Matthew thought it was pretty stupid that he’d said he’d do that to some guy after they’d seen the movie, pretty stupid that he’d said he’d fuck some guy up, but he hadn’t just said, ‘Fuck yeah,’ he’d do it, he’d added, ‘If the guy deserved it.’

That was what had made Lukas look at him with a frown.

He shouldn’t have said that.

It wasn’t like Lukas deserved it, getting his nuts crushed, which was what he really wanted done, and anyway, it was a movie. It wouldn’t be like that. The kid would have been arrested. He would have gone to jail.

You couldn’t do that to someone.

Not like that.

And it wouldn’t have been funny.

Or it might have been, but not for the guy getting it done to him. The guy getting it done to him wouldn’t have been making funny faces. At least, Matthew didn’t think so.

He frowned.

Of course not, he said to himself. It wasn’t like he’d enjoy it. ‘You fucking wanker.’

Matthew had made a fucking fool of himself, going on about it, after the movie, as though that would make Lukas ask him to fuck him up, to crush his nuts, when it wouldn’t.

He had been childish.

‘Fuck,’ Matthew said, getting out of his bed and running his fingers through his hair. ‘Lukas must think I’m a fucking idiot,’ he muttered.

There was no way Lukas was going to let him do that. There was no way Lukas was going to let him crush his nuts. It wasn’t going to happen.

‘It’s a movie!’ he said.

He had some breakfast, and when he’d had a shower, afterwards, he took two of the tablets and went to see how Lukas was doing.

By this time Matthew figured he’d pulled himself about fifteen or twenty times over what had happened to that guy in the movie, though when he was in the shower, he finally managed to pull himself over the idea of a girl, over the idea of fucking a girl, without thinking about Christian.

He really had to stop thinking about fucking Lukas’ gear up, he told himself, as he was drying his hair and looking in the mirror. If Lukas was going to let him crush his nuts, if that was going to happen, then yeah, he’d enjoy it. He’d fucking well do it. If he got into a situation where that could happen, then he’d do it. Lukas was going to do it to anyway. That was clear. There was no way he could keep going the way he was without doing it eventually.

Matthew didn’t think so.

Look at yourself, he said, pulling the towel away from his hair and looking at his reflection in the mirror, concentrating on how big his chest was, how his nipples looked. You’re a fucking god. You could have any girl you want. Get your act together.

And stop thinking about this shit.

He took his tablets and went back to bed, naked, pulling the cool sheets over him after he had turned on the strobe.

He picked the glasses up from his bedside cabinet and looked at them. They looked clean, though his head still hurt. He stared at the ceiling and made sure he was going into a trance before he put them on.

There was no way Lukas would be thinking about letting Matthew crush his nuts. Lukas might do it to himself, but there was no situation in which Matthew could do that for him. It couldn’t really happen. What the hell would Lukas say to him? Can you crush my nuts for me? Lukas couldn’t even tell him he was gay. He was hardly going to tell him he wanted his testicles crushed, and wanted Matthew to do it.

It was a movie, Matthew said to himself, sick of thinking about it, sick of the whole idea. It wasn’t going to happen. He wasn’t going to get to do it.

He got a surprise then, when he erupted into Lukas’ mind, to find Lukas wishing that Matthew would do it, with a pair of multigrips in his hands, wrenching his nuts. He was remembering how Matthew had said it would feel good to crush someone’s nuts, remembering how Matthew had said ‘Fuck yeah,’ after the movie, he’d do it to someone. Lukas was telling himself that it was Matthew doing it to him, that it was Matthew’s voice in his mind, saying, ‘Please, Lukas, can I?’

Lukas didn’t want to, but agreed, because Matthew wanted to do it so much. ‘Okay,’ he said, reluctantly, pretending like he didn’t really want it done.

He wanted Matthew to love him.

Matthew would love him if he let him crush his nuts.

The come felt sweet.

Matthew simply watched, simply wrenched that little bit harder than Lukas wanted him to, and afterwards, Lukas felt good. Like it was a sweet feeling. He felt like Matthew loved him. And he hadn’t really hurt himself.

He really wants me to do it, Matthew said to himself, with his hands behind his head, looking up at the ceiling, the strobe light ticking.

He wants me to do it.

Matthew pulled the glasses back on and went to find Lukas again. He was having morning tea, with McCady, in the kitchen.

‘I’ve got scones this morning. And pancakes. I’ve got a seed. A carrot. And this one’s banana cake.’

Matthew forgot what he was doing. He hadn’t had a piece of McCady’s banana cake for years. As a kid, he had always called it ant cake, because of how it had black things all through it, which looked like ants.

He started stuffing his face, Lukas’ face, and had started on a second piece before he realised what he was doing, before he realised that he had taken over Lukas’ body. McCady had stopped. She was staring at him, her florid face working with a series of emotions.

Matthew stopped mid-chew. He looked back at her, and swallowed a large chunk of cake. Lukas’ heart was racing.

‘Who are you?’ she said, her voice an incredulous pitch.

Matthew froze, chill shots of fear cascaded through Lukas’ body.

‘Begone,’ she said, waving her hands at him. ‘In the name of Lord and Saviour, in the name of Our Lord Jesus Christ, I order you out of him. Begone!’

Matthew freaked.

She reached across the table and gripped him by the shoulders. She started shaking him.

‘Out!’ she screamed. ‘Begone!’

Matthew pulled away from her and managed to stand, stumbling. He was choking on a piece of cake. And she had really hurt him.

‘Why don’t you go fuck yourself,’ he said, managing to swallow, and speaking in the hardest and vilest voice he could manage. ‘You stupid bitch.’

She stared at him.

They had overturned Lukas’ tea cup while they were wrestling, and it was running all through the tablecloth, spreading into a large amber stain.

Matthew got control of himself and released Lukas.

She frowned, and studied Lukas closely.

‘Crumpet?’

#

The stupid thing about Lukas, Matthew figured, was that he imagined half the stuff he thought was happening to him. It was one thing to say you were possessed by evil spirits, when you were, but another thing to say you were, when you weren’t.

At first, when Matthew had first thought about it, he had figured it was because of Christian, and then because of him, because of Matthew, that Lukas had come to figure he was possessed.

But it wasn’t.

Lukas seemed to think he was possessed by a whole band of dead people, by a whole band of spirits, as though they were all through his thoughts, all through his mind, and influencing everything he did.

Matthew knew this wasn’t true. He could see how Lukas was thinking that it was, but the only thing in Lukas’ mind was Lukas, and Matthew, at times.

The other thing was Lukas’ headaches. Matthew supposed he was responsible for these. There seemed to be a connection.

But then again, on the other hand, Lukas had them at other times. He had had one at the beach the other day. He had had one at the movies.

People did get headaches.

And anyway, Lukas was always saying how they were at the back of his head, where he had had the blot clot, where his surgery had been performed.

Matthew couldn’t be responsible for that.

It was like Dr Mueller had said. Lukas had survived a serious car accident. He had brain trauma. And he had lived with a clot on his brain for years.

He really was very strange.

After morning tea, Matthew figured he couldn’t stand being with McCady anymore, couldn’t stand being with Lukas, because McCady was following Lukas everywhere, asking Lukas questions, and trying to make sure he was alright. Questioning him about his spirits.

‘I always have them,’ Lukas said. ‘They’re always there.’

McCady was horrified.

She seemed to think it was serious.

Seemed to think, seriously, that Lukas was possessed by evil spirits.

Lukas was sick of her.

‘I’ve got a headache,’ he said, wanting to escape to his rooms.

‘I’m not letting you out of my sight.’

Matthew couldn’t be bothered turning the strobe off. He liked it now. Liked lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling, wondering, imagining.

He wasn’t hurting Lukas. He knew that. McCady was being stupid. So what if he was in Lukas’ mind. He wasn’t hurting him. Still, he shouldn’t have taken hold of Lukas when he was with her. And he shouldn’t have said that to her.

She was a Scot.

She was supposed to have second sight.

All he had done was confirm her suspicion.

And who the hell was she anyway? Some character from the nineteenth century, some housekeeper, some servant, who had ingratiated herself into their family.

How the hell did Mr Sorensen put up with her?

When he was a child, Matthew had found her incomprehensible. Frightening.

‘If anyone’s evil, it’s you,’ he said, staring at the ceiling.

The strobe light ticked.

They could go to the beach tomorrow, even if he wasn’t going to do anything to Lukas.

He supposed he couldn’t.

He had those speedos of Lukas’. Lukas had left them in his bag, and he could say to Lukas, ‘I’ve got your trunks.’ And then Lukas would be sure to wear them, would have to wear them. He would have no excuse not to.

Matthew could just tell him they were in his bag, could just say to Lukas, ‘Just bring a towel, I’ve got your trunks.’

And Matthew could have him up on the board, and see Lukas’ arse, see his sack, and remember how Lukas had been wrenching his nuts today.

Or even…

If he told Lukas he had his trunks…