My head is crowded with questions, most of which I'm kinda too frightened to ask. So instead, I just stand and stare at Kade.

He looks the same, but he's different.

I can feel the difference in him, something's changed.

What is it, what's this difference I feel? I ask myself.

The answer pops into my head with a cold clarity: distance.

Although Kade's standing close to me, he seems so far away, emotionally.

I take a step toward him, and to my horror, he takes a step back, away from me.

My throat's dry, my head thumps and my heart hurts – "Kade, what happened on the underground train, that's making you behave like this?" I ask, my words actually scrape and hurt my mouth on the way out.

He doesn't answer my question, instead he looks at the TV screen, "All my family are dead," he says, his face mournful.

My heart sinks a little lower and I have to take a slurp of water to lubricate my mouth and enable me to talk, "I'm your family, you still have me," I say, hopefully.

He swivels his head in a no gesture, "My blood family: mum, dad and Kelly, all gone."

Suddenly I feel nauseous by the fact that Kade may be blaming me for his loss.

I put the glass down and spurt out, "Little Kelvin, did he die in the explosion?"

Again, he swivels his 'no' – "Nobody died on the underground train explosion. But Kelvin's dead to me now, he's with the other kids, in the company of darkness. I thought it best to let him go," he says.

Slowly I slide my foot forward, desperate to get a little closer and have him take me in his arms and tell me everything's going to be ok. But like a watchful cat, he notices and steps back, stealth like.

The blonde waitress returns with disinfectant. She sprays Kade's table and while wiping it down announces, "I'm afraid you'll have to leave now, we're closing for staff training."

I suspect she's lying, and just wants rid of us, because quite frankly we look like a pair of homeless people, complete with bad body odor.

Kade walks to the door, with me trailing behind him, despondent and increasingly depressed.

......

Outside on the street, Kade stops and looks me over, from my head to my toes and back again, "You could do with cleaning yourself up," he says. I take his observation as criticism and it physically hurts. I become aware of all the fragrant smartly dressed women passing us by and become suddenly self-conscious.

"Kade, why are you acting like this?" I plead.

His head tilts, an eyebrow rises, "Like what?"

"You're treating me like a stranger and it hurts so bad," I say, struggling to hold back the tears.

His head drops and my heart jumps – is he suddenly seeing sense?

When his head lifts, my heart drops again, "Go back there Tanya, to where we once lived. Start again, make a home for yourself, find a life – without me," he says, so calmly, cold even, without emotion.

I feel my body begin to tremor and the rush of hot tears burns my eyes. But I fight them, I don't want him to see me cry – I will retain my pride. My hand grapples in my pocket, searching for tissue to disguise my tears as a sudden sneeze.

I pull out a ragged tissue just in time and thrust it over my nose and eyes stifling the sob and blowing my nose. Something else comes from my pocket with the tissue, as a familiar fluttering at my feet momentarily distracts me, it's the photo of Kade, Kelly and I, as children.

Bending to pick it up, a gust of wind catches it sending it airborne. It floats and flutters like a butterfly and my hand collides with Kade's as he catches it before me. I hold his hand for mere seconds before he removes it from his and looks at the photo.

As he stares at the old image I study his face, hoping I see some kind of positive emotion. I resign myself to the fact that if this is 'goodbye' then we'll part with respect and tenderness.

His finger gently strokes the picture, like he's trying to revive some life back into it. He looks up from it and at me, "I left this back at our beginning, and its found its way back to you," he says.

A smile breaks on my face, "I didn't know you carried it on you."

His eyes become watery, "Yes, its been with me since the day I found it."

"Why did you leave it back at the waste ground?"

A single tear sprouts from a tear duct and slowly trails down his cheek, "I felt it belonged there, in the past."

I struggle with my emotions, "There are two people in the picture who still have a future," I say.

My heart soars as he nods a 'yes.'

Then plummets again when he says, "But not together."

I'm aware of people looking back to stare at us, as we are standing in the middle of the street and my distress is obvious. But I don't care; I raise my voice and plead, "Please Kade tell me what happened in the underground tube train, that I've forgotten. I beg you; if we're to be over I need to know why. I can't move on without knowing why."

"It's best you don't know, move on Tanya," he says, turning his back on me and walking away.

I haul myself at him and grab his shoulder, "Don't call me Tanya, I'm Tan..."

A young woman passes by, looks over shoulder and says, "Let him go honey, there's plenty more fish in the sea."

Kade grabs my hand and stares intently, "Take her advice Tanya, let me go, please!"

My anger erupts and I grab his arm and yank it hard, "NO – TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED? I DESERVE TO KNOW!"

His face contorts in pain and he howls, "Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!"

Shocked I let go, and see fresh blood stain his shirt. My anger abates, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you," I say, ignoring my own severe emotional pain.

When I see he's slightly recovered, I try again, "Please Kade, tell me what happened? I can see you're hurt."

He walks toward a shop front and I know this is to allow him talk more freely rather than an attempt to get rid of me.

......

It's an old storefront that allows us a little more privacy than the bustling street.

I detect a slight change in Kade, he's still not the guy I used to know, but I feel he's ready to shed light.

He swallows hard, looks at the floor and speaks, "It was chaos when the bomb went off..."

...I jump in, "I remember that."

He looks at me, sadly, "I shielded yourself and Kelvin from the blast, but thankfully you were both out cold by the time the train trundled on through the tunnel. By the time it diverted en-route to Chicago everything was back as it was, yourself and Kelvin were the only two casualties."

He lowers his head again, "It was just me, surrounded by those kids, brainwashed by their imps, that were controlled by that topknot guy..."

...a sudden heave and stop halted him and when I touched his shoulder for comfort, he flinched in pain, again. I suddenly realized that maybe him moving away from me was to avoid the pain of my touch.

When he looked at me again, I was firm but empathetic, "What did the kids do Kade?"

He didn't hesitate, "They wrote a story."

"Wrote a story, do you have it?" I ask, bewildered by the seeming innocence of kids writing a story.

Kade nodded, "Yes, they gave me their story, to keep."

"Can I read it?" I ask, noting the bulkiness in his pocket.

"It's not finished yet," he says. I feel a chill, unfinished suggests he has to meet them again.

I point to his pocket, "Can I read how far they got up to?"

He reaches into his pocket and takes out – a wedge of bandages – not a book.

Confused, I ask, "They wrote the story on bandages?"

He stuffs the bandages back in his pocket, "No. They wrote their story on me."

My head struggles to comprehend. I cast my mind back and visualize the children in the carriage. One child is clear in my memory, the little girl with the violent attitude – and the viciously sharpened nails.

I snap back to Kade, "They wrote the story on you, what with?" I ask.

It's then I notice something else that's different about Kade, the top button of his shirt is closed, he never wears his shirts closed like this. His hand finds the top button and he opens it, followed by two more.

He pulls open his his shirt to reveal his breastbone, "Read the beginning," he says.

I peer in and initially see livid raised scars and scabs. But as I lean back I see these recent sores make up words – 'There was a boy, who was forced a girl, t'was an experiment.'

To my horror, I notice that one of Kade's birthmark dots serves as the period to close this sore sentence.

I look at Kade for answers. He nods his head, "They scratched, dug and tore their story on me, with their nails."

He hastily buttons up his shirt and his eyes dart up and down the street, "If you want to read the rest, you'll have to come back to the flea pit room I've rented."

Despite my shock at the torture that Kade's endured, I'm buoyed to have a reason for his strange behavior. I feel his trying to dissuade me to leave him is his way of saving me – from something.

......

Kade continues to open up as we walk through a seedy part of town, "You came round as they were scratching words into my stomach. You were hysterical, kicking and screaming. Topknot guy knocked you out again; that added to my torture, I was powerless, tied down while kids gleefully scratched words onto me." He openly cries as he describes the pain, "Seriously, those kids are lethal, like nothing we've encountered before." He says.

......

He's booked into a low rent hotel, the kind where rooms can be rented by the hour, by prostitutes and drug users.

It smells of old cigarette smoke and stale body odor; but it provides a precious commodity: privacy.

Kade begins to open his buttons, but he winces in pain as some of the scabs have fused with his shirt and as he tries to tease it off the wounds re-open and begin to bleed, "Can you help me?" He asks, painfully.

I make for the door, "I'm going to the drug store, for antiseptic lotion and...

..."NO!" He hollers, "It's not safe out there. Stay here," he throws me the bandages from his pocket, "Cut this up and use warm water," he says.

......

In the tiny bathroom, I set up a makeshift nursing port. After scrubbing my hands, I fill the sink with warm slightly soaped water and arrange my bandage swabs on the towel rail. Then I begin to do the thing that always makes me happy, caring for Kade.

......

After an hour, I manage to get the shirt off, but not without inflicting some pain. My immediate response isn't to read the words, but to clean them as best I can, as I know there's a real chance of infection.

Once happy I've done my best, I lean Kade back against the wall, crouch down and begin to read him:

'There was a boy, who was forced a girl, t'was an experiment.'

The girl escaped and back to Chicago she went.

Once there, she met a boy called Kade, who gave her: help and hope and aid.

But their love destroyed the experiment and for their destruction The Surgeon went.

They battled and fought and ducked and dived and in the end they wed.

But back to their beginning they were led.

And once there, The Surgeon's people said, if they meet again, The Lady will be_ _ _ _.

I finish reading and glance at Kade, "The last word's missing."

He's crying, "That word's why I want you to leave me. I can tolerate this pain, knowing you're alive, it'll be unbearable knowing you're no longer in the world – please Tan, go..."