been friends with. Someone he doomed by trying to be just that. Despite it having had two other occupants since Rahul had been in there, the ache of it lingered, as stubborn and immovable as a scar.

“Mine,” he said and finally twisted the key in the lock and entered the room he’d not been in for months, putting the door on the latch.

“Okay! Hang on! I got just what we need for this.” Mel scurried off into her room for a moment, at least allowing Aaron to ensure there were no telltale signs of his unorthodox relationship with their professor.

He tossed his bag into a corner and collapsed onto the narrow bed. The springs groaned in protest, digging into his back. The single mattress felt impossibly small, the scratchy sheets a harsh reminder of how far he’d fallen from Kenny’s world of soft linens, spacious comfort, and indulgence. How had he got so used to luxury? How had Kenny made it feel normal, as if Aaron belonged there? Why had he done that if he didn’t think it?

“Celebrations!” Mel bounded in, a bottle of white wine clutched in one hand and two plastic glasses in the other. She grinned wide enough to light up the room, waggling her spoils like a trophy.

Aaron pushed himself up to sit, making space for her on the edge of the bed. She plopped down, the bottle nestling between her knees as she twisted off the cap. She handed him a glass and poured generously, the cheap wine splashing over the sides.

“It’s not champagne,” she said, “and was the cheapest three ninety-nine bottle from Lidl, but fuck it, right?” She poured hers, put the bottle on the floor, then held up her glass.

“Fuck it.” Aaron clinked his plastic cup to hers with a dull clunk .

“So…” Mel crossed her legs, leaning back on her arm. “Where you been?”

“Barcelona.”

“Nice.” She sipped her wine. “Looking to go there soon. Recommended sights?”

“Bunkers del Carmel. Most romantic spot ever. Especially at sundown.”

“Oh yeah…so, you weren’t by yourself?”

Aaron wished he could tell her. But trust was a hard-earned currency for him, and this wasn’t only his secret. He was sure Mel wouldn’t care and demand all the juicy details. Another reason Aaron wanted to cling to the secret for a while. The juicy details were his to cherish. He didn’t want to share them. But he also hated lying to Mel.

“Went with a bloke I been seeing.”

Mel gasped, then slapped his leg. “Since fucking when ?”

“Few months.” Aaron gulped down his wine, wincing at the acidity. Kenny only drank good wine and, therefore, so had he for the past few months.

“I hate you for not telling me.”

“Sorry, I know.” Aaron motioned for the bottle and Mel passed it over for Aaron to top up his glass. “It’s…complicated.”

“Tell me what the fuck isn’t?”

“Yeah. I know.” He leaned back against the headboard. “But this is… really fucking complicated.”

“Can I get a name?”

“No.”

“It’s not Max, is it?” She grimaced and shuddered.

“No! Fuck, no.” There wasn’t a fuck chance in hell he’d get with that prick. Taylor’s housemate who’d drugged him. “It’s just…the bloke’s a lot older. In a job that requires me to not be me.”

“Did you get yourself a sugar daddy?”

Aaron flinched at the term, the words striking like a whip. But the thought clawed at him. That’s exactly how people would see it if this ever came out. Aaron, the care-leaver, scraping by on bursaries, dating a respected academic who could afford to drown him in luxuries. It didn’t matter that Kenny wasn’t like that, that what they had wasn’t transactional. The world would still boil it down to the ugliest possible narrative.

The idea tasted like ash in his mouth, bitter and suffocating. Kenny wasn’t his sugar daddy. Kenny was the only person who’d ever really seen him, who’d never once made him feel like he was less. And Aaron would burn the world down before he let anyone reduce Kenny to something so hollow.

He gulped down his wine, letting the burn distract him from the thoughts threatening to spiral. Mel tilted her head, watching him closely, her expression softening.

“Hey, I’m not judging. I’d bang a sugar mummy if I could. Besides, you haven’t got a real daddy who can buy you shit, like, a car, for example.” She waggled her eyebrows.

“You got a car?”

“I did. The cutest thing you’ll ever see. Got to drive myself back to campus in it. Can’t wait for you to meet Betty.”

Aaron snorted. “Betty?”

“She is absolutely a Betty.”

“If you say so.” Aaron hung his head, the envy mixing with the grief.

“Does he want to keep you a secret?” Mel titled her neck. “Is that why you look upset?”

“Yes.” Aaron ruffled his hair. “No.”

“Crystal. Thanks for that.” Mel rolled her eyes and drank her wine.

“His mum just died.”

Mel lurched back up. “When?”

“Literally seconds ago. He dropped me off, got a call to let him know, and he rushed off.”

“Shit. Poor fucker.” She then searched his face. “And you’re upset because…you liked his mum?”

“Never met her.”

“Oh.”

“She’d probably hate me.”

“So what’s your problem?”

“He didn’t ask me to go with him.”

“Oh, sweet pea.” She wrinkled her nose, then stroked his leg. “This is your attachment disorder manifesting itself again, isn’t it?”

Aaron kicked her back with his foot. “Don’t psychoanalyse me.”

“Aaron, hun, we’re both doing Forensic Psych. What do you expect?”

“But wouldn’t you ask the person you’ve spent months with, took on fucking holiday, shared a bed with, to go with you? Isn’t that what normal people do?”

“He’s going through something tough and might not want you to see him when he’s that vulnerable.”

“Why not?”

Mel shifted closer, setting her glass on the floor. “Aaron, listen to me.” She waited until he glanced up. “You’ve been through some shit. Like, serious shit. And part of that, correct me if I’m wrong, is this constant feeling that you’re not enough for people? Like, you have to prove you’re worth keeping around, yeah?”

Aaron gave a reluctant nod. Mel always had a way of cutting straight through his defences.

“That’s your brain lying to you. You don’t have to prove anything. You either matter to someone, or you don’t. And here’s the kicker: you can’t control that. Not by trying harder, not by being more, not by forcing yourself into whatever you think they want you to be. You don’t get to dictate how someone feels about you. And you sure as hell can’t read their mind to know what they’re thinking or feeling. You’ve got to let them show you. Or tell you.”

“So you think I’m just convenient for him? That’s why he doesn’t want me to see him at his worst? I’m just an easy fuck.”

“Aaron, babe, you’re about as convenient as a live grenade and if you’ve been with this bloke for longer than five minutes, he’s gonna know you’re far from an easy fuck and if he hasn’t chucked you away yet, then I’d bet another three-ninety-nine bottle of this piss that he’s holding on tight, not for convenience, but because he wants to stop you detonating your shit all over the place. Because he wants your shit. For himself.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment?”

“It’s backhanded, sure, but it’s the truth. Look, I don’t know him. You do. Only you can tell why he didn’t ask you to go with him. But it could be for a whole lot of things. Like, a) he doesn’t really like you, which honestly sounds like bullshit considering he just took you to Barcelona and ‘the most romantic place on earth’.” She made a sick face, sticking her finger in her mouth. “Or b) he thinks it’d be weird or boring for you to tag along, or c) he’s completely overwhelmed and doesn’t know how to ask you for that kind of support. Especially if you’ve never been the one someone’s leaned on before or he’s maybe been that for you and not the other way around.”

Aaron bit his lip, her words digging deeper than he wanted to admit. He stared at the rain streaking the window, mulling it over. “How the fuck do you always know what to say?”

“Because I’m brilliant.” She slapped his leg. “Now, here’s what you’re going to do: send him a text. Just a quick, ‘thinking of you.’ Then we’re opening your laptop and you’re going to be bowled the fuck over when you see what I did all summer. Became a fucking viral true crime psycho shit podcaster!”

Aaron couldn’t help the small laugh from escaping, a spark of relief breaking through his storm of thoughts. “You what?”

“I know right! I psychoanalyse the shit out of crims online. For fucking fun.” Mel reached for her glass again. “Now text him, then turn your brain off for a bit.”

“Mine’s a big fuck off brain.”

“That’s what you tell all the boys.” She winked. “I’m a girl. I know better. But go on, text him, then we can get into some seriously deranged people’s heads instead.”

“Who says mine ain’t deranged?”

“I know it is. That’s why I love ya.”

Aaron laughed, then settled back. Both Jayden and Mel were right, weren’t they? Kenny just didn’t know how to ask for help. From anyone. And he was probably protecting Aaron more than himself.

Still, the thought of Kenny alone right then had Aaron in bits.