“Next time, I’ll put the light on.” He didn’t meet Mark’s gaze, however. “Anyway, don’t you
think it makes me look…butch?” He smirked.
Mark guffawed. “That wasn’t the
first
word that came to mind, I must admit.” They
entered the pub and Sam headed straight for the bar. Mark smiled to himself. After all these
weeks, he knew Mark’s drinking habits. Mark found the corner booth empty and quickly slid
across the bench seat, claiming it. This had become their corner. Sam appeared not long after,
clutching two pints of Wight Gold. Mark took several long swallows, trying not to gaze at
Sam’s throat as his Adam’s apple bobbed. God, the man had a lovely neck. Mark shook himself.
Enough of the torture. That eye looked sore, but Sam appeared to pay it no mind. “Where’s
Becky tonight? And why has she let you off the leash?”
As soon as the words escaped his lips, Mark cursed himself. Sam tensed. “She’s out with
some of her girl friends,” he said, his voice tight.
“I’m sorry, Sam.” Mark lowered his voice. “That was wrong of me.” To his dismay, his
apology did nothing to improve the situation. Sam seemed ill at ease all of a sudden. Mark
concentrated on his pint, draining it quickly. Sam said nothing but stared sullenly at his pint glass. Mark leaned closer. “I mean it, Sam. Please, forgive me.” He bit back a sigh of relief as Sam finally relaxed a little, giving a brisk nod of his head before downing his pint. “Look, do 69
Sam finally relaxed a little, giving a brisk nod of his head before downing his pint. “Look, do you want to go for a walk on the beach? It’s a lovely evening.”
He watched as Sam appeared to consider his suggestion. September was still clinging
valiantly onto the coattails of summer: the last few days had been warm, the evenings balmy.
“Sure,” Sam said at last. “Let’s get out of here.”
They left the pub and began to walk down Union Street, which fell away steeply as it
reached the pier. Automatically Mark headed toward East beach which was at the foot of his
road. The early evening sun was still warm on his shoulders. Beside him, Sam walked in
silence, eyes on the ground. As they passed the car park the two men went onto the beach, took
off their trainers and carried them, the sand warm under foot as they walked along. The
sunlight sparkled on the water, and Mark watched the catamaran as it made its way across the
Solent, heading for Portsmouth. Mark fought the urge to reach for Sam’s hand. In spite of his
earlier acknowledgment that this situation couldn’t continue, Mark let himself relax, enjoying
Sam’s presence beside him.
Just let me enjoy this a little longer
, he pleaded with whoever was listening.
“This is nice,” Sam murmured contentedly. “It feels as if we’re in a world of our own
here.” Mark’s heart stuttered in his chest. His thoughts exactly. He stopped walking and looked around. The wide beach was deserted, the tide already on its way out. Mark dropped his trainers onto the sand and turned to Sam, his heart pounding. Sam was staring at him, that familiar
puzzled crease between his eyes. The sunlight glinted on his hair, and the evening light lit up his face. And suddenly Mark knew exactly what he wanted. He leaned in close and cupped
Sam’s cheeks with both hands.
“Forgive me,” he murmured. Sam’s eyes widened. Mark stared at the beautiful face
which was always in his thoughts. Sam’s breathing speeded up.
“For what?” Sam licked his lower lip.
“For this.” Mark’s hand slid around to grab Sam’s nape as he brought their faces
together—and kissed him.
Sam froze, his trainers falling from his hands onto the soft sand, and then let out a soft
whimper as he relaxed into the kiss, his tongue sliding deep to explore Mark’s mouth hungrily.
Mark attacked his mouth, sucking at Sam’s tongue, losing himself in the increasingly sensuous
kiss. He slid his hand down Sam’s back, skating along his spine, coming to rest just above the
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kiss. He slid his hand down Sam’s back, skating along his spine, coming to rest just above the
swell of his buttocks encased in those tight jeans, molded around him like a second skin.
Sam groaned into his mouth, the sound full of urgent need. He clutched at Mark’s back.
Mark pulled Sam against him, rocking into him, all too aware of Sam’s erection against his hip, his own rigid shaft pressing against the zipper of his jeans.
“God, I want you,” Mark moaned, reaching with both hands now to cup Sam’s arse,
pulling him tight against him.
Sam froze and with a low cry he pushed Mark away, eyes suddenly full of misery.
“Why are you doing this?” The cry seemed to be torn from Sam’s lips. “And why am I
letting
you? God, we must be mad.” Sam ran his fingers through his hair. His eyes locked on Mark, and Mark’s heart sank to see the pain reflected in them. “We can’t do this, Mark.”
“I-I’m sorry.” Mark’s stomach rolled as Sam reached down and grabbed his trainers.
“Sam?” He found it difficult to breathe as Sam backed away from him, visibly trembling.
“Please, Sam, don’t go.” His heart was hammering. “I don’t want you to go. Come home with
me. Please.”
Sam swallowed. “If you only knew how much I want to do just that.” But still he
backed away across the sand, his expression haunted. “I’m sorry, too.” Mark couldn’t speak.
Fear was thick in his throat. He could only watch in horror as Sam turned and fled, running
back to the road and heading toward the pier. At last Mark found his voice.
“SAM
!”
Sam didn’t turn back. Not once. Mark watched as Sam reached the corner of Union
Street and turned, disappearing from sight.
“Sam.” The whisper slid out of him. “What the fuck have I done?”
He stood there on the sand, his limbs shaking, his gaze never leaving the corner where
Sam had disappeared from view, as if keeping his eyes fixed on that spot would somehow bring
Sam back.
It was a long time before he felt the inclination to move.
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The blue LED light emanating from his alarm clock cast a ghostly hue over his
bedroom. Mark had given up checking the time. He’d come to bed some time after ten, when he
realized that he’d been staring at the TV screen for a couple of hours and hadn’t registered a
single thing that had been on it. It was nearly midnight. Through his open window he could hear the raucous laughter of the nearby pub’s patrons who had spilled out onto the streets and were
wending their way home, albeit in a noisy fashion.
Sam hadn’t answered a single call.
Sam hadn’t returned one of his seven or eight texts.
Mark was screwed.
He still couldn’t figure out why he’d kissed Sam. He only knew that as Sam had stood
there on the sand, looking so heartbreakingly beautiful, Mark had been seized by the urge to
hold him in his arms, to kiss those warm lips one more time. And once kissed, he wanted
more…
It didn’t matter. That look of sorrow on Sam’s face was burned into Mark’s memory.
The intercom buzzer shattered the silence. Again. And again.
Mark glanced at his clock. Midnight. Hurriedly he hopped out of bed, naked, and ran to
the door. He pressed the button. “Hello?”
“Mark, it’s Sam. Please, let me in.” At least this time he sounded sober.
Mark couldn’t hold back his groan. “I can’t do this again, Sam. Please, go home.” His
heart almost stopped as he heard the distinctive sound of someone weeping.
“Please, Mark. I…I need you.”
Mark jammed his finger against the door release button and then yanked back the bolts.
He turned the key and flung open the door. As Sam came into view, Mark gasped.
Sam was bleeding profusely from a cut above his right eye. There were scratches across
his cheeks and arms, some of them bleeding.
“Oh my God, what happened?” Mark pulled him into the flat and closed the door. Sam
sank to his knees on the hall carpet, as if his legs would no longer bear his weight. Mark
dropped to the floor beside him and cradled him in his arms, ignoring the blood which smeared
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dropped to the floor beside him and cradled him in his arms, ignoring the blood which smeared
onto his bare skin.
“I can’t take it any more,” Sam wailed as Mark held him, Sam’s arms hanging limply at
his sides. “Please, let me stay.”
Mark took a closer look at the cut. It seemed deep. “We need to get this seen to. It looks
like it might need stitches.” His mind reeled. “Sam.” He held Sam’s face as carefully as he
could, gazing at him anxiously. Sam was still weeping. “Sam.” More urgently now. At last Sam
met his gaze. “Who did this to you?”
Sam shook his head vehemently, his lips pressed together into a fine line. “Can’t…
can’t.”
“Please, babe.” The endearment slipped out. “You have to tell me.”
Sam stared at him blankly, seeming to almost crumple in front of him. Trembling, he
opened his mouth to speak, and the one word that pierced the silence of the hallway shocked
Mark into stillness.
“Becky.”
* * * * * * * * * *
“Becky? Becky did this?” He stroked the hair away from Sam’s forehead, sticky with
blood. Sam was shaking, his eyes huge. “Look, we can talk about this later. Right now it’s more important to get your head looked at.” He slipped his arms under Sam’s and helped him up onto
his feet. He guided Sam into his bedroom and sat him on the bed. Sam looked so lost and
confused. Mark dashed into the bathroom and pulled a small hand towel from the airing
cupboard. He held it under the tap and ran cold water over it until it was sodden, then he wrung it out. When he got back to the bed, Sam hadn’t moved an inch. He winced as Mark wiped
carefully at the blood on his face, Mark patting his cheeks scored with long scratches to try and remove some of the dried blood from them.
One more trip to the bathroom to rinse out the towel, and then Mark folded it and pressed
it against Sam’s forehead.
“Hold it there, please, and press as hard as you can” he instructed the subdued Sam, who
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“Hold it there, please, and press as hard as you can” he instructed the subdued Sam, who
automatically raised his hand and did as he was told, his eyes wide and staring. Mark glanced
down at himself.
“I’ll put on some clothes and then I’ll take you to St. Mary’s, okay?” The hospital was
only about twenty minutes away.
Sam gave him a dazed look and then nodded. His silence worried Mark. He made sure
Sam wasn’t about to fall off the bed and then grabbed his jeans and T-shirt. As he squirmed
hurriedly into the jeans, he continually glanced over at Sam. He shoved his bare feet into his
trainers and then helped Sam to stand. After grabbing his jacket and car keys, Mark led his
stunned friend out of the flat and down to the street.
The Fiesta was parked in a parking area behind the flats, surrounded by trees. As they
approached the car, the floodlight was activated and bathed the area in bright white light. He
opened the passenger door and eased Sam into the seat, watching carefully to ensure he didn’t
catch his head. From the look of him, Sam was in shock. Mark secured his seatbelt and then got
behind the wheel.
Mark drove the car through the quiet streets toward the center of the island to Newport.
There was little traffic around and Mark nudged the accelerator impatiently, slowing only when
he neared the stretch of road which contained one of the island’s only three speed cameras.
Sam’s head lolled back against the headrest, eyes closed, his hand still holding the damp towel in place. When Mark saw him shiver, he put his foot down, and in no time, the hospital was in
view. Mark pulled into an empty parking space and reluctantly left Sam for a moment while he
fumbled in his jeans pocket for change for the parking meter. Once the ticket had been placed on the dash, Mark held out a hand to Sam.
“Come on, babe. Nearly there.” Sam opened his eyes and stared at Mark, his eyes
clouding. Mark grabbed his hand and helped him to get out of the car. After locking it, he put his arm around Sam’s shoulders and guided him to the main door of the hospital. Just inside the
main building on the right was the Beacon Center, the out-of-hours clinic. It was still open. They entered through the automatic sliding doors and went to the reception desk. Several people were sitting around, quiet pockets of chatter taking place. Mark saw a couple of lads looking very
much the worse for wear: they’d clearly been in a fight.
The nurse behind the desk looked up as Mark and Sam approached. Her gaze took in
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The nurse behind the desk looked up as Mark and Sam approached. Her gaze took in
Sam’s head and the spots of blood which had spattered his blue shirt. “What’s the name?”
“Sam Prince.” Mark spoke for his friend. He had to wonder how much information Sam
was capable of giving in his present state. Sam leaned against the desk, his arm resting on the smooth counter top.
“Address?” Mark saw Sam frown as he tried to focus, but he managed to stutter out an
address in Sandown. The nurse took down his details. “Okay, you need to take a seat. The doctor will call you.”
Mark helped Sam to a seat in a quiet corner, away from the clinic’s other occupants. Sam
leaned back against the wall, his eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling. The hand containing the towel fell limply into his lap. For several long minutes neither of them spoke. Mark stared down at the floor. There were so many questions going around in his head.