Instinctively, he lashed out, opening his eyes as his fist hit something solid and scooting back against his wall in disorienting terror. He’d hit Richard, oh god, he hadn’t mean to, but he had, he’d hit... Frank? Slowly, everything started to come back to him and the roaring in his ears died down, leaving him to the harsh panting of his brother, who was doubled over with a hand on his stomach.

"Happy Christmas to you, too."

His memory slowly came back to him as it always did first thing in the morning and he flushed bright pink. He’d been home for a week, but it still didn’t feel real, he still expected to wake up back in Richard’s room. The only good thing was that he’d stopped talking in his sleep. The first time his mum had woken him up, she’d been in tears and it had taken him several hours to learn that she’d come into him tossing and turning on the bed, begging someone to stop.

"Happy Christmas." It really was like a dream, being home for Christmas. He hadn’t thought he would be, but he’d hoped, and then Paul had said definitely not and he’d given up on that hope, only to be sent home. It was unreal at best, but he’d take what he could get, even if it was a dream.

Frank had come back from school the moment he’d heard Mitch was there, taking only three hours for a four hour drive. It was a miracle he hadn’t been pulled over. His brother sat on the bed next to him and Mitch unconsciously shifted so they weren’t touching. One of the many side effects of his captivity was that Mitch didn’t like being touched. He’d thought that would fade with a few days, but it had only gotten worse. The other day his father had given him a hug and he’d nearly had a panic attack.

Still, he couldn’t avoid it altogether. Frank patted his shoulder, "How are you doing today?"

It was the same question every morning and it earned the same answer, "Okay."

"Well, then, we’d better get you out of bed." He lowered his voice and leaned in conspiratorially, "Mum’s fixed the biggest breakfast I have ever seen. There’s three different kind of jams, two breads, plus biscuits, scrambled eggs, pancakes, bacon, sausage, and a tray of fruit. That and I think she’s hiding something, I smelled pie this morning, but I didn’t see any on the table. "

Mitch couldn’t help laughing. "She’s gone insane."

Breakfast at his home was generally two slices of toast, buttered if he was lucky, and a glass of Cola. Other than his mother, no one ever got out of bed in time to sit down for a meal and with his father on the force, there never were any real holidays. This was the first Christmas that the entire family had been home and didn’t have anywhere else to be. Actually, his dad had wanted to go in - they were still reviewing the evidence in Mitch’s case and he’d wanted to help - but his co-workers had threatened to lock him out of the building.

With a grin, Mitch pushed the covers back and slid off the bed. Frank got up as well and ruffled his brother’s hair before stepping out to let Mitch get changed. Before, Mitch had always slept in only his underpants, not bothering with pyjamas or even a t-shirt. Now, he went to bed fully dressed, covering every part of himself that he could. His mum had actually gone and bought him three sets of full pyjamas so that he didn’t have to sleep in his jeans, but he couldn’t bring himself to wear them. Not yet, anyway.

The moment he stepped out, he knew Frank was telling the truth about breakfast. The entire house smelled of food and he could hear voices coming from the kitchen. He froze as he took in the scene at his kitchen table. It wasn’t just his mum and dad and Frank, but Cynthia was there with her mum, and Ron too talking animatedly about the weather and how wonderful all the food looked.

Cynthia was the first to notice him. Her smile faltered, but she immediately put it back on, "Morning, Mitch!"

He smiled back at her and stepped forward into the room. His stomach twisted as he sat down. Everyone was staring at him. For a moment, it felt like he was back with Richard, at one of his parties when everyone suddenly decided they wanted entertainment and all eyes were on him, because he was the entertainment. He was going to be sick. Oh, please don’t let him be sick.

He looked down, pulling his tongue ring between his teeth nervously. Please make them stop staring. Please, please, please...

"Mrs. Dearing, this smells wonderful. Could you pass me the hash-browns?" Cynthia. Wonderful Cynthia. Mitch looked up, smiling at her in thanks. She winked, but Frank wasn’t paying attention.

"There are hash-browns?!"

He laughed silently, just one convulsive shake of his chest.

His mother frowned at Frank reprovingly, "Don’t be silly, Frank."

"I’m silly?! You’re the one whose gone nutters." He dodged a glancing blow from his father to the back of his head. "Can I have a Coke?"

His mother passed him a container of orange juice, "You could have had a Coke, until you decided to smart off. Now drink your juice and stop complaining." It was said scornfully, but there was a humor behind it that made Mitch smile and relax.

After breakfast they moved to the living room, where everyone sat around, talking about what they were going to do that evening. Cynthia, however, watched Mitch. He sat a careful distance from everyone and his mouth kept moving, as if there was something in it. She’d spent the whole week trying to figure out what she should do - if she should go against Mitch and tell everything, or keep her promise and stay silent. More than once she had been driven to tears, but until she was certain she was doing the right thing, she wasn’t going to do anything.

"Mitch, you want to come outside with me?"

He looked up at her, his face startled, but nodded and got up. Mrs. Dearing got up as well, but then slowly sat back down. "Be careful and don’t forget your coat."

Mitch nodded, but didn’t say anything as he took his coat off the hook next to the door and pulled it on over his jumper. Cynthia closed the door behind them and leaned against it, looking at her friend. He had lost a good deal of weight when he’d been gone and according to her mother, who was keeping in close contact with the Dearings, he still hadn’t been able to put any on. Even at breakfast, she’d watched him only pick at his food, eating little and saying nothing.

"Let’s go for a walk around the block." He didn’t argue, just followed her, his eyes down, but his head up, which was something of an improvement. She didn’t speak again until they’d gotten to the street and she was sure that no one could hear her. "So, what’s in your mouth?"

He looked sharply at her and she shrugged as best she could, wrapped in thick layers of coat. "You've been messing with something for the past hour. Not that I blame you, I’m sure it beats listening to the drivel that passes as conversation between adults."

For a moment, she was afraid she’d said something wrong, because Mitch stopped walking, but when she looked up he was smiling. "Thanks."

She nodded and they started walking again. After a few feet, he turned to her and stuck out his tongue and she gasped. A tongue ring?! No one had said anything about a tongue ring! "Oh, my god!"

Mitch nodded, pulling it back in and continuing to walk. For a moment, Cynthia couldn’t think, then she regained herself and caught up with him. "When did you get a tongue ring?"

"Richard." She stiffened, but at least she remembered to keep walking. "I was gonna take it out, but..." he pulled on it and she flinched at the harsh sound of metal on teeth, "I got used it after a while. It’s something to do, like fidgeting, only people don’t notice it as much."

They walked in silence and Cynthia was just beginning to think she should say something when Mitch perked up. "How’s Mark?"

"Oh, he, uh... he’s fine." She kicked a frozen rock into the snow. "He’s been calling me all week, can’t wait to see you." After a second, she found herself chuckling. "When you went missing, he was more of a wreck than I was. He kept bursting into tears in class."

Mitch laughed, "He’s such a drama queen."

"Right? Eventually they sent him home, but I really wasn’t interested in keeping tabs on him. I, um, haven’t really been to school in a... hm, three weeks now, but I talked to Sandra and she said he puts on a good face, but whenever he thinks no one is paying attention he looks really sad."

Mitch nodded, but he was still smiling. "You haven’t been to school in three weeks?"

She nodded, "Yeah, I went to London to look for you, but you know that."

He shrugged, "You could tell me more."

Slowly, she nodded again, "Okay." And she told him everything, in detail. She told him about Chris, the bartender and waking up in his apartment and how he’d been really sweet to her and watched out for her when she was at Humps. She explained how he’d taken her to Fizzy’s and how she’d met Paul there and ended up in bed with him.

"So, you really did sleep with him?"

"Not one of my prouder moments, I’ll admit, but you know, he called me and I was already drunk and one thing led to another and eventually it all led back to my room at my dad’s flat."

"The room with the white furniture and the little flowers?"

She cringed, "Right? I swear I’m making my dad paint over that the next chance I get." As she told the rest of the story, they continued to walk, never straying from sight of Mitch’s house, and Mitch listened to her, intent on hearing everything she had to say. By the time she finished, they’d walked twice around and her nose was numb, but Mitch was still smiling. It was a little secretive, perhaps, and she got the feeling that maybe she didn’t understand exactly why he was smiling, but seeing it made her feel warm.

Without thinking, she lunged to the side and wrapped her arms around him and she was surprised when he returned the favor, hugging her back. "I’m so glad you’re here. I was afraid I’d never see you again."

Mitch felt choked up, but more than that, he felt confused. The past week his parents had kept him locked in the house, insisting that he needed rest. He hadn’t seen Cynthia, even though he’d asked if he could. Seeing her now had been a relief, like he could let his guard down. He’d thought that would mean crying or being angry, but in reality it meant he could smile and when she’d hugged him, he hadn’t flinched. In fact, it had felt good and comforting and he had never been so glad to have someone near him in his life.

He thought perhaps it was something about Cynthia. She was his best friend, she knew all his dark secrets, including this one and that meant that while everyone else was sitting, watching him for any clues as to what he was thinking, or what he had been through, Cynthia didn’t have to ask, because she just knew.

They stood like that for a while and when they finally parted, it was because it had started snowing again and they were both shivering. Cynthia dusted the snow off her jacket, "Let’s get inside before they start looking for us."

*****

Mitch had always hated psychiatrists. They were like slimy worms that tried to get into people’s heads and rummage around until they found what they wanted. His boyfriend, Mark, had been going to a psychiatrist, because his parents thought he was depressed, turned out he was just a drama queen, but it took them a year and several thousand pounds for the psychiatrist to make that assertion.

So, overall, Mitch felt it was a testament to how much he loved his parents and how thankful he was to be home that he was sitting in an over-sized, navy blue chair in the office of Dr. Chang, listening to the psychobabble for the third time. "Tell me about Mitchell-dear."

Mitch fought off a scowl and concentrated on tracing the pattern on the chair. "That’s my name."

"No, your name is Mitchell Dearing."

He did scowl this time. "That’s my pet name."

Dr. Chang put his hands in his lap, templing his fingers thoughtfully. "From whom?"

Looking at the man, Mitch stared at him for several moments before he finally sighed and gave in. As long as he didn’t give any names, it couldn’t hurt anything, right? "Him."

"The man who held you captive?"

He found himself flinching involuntarily at the word ‘captive’, but nodded, "He never called me anything else."

"Why do you suppose he had that put on the piercing?"

"Because it was a little less obvious that ‘Property Of’, because if he’d put his name it would have been incriminating, because he’s a sick fuck? You’re the psychiatrist, you figure it out."

He’d changed his mind, talking was a stupid idea. He was going to give something away if he didn’t watch himself. Looking at the clock behind him, he sighed. Another twenty minutes of this shite. Not that that really meant anything. Dr. Chang always scheduled Mitch as his last patient of the day, just in case he needed more time. Stupid fucking psychiatrist.

"Let’s talk about television." What? "Your parents tell me you have an adverse reaction to watching television. They say you’d rather sit in your room and stare at the walls than join the family in watching the evening news. Why is that?"

Damnit, he hadn’t realized it had been so obvious. "It’s all I had to do there. I just sat on the bed and watched television for hours on end until I couldn’t even remember what I was watching anymore."

"Did you watch the news?"

He shook his head once, then paused. "I wasn’t supposed to. He didn’t like it when I cried and I usually did after watching the news, so he threatened to block all the channels if he caught me at it again. Sometimes I’d do it anyway, P..." careful, "one of his friends didn’t mind so much if I cried, so if I knew he was coming to keep an eye on me, I’d watch a little, but... well, there wasn’t really any point after a while."

Dr. Chang nodded and Mitch found himself scowling again. "So, there was more than one."

Fuck. Mitch paled, "I have to go to the bathroom."

"Sit down, Mitch."

Without thinking, Mitch obeyed. Oh, god, he’d said something stupid, he’d known this was a bad idea. "Tell me about his friend."

"I don’t want to talk anymore."

"I can’t make you."

The room got quiet and Mitch put his head down on his knees. "His friend was... nice. I liked him. He talked to me and he was kind and he didn’t hurt me like the others."

"More than two, then."

Mitch closed his eyes against the fabric of his jeans and gave up just a little. He needed to talk so badly. He’d considered telling this to Cynthia, but she’d been so emotional lately, that he was afraid he’d upset her. Maybe it was the aftershocks of all they’d been through, because they’d both been a little loopy in the emotional department.

"Yeah, five of his friends. They’d come over and he’d give them stuff, drugs, then they’d force me to take them too and they’d take turns fucking me until they got tired of it. He called them parties." He could feel the tears pricking his eyes and he clenched his hands in his hair, pulling it to ground himself so he wouldn’t cry. "His friend, the one I was talking about, he didn’t like that. He went along with it for a while, but then he stopped."

Dr. Chang tapped the end of his pencil on his notepad. "Sounds like a decent fellow."

Mitch looked up sharply, "Don’t be sarcastic, he is. He does what R... what he tells him to. He just doesn’t know any different and stop making that noise!"

The pencil stopped, but Mitch had already gotten up from his seat. "I have to go."

He ignored the doctor’s protests and walked out of the office, brushing past his mother and father as they stood up. He needed air, he needed to get outside and clear his head. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his father start after him, but his mum held him back. Silently, he thanked her, because he wasn’t sure what he would say just now. He was so... so angry and it wasn’t at them, it was at Richard for being a sick fucking bastard; it was at Paul for not doing anything sooner, for making him go through months of that before he finally decided to drop him off at home with a kiss and a ‘be well’; it was at himself for being too terrified to tell anyone who had done this to him, because he knew, he knew that his father could protect him, but the thought that he’d have to see Richard again, even if it was in a courtroom or a line up made him physically ill. So, he didn’t say anything and he tried to move past it, but it wasn’t helping.

A woman was standing outside, wearing a black, business suit and high heals. She had just pulled out a cigarette and was fumbling with her lighter. Mitch bit his lip nervously and shifted his feet. Fuck it. "Mind if I have one?"

She looked at him for a moment, before giving a half laugh. "Right, like I’m giving smokes to a fourteen-year-old.."

"Fifteen." Mitch leaned against the building dejectedly, "Would it make any difference if I said I was Mitchell Dearing?"

She stopped and looked at him, surprised. "That kid from the news? The one who went missing?" He nodded, but continued to stare at the ground. A moment later a lit cigarette was shoved under his nose and he looked up, startled. "Go on, kid, I’m sure you’ve earned it."

"Thanks." He took it and pulled the smoke into his mouth happily. It wasn’t Paul’s brand, but as he puffed on it, he could feel his muscles unwinding. "So, are you a patient here?"

With a casual shake of her head, she finished lighting her own cigarette and put her box away. "Dr. Reeves, actually."

He frowned and took another deep breath of tobacco and nicotine. There were too many doctors in this damned place. Of course, this one had given him a fag and he could hardly find fault with that.

She smiled at him, but it wasn’t the pitying, placating smiles he had gotten used to over the past two weeks, it was genuine. "What about you? Who are you here to see?" He hesitated and her eyes brightened. "No, let me guess. Dr. Chang?" At his surprise, her smile became amused, "He works closely with the police around here and I just remembered who your father is. He’d only want to best for his son."

Guilt stabbed at Mitch’s stomach and he sighed, "I know, but I don’t like doctors and I just... I don’t know what I can tell him. I’m sure he tells my parents everything I say."

Dr. Reeves sat down on one of the benches and patted the seat next to her. "Actually, Mitch, he can’t."

"What?" Slowly he sat down, careful to keep a good two feet between them.

"It’s privileged information. Unless you say something that leads him to believe you’re a danger to yourself or others, he can’t tell anyone anything. Not even names. You’d have to do that all by yourself."

"But... you said he works for the police, why would he do that if he wasn’t telling them things?"

"He tells them things, but not like that." She handed him a fresh cigarette and he thanked her again. "This isn’t an interrogation, so what you say in there is between him and you. The only thing he can do is point them in the right direction and encourage you to talk."

"Really?"

"Really. Right now, he’ll be up there telling your parents what they should and shouldn’t do around you, what kind of space to give you, if any and what kind reactions to expect from you."

It was tempting, to be able to talk to someone, to tell them everything and just get it off his chest and not have to hold it inside. Hell, it was more than just tempting, it was like holding food in front of someone who was starving and asking if they wanted it. Besides all that, he didn’t have to give a last name, did he? Just Richard and there were plenty of people named Richard out there.

Throwing his cigarette down, he stepped on it and stood up, thrusting his hands in his pockets as he turned to her. "Thanks again."

She smiled pleasantly, but didn’t say anything else as he walked off, back into the building and up the stairs to the first floor, where his parents were standing in the lobby, talking to Dr. Chang with concern on their faces.

"I’ll talk to you." They looked over, surprised, not having noticed him enter and he gulped, feeling his bravado quickly dying down into meek need. "You can’t tell anyone what I say, right? It’s between me and you?"

Slowly, Dr. Chang nodded and Mitch tried to ignore the relief that he saw in his parents’ faces as he stepped past them to stand next to the doctor. "Then, okay."

Dr. Chang nodded and motioned for Mitch to follow him, before turning to his parents. "Why don’t you head on home, Henry, I’ll make sure he gets back safely."

Mitch’s father nodded and put his arm around his wife’s shoulders, turning her towards the exit. Mitch watch the door close behind him, leaving him in the office with Dr. Chang and instead of the heavy, trapped feeling he usually got in such situations, he was surprised to find that he felt remarkably relaxed.

*****

No one was more surprised by how quickly Mitch recovered than himself. He’d expected that talking would make a difference, but he hadn’t expected it to be like this. Another week had flown by, he’d had two more sessions with Dr. Chang and after each one he felt more and more like himself. Oh, he still didn’t like being touched, but he no longer shuddered violently when someone hugged him. He still didn’t like to watch television, but doing so no longer gave him flashbacks of sitting on Richard’s bed, waiting for the ‘fun’ to begin. He still didn’t like crowds, but there were no panic attacks at the mere thought of going to the grocer with his mum.

In fact, he was ready to take the next step. At least, he thought he was.

"Mitch, are you okay?"

He looked over at Cynthia, who was standing next to him in her dingy grey uniform, her heavy backpack weighing on her shoulder as she stood on the steps to the school, waiting for him to follow. Oh, bloody hell, he hadn’t even realized he’d stopped. The school looked large and imposing, but that in itself wasn’t the problem. The problem was the multitude of faces that he could see peering down at him from the various classrooms.

He could do this, he could do this.

Relief washed over him as Cynthia took his arm and lowered her voice so that the few people still trickling past them wouldn’t hear. "If you’re not ready, it’s okay. I’ll walk you back home."

It was tempting, but not so much as he’d thought it would be. Truth was, he was tired of sitting in his room with nothing to do but listen to music and read. He had to get out and the only place his parents were going to let him go on his own was school. Besides, he was already so behind on his work that he’d have to go with Cynthia to tutoring sessions for the rest of the year. If he waited any longer, they’d hold him back.

"No, I’m all right." She didn’t let go, just turned around and started walking again, dragging him with her.

He could do this. He could do this. He could...

"Mitch!" He hadn’t even had time to recognize the voice before the whirlwind of arms hit him from behind, wrapping around him in a tight embrace. Someone was behind his. Someone was holding him. A man’s crotch was digging into his backside. Instinctively, he thrust his elbow back and stepped down on the foot of the person behind him, diving forward in an attempt to get away.

The arms instantly let go and he careened towards the ground, caught by Cynthia, who blessedly stopped him from falling face first onto the brick walkway. He stood panting, gripping her arms, while she admonished his attacker.

"What the bloody hell were you thinking, Mark?"

Mitch twisted half around and, sure enough, there was Mark, looking hurt and confused by Mitch’s attack and Cynthia’s criticism. "I wasn’t doing anything, just saying hi."

"It’s okay, Cyn." Mitch forced himself to stand straight and face his boyfriend. There was nothing intimidating about Mark, really. He was about as tall as Mitch, with short, closely cropped brown hair and wide, trusting blue eyes. He was, perhaps, slightly broader than Mitch, but that had never been intimidating before. But, then, that was before. All of the progress he’d made seemed to fall apart in the face of the one person he had avoided since his return three weeks ago. "Um, hi, Mark."

As far as Mitch’s parents were concerned the fewer people who knew the details, the better and as far as Mitch was concerned, well.. he just hadn’t really thought about it at all. It wasn’t fair to Mark, maybe, but that was the way it was.

Mitch picked his carrying case up off the ground and looked bashfully around at the people who had stopped to watch the display. So much for pretending nothing was wrong. "Sorry about that, you, uh, caught me off guard."

"Figured that." Mark rubbed his abdomen and Mitch cringed. "You’ve been avoiding my calls."

"I’m sorry about that, too."

An awkward silence stretched between them and finally Mark couldn’t take it. "Can I walk you to class?"

Cynthia looked at Mitch questioningly, but he nodded. She really didn’t need to worry. Mark was the kind of over-sensitive person who, quite literally, could not hurt a fly. He had accidentally sat on a beetle once and nearly broke down into tears over it. Still, Mark didn’t know what had happened and he might say something or do something unintentionally.

As they started towards the school, Mitch thought about the billions of things he needed to say to Mark, some he even wanted to say, but the one that came out hadn’t even really been on his list. "I saw you on television with Cynthia. You know, the first day. She started crying and you helped her. Thanks for taking care of her for me."

Mark chuckled, "At least someone recognizes my good intentions. Cyn practically bit my head off not two minutes later, said she didn’t need my help."

Cynthia playfully punched Mark on the arm. "Sod off, Marcus."

With a push of his own, Mark stuck out his tongue, "Cynthia."

"Marcus."

"Cynthia."

Mitch chuckled and they both turned to him.

It was like old times, Cynthia and Mark had always fought like bother and sister, which was good, because they also got along just as well. A hand slipped into his, Marks, and Mitch tensed.

He could do this. He could do this.

Mark squeezed his hand and smiled at him.

Suddenly, Mitch pulled his hand away from Mark and stared down at it, pale and shaky. Cynthia had seen it coming, but it had happened so quickly that she hadn’t been able to do anything about it. One moment they were walking towards the school, Mitch’s head held high, even if his eyes were slightly downcast. Then Mark had surreptitiously slipped a hand into Mitch’s and she’d watched her friend’s face go from pale to paler and then slightly green before he’d pulled away, shaking badly.

Blood hell. She moved between them quickly, ignoring Mark’s indignant cry. "Mitch?"

Mitch jerked away from her, stepping back a little before looking up, locking eyes on Mark and shaking his head. "I can’t do this, I’m sorry." He looked at Cynthia, "I’m really, really sorry." Before turning around and darting off away from the school.

Cynthia cursed heavily. At least she’d worn sneakers. She’d just turned to bolt when Mark grabbed her arm. Stopping, she looked back sharply. It was understandable that he was upset, but she didn’t need to be held up. Mitch was a damned fast runner and she was wearing a skirt in freezing weather.

"Not right now, Mark."

He narrowed his eyes and she sensed a tantrum. "If not now, when? I’m tired of being kept in the dark."

"Mark..."

"No! He’s my boyfriend..."

"And he’s my best friend! If you wanted to help him so badly, you should have ditched school and come with me London! I’m not giving you answers you don’t need, to questions you don’t even know to ask!"

"That’s not fair, you didn’t tell me what you were doing, or I would have..."

"You would have stopped me, you lily prancing arse. You would have told on me and I would have been stuck here with you and Mitch might still be there in that... that hell. Now let me go!"

He did let her go, but she thought it might have been more from shock than an answer to her demand. Quickly, she ran after Mitch. He was well out of sight by now, but she knew where he was going. Rounding the corner, she saw him crouched on the sidewalk, his head on his knees. She came to a halt and her heavily laden bag pressed against her back, tipping her forward so that she lost her balance and tripped over her own feet, falling onto her knees with bone grinding force.

"Shite!" That hurt.

Mitch looked up, his eyes red and puffy. "Cyn?"

She did her best to smile through her grimace as she sat up and brushed off her scraped shins. "You okay?"

He shook his head and she sat next to him, concentrating on the cold ground pressed against her arse instead of the burning pain of her knees. She didn’t say anything, just sat there and after a moment, Mitch sat back as well and put his head on her shoulder. "I’m sorry I ran. For a moment... for a moment I was back there with Richard and I couldn’t... I just couldn’t."

Cynthia nodded and put her head down on top of his. "It’s okay, Mitch. I’ll talk to Mark."

"No. I should. I just don’t think I’m ready to yet."

In the distance, the school bell tolled and Cynthia sighed. "You know what, Mitch?"

"Huh?"

"I don’t think I’m quite ready to go back to school, either."

"Hm."

"You know what else?"

"What?"

She wondered if she should say what she was thinking. It might burden him, make him feel guilty, but if there was anyone she could tell this too, it would be Mitch. "I, um... I think I’m pregnant."

He pulled away so fast she nearly fell to the side. She looked at him, a rueful smile on her face. "Are you serious?"

Cynthia nodded, "Yeah. I’m two weeks over due and... well, you’ve seen me lately. I’m a train wreck."

Mitch couldn’t think of anything to say. If Cynthia was pregnant, then it was Paul’s, because she sure as hell hadn’t slept with anyone else. He looked down at the ground for a minute and then back up at her. "You should tell him."

She nodded, "I will." Then she stood up, "Come on, my arse is wet and there’s some daytime drama that’s just begging to be watched. We’ll have your mum make us pancakes."

He laughed, but took her arm thankfully and let her pull him up, looking inconspicuously at her stomach. It might not be such a bad thing.