It had been almost three weeks since Mitch had asked Paul that stupid, stupid question and he'd regretted it a thousand times since then, especially the day he'd realized that he understood exactly what Paul was talking about. Richard had gotten to where he threw a party every weekend and two days ago, at the last party, Mitch had finally stopped fighting. It just wasn't worth it. He didn't know how many times he had kicked or hit someone and it always made it worse.

That evening, when Richard had passed around the drugs, he'd taken them complacently; when Mickey had said to ride him, Mitch hadn't even waited to be moved into place; when Richard told him to suck, he'd tried his best to deep throat. It had hurt, the whole bloody thing had hurt so badly that he could feel parts of himself dying and then, suddenly, Paul had kissed him. He'd been on his knees, Tanner fucking him from behind and Paul had taken his face in his large hands, his thumbs pressing into his cheeks just under his eyes, and kissed him, slowly and softly. In that small moment, what Tanner had been doing hadn't hurt as much and ever since then Mitch had known, with the kind of certainty that ached, that that was what Paul was talking about when he'd said the need outweighed the pain.

The only problem was, Paul hadn't fucked him. Not once since that first night with Jessie. After finding out about the tongue ring, Paul had had a screaming row with Richard, in which he'd said, quite loudly outside the front door of the small flat, "I don't bloody well care what you think, Richard, I am not fucking him again! I don't agree with what you're doing and I won't be a part of the sick mind games that you're playing with him and if you don't stop pushing the subject, I will not only stop fucking him, but I'll stop going to your little parties all together!" There had been a few more minutes of heated whispering afterwards, but Richard had apparently acquiesced, because even though Paul had done the drugs, Richard hadn't let Tanner pressure him into sex that night, or any night since.

The bed jerked as Paul laughed. Paul had a very nice laugh, it was deep and carefree and honest - it was everything that Richard's cold and calculated laughs weren't. Sometimes, when Paul was laughing really hard, his eyes would close, which was a shame, because Paul had really nice eyes.

"You okay?"

Mitch felt his face heat up and he quickly looked back at the screen. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Paul put a hand on his forehead, "You sure? You look kind of flushed."

Mitch pulled back quickly and felt his face heat up even more when he heard Richard chuckle from where he sat at his computer. "I swear, Paul, sometimes you are so dense it kills me."

Paul looked at Richard, taking his hand away from Mitch's face. "What are you on about?"

Richard smirked, "Nothing, just watching the kiddie porn."

Paul shook his head and ruffled Mitch's hair, "Don't mind him, Mitch, Richie's just anxious because the cocktail waitress is still late."

"Shut it, Pauly."

It had been like this for the past two days and Mitch was confused to all hell. Paul was annoyed at Richard about the cocktail waitress and he kept making comments about her being late, an emphasis put on late that Mitch didn't quite understand and then Richard would get annoyed back and then they'd stop talking again. Mitch didn't need a keen sense of awareness to know that this kind of thing hadn't happened before, because Richard had told him. He'd pinned him to the bed and tied his hands over his head and between nuzzling his neck and biting at his nipple ring, Richard had said that Paul had never been tetchy like this before, that he'd always been comforting when things went wrong.

A part of Mitch resented Paul for acting out, because Mitch was the one who invariably suffered for it, but another part of him understood that Richard didn't need a reason to spank him, or fuck him. Things would probably be going exactly as they were even without this. Well, maybe there would be less talking.

"Why don't you just call her? I'm getting sick and tired of listening to your bloody phone constantly ringing because you don't have the bullocks to pick it up and hear what the girl has to say."

Richard pouted at the offensive mobile of his desk, "If she would just leave a message telling me what the outcome of the stupid test was, I wouldn't be so..."

The phone started ringing. For every person that Richard gave his cell phone number to, he designated a special ring, usually them saying something. However, this waitress hadn't been assigned anything and, as a result, the annoying default tone rang shrilly through the little room every time she called. Richard stared at it, his face paling.

"For the love of god, Richard!" Paul stood up from the bed, crossing the room and picked up the phone before Richard could stop him. "Hello? No, this is Paul Zalinsky." He nodded, rubbing his temple. "Yes. Yes, I'm serious. Yeah, well, we're friends off-set and he's... busy right now, so I thought... Of course. I didn't think you were, but Richard's... right, yes, I agree with you one hundred percent, he is a complete arse for not calling you back and for making his friends pick up his phone. You know, to be honest, he didn't ask me to, but I got sick and tired of watching him act like a moron about this whole thing."

Richard stood up and tried to reach for the phone, but Paul managed to keep it away from him, a strained smile on his face. "Right. I'll let him know. Bye."

There was a resounding beep as Paul hung up with her and Richard backed off, staring at him. Paul threw the phone at him and Richard barely caught it, holding it protectively to his chest while Paul seethed, "Congratulations, you're going to be a father." He grabbed his coat and stormed out, slamming the door violently behind him and leaving Richard standing in the middle of the room, still clutching his cell phone.

Mitch stared at Richard, feeling shocked. He was going to be a father? That was what the waitress had been calling to tell him, but what did that have to do with her being... oh! His eyebrows raised in understanding. She was late, as in, that kind of late.

"Bugger!" Richard wrenched himself out of his shock and threw his cell phone on his desk, before chasing out the door after Paul. His friend was standing at the bottom of the steps, smoking a cigarette, his breath coming out in puffs against the cold air. "Paul..."

Paul held up his hand and inhaled deeply, rolling the smoke around his mouth for a moment before exhaling. "Don't talk to me, Richard, I'm not in the mood."

"Come on..."

"No, I'm going to finish this and then I'm going out."

Out? Paul never went out without him. "Where?"

"I don't know!" Paul stomped out the fag and shoved his hands in his pockets. "You know what, I do know. I'm going to Fizzy's and I'm going to find some drunk girl to have sex with. Hey, maybe if I'm lucky, she'll be fifteen and I can knock her up, then I'll be just like you!"

What the hell? Paul never yelled at him. Paul never stood up to him. Paul rarely had any kind of thought that wasn't put there by Richard himself. What the bloody hell was going on and how was he going to stop it? "Paul, you're not making any sense. The waitress was twenty-three."

Apparently, that had been the wrong thing to say. Paul gave a frustrated cry, storming off and Richard got the feeling that following him wasn't going to help. Picking the crushed cigarette butt off the ground, he held it between his fingers and sighed. Just two months ago, he'd had Paul wrapped around his finger. He'd even convinced him to stop smoking, just by saying it would please him. Now Paul was leaving his used cigarettes on Richard's front porch.

He never should have gotten drunk at that party. He knew better than that, but ever since he'd brought home that kid, things with Paul had been spiraling out of his control and he'd needed to take his mind off it. It was all that stupid kid's fault. Turning around, he glared at the door and dropped the cigarette, stomping up the steps two at a time. He'd show that kid exactly who was in control.

Richard threw open the door and felt his chest seized up for a moment at what he saw. Mitchell was sitting at his desk holding the cell phone tightly in his shaking hands. He'd left it behind in his rush to follow Paul. The kid dropped the phone the moment he saw Richard, but it was far too late for that and Richard walked forward, forcing calm into his steps, and backhanded the kid across the face, feeling some of the tension leave his body as Mitchell flew from the chair and hit the floor, hard.

"Fucking little wanker, it's locked." He stepped around the chair and nudged the prone figure with his toe. "You think I'm that stupid?"

"Stupid enough to knock up some waitress." It had barely been mumbled, he'd almost missed it.

Kneeling down, he fisted his hand into the kid's hair and yanked his head up. "Say that again."

Defiance flashed across his face and Richard felt the familiar pangs of lust building in his groin. "I said that you're stupid enough to knock up a waitress."

Richard felt warm spit hit his face and he smiled. "You know, I'd begun to think you were getting smarter. You'd stopped fighting, you weren't acting out, you'd even stopped trying to figure out the code for the door," he laughed as the color drained from Mitchell's face, "that's right, I know all about that. Now, I'm thinking you need a little reminder of your place."

He pulled Mitchell's hair hard, yanking him up onto his feet and shoved him forward, watching with amusement as the kid stumbled and fell onto the bed in a heap, his whole body shaking. Picking the phone up off the floor, he keyed in the code. He'd forgotten it in the room only one other time and that had been with Gregory. Thankfully, his phone took a very long time to make international calls and he'd only just gotten downstairs when he'd realized it was missing. Since then, he'd put a password on it, just in case.

The boy's chest heaved a little as he sobbed silently into the bed and Richard put the receiver next to Mitchell's mouth, whispering in his ear, "Say Jessie."

Mitchell shook his head, his hands clenching desperately into the quilt. "Either you say it, Mitchell-dear, or I do." He didn't even need to say that the kid wouldn't like what happened if he had to do it.

"J... Jessie."

Richard heard the automated response on the other end, "Did you say, ‘Jessie?'" He pulled the phone away and said, "Yes," listening to it ring with self-satisfaction. Everything was under control. Jessie would come over tonight and they'd punish Mitch together, then tomorrow, he'd call his agent and clear up this mess with that girl. Paul was going to take a little more work, but he'd deal with that like he always did.

"Jessie speaking."

*****

Paul threw the car into park and got out, handing his keys to the valet with a little more aggression than he intended. He wasn't mad at the valet, he was mad at Richard and his stupid games. God, what was he thinking? What if the girl got angry and tried to say it had been rape? What if there was some kind of investigation into his past? All it took was someone going over his credit cards to realize that he had gone to Humps and then it would be all over the news and the police would link it to the night Mitch went missing and then they were all screwed.

Sitting at the bar, he ordered a beer and put his head down, groaning inwardly. Just one wrong word and they were all up the creek without the proverbial paddle.

"Are you okay?"

He tilted his head and looked at the girl he had sat next to. She was young, with bright blue stripes at the front of her otherwise blonde hair, which was pulled back and slicked into a tight knot at the nape of her neck. She had a round face, fair skin and large, chocolate brown eyes. There was something oddly familiar about her, something that made him a little uneasy, but he chalked it up to her probably looking like one of the many girls he'd seen Richard flirt with at parties.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just really need a drink."

The bartender put a beer down and he grabbed it, taking a deep gulp and sighing as the sensation of having his first real drink in weeks flooded through him. She giggled and he looked back at her, taking in her full measure. She was wearing a dark grey dress that hung to her knees and fit loosely over her slight figure. Every time she moved, the silky fabric swayed her body, cupping against her breasts or sliding over her delicate hips.

She was just the kind of girl he needed right then. She'd make Richard all sorts of jealous, but why didn't that make him feel any better? He sat up straight and turned to face her, "You want anything to drink?"

Raised her glass, she shook it just enough to make the ice rattle inside. "I'm fine thanks."

"I meant a real drink." He motioned to the can of Sprite.

She shook her head, ASorry, I don't drink, but I'll be out of a Sprite in a few minutes."

Didn't drink? Fizzy's was most known for their unusual mixed drinks. He couldn't imagine why someone who didn't drink would be in a place like this. Still, she was cute and she seemed interested in him, at least, she did when she wasn't looking around at everyone else. "If I'm going to have the privilege of buying you a drink, do you think I could get your name?"

"Cynthia."

Something was tugging at the back of his mind, but he pushed it away, because she was smiling at him and she had a lovely smile. "Cynthia, may I inquire as to what you are doing in Fizzy's, seeing as you don't drink?"

Cynthia giggled and he swigged some more beer. "I'm a friend of one of the bartenders. He said that he wanted to show me a real club and insisted that I come with him tonight."

"Which bartender?"

"The one that spit in your drink." He choked a little and she laughed, "I'm kidding! He's on the other side of the room, I was distracting him too much. It is a nice place, though, much better than Humps."

Humps, maybe that was where he had seen her. Not that it mattered. If she was hanging out at Humps, it meant she was lesbian and it also meant that he was barking up the entirely wrong tree. As if sensing what he was thinking, she shook her head. "I'm straight, I just like watching all the pretty boys on the dance floor. It's better than porn."

"Really?" Something about a girl mentioning porn made a certain part of him stir and he shifted a little in the seat. "So, you go there often?"

Her attention was focused solely on him now. "Actually, I just started going there recently, when I turned eighteen. What about you?" He stopped mid-drink and she continued to smile slyly. "Everyone else that I've told about Humps has immediately asked me what it's like. People that go to places like this, don't often go to places like that and they seem to be dead curious about it."

He nodded, setting down his bottle, "Okay, you caught me. I have been to Humps. I have a friend who's gay and on occasion, he likes to..." He saw movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to see a bartender waving at Cynthia, motioning for her to go to him. "Your friend?"

She nodded and stood, "If you'll excuse me."

Paul kept sipping his beer, watching her skirt move over her body as she walked to the other end of the bar and leaned over, listening to something the bartender was telling her. Paul looked a little closer and his heart dropped to his feet. That was the same bartender that worked at Humps. Had he been working there the night they'd taken Mitch? He couldn't remember.

Cynthia rolled her eyes and threw a rude finger gesture at the man before heading back over and Paul. "Sorry about that."

"What was he saying?"

He's gay, I've seen him with tons of men.

Stay away from him, that was one of the men last seen with Mitchell Dearing.

Keep him distracted while I phone the police.

"He said you were the actor Paul Zalinsky."

Bloody hell! Paul stared at her open mouthed and the amused smile melted off her face into open shock. "Oh, my god, you are! You're Paul Zalinsky!"

He put a hand over her mouth, mindless of the fact that he was smearing her lipstick. "Sh!" God, now he knew how Richard felt. "Okay, okay, yes, I am."

She pulled away and grinned at him. "Really?"

"Yes."

"Wow." She picked up her can of Sprite and tipped the last of the contents into her glass, sipping it with deliberate slowness. She'd just set it down when something flicked across her face, like when someone remembers something that they've been trying to puzzle out for a long time. "Hey, your gay friend wouldn't be Richard Carter, would it?"

He stared at her, gobsmacked. How the hell had she figured out that? "It is, isn't it? Richard Carter's gay and you go to Humps with him."

He covered her mouth again and tried to give her a warning look, but it must have looked more desperate than anything else, because she pushed his hand away and leaned closer, completely oblivious of his panic. "Look, the night that Mitchell Dearing disappeared, he was seen dancing with someone that looked like Richard Carter, but it was him, wasn't it, and you were with him?"

Oh god, Cynthia, as in Mitch's friend Cynthia, the one that he'd seen on the tellie! How could he not have recognized her? The blue hair should have been a dead giveaway. He should never have gone out. That was the rule, wasn't it? Don't go clubbing again until after Richard took the boy home. That way they couldn't be found and questioned. Why was he so abysmally stupid?

"I have to go."

He stood up to leave, but she grabbed his arm. "Wait, please, do you remember seeing him? Do you remember who he left with, or did he leave alone?"

He shook his head, "I can't. I'm not supposed to..." Backup story, Richard had a backup story, what was it? Oh, right! "Look, if my agent finds out I was anywhere near Humps, he'd throw a fit and Richard is seriously famous, it can not get out that he goes to gay bars."

"You're famous, too."

Paul was too surprised to do anything more than say, "What?"

She licked her lips a little and shrugged, letting go of his arm, "You said that Richard was seriously famous. So are you. When the bartender said that you were, well, you, I couldn't believe it. I mean, what would a famous actor like you be doing in a place like Fizzy's and why would you be talking to someone like me?"

Paul felt his mouth turning up in a smile. "I really do have to go. I could get in a lot of trouble, but I really don't remember anything about your friend, I was too drunk to remember half the night."

Cynthia nodded and looked at the floor, "Right, um, give me your hand." He held out his right hand and she took a pen out of her purse, writing on it. "That's my number. If you remember anything, call me?"

He nodded and she smiled at him. Her face was bright pink and he couldn't help but think that she was quite fetching. "I'll do that." Before she could say anything else, he turned around and left, trying to ignore the renewed guilt eating at his insides.

*****

"Richard!"

Mitch shuddered greatly from where he sat on the bed. Just the sound of Jessie's voice made him feel cold inside. It had been hours since Richard had called Jessie and asked him to come over to help him punish Mitch. He'd been loud about it, too, saying suggestive things, like Jessie could do that thing he liked to do. Mitch had almost been sick with the anticipation several times already.

Jessie set his bag down, stripping his thick coat off and looked at Mitch, a sickening smile on his face, "I've heard someone's been a bad little boy."

Mitch pulled the tongue ring between his teeth and listened to it clinking inside his mouth. It was a nervous habit he'd developed only days after getting it. When Paul was around, he tried to suppress the urge, because Paul seemed to get agitated by it, and not at Mitch, but at Richard. The mere reminder that his best friend had done something like that was enough to make him moody with the actor for the rest of the day and when Paul got moody, Richard got pissed and when Richard got pissed, he took it out on Mitch.

As if sensing what he was thinking, Richard walked over and pet his cheek just a little harder then necessary. "He's not a bad boy, it's just that sometimes he forgets not to bite the hand that feeds him. Now, Mitchell-dear, get onto your hands and knees and face me. Don't look back at Jessie."

Mitch took a deep shuddering breath and moved to comply. His chest was tight, he knew he wasn't going to like what was coming. Were they going to try doing him at the same time again, or was it something else? Richard had made an offhanded comment about a tattoo the other day and Mitch's body seized up with fear. He'd thought the nipple ring was an offhanded comment as well and look where that had gotten him. Richard grabbed his arms and pulled him forward onto his elbows. The only thing that kept his from jerking away was the knowledge that he couldn't really do anything to stop them.

Jessie chuckled, "He's so cute, Richard, how are you ever going to let him go?" A hand reached under him and untied his pyjama pants, pulling them over his hips and down his thighs.

Richard tipped Mitch's face up, leaned down to kiss him and swirled his tongue around Mitch's, flicking the tongue ring before pulling away. "Maybe I won't."

Mitch fought back a whimper at the suggestion that he might never go home. Everyone kept telling him three months was the longest, it was the only thing that kept him going, but what if Richard didn't let him go? What if he decided that he liked torturing him too much?

The squelching sound of lubricant being squeezed out of a tub made him jump a little, but he quickly relaxed into the bed. Sex was painful and humiliating, but at least it wasn't permanent. He expected to be taken hard and fast. Jessie often liked to go once to get the edge off, so that he could spend an hour or two torturing Mitch with things like nipple clamps that sent little electric shocks through him, or rubber tubes that could be inserted into the head of his penis. Sometimes, though, Mitch wondered if that weren't better. At least he didn't get off on the torture.

Instead of the blunt head of a penis, though, he felt a thick finger press into him and would have looked back in surprise if Richard hadn't grabbed his face, stopping him. "I said, don't look back. In fact," Mitch felt familiar disgust as Richard unzipped his trousers with his free hand and guided Mitch's face down, "keep yourself busy with this."

If he didn't think Richard would kill him for it, he'd have bitten the thing off long before now. As it was, the taste of Richard's cock was just as familiar as the disgust that came with it and he knew that Richard would indeed kill him if he even thought that Mitch intended to bite down. The head of Richard's cock slipped past his lips and over his tongue, nudging the back of his throat, "Swallow."

Mitch opened his throat, obeying the order despite the fact that his mind was miles away. He would go home, it didn't matter what Richard said to the contrary, because Mitch had learned a lot about Richard and one of the actor's favorite past times was making people squirm, making them feel as if they had no control over their lives, because that meant Richard was somehow in control and that was what he wanted. So, he'd go home and he'd sleep in his own bed and he'd never leave again, not even to go to school. His mother would fix him sausage and eggs and he'd never eat muffins again, because that was all that Richard ever brought him for breakfast.

A second finger pushed in next to the first and Mitch was jolted from his thoughts by the sensation. He'd never realized exactly how big Jessie's hands were. The fingers felt alien, like they weren't shaped for what they were doing and he squirmed a little under the assault. What the bloody hell? Jessie never bothered with more than one and mostly not even that.

Jessie chuckled behind him, putting a hand on his thigh to hold him still. If Mitch could have turned around and glared, he would have, but Richard was holding his head down in his lap, so he closed his eyes instead, because glaring at someone's pubic hairs wasn't going to do any good.

"He's so tight, Richard, you sure you've been fucking him?"

Richard moaned as he thrust his hips forward, "Every bloody day. I don't think I'll ever be able to go back to whores after this."

Mitch's face heated up and he squeezed his eyes tighter as a third finger worked into him. God, what was he trying to do? Why couldn't he just fuck him and get it over with like every other bloody time? When the fourth finger pressed into him, he couldn't hold back the muffled groan of discomfort.

Richard clenched his fist in Mitch's hair and pulled his head up, drawing it off his cock and forward so that he could whisper into Mitch's ear. "Do you know what he's going to do, Mitchell-dear? Do you have any clue?"

The fingers twisted and Mitch clenched his jaw, choking on the sounds he didn't want to be making. "F... fuck me?" He couldn't imagine what else...

"He's going to fist you." Mitch forgot to breathe. "He's going to stick his entire hand up your arse and he's going to fuck you with it."

The fingers pushed deeper inside and Mitch clenched his jaw as his sphincter stretched to accommodate the width of Jessie's knuckles. It wasn't possible. It simply wasn't. Jessie was almost twice his size, his hands were huge. Was it even physically possible? The thumb of Jessie's hand pushed in next to the palm and Mitch felt something start to tear.

"P..." He stopped himself from begging by biting his tongue. It wouldn't do any good, it never did any good. Jessie's hand must have been well oiled, because as soon as the knuckle had breeched him, the rest of it slid in, leaving Mitch feeling too full and too stretched. He whimpered, looking down to avoid the lust and satisfaction in Richard's eyes.

Mitch clenched his hands tighter into the covers, aware of the fabric giving under his untrimmed nails. Jessie sighed happily, "Ah, Mitch, you have no idea. Do you know the last time he let me do this to one of his boys?"

Richard chuckled above him, his hand still fisted in Mitch's hair, though he wasn't particularly using it to direct him anywhere. "Derick, the business major from Germany. He cried like a baby." Now, he did use his grip, forcing Mitch to look up at him. "What about you, Mitchell-dear? Are you going to cry, beg, scream? I kind of like it when they scream."

Jessie's hand moved inside him and Mitch could feel tears slipping down his face at the sensation. It was wrong, it felt wrong. The hand clenched inside him, closing into a fist and slowly started to move, twisting. He had to stop breathing to keep from screaming, not because it hurt, but because someone's entire hand was in his arse and that didn't seem... right, or possible.

Richard pushed him down again, towards his cock, which was standing tall and eager and still wet with his saliva. "If you've nothing to say, then you can put your mouth to proper use."

Mitch gave a small cry as the fist moved deeper inside him, his anus stretching around the girth of Jessie's muscled forearm. Richard's cock popped past his opened mouth and he welcomed it, because at least it muffled his pathetic whimpering. Jessie pulled the arm back and pushed it in, moaning. "He's so fucking tight, it's practically sucking my arm in."

The fist moved forward sharply and Mitch did scream, just a little. Richard sighed, "Do that again."

Jessie was actually fucking him with his fist now, moving it back and forth with obscene ease and Mitch was screaming, having forgotten his silent vow not to. It hurt and it was wrong and please, please, please let it end. Richard gripped his hair tighter and a moment later his taste buds were assailed by the bitter taste of cum.

Jessie pulled his fist out and replaced it with his cock. The tender tissue of Mitch's arse wailed at the contact and he might have struggled, except that it was over quickly. He curled in on himself, too sore to even roll over onto his side.

The room went silent, save the panting of the two men and Mitch's own shuddered breaths. He'd never, ever touch the phone again. He didn't care if Richard flat out told him the password, he still wouldn't go near it, not if this was the punishment. He was so caught up in his thoughts that when Richard's cell suddenly went off, it was enough to make his sit up and jerkily crawl back into his corner, ignoring the searing pain in his backside.

"Pick up. Pick up. Pick up."

Richard sighed, "Bloody Paul. Horrible timing."

Jessie chuckled, "Could be worse, he could have called five minutes ago," and grabbed a shirt from the floor, using it to wipe off his hand. Mitch felt his stomach heave. Oh god, there was a blood and some kind of mucus film all over it.

"Pick up. Pick u..."

"Hey, Paul."

"Hey." Richard frowned into the receiver and eyed the two still sitting on the bed. Mitch was shaking so badly he was afraid the kid might be sick on his bed and he was bleeding on the bloody sheets again. Damnit! At least the other boys had had the sense to keep their ruddy mess off his bed linens.

He shook his head and tucked himself into his trousers before zipping them up and stepping outside into the light fall of snow. He hated winter. Paul sounded upset, concerned and a little depressed and with the way he'd been acting lately... well, there was no telling what that meant. "What's wrong?"

There was a long silence. "I went clubbing at Fizzy's."

Damnit, he really was depressed. Paul tended to make an arse of himself around women, which generally meant that he stayed the hell away from straight clubs. If he'd bothered to go to one, it could only mean one thing - he was trying to punish himself. "How did it go?"

"It went... okay. I met a girl. She was nice, I didn't shove my foot in my mouth."

Richard chuckled into the phone and leaned against his door, ignoring the cold air biting at his exposed chest. There was no mistaking the slur in Paul's voice, he was butt arse drunk. "Did you get a name?"

"Cynthia and she gave me her number."

"Why didn't you take her home?"

"...I don't know."

Shaking his head, Richard dug the heals of his feet into the back of his pants. "Where are you?"

"I'm at... hold on." There was a moment of silence and then the sound of Paul asking someone where he was. "I'm at the SeaDevil's Tavern."

SeaDevil's Tavern? Where the bloody hell was that? "Are you still in London?" There was a long moment of silence that stretched on for too long until Richard finally said, "If you're nodding, I can't see you."

"Oh, right, yes, I'm still in London."

"Right, then, call that girl and tell her you're too drunk to drive home. See if she'll give you a ride and then see if you can get laid, because I think you need it."

"Fuck you too, Richard."

"Call me if she says no."

Paul hung up the phone without another word and Richard closed his, looking down at it thoughtfully. He probably should have gone to help him...

"Aren't you afraid the paparazzi will climb the fence and take photos of you baring your washboard abs to the world?"

Startled, Richard looked up to see little his sister, Camilla standing at the bottom of the steps to his flat, looking up at him with amusement. The two of them had never gotten along, not since she had been five and a fifteen-year-old Richard had tied her to a chair and made her watch him rip the heads off all her dolls. If she was there now, it wasn't because she wanted to be. "What are you doing here, Millie?"

She shrugged and leaned against the railing. "Mum's worried about you. She said to come tell you dinner's ready and that you should eat with the family once in a while instead of consuming mass amounts of take-out garbage."

Shoving his phone into his back pocket, he waved her off dismissively, "I've got company. I'll eat dinner with you tomorrow."

"They know that, he's invited, too. It's that Jessie fellow, right?"

"Yeah."

"I don't like him much, but mum thinks he's fantastic because he has a good job and he dresses nice."

He turned to go back into his room, but Camilla took a step up and he stopped. "What are you doing?"

She smiled brightly, "Coming with you. You've lived in that room for five years now and I've never even seen the inside of it. I'm curious to know how my big brother lives."

"No. Tell mum I'll see her tomorrow."

"She'd be happier if you came tonight."

"Too bad."

Something in his sister's smile stopped him from leaving. The little cunt was planning something, he just knew it. "You know, mum thinks you're hiding something." She brushed her dark brown hair behind her ears and pulled the sleeves of her shirt over her hands. "She worries about it constantly, saying she hopes it isn't drugs, or some disease you picked up from the kinds of trash girls that throw themselves at you actor sorts. Of course, I know better; if anything, you've picked up something from one of the boys you drag home. Isn't that right?"

Richard felt his face start to twist into a sneer and forced his features to become neutral. It wouldn't do any good to let her know she'd gotten to him. "I have no idea what you're talking about."