Page 48 of Tangled Desires

I shrink back, trying to make myself small. “It was just an accident!”

But it doesn’t matter. He grabs me by the ear, dragging me back into the kitchen. I can see the mess of broken pieces glinting on the floor—sharp and dangerous.

“Clean it up, you useless fucking boy!” He shoves me to the ground. I can feel the hard tiles biting into my knees, and I scramble to grab the shards of the plate, fingers trembling.

“Mummy!” I call out, looking over to her at the dining table. She’s sitting there, smoking a cigarette and staring at the wall like she’s not even really there. She probably took one of those white tablets again. It makes her go all weird. “Mum, please!” But she just stares ahead, lost in her own world.

He kicks me in the stomach, and I double over, gasping. “Shut the fuck up and clean it!” he snarls, bending down to yell in my ear, “You think I have all fucking night?” I can’t see much, but I can hear the yelling. Someone is calling my name, but I don’t know who. I want to shout back, to tell them I’m here, but my voice feels stuck in my throat. I want to cry, but I bite my lip to keep quiet. My head spins, and I feel like I’m in a fog.

“Harrison!” the voice calls again, louder now, piercing through my fear. It’s softer, like it’s worried. I take a shaky breath, wanting to answer but too scared to move.

“Wake the fuck up—”I jerk awake, gasping for air, and my eyes fly open. They take a moment to adjust to the dim light filtering through the window. I’m in my room, and then I hear the voice loud and clear—Michael. He’s sitting on my bed, leaning overme, looking worried. “Jesus Christ, Harrison,” he whispers. “I could hear you yelling from outside, mate.”

Embarrassment floods through me, hot and prickling. It’s a familiar shame, this feeling of being exposed and raw, like a wound that refuses to heal. I shove him out of the way, rolling out of bed, my heart still racing. “I’m fucking fine. It’s nothing.”

Deep down, I know it’s not true. I hate that he sees me like this, that I’m still haunted by shadows from a past I can’t escape. Words don’t come easy in moments like this; they just twist inside me, stirring up anger that I can’t seem to shake. The frustration feels like it’s burning under my skin, and all I want is for it to go quiet.

“Are you alright?” he asks, but I ignore him, shoving my hands into my pockets to hide the way they’re trembling. I move to get ready for work, the familiar routine helping me ground myself. I catch Michael’s eyes in the mirror as I fumble with my shirt, trying to shove down the panic that still grips my chest. “Want me to wait for you?”

“No, just fucking go,” I burst out, shaking my head. “I’ll meet you there. It’s fine.” The words leave my mouth sharper than I intend, but I can’t help it; irritation takes over. I’m already on edge, the remnants of the dream clawing at me.

He nods, used to my short outbursts by now. He knows the drill, knows I’m a walking storm. I hate this part of me—the way it can twist into anger over nothing, the way I lash out at the one person who’s always there for me. But right now, I’m just too fucking angry to care. As he heads out, I run a hand through my hair, frustration boiling inside me. I can’t understand why the hell this still affects me. I need it to stay buried, locked away in the past. But the memories claw their way back, and every time I think I’ve left it behind, it pulls me back in, reminding me of the kid I used to be.

Joey, the new kid who started working here a month or two ago, is hunched over the Land Cruiser, trying to fit a new part to the frame after a nasty front-end collision. Still learning the ropes, but come on—it’s not rocket science. He’s got the part angled wrong, and anyone with half a brain can see it’s not going to sit right.

“Make sure you’ve got that lined up, yeah?” I call over, barely glancing up from the Volkswagen Golf’s engine I’ve been elbow-deep in for the last hour.

He mutters a quick, “Yeah, alright,” but I’m not convinced. I get back to my work, snapping a clip in place, but when I look up, he’s hoisting the damn sway bar like he’s about to set it in backward. Fucking brilliant.

I look around, hoping Michael’s nearby to deal with Joey before he makes a bigger mess. The kid’s got confidence, sure, but he shouldn’t be left to his own devices.

“Other way around, Joey. Turn it before you fucking drop it,” I call out, louder this time. He hesitates, still not looking back, and the damn part wobbles like it’s seconds from slipping out of his grip. That’s it—I’m over there in two strides.

“Here, let me show you before you fuck it up completely.”

Joey’s shoulders tense, his jaw tightening. “If you’d shut up for two seconds, maybe I could get it right,” he snaps, all attitude and zero clue.

“Maybe if you listened in the first place, we wouldn’t be wasting time on this,” I bite back.

He huffs, practically spitting out his words. “What’s your problem today? You’re acting like—”

“Just listen and do your fucking job, and we won’t have an issue,” I snap, my tone sharp enough to cut. My jaw’s tight as I head back to the Golf, hoping the kid will drop it. But no. Joey moves toward one of the other guys, rag in hand, muttering just loud enough to make sure I hear. “...acting like a fucking bipolar fuck.”

Oh, this little prick. The hood slams down before I realise I’ve moved, the bang echoing through the shop. My fists are tight, knuckles aching. “Shut the fuck up, Joey,” I bite out, eyes fixed on the floor to keep from losing it completely. Michael’s at my side in a heartbeat, voice low and calm.

“Harrison, leave it. He’s not worth it—just—” But I can’t hear him over the roar in my head. My feet are already moving, closing the space between me and Joey. Heat surges through me, too loud to ignore. “Say that again, wanker. To my face this time,” I growl, my chest heaving, muscles coiled tight. Joey stands his ground, his lips curling into a smirk like he’s won something.

“Fuck you, Harrison. Actin’ like you own the place.” Before I can even think, my hand twitches, ready to swing.

“Oi!” Sam shouts, stepping in like a human shield. Michael grabs my arm, hauling me back. The shop falls silent. Tools stop clinking. Every head turns. All eyes are locked on us.

Joey smirks, enjoying himself way too much. “You know, maybe if you weren’t always such a dick, people wouldn’t hate working with you.” My feet move before I can stop them, ready to close the gap and shut him up. Sam steps in at my side, blocking me, while Michael grabs my arm from the other, pulling me back.

“Stop, Harrison!” Michael’s voice is firm, but it barely registers past the adrenaline roaring in my ears. Joe’s voice booms from the office, cutting through the tension like a whip.

“What the fuck is going on out here?”

“Nothing,” I grit out, jaw tight. “Just a little friendly banter.”

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