Chapter Ten

Taylor slammed the door shut, pressing his weight fully against it, leaning his head backwards and taking deep breaths, in and out, in and out, until he felt his heart rate begin to return to normal. "Oh, God…" he moaned, raking his hand through his hair, his index finger instantly connecting with the stitches he'd recently received, prompting him to wince, and, shuddering, pull his hand gingerly away. Slowly, he slid his back down the doorway, until he was sitting on the floor, knees pulled tightly to his chest, still concentrating on rationalizing his erratic breathing.

"I did not, I repeat, did not just see that," he mumbled to himself, shaking his head. "I did not just see my little brother lying half-naked on the floor, kissing the odd job guy." He pounded his fist into the carpet. "Shit! I just saw my little brother lying half-naked on the floor, kissing the odd job guy!"

There was no denying it. No feeble excuse like 'we were both really cold waiting for our shirts to dry so we were sharing body heat' or 'it's a scientific experiment to see if the surface on which you kiss has any influence over the effectiveness of the kiss' would work. The only possible excuse was that Ollie was a specialist ear-nose-and-throat doctor, who'd discovered groundbreaking techniques like using your tongue during an examination. But that was just absurd.

Then again, this whole situation was absurd. Zac wasn't gay. Zac couldn't be gay. He just couldn't be. How could he be gay and Taylor hadn't noticed? There was just no way. "No way. No way," repeated Taylor firmly, shaking his head.

Suddenly, the door sprang open, crashing into the back of Taylor's skull. "Shit!" he cursed, scooting across the floor and out of the way.

The light snapped on, bathing him in an artificial, yellow glow, as he cautiously examined the back of his head for yet another cut.

"Tay? Are you okay? What are you doing in here?"

Taylor took a deep breath as Isaac and Rhia stepped into the bedroom, hand-in-hand. "Ike, I need to talk to you. Like really need to talk to you."

Isaac frowned. "Are you okay?" he asked again. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Not quite," muttered Taylor. "But I sure saw something."

Raising his eyebrows, Isaac turned to Rhia. "Sorry, honey, but this sounds kinda important."

Nodding, Rhia gave him a supportive smile. "You sort it out. I'll see you in the morning, okay?"

Isaac shook his head in wonderment for the sixtieth time that night, asking himself what he'd done to deserve such an incredible girlfriend. "Thank you, sweetie. And thank you for tonight. It was…unbelievable."

Smiling shyly up at him, Rhia pressed her lips against his softly, leaving him desperate for more. But there were more important issues at hand. He grinned at her apologetically, then, with a quick squeeze of his fingers, she turned and glided off down the hallway, to her own bedroom.

Sighing happily, Isaac closed the door gently behind him, then practically floated over to his bed, flopping gracelessly on to it, the same, dumb smile still plaguing his lips.

Joining his older brother on the bed, Taylor eyed him suspiciously, from beneath his bruises. "Well, Clarke Isaac Hanson, if I didn't know you better, I'd say you got some tonight."

Isaac just continued to smile, raising his eyebrows.

Taylor gasped, momentarily forgetting his other brother's problem and sharing his older brother's happiness. "Oh, man, you did! About time! I'm pleased for you, buddy."

"Thanks," murmured Isaac. "She's incredible, you know. She's just amazing. I'm so lucky."

Smiling wistfully, Taylor agreed. "You're right, Ike. You are. She is. Hold on to her. I doubt you'll ever find another Rhia."

Isaac nodded seriously. "I know. Thanks for the advice, Tay, but something tells me that's not why you're in here."

Instantly, Taylor's face darkened, his swollen eyes becoming angry. "No, it's not," he admitted, his voice becoming serious. "Ike…I…I saw…I…I…don't know how to tell you this…" he finished finally, smiling lamely at his brother.

"Tell me, Tay. Come on, what did you see?"

Still, Taylor hesitated, opening and closing his mouth like a fish, seemingly unable to grasp the right words.

Isaac reached out and patted him on the arm. "Okay, this is obviously really bothering you. Just spit it out."

Taylor took a deep breath. "I was in bed sleeping, right?"

"Right."

"And I woke up, thirsty, so I figured I'd go down to the kitchen to get a glass of juice."

"That's logical."

"So I went down to the kitchen."

"Yeah, you said that part."

"And I hear noises."

"What kind of noises?"

"Like scuffling and grunting noises, coming from the basement."

"I think I've heard this one. Isn't the escaped lunatic scraping through the door with his fingernails?"

Taylor glared at him. "Isaac, this is serious. It's not a damn ghost story, okay?"

Isaac stifled a giggle. "Okay, sorry, Tay. Carry on."

"So I decide to check it out."

"And what was it?"

"Zac and Ollie."

"Oh. So what's wrong with that? What were they doing in the basement, come to think of it?"

Taylor rolled his eyes. "Let me finish. This is the bit that's freaking me out."

Isaac gestured for him to continue, wondering what on earth Zac and Ollie could have been doing that was so bad.

"They were…umm…they were…kinda…kissing."

Isaac's mouth dropped open. "What? You're kidding me, right?"

"No. And I don't mean light stuff. They were like on the floor, rolling around, half naked-"

"What half?" Isaac interrupted, wanting to know.

"Top half." Taylor could see Isaac visibly relax. "But they were definitely both enjoying it, if you know what I mean. You know, standing to attention?"

"Yes, I know. Please, don't elaborate any further." He frowned. "Did it look like it was just a one-off?"

Taylor pondered this. "I guess I can't be sure, but I'd say no. They were really into it, and they sure looked comfy. It's…awful."

Isaac nodded his agreement, stroking his chin. "Poor Rachelle."

Taylor's eyes widened. He'd totally forgotten about Rachelle. "Oh, God... Rachelle..."

"Sucks, huh?"

"How could he?" demanded Taylor angrily. "Just how?"

Isaac stared at him, eyes wide.

"He can't be gay, Ike, he just can't!"

"Why not?" asked Isaac, his brow furrowed worriedly.

"He just can't be! How could we not have noticed! And he's normal!"

Isaac let out a low whistle. "I never had you marked as a homophobic, Taylor."

"I'm not… It's just…" He buried his face in his hands. "It's Zac! He can't be! You didn't see it, Ike, it was bad, it was real bad!"

Frowning, Isaac sighed. "It's his business, Tay."

"But he's…and he's…you mean we…"

Isaac shook his head. "Nope. We can't do anything."

"Well, I'm not talking to him."

"That's your choice. But it really is up to Zac. I can't say I'm impressed, especially not with the way he's treated Rachelle, but it's none of our business."

"How can we talk to Rachelle, though? I wanna run and tell her right now!"

"Well, you can't. It's gonna be hard, Tay. But we have to keep this to ourselves. It's Zac's mess. Let him sort it out."

***

Zac threw his hands in the air. "What the hell do we do?"

Ollie squeezed his eyes tightly shut. "I really don't know."

"Fuck, fuck, fuckitty-fuck!" muttered Zac, pacing from one end of the basement to the other, clenching his fists. "How could we let this happen?"

At a loss for words, Ollie walked up to his boyfriend and took both his hands in his. "Zac, it's okay."

"IT'S NOT OKAY!" yelled Zac, so loudly that Ollie jumped backwards.

"Tay might not say anything."

"I bet he's already gone running to Ike," spat Zac, bitterly. "They don't have any secrets. Oh, God!!!"

Ollie contemplated whether or not giving Zac a hug would be the right thing to do, but his indecision was momentary. Zac catapulted himself into Ollie's arms, resting his head on his shoulder, squeezing him tightly.

Rubbing his back, Ollie leaned his own head against Zac's holding him close and wondering what they were going to do. "It's okay," he whispered, running his hand down Zac's hair. "It's really okay. At least we're semi-open now."

Zac nodded, exhaling slowly. He wasn't happy about the situation, but there wasn't exactly anything he could do about it. "I'm just worried that he runs to Rachelle. Ike, fine. They're both idiots. But Shell… I mean, maybe I'm not in love with her, but I do love her." He gazed at Ollie searchingly. "Ya know?"

Ollie nodded. "I know."

"God, Ollie, you're so great. I don't deserve you."

Smiling, Ollie squeezed him tightly. "Sure ya do."

Zac laughed. "Oh, shit," he muttered, his face darkening as he pulled back. "What the hell do you want?" he demanded.

"Me?" Ollie looked confused.

"No, that." Zac pointed at the entering figure, crossing his arms and fixing a hostile gaze on him. "I asked you what you want."

"Zachary, don't you dare take that tone of voice with me." Isaac spoke calmly and levelly as he slowly walked into the light.

"I don't want to spend any more time than is absolutely necessary with you!" snapped Zac. "Just say what you've got to say and get out!"

"I want to know what's going on."

"We're just practicing for Olympic gymnastics," bit out Zac, his voice dripping sarcasm.

"And I want to remind you that you've got a girlfriend."

"That's none of your business!"

"Maybe not. But you seem to have forgotten that. I take it she doesn't know about this whole charade?"

"Isaac, this 'charade'," Zac mimicked coldly, "is none of your business, none of Rachelle's business, none of Taylor's business. It's nothing to do with anyone except me and Ollie."

Isaac shook his head. "What's happening to you, Zac? Why are you so comfortable with hurting other people? What happened to my brother?"

"He got beat up by some whore's fiancé, that's what," Zac spat.

"That was uncalled for," replied Isaac, quietly and calmly. "Totally and completely unnecessary. Don't you think he's hurting up there?"

"To tell you the truth, Isaac, I don't give a fuck. Taylor's an ass. He's always been an ass. It's about time someone beat him up. I mean, didn't you think he had it coming, fucking someone else's fiancée?"

Isaac breathed out slowly, still refusing to be ruffled. "You know there's far more to the situation than that, Zac. And don't you dare talk about him like that."

"Or what?" challenged Zac. "Sorry, Ike, I know that you think the sun shines out his skinny little ass, but I saw the light. He's pathetic. And you're just as bad. I'm glad I'm not associated with you any more."

"Zac, you are associated with us. You always will be. You're our brother."

"I'm sure that's something we can forget," replied Zac, his voice icy. "Just stay away from me, both of you. I couldn't care less if you died! In fact, I wish you would. Come on, Ollie."

He stalked out of the room, Ollie following behind, head hanging, leaving Isaac alone in the room, dumbfounded and paralyzed with hurt.

***

Taylor peered closer into the mirror, wincing involuntarily as he gently prodded his still-swollen blue eye. It was undeniable: his encounter with Mike had left him in an awful state. Tilting his head to see if it made him look any better and groaning when he realized that it didn't, Taylor sighed, shaking his head in self-pity. He looked like a reject from a horror movie. He was still pale. Both bruised eyes, once an eclectic mix of red and purples were blackening more and more each day at an alarming rate, a la Uncle Fester. The cut on his forehead was scabbing over, a deep, deep red shade, crusty and disgusting, and the stitches, which were supposed to be self-dissolving, were still clearly visible. His top lip was adorned with a big red scab, and puffed up to twice its normal size, and faint purple bruises decorated his sallow cheeks. And underneath his green shirt, his stomach somewhat resembled a Picasso painting. In short, he was a mess.

He hated being such a mess. With Mike still living in the house - Isaac, the kind soul, had been unable to turf him out onto the streets, and, after much pleading from Gabbie and a long conversation with his brother, had agreed that he could stay - Taylor felt that every time the older man looked at his beaten up face, it was a reminder that he'd won. He got the girl; he beat up the competition; he was the victor. Taylor was the loser. Not only had lost Gabbie, but it was difficult to even move without considerable pain. Frustrated, he picked up a hairbrush and threw it across the room, watching as it collided with the doorframe then bounced harmlessly out of the room onto the scraggy gray carpet in the hallway.

Almost immediately, a head popped round the doorway. "What you playing at? Practicing your decapitation skills?"

Taylor looked up. "Sorry," he murmured dully.

"Hey, what's up?" Brow creasing in concern, Rachelle slipped around the door, closing it gently behind her and perching on the edge of Taylor's bed, leaning over to where he was sat at the dresser.

He shrugged. "Nothing really. Just fed up of looking like a war victim." He gestured to the vast array of wounds intruding on his face.

"Is that all?" Rachelle shook her head. "And they say women are the vain ones. Look, I can fix it if you want me to."

"You can? How?" Taylor looked interested.

She smiled. "As long as you don't mind wearing some, I can work miracles with a makeup brush."

Taylor shrugged his shoulders again, nonplussed. "Hey, I wore TV makeup. And anything to cover these."

Rachelle clapped her hands excitedly. "Great! Hang on, I'll be right back!"

She kept her promise. A minute or so later, she bustled back into the room, holding a small, blue cosmetic bag. "Okay!" she began, her voice bubbly, "I borrowed some of Niamh's makeup, because mine'd be way too dark. You're really pale, you know."

Taylor stared blankly at her. "I know," he echoed weakly.

"And Niamh's pale too!" she stated triumphantly. "Okay, here we go! Now, this is concealer, and I'm gonna-"

"Rachelle?" he interrupted. "Can you quit the commentary, please?"

She laughed. "Sorry. No problem."

For the next twenty minutes, she worked in silence with an astonishing number of cosmetics, dabbing, smearing, fiddling with amazingly small brushes, tilting her head first this way then that, narrowing her eyes, scrutinizing him critically. Eventually, after whirling Taylor through a dizzying regime, she smiled satisfactorily. "There we go!" she crowed, sounding particularly pleased with herself.

Taylor turned and looked in the mirror. "Wow!" he breathed. "That's magic!" It really was as if she'd waved some wand - and not a mascara wand - and totally changed his complexion. Admittedly, his eyes were still puffier and slightly darker than normal, and the scab on his lip and cut on his forehead were still visible, but only if you looked hard enough. The paler bruises on his cheeks had almost vanished completely.

"It's not magic, it's Maybelline," she laughed. "I'm just that damn good!"

He smiled. "You really are!" He brushed his fingers over his face. "And it doesn't really feel like I'm wearing any."

"Oh, I didn't put much on," she confessed airily. "Just a little mousse foundation - it's really light, by the way - some concealer, a dusting of powder and a dab of blush. All just the base stuff, really. You can't tell you're wearing it."

Examining himself in the mirror again, Taylor had to agree. "You sure can't." He reached out and hugged her lightly. "You're incredible, Rachelle, you know that? I can't believe Zac's so dumb," he added sadly.

Rachelle visibly became more alert. "Why is Zac dumb?" she asked, confused.

Cursing his big mouth and blushing profusely, Taylor tried to cover his mistake. "Oh, you know Zac," he faltered. "He's just...dumb."

But he could tell Rachelle didn't buy it.

"You're a shitty liar," she told him darkly. The sweet, funny, helpful Rachelle that had been with him for the past half-hour was gone, and in her place was a Rachelle who, quite rightly, wanted answers. "What do you mean?" she demanded. "Why is he dumb?"

Taylor wished to God that he hadn't said anything. He beat himself up mentally - how could he be so stupid? Why had he said it? Now Rachelle was going to find out - he could tell she wasn't leaving till she got the truth - and it was all his fault!

"Jordan Taylor Hanson, I want the truth, and I want it now." Her voice was dangerously quiet.

He groaned, shaking his head. "I can't. It's not my business."

"Oh, don't give me that!" she scorned. "You have no brotherly loyalty to Zac. I don't care how close you were, you guys've barely spoken since Christmas! I've got a right to know."

Taylor couldn't argue with that. "Okay, okay. It's just…" he began. "It's just…Zac hasn't been…entirely faithful."

Her mouth dropped open and her eyes ignited, flaming angrily. "You're fucking kidding, right?"

He shook his head.

"Who with? And what the hell has he been doing?! Or should I say who the hell has he been doing?!"

"That's the weird…"

"Oh, fuck it, don't tell me! I can't be crapped with your beating about! I know where he is, he's doing laundry, so I'm gonna find him myself!" She flew out of the room like a woman possessed, leaving Taylor sitting dumbfounded at the dresser.

Instantly, he realized what 'doing laundry' was Zac's - admittedly strange - euphemism for. "Oh, shit!" He jumped up, ignoring the searing pain coursing through his body and hobbled after the angry sixteen year old. "Rachelle, wait! Wait!" he yelled, stumbling awkwardly down the stairs, along the hallway and into the kitchen.

But Rachelle was already at the basement door. She flung it open, flicking on the light, revealing Ollie and Zac lying on the floor, completely naked this time, wrapped up tightly in each other's arms, blinking like deer caught in headlights. "No way." She laughed in disbelief. "No fucking way!"

Zac scrambled into his boxers and jeans, tugging them up and fastening them. "Rachelle, I…"

"You can explain, right?" she growled, tears pricking at the back of her eyelids. "I'd like to hear you fucking try!" she screamed, throwing a spoon that had happened to be lying on the table at them.

"I didn't want you to find out like this," Zac told her softly, burying his face in his hands.

"And how were you planning on telling me?!" she demanded. "A telegram? Sky writing?"

"No," he groaned. "I just… I'm sorry, Rachelle. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, you sure look sorry." She shook her head in disgust. "You're pathetic, you know that? PATHETIC!" she exploded, suddenly snapping and catapulting herself down the concrete stairs. "You bastard!" she yelled, bursting into angry tears as she grabbed him by the hair and pulled hard. "I hate you! I hate you! You bastard!" Her fists flew at him, pounding his bare chest. She grabbed the box of detergent and threw it at him, the fine, white powder flying everywhere, then she headed for the box of the owner's stored ceramic plates and propelled them across the room, the earth shattering smash as they collided against the stone was probably audible in China.

Zac just stood there, frozen, watching his girlfriend - ex-girlfriend - throw things and beat him up, unsure of how he felt. Sure, he felt guilty about her finding out in this particular way, but he couldn't ignore the relief of finally having it out in the open. Poor Ollie looked terrified, though. Zac longed to wrap him up in a big hug, but thought that would be a bit tactless at this moment in time. There'd be plenty of time for that later. If they survived the missile launching.

"What on Earth's going on down here?" Mr Hanson appeared at the top of the stairs, flanked by Jessica and Jamie on either side.

"Nothing," mumbled Zac, looking at the floor.

Mr Hanson took a deep breath, surveying the shattered plates, the scattered washing powder, the crying girl, his stunned second son - who, for some inexplicable reason, seemed to be wearing makeup - and, in the middle of it all, Zac, bare-chested, with an expression on his face like he'd been slapped with a wet fish, and Ollie, dressed only in some Simpson's boxer shorts. "It sure doesn't look like nothing."

"You wanna know what's going on?" sobbed Rachelle, her voice trembling with anger.

"It would be nice, yes," concurred Mr Hanson mildly.

"Your son's a faggot!" she screamed. "He's been fucking the fucking odd job guy behind my fucking back!"

Mr Hanson burst out laughing. "Don't be so ridiculous! Zac's not gay! No Hanson is gay! We're Christians!"

"It's true!" she yelled, body shaking. "Ask him! He can't deny it!"

"Zac, tell her it's lies." Mr Hanson turned to his son, shaking his head in amusement. He didn't know why Rachelle was saying what she was, but Zac obviously wasn't gay. As if he, a good Christian man, would raise someone that could be gay.

Zac took a deep, shaky breath. He glanced at Ollie for reassurance, then timidly reached out and took his hand. "It's true," he whispered.

Mr Hanson laughed, over-loudly, to compensate for his awkwardness. "Good one, guys, but that's not funny."

"No, Dad, it's true."

Something in Zac's voice finally hit home to Mr Hanson. He shook his head. "Zac, you're not lying, are you?"

Zac bit his lip, staring down at the floor.

"Fuck this," snorted Rachelle. "And fuck you, too. I'm outta here." She stormed up the stairs and out of the house, slamming the door shut hard behind her.

"Zac?"

Zac sighed angrily. "Oh, what's it to you, anyway?!" he demanded. "It's my business. Yeah, I'm with Ollie. No, I don't care if you don't like it."

"I don't know why I'm surprised. The way you've been acting lately, why not find another evil to add to your ever-growing list? Have you got a hit list of the Ten Commandments that you're aiming to disobey before you're seventeen or something? What next? Thou shalt not kill?"

"It's none of your business," Zac intoned coldly. "It's my life."

"Yes, well, until you come to your senses, I refuse to be a part of it!" And, with those words, Walker Hanson turned and left his son standing, all alone in the basement, with the odd job guy.

***

Taylor knocked the door lightly, peering around it. His dad sat in the family room, in the middle of the couch, head in his hands. He didn't appear to have heard the knocking, so Taylor tapped gently again. "Dad? Can I come in?"

Mr Hanson slowly rubbed his palms over his face, massaging his five o'clock shadow. "Sure, Tay. Of course you can."

Taylor gingerly sat next to his father, biting on his lower lip. "Dad, are you okay?"

Sighing heavily, Mr Hanson turned to his second oldest son, eyes filled with anguish. "I guess so." Then he shook his head. "What did I do wrong, Taybear?" he murmured, using his baby name for Taylor. "What did I do wrong?"

Taylor reached out and put his arms around his father's neck, feeling him return the embrace. "You didn't do anything wrong. Zac's punishing all of us, I guess."

"But why?" Mr Hanson pulled away, resting his chin in his hands once more. "Why is he such an angry little boy? What happened to him?"

Taylor sighed, feeling the tears pricking at his eyes. "I don't know. But whatever it is means that he's not my brother any more. He doesn't love me. He doesn't love any of us. He doesn't love anyone except himself."

"And Ollie," added his father, bitterly.

"You know, I don’t even think he loves Ollie," stated Taylor miserably. "I think he's just confused. He doesn't love anyone." He drew in a shaky breath. "But we all still love him, and that's why it's so hard."

Mr Hanson smiled. "I'm so glad to hear you say that, Taylor. It's just proven to me that I'm not a completely terrible father."

"Of course you're not," mumbled Taylor. "I still love Zac. Ike still loves Zac. I'm presuming you and Mom and the kids still love Zac. And it's never gonna change, but…"

"But what?"

He sighed, raking his hand backwards through his hair. "I used to think that just because we all loved Zac, it could, like, I dunno, bring him back or something. You know?" Once his dad nodded that, yes, he did know, Taylor continued. "Now I don't believe that. It won't work. Sure, we can love him, but I don't even expect him to notice that we do, never mind it making a difference to him."

Slipping his arm around his son's shoulders, Mr Hanson shook his head. "Don't give up so easy, Tay. One day, it might just be enough to save him."

Taylor shrugged as the door swung open and Isaac and Rhia slipped around it.

"Everything okay?" queried Isaac. "What's going on?" The confusion was evident on his wind whipped face.

"Rachelle knows about Ollie," Taylor informed him dully. "She got mad and threw stuff. Everyone knows Zac's a faggot. Regular day in the Hanson house."

Mr Hanson elbowed him in the ribs. "Don't be so crude."

"Well, he is," muttered Taylor.

Deciding it was probably best not to ask too many questions at this particular moment, Isaac and Rhia perched gingerly on the edge of the couch. "I see. Are you guys okay?"

"Yes, Ike, we're fine, thank you." His father smiled wanly at him.

Isaac nodded. "Good."

Once again, the door burst open and Mike swanned into the room, prompting Taylor to visibly tense.

"Hey there, listeners!" crowed Mike, gliding over to the mirror and wiping away a non-existent smudge on his smooth cheek. "Exciting story line tonight, huh?"

"Shut up, Mike," mumbled Isaac.

"Well, I was just saying, you know, very interesting happenings today! A faggoty, maggoty Hanson brother! Who'd have thought it?"

Rhia jumped to her feet. "Get out!" she yelled. "Just piss off and leave us all alone!"

Mike looked at her, slightly amused.

"We've agreed to let you say here out of the goodness of our hearts, and because we like Gabbie. We don't like you! You're lucky you're even allowed in this house after what you did to Taylor! Nobody but Gabbie wants you here, and I think it's about time that you noticed that!"

Mike stared at her for a minute or so, the laughed a long, throaty chuckle.

Angry, Rhia, turned and threw herself back down on the sofa, Isaac reaching for her hand and holding it tightly.

"Say, Rhia," began Mike cattily. "You've put on a little weight, haven’t you?"

Watching as his girlfriend's cheeks grew red, Isaac's heart sank. This was Rhia's weak point. Everyone knew that.

"N-no," she stammered.

"I'm sorry! My mistake. I was just sure that the roll of fat hanging over your jeans wasn't quite so big when we first met. And just positive that the buttons on your clothes weren't quite so strained, didn't look as much like they were gonna pop off any second now." He smiled lazily. "But you say you haven't gained any. Must be my eyes. I was only asking for the good of your own health, Rhia. I mean, face it: you're no stick insect. Get much fatter and who knows what could happen?" With that, he strutted out of the room, grinning evilly.

Rhia buried her face in her hands, shoulders beginning to tremble. Gazing sympathetically at her, Mr Hanson and Taylor tactfully left the room, shaking their heads in disgust, closing the door behind them.

Isaac slid his arms around Rhia. "He's a liar," he murmured. "A big, greasy liar, Ree, don't let him get to you."

Rhia pulled her face out if her hands, eyes glittering with tears and her skin flaming. "He's not a liar. He's right."

"Don't talk crap. He was just pissed cause you yelled at him; he knew that was your weak point."

"But he was telling the truth!"

"No, he wasn't! He's just a big slimeball, and-"

"I'VE GAINED TWELVE POUNDS SINCE WE GOT HERE!!!" she exploded, yelling and beginning to cry harder.

Isaac reddened himself. "Oh." He hugged her tighter, at a loss for what to say.

"Don't say you haven't noticed," she sobbed. "Cause then you're just as big a liar as he is."

Swallowing, Isaac pulled her closer to him. "Ree, I truly haven't."

She looked at him skeptically, eyebrows raised. "How could you not notice? It's a hideous amount of fat to put on."

"Because it doesn't matter to me. You're beautiful. I couldn't care less if you weighed two hundred pounds-"

"I'm not quite that bad yet," she interjected.

"-you'd still be the most gorgeous, best person I know, and I'd still love you so much that it scares me."

She smiled. "Thanks. It helps a little. But I'm so miserable, Ike. I'm totally disgusted with myself. It's like when you're in the studio, all I want to do is eat. Eat, eat, eat. Is it any wonder I'm ballooning? I want to lose it," she sighed. "I know I've never been slim, but I've never been as big as this before."

"You're not big."

"But it's the biggest I've been," she countered.

"Well," Isaac began. "If you really want to lose the weight, for yourself," he stressed, "not for anybody else, then we could diet."

"We?!" snorted Rhia. "If you get any skinnier, you'll disappear!"

"But a little healthy eating wouldn't hurt me. And we could work out, jog, cycle, you know. You'll lose it in no time."

"That's what I wanna do. Will you help me?"

"Sure," smiled Isaac. "But as long as you remember that I don't want you to lose the weight. I want you to be happy, and if this is what it takes, then that's what we'll do. Promise me you'll remember that."

She grinned happily. "I promise."

***

Isaac put down his pen, reading over what he'd written so far. He hated writing letters. It was hard to really express your emotions, difficult to portray to the reader just how much something has affected you. Judging by this letter, Josh Waterman would think that everything in England was generally okay. Zac was being a little difficult, Taylor had had a little scrap with Gabbie's charming fiancé and Rhia was just a little insecure. All of which were incredible understatements.

Zac was refusing to talk to anyone in the house except Ollie, and, for some reason, Jennie. Whenever anyone else even tried to start a conversation with him, he would get up and walk away, or else start singing 'Oops, I Did It Again' extremely loudly and off-key. Strange choice of song, but there was nothing that wasn't strange about Zac at this particular moment in time. Taylor still tensed whenever Mike entered a room, and Mike was still being as nasty as ever, insulting anyone and everyone. Isaac smiled as he recalled a particular incident when Mike had dared to suggest that perhaps Jamie wasn't as talented as she made out. Jamie's angry yells had more than likely been audible in London City Center. And Rhia was still unhappy. The two weeks of strict dieting had put her in a terrible mood, causing her to snap at anyone and everyone, and his sweet, good-natured girlfriend seemed to have been temporarily lost.

But how, exactly, did you put all this down on paper without it sounding like the manuscript for a terrible, trashy novel? He toyed with the silver cross around his neck, tugging it and running it back and forth along the worn leather rope chain, waiting for inspiration to strike him.

He listened to the sounds of the house, letting his mind drift. Outside his door, Jennie was talking on the phone animatedly to her sister back home, telling her excitedly of the album's progress; someone had the coffee percolator chugging downstairs; he could hear the Red Hot Chili Peppers faintly from Taylor's room; the TV was blaring in one of the downstairs rooms. Then he frowned. He could hear sobbing. And the sobbing sounded like it was coming from Rhia.

He heaved himself off his bed and padded softly down the hallway in his socks. Gently, he tapped on her bedroom door.

"Go away!"

"Ree, it's me. Can I come in, honey?"

He took the silence as a yes. Pushing the door open, he found Rhia lying on her back on her bed, tugging desperately at a pair of jeans. "What's wrong?" He flew to the bed and sat beside her, stroking her hair. "What is it?"

She took a deep breath, trying to calm down. "I just got on the scale," she sobbed. "Do you know how much weight I've lost in these past two weeks?"

He shook his head dumbly.

"Nothing. Do you know how much I've gained?"

He repeated his gesture.

"Eight pounds! Eight pounds, Ike! How in the hell can I have gained eight pounds? I've eaten nothing but goddamned rabbit food for two weeks!" She shook her head, her face crumpling again. "Do you know how much I weigh now? Do you?"

For a third time, Isaac silently shook his head.

"One hundred and eighty four pounds. It's disgusting. I've gained twenty pounds in what? Nine weeks? I'm a pig."

"Rhia, you are not. Don't talk crap. I don't understand it, though. You've really stuck to your diet, haven't you?"

Rhia looked away shamefacedly.

"Rhia? Did you cheat? I don't care if you did."

She nodded, pulling open a drawer beside her bed, revealing Mars Bars, Snickers, Boosts, M&Ms and various other candies. "See? I'm disgusting. My jeans don't even fasten anymore." To demonstrate, she lay flat on her back, tugging hard on the waistband, but to no avail. "You hate me, don't you?"

"Rhia, of course I don't hate you. I told you before. I don't care if you weigh two hundred pounds."

"I nearly do."

"Oh, don't be stupid. I love you. And maybe, if you're finding it so hard, the dieting's not for you. Your body will regulate itself. It's just the strange surroundings. The weight will come off when it's meant to."

"Really? You think so?"

"Yep." He smiled. "It's just a combination of different surroundings, different food, and different daily schedules. I think we're all doing things a little differently. Seriously, I read somewhere that the body always returns to its healthy body weight."

"When? When I'm decomposing in my grave?"

He just laughed and pulled her tightly to him. "Do you have pants that fit you for now?"

"Yeah, I got some new jeans," she told him miserably. "Size sixteen."

He chewed on his lip. "Umm, Rhia, you are remembering that the sizes are different over here, yeah? If you were back home, that'd only be a twelve."

She stared at him for a few minutes, then started to giggle. "I don't feel quite so bad now," she laughed.

Isaac just shook his head and pulled her to him, ruffling her hair affectionately as he did so.

***

Why does my heart
Feel so bad?
Why does my soul
Feel so bad?


Sighing, Zac shook his head. This Moby guy was depressing. Sliding, belly-down, off the bed, he stomped across his small room to the stereo, fiddling with the tuning knob.


We had joy, we had fun,
We had seasons in the sun,
But the hills that we climb,
Were just seasons out of time


No, thank you. He turned it again, wincing at the crackling interference, until something that was almost recognizable as a song filtered through.


Everybody sing this song,
Doo-dah, doo-dah,
Everybody sing this song,
All the doo-dah day


Oh, for God's sake! Muttering under his breath, Zac slammed the radio off, chucking himself back down onto his bed. British music sucked. At least at two-ten in the morning, anyway. But Zac couldn't sleep. He'd hardly been sleeping at all lately. Things were just so complicated; there was so much to think about, thoughts were on the fast spin-cycle in his head, whirling round, and round, and round until he almost became dizzy.

But he had everything the way he wanted it, didn't he? He and Ollie were officially a couple, and a damn good one at that. Since their relationship had become household knowledge two weeks ago, a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. But, still, they had to be secretive. Nobody in the house approved of their relationship.

His father refused to talk to him. Zac refused to talk to Isaac and Taylor; their self-righteousness was pissing him off to the third extreme. Jessica wouldn't talk to him because of his attitude to Isaac and Taylor, telling him that she "didn't care who he was doing", just that he was hurting her brothers. Every time he saw Rachelle, she gave him a look that would bring the strongest guy weeping to his knees, would wither the largest plant, which, he guessed, was understandable. Gabbie and Mike were too wrapped up in themselves; he doubted they even noticed what was going on. Jamie had turned against him completely for hurting her cousin, and Niamh was doing her best to remain neutral. Siobhan and Seonaid didn't understand it. Only Jennie had offered him some support in her own ditzy way: "I just wanna, like, you know, it's real nasty what you did to Shell, but, you know, like, umm, gay power!"

At least he had Ollie. Ollie was kind, caring, sensitive, strong. He could always be depended on to make him feel better. But was that enough?

"Oh, maaaaaan," groaned Zac, kicking off the duvet cover. This was ridiculous. He crawled off the bed, tugged on a pair of jeans, a sweater and his sneakers, then crept downstairs. A the foot of the old, creaky staircase, he pulled on his thick, warm jacket and snuck as silently as possible, bearing in mind that the house was ancient, through the huge wooden door.

Outside, despite it being March, it was absolutely freezing. His breath formed white puffs against the black sky and frost glittered on the grass, the salt-sprinkled sidewalks shimmering and glistening in the moonlight.

He knew where he was headed, and he wanted to get there as quickly as possible. He began to run, his feet slapping against the frosty sidewalks as he passed the few houses that littered the street, and entered the thick, dark woods. An owl hooted in the background and the early-rising squirrels who'd come out of hibernation early scratched at the trees. Rabbits bounced amongst the thick grasses and a badger darted into his set.

But Zac noticed none of this. He just kept running and running, veering off the main dirt track and on to an overgrown one, pushing back twigs and leaves, thorns catching on his sweater, plowing through the vegetation until he saw it.

The clearing around it seeming like a solace, Zac gratefully broke free of the grabbing, snatching plants and ran towards it, leaning on the crumbling stone wall, panting, panting, trying to get his breath back. He hadn't run like that for a long time, and judging by his profuse sweating, red face and the fact the he was finding it completely impossible to breathe, he was definitely very out of shape. He sank into a gasping heap on the cold, dirty ground, pressing his burning cheek against the long, cool leaf of a docking plant.

Eventually, the dizziness subsided, and Zac, still breathing erratically, was able to get to his feet. "Zac…Hanson, you are…an unfit…lard-ass…" he gasped to himself, leaning heavily on the wall, relying on it for support. He could feel his pulse pounding and pounding in his temple, blood rushing oxygen around his body. He concentrated on breathing slowly and deeply, slowly and deeply.

After four of five minutes, he was panting minimally, and had cooled down considerably. He shook his head in self-disgust. Sure, he'd just run half a mile in five minutes, but to be in a state like that was awful!

Vowing that he'd lose a few pounds and get back into shape - and knowing that he'd never, ever keep that promise to himself - Zac knelt on the ground and gazed into the dank, stagnant water. He knew this place was what some Brits would describe as "minging", but Rachelle was right. It did hold some sort of magical properties. The ambiance was calming, and Zac felt the clouds in his head clear.

He needed to think. And what better place to think than the old wishing well?

***

Taylor rolled over, fidgeting uncomfortably. He moaned, pulling the duvet over his head. It couldn't be morning already. But he could smell burning coming from downstairs, he was sure of it.

Forcing one eye open, he fixed his gaze on the glowing green LCD of his alarm clock. It read 3:14. Who was cooking at quarter past three in the morning? Shaking his head, he buried his face back into his pillow. The smell was getting stronger; it was almost acrid. What the hell was that person doing? Cremating the toast?

Suddenly, he shot out of his skin. The smoke alarm began bleeping loudly. He crept towards the door, pulling it open gingerly, then wishing to God that he hadn't. The hallway was filled with thick, black smoke, stinging at his eyes and at his lungs. "Christ almighty!" he muttered. Quickly, he jammed his feet into a pair of sneakers, then, holding a pillow across his face, dived back into the smoky passage.

He shoved open Isaac's door. Inside, the room was less smoky, clearer. He pulled the pillow away from his face. "IKE!" he screamed. "ISAAC! THE HOUSE IS ON FIRE!"

Isaac sat bolt upright in his bed, looking bewildered. Then it dawned on him: the incessant alarm, the smoke. "Oh, shit!" he cursed, scrambling out of bed. "Come on!"

He grabbed Taylor's hand, and together, they ran back out into the hallway. By now, everyone else in the house had woken up and there was a mad dash for the front door. Siobhan and Seonaid were crying, so were Niamh and Jennie. Jessica was screaming for her father. The front door seemed to be five miles away, but eventually, Mr Hanson pushed it open, and they all tumbled out, into the clear night air.

"We gotta call the fire brigade!" yelled Rachelle.

"I'll run to the neighbors," called Mr Hanson.

"But it's ages away!" protested Taylor.

"Do you have another suggestion?"

Taylor had to admit that he didn't, and Mr Hanson began to jog in the direction of the nearest house.

Everyone gathered round in their nightclothes, watching as the fire spread, flames licking at the wooden door.

"Shouldn't we throw water on it or something?" suggested Jessica quietly, her blue eyes huge against he unnaturally white face.

"Water from where?" Isaac spread his hands helplessly. "We just have to wait till the firefighters get here."

"Wait!" Taylor yelled.

Everyone turned to look at him.

"Someone's missing!"

Isaac did a mental headcount. He was right. There should have been fourteen people out there, and there was only twelve. His father was getting help, but someone else was missing.

"OH MY GOD!" screamed Taylor. "ZAC! ZAC! ZAC! It's Zac! Zac's not here!"

Isaac looked around. Taylor was right. No Zac. "LISTEN!" he yelled. "Has anyone seen Zac tonight?"

Everyone shook their heads.

"He's still in there!" Taylor began to cry now, gesturing towards the inferno that was once their house. "Zac's inside!" he sobbed.

Isaac bit on his lip, unsure of what to do.

"I'm going in!" announced Taylor firmly.

"Tay, you can't!"

"I have to!"

Isaac grabbed his arm tightly. "Do you know how stupid you are?!"

"Ike, it's our brother! I can't let him die in there, I can't!" Taylor sobbed desperately, tears sliding down his cheeks. "I'm going in!"

"You're not! Wait till the fire truck gets here!"

"BY THAT TIME HE'LL BE DEAD!" Taylor screamed hysterically.

"Tay, don't be an idiot!"

"Fuck you, Ike!" Taylor kicked him hard in the shin and broke free of him, sprinting towards the house and through the blazing doorway.

"TAYLOR!" Isaac screamed, taking off after him. He followed him through the burning doorframe, instantly losing him inside the smoky house. He waved about blindly; the only things he could see were the flames, dancing up the walls, torturing him. "TAYLOR!" he yelled. "Tay, where are you?"

The noise of the flames was deafening. Roaring like lions, hissing like snakes. Isaac couldn't see. He couldn't breathe. Smoke filled every square inch of his lungs.

Suddenly, there was an ominous cracking noise. He looked up, squinting, just in time to see a blazing timber rafter fall from the roof. He ducked backwards, then froze. That noise had been unmistakable. It had been a scream. Taylor's scream.

He swam through the smoke, stopping short when he felt a sickeningly soft, heavy object blocking his way. An object that felt very human. He bent down, aware of how short his time was becoming. He couldn't hold his breath for much longer. He opened his eyes trying desperately to see.

Taylor lay on the floor, flat on his back, the rafter that had fallen pinning him down, still burning. Isaac tried to push it off, but the dizziness overcame him, and he collapsed in a heap on top of his brother.

Chapter Eleven
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