Although the lights are off, his room is constantly illuminated by the computer screen sitting above a closed mystery novel.

"What do you want to watch?" He asks before clicking the mouse a few times.

"Anything is fine," I respond as I take in his turquoise painted room. His fully-stocked book-shelves stand side by side, the books in alphabetical order. His neatly tucked, stripped, duvet soon catches my attention, and there's the colour coded stack of games by his computer. "You like to keep things in a certain way?" I take a deep breath to pull in all of his scent then sink into his bed when I sit down.

"My mum probably didn't have anything else to do," he clears my assumption as he scrolls through Netflix; meanwhile, I'm stuffing my face into his pillow, hoping to drown in the peachy fragrance. His mother's weeping reaches us through the floorboards making my heart drop. He kisses his teeth then hurriedly selects a film, he then turns the volume up high and it is like a huge wave has washed her cries away.

A few minutes into settling into his arms my phone pings with a notification, my heart almost loses it's rhythm when his hand snaps to get my smartphone. "What's your password?" His voice is harsh again.

"You're birthday," I don't have any secrets to hide from him.

His tone is a rubber band stretched to its limits and about to snap, "who have you been messaging?" His brows slant inwards, his eyes darken.

"I don't message anyone..." he faces my phone to me as if presenting evidence against me, "he's just a guy who follows me and I followed him back, we've never even met" I manage to push the words out my trembling lips.

"Why is he messaging you privately?" He clicks the notification and reads the greeting out loud.

"I don't know." I try to reassure him, "you know I love you, I don't feel this way for anyone else except you." I analyse the movement of every cell on his face, waiting for the sign to relax.

"I know, but you don't need all these guys in your contacts when you have me, I should be enough for you." His words become calm like a pond, it eases my shaking.

"Delete them now, I need you, not those guys, just delete whatever you don't like" I blurt out. I never want him to doubt me, not when I finally have him.

Two days later I've made his home my home. I watch his elbow bend and hands slide as he moves the mouse frantically, at the same pace as his fingers on the keyboard.

He flings his head back in defeat but then swings right back into the screen within seconds.

My phone sitting lonely by his arm vibrates for the first time since yesterday, I'd check to see what it is if not for his glance warning me away.

"Aren't you bored?" He asks with his eyes locked onto his virtual enemy again.

"I like watching you play," how could I wish for more than to just be by his side, already this is a blessing.

"Are you sure you don't want to do something else?" My phone lights up again, I stare powerlessly as he shuts it down, its lights dimming slowly before he abandons it in the darkness of his drawer.

Within the satisfaction of his presence, unexpected loneliness emerges. I feel the many cables which connected me to the world decreasing. "Don't you trust me?" I question timidly.

His attention has already returned to his game when he responds, "of course I do."

I take a while to think of the best way to phrase my words, "did you have to put my phone away?"

He replies humorously, "you said I could delete whatever I want."

He's right, maybe I'm taking this too far, "sorry," I express softly, regretting that I brought it up.

______

I take my bag and lift off from his bed with a bounce.

"Where are you going?" He inquires, while his hand dives into a packet of crisps.

"Toilet," I clutch my bag nervously. I hate myself for feeling this way.

"With your bag?" A crunch follows his words as his teeth grind the crisp, it is irritatingly audible in the silence created by my searching for a reply.

My eyes follow his hand into the packet and out. His fingers are as oily as a bodybuilder, his nails are smooth and clear like a freshly trimmed hedge.

"That time of the month" I answer bashfully.

My fingers rest on his door steadily closing it until all light from his room is blocked. I follow the narrow carpeted path towards the stairs. My head falls at the sight of his mother.

Her voice has become sandpaper, "I've been calling home but no one answered." Her eyes have blown up into a puffy redness, she looks like she'll be crying blood soon. "I called your school and they told me they haven't been in contact with your parents since your first day"

She's hated me less ever since I explained my home situation.

"Sorry my son brought you into his teenage rebellion," she sniffs then takes a moment to clear her throat, used tissues bunched up in her hand, "as his mother and as an adult I should be taking responsibility not blaming you." A part of me wants to cry in her embrace like a six-year-old. After welcoming me to dinner she enters her son's room with a flicker of hope.

The arms of privacy envelopes me when I lock the toilet door, it's a fleeting sensation I never knew I would have to savour.

Trust is a charm on the necklace of love, and without that charm the necklace is incomplete, that's the compass I've always followed and it's never betrayed me. If he doesn't trust me it means he doesn't love me enough then the solution is in that bottle.

I bring out my perfume bottle and spray every thread of my clothes, and every strand of my hair, regardless of whether I run out, I should be able to order more anytime.

Silence morphs into a clash of drum like shouting. I peer out the bathroom door just as the door to his room is flung open and his mum walks out yelling, " I paid for your food and clothes because I don't love you? I paid for your games and for all those trips because I don't love you?"

All I see next is his hand shutting the door.

Before his mum can notice me, I close the bathroom door discreetly, opening it again when I hear her go down the stairs in a hurry.

Mrs. Carter seems like a loving parent, I wouldn't mind if someone like her was my mum, and one day she actually will be. The thought heats up my cheeks and sending bubbles to my stomach.

We would buy a home away from the city noise and drama, just the two of us, our dogs and a cat with a carpet of grass below our feet and we'd come over to Mrs. Carter's to prepare Christmas dinner, his brother would join us late but we'd never eat without everyone.

A perfect family dinner.