On Saturday night Finding Nemo was on TV, so when Charlie came over Travis suggested they take a night off studying and watch that instead. Travis had always been an above average student, at least after he'd moved out of his parents' house and gotten himself back on track, but he'd never spent as much time on schoolwork as he had been since Charlie had started coming over most nights and wanting to do little but study.

It wasn't until Charlie started asking questions that Travis remembered what Finding Nemo was actually about. Beneath the whole clownfish abstraction, it was about a young boy who was taken against his will from his father. Charlie's father had been abusive, sure, but last Charlie had talked about him he'd hadn’t exactly seemed relieved to be away from him.

"We could watch something else," Travis said after he'd given Charlie a quick summary of the plot. "Or nothing. We can study if you like."

From the tilt of his head and the way his expression shifted, Travis could tell Charlie didn't understand why Travis had suddenly backpedaled on his movie idea. "No, we can watch that. I haven't seen many movies since I lived with my mum. But then she died."

"Oh, uh, sorry." Oh hey, maternal death, another thing that happened in the movie. "Was she nicer to you than your dad?"

"Yeah, she never shouted at me. Or hit me."

Travis felt frozen on the sofa, aware of every part of his body. He was sure the slightest movement would shatter this moment of openness. "What happened?"

Charlie tilted his head again. "Huh?"

"How did she die?"

"Oh." Charlie stared down at his fingers and picked at one of his cuticles. He was silent so long Travis thought he wasn't going to answer. "Too many drugs, I guess. And then..." His teeth dug into his lip and his brow tugged down. "She told me never to call the police or an ambulance if something happened to her because I'd get taken away. I think... maybe I should have anyway, that time. But I just waited instead, and eventually my dad came and he took me away. She was dead by then, though. I knew."

"Shit, Charlie, I'm sorry. It wasn't your fault. You know that, right?"

Charlie stared down at the worn brown carpet covering the floors and strummed his fingers idly against his knee. "I used to be really bad. I'd get upset and shout and hit over really small things. I think she would have done less drugs if I'd been easier to take care of. Maybe. I don’t know."

"You were a kid, Charlie. You're different, you know? You were probably born different, and from what you've said I don't think anyone's ever really helped you with that. You didn't strike out because you were bad. You struck out because you needed help and nobody was giving it to you."

Charlie was silent so long Travis was sure he'd said the wrong thing, but finally he asked, in a small voice, "What do you think is wrong with me?"

"Nothing's wrong with you. You're just different, and being different can be hard. Especially when other people don't understand."

"Yeah, but..." He waved a hand in a vague gesture. "Why am I different?"

Travis wished he could offer Charlie something other than a helpless shrug. "That's a question for a psychiatrist, not me. Are you seeing a counselor or something?"

Charlie shook his head.

"Are you grandparents making arrangements to take you to one soon?"

Charlie shrugged. "They didn't say anything about that."

Travis kept his expression carefully flat. Charlie had been abused for years, had witnessed his mother's death, and they weren't even...? "I'll talk to them."

"Thanks. Is it time for the movie yet?"

"Uhh... yeah. Okay."

Most of Travis' attention was on Charlie as the movie started, watching him from the corner of his eye for any signs of distress, but Charlie settled in quietly, and if what happened on screen upset him at all, he didn't let it show. It wasn't until the first commercial break that he spoke. "What's that?"

Travis hadn't been paying attention, so he had to look back at the TV for a moment to figure out what Charlie was asking about. "What’s life insurance?"

Charlie nodded.

"Well, it's like insurance... for people. You pay the company a certain amount of money every week, and then if the person dies they give you money."

"But they're dead."

It took Travis a moment to figure out what Charlie was talking about. "Right, but the money goes to someone else. Like their family."

"But wouldn't someone kill them to get the money?"

"Well, I guess that does happen sometimes. If you have life insurance and your death is at all suspicious, the person who's the beneficiary is definitely going to be a prime suspect. Generally the money goes to loved ones, though. People who hopefully wouldn't be willing to kill you for money."

"Oh, I guess," Charlie said as he returned his attention to the TV. It said a lot about the people who had cared for him that murder for money sounded like the likely outcome of such a scheme. "What's that?"

"Uhh... reverse charge calls. If you need to make a call but don't have any credit on your phone or money for a pay phone, you call that number and enter the number you want to call on the keypad, and then they'll call the person and ask if they want to accept the charges."

"Oh.”

They managed to get through the whole movie without Charlie getting upset, which seemed like a minor miracle given Travis was pretty sure he'd gotten that lump in the throat feeling the first time he’d watched it and it didn't really mirror his personal experiences at all. 

Travis told him there was always a movie on Saturday night and he seemed interested in watching another next week, although honestly Travis thought the commercials might have been half of the appeal to him. He'd been seriously sheltered, an intelligent kid denied information for years. He was soaking it up like a sponge now that he had the opportunity.

Charlie thanked Travis for letting him come over and watch the movie before he left, though it sounded slightly unnatural, like a kid taught to say ‘thank you for having me’ when his parents came to pick him up. Travis guessed his grandma had told him to thank him, though he wasn’t sure it was a very good lesson in acting like a normal person. Friends didn’t usually bother with that kind of thing.

♪

Charlie didn't know why he waited until after dinner to go over to Travis' house on Sunday night. He'd been doing nothing but studying in his room all day, but he usually only went to Travis' house after dark and that had become something of a rule in his mind. He tended to find life less stressful when he abided by his rules, even when he had little reason for them, so he didn't question it.

There was a car outside the block of flats Travis lived in that wasn't usually there. In the dark, from a distance, Charlie didn’t recognise it, but it still held his attention as he headed towards the footpath. He froze when the driver’s side door opened with a familiar squeak. His dad stepped out of the car and stood silhouetted by the streetlight.

"Get in," Charlie's dad whispered as he opened the back door of the car and waved his arm in its direction. Charlie stared. His father's hair was shorter and he wore unfamiliar clothes.

"Charlie," Charlie's dad hissed. "Get in the car."

Charlie turned his head to look back at Travis' flat. "Can I say goodbye to Travis first?"

"What? No, Charlie. Get in the car."

"He's my neighbour." Charlie pointed. "He lives just there."

"Charlie, get in the fucking car."

Charlie knew that tone of voice, the one that meant he was in trouble if he didn't do as he was told. He climbed into the back seat of the car and did up his seatbelt as his dad slammed the door shut behind him. As the car pulled away, he watched Artemis balance her way along the fence that divided his grandparents’ house from Travis’ block of flats.

"Are we going home?" Charlie asked after they had been driving for a few minutes.

Charlie's dad was silent for a long moment, his teeth worrying at the ragged line of a fingernail. "No, we're not going home. We're getting out of here."

"Where are we going?"

"Just away. Somewhere else."

Charlie stared out of the window. He couldn't see much, just streetlights and houses. Already he had no idea where he was. "Can we come back to visit?"

"No, Charlie, we’re not coming back."

The car had the same stale cigarette smell it always had, but it felt hostile now. The last time he’d been in this car, he’d been shoved out of it. “How did you know where I was?”

Charlie's dad scoffed. "You think that’s hard to figure out?”

Charlie should have felt happy. This would make things easier again, wouldn’t it? To go back to his dad, where he understood the rules. But what about Travis? What about school? He didn't enjoy school much, but he was smart, he knew he was, and he wanted an education. And his grandparents... they were getting better. They were trying. How much had his dad ever really tried?

"I think I want to go back," Charlie said. "I have a friend now and I want to go to school."

Charlie's dad took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You’re not going back, Charlie. You're staying with me."

"But I made a friend," Charlie said. "His name's Travis. He plays music and he has a cat, and he cooks me food and let's me go over to his house whenever I want. I've never had a friend."

"Sounds like a fag."

"Well, he is gay," Charlie admitted. "But that doesn't matter. He was nice to me."

Charlie's dad let out a bark of laughter. "He was only nice to you because he wanted to fuck you, you idiot. He's lucky we didn't go pay him a visit. I'd have kicked his little faggot ass for messing with my kid."

Charlie folded his arms over his chest and stared out the window. He felt like crying, and he wasn't exactly sure why. "He’s never hurt me, but you have. Maybe he should kick your ass for messing with me.”

"Don't talk back to me," Charlie's dad said, but it came out as a murmur, muffled slightly by his knuckles pressed against his mouth.

Charlie's chest felt tight and he had to swallow around a lump in his throat. "I just want to go back. Please, dad."

Charlie's dad shook his head sharply. “What did you tell the police?”

“Nothing. I know not to.”

“And I bet they didn’t push, because you’re a fucking kid and you were upset and they didn’t want to make shit worse so they left you alone for now. But they were going to come back and they were going to ask you shit about me, about the people I know, about all the shit you’ve seen. And you’ve seen a fucking lot, Charlie.”

"You don't even want me."

Charlie's dad let out a huff and his knuckles began tapping a nervous rhythm against the steering wheel. "Hey, how about we get some CDs for the car? We'll stop tomorrow, buy a bunch of CDs, okay? You can choose."

Charlie nodded. His throat felt swollen and he was chewing on his knuckles. At least his dad would never order him to stop.

"We're going to be following the coast road for a while," Charlie's dad continued. "We'll get an ice cream cone and walk on the beach. I remember when you were a tiny thing, me and your mum took you out to the coast. You remember that?” He took his eyes off the road for a second to glance back at Charlie. Something about his expression looked wrong, too tight. “You loved the rock pools and hated the sand. Went in the water for five minutes until you stepped on a rock and lost your shit. Still, you came home with all these shells and bits of coral and asked if we could go again. Guess we never did."

Charlie remembered that, vaguely. He had only been five or six. His parents had never lived together and it had been one of the few times they'd done something together as a family.

Charlie's dad continued listing things they would do, his voice tight and wavering every now and then. He promised Charlie books, a new walkman, maybe even a TV once they got settled somewhere new. He didn't promise not to hit Charlie, didn't promise he could go to school or have friends. Those were things he couldn't promise.

They drove down a highway, but Charlie didn't know which one. He tried to pay attention to signs, but there were so many and he didn't know what most of them meant. His mind refused to engage with anything. It had shut down to protect itself.