Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 1

scenes and add sunshine to them, swayed me, like the way he accepted my pet turtle I pulled out of my pocket to show him. He greeted Paddles by holding him in both hands, as though he held something really precious and fragile. He rubbed Paddles' shell on his cheek and hummed to him as though a real person lived inside whom he knew. In my mind, Paddles is a fair-dinkum friend, the only one I have to rely on to help me through the hell I live in. He's always there, always ready to greet me with a ready blink of an eye, a splay of a webbed foot, a bend of his neck to look around and then back at me, always willing to nudge his little lips to my face. When I saw the guy's show of affection to Paddles, the pint-sized harmless animal with only a shell to defend himself, I think I started to like him and to believe and trust him. I think that's when I started to come out of my own shell a bit, just a tiny bit.
    I said I had to take Paddles to his home in the creek near the hideaway, so he could meet his turtle friends and feed and do whatever else they do overnight.
    "Can I go with you?" he asked, grabbing my hand. "Please, I'd like to talk with you more, and see your hideaway."
    Caution warned me to say no, but I backed down, I suppose because the more he talked, the more I believed him. And because I'd begun to like him, I didn't want to risk losing him as a friend. I told him he'd be the only person to know and ever see my secret hiding place, making him promise to never tell anyone. He agreed, rose to his feet and helped me up. When he saw my unsteadiness, and the stabs of pain wrench my face from the ache in my butt, he put his arm around my waist to support me. He helped me, just like that, without hesitation and in a genuine friendly way, without harmful intent. Nobody else had ever bothered, except the odd pervert bastard.
    He surprised me further by offering to piggyback me, or to sit on his bike, but I told him I'd manage. Besides, I thought I'd be too heavy for him and the idea of sitting the sorest part of my bum on the uncomfortable, narrow bike seat did not appeal, not at all. I didn't talk much while we walked along the road in the mid afternoon sun. Instead, I became absorbed in the unique feelings of his hand on my side above my waist moving to the motions of each stride, and his arm touching my back and the numerous casual bumps of our bodies. Those gentle, pleasant feelings, plus the ones from my arm braced across his back, revealed to me that day the enjoyment of body contact and companion comfort, experiences I'd never known. The physical touches, the closeness, the odd feeling of warmth spreading inside me, made me feel so damned good. I realised that he could be the person to open the shutters to the world I knew existed and wanted to escape to, away from my stepfather's abuse and my mother's apathy. Away from the community hatred toward me, because they couldn't understand or bother to try.
    Where does he come from? I wondered, while pulling up the wire for him to climb through the boundary fence on the track leading off the road. For despite chatting with me all afternoon, he never spoke about himself–who he is or where he lives or how he came to find me. He changed sides to support me for the rest of the way along the narrow trail near the west side of the orchard, occasionally taking more of my weight as pain spasms intensified the longer we walked. I worried about him, but when I looked his way, he smiled readily, showing concern for me and none for himself. He looked strong with his built shoulders, neck, and upper arm muscles. His chest looked solid and defined behind his skimpy tank top, with his nipples poking out a bit. Yet he simply continued with his comments about the trees, the fruits, the bees and other insects, the goats, the rabbits, the birds, all the things his alert brain detected, all the while with me feeling his comforting hand on my side. Oh boy , I thought, how different you are to the others in this town . He called a break after I yelped and bent over to a severe spasm, clutching my lower belly.
    When the pain eased, he made me lie on my back and kneeled beside me, placing his palm on my forehead, while his calm pale green eyes gazed down at me. "Please tell me what happened."
    Previously, I'd told him my stepdad had belted me for breaking a window when kicking my football. I said I'd tell him how I got hurt if he first told me his name and about himself.
    He laughed.