Page 3 of Destroyer

I lived on tinned food, cooked in a single pan on an open fire. I sit cross-legged on the floor and eat with a fork. I miss my den.

I haven't been back there since I broke my arm, but even now the plaster cast is off, there seems to be a conspiracy of bed offers to keep me housed.

"I've got the day off tomorrow, as Knox is away," Caeo tells me. "What do you want to do?"

I'm not fussy on how I amuse myself. Cutting someone's balls off, skinning a cat, nicking Mrs Thayer's six months old handbag. And yet, none of those will earn me that Caeo smile of approval. "We could do some reading. I am good with animal words now." If learning to read in English is important, I'm ready to move beyond animals. I have never come across any of these words in the real world.

"I'd like that. I've got some Billy Blue-hat books in the loft."

"Billy Blue-hat? Jeez, grandpa!" Gregory teases.

“What is a Billy with blue hats?”

I don't know for sure how old these two men are, but they think being eighteen makes me a kid. But instead of answering me, they seem to resort to glaring at each other.

"At least at your age I'd done something with my life. Not relying on some half-brother's boyfriend."

"Stop it," I order. I know there is no love lost between them, but they need to play nice. "You are both over twenty-five so that makes you dinosaurs. Play nice or I will say the bad f-word."

“Sorry,” Caeo backs down.

"God, I remember being twenty-five," Gregory chuckles.

They both share a laugh, and I can't help feeling it's at my expense.

I reach for the wine glass, but Caeo's hand beats me to it.

"But I is eighteen. That is drinking legal age."

"Oh, go on. Just one glass." Gregory defends me.

Caeo relents and allows me the glass. Maybe I won't tell him my drinking experience, because I didn't wait until I was legally old enough before I started drinking. There were no alternatives at Gavriil's house. He introduced me to vodka when I first moved in with him, claiming the drinking age was for public spaces. Poker wasn't so tedious when it came with nips of the good stuff.

We finish dinner, and Caeo has the audacity to declare puddings are for weekends and posh people. I don't tell him I always had puddings when I lived alone. A tin of ravioli followed by a chocolate pudding was my favourite meal. Just a pan of water, eat out of the tins and dinner was done. None of this washing up stuff.

Fortunately, Gregory still wears the guest tag and I escape with him into the living room.

"You should butter this guy up," Gregory tells me when Caeo is out of earshot. "I know you are a very capable kid, but the things you excel at make a difference to the lives of others, not yourself. You're a bit shit at looking after yourself."

I am very good at looking after myself, but it is very different to how others do it. They call me homeless, but this is how I was raised. I don't like living in houses, they are too hot and stuffy.

"I know. You think you're doing fine. But I swear to you, convincing this guy to adopt you would be so much better for you." Gregory chuckles as he drops an arm across my shoulder, turning me towards the window.

"I am too old for the adopting."

"I don't mean like a kid. I mean like Knox adopted Porter. Let him look after you and pamper you. Let him be your lover."

"I am not so very good with people."

"No shit." Gregory laughs.

I frown at him, wondering why everyone I know would have told him off for saying that word.

"I can kill a cat, but not can I hear anyone say shit." That fact is very odd.

"Sorry." He takes my words as a complaint. "Why don't I pick you up after work tomorrow and we can get a pizza. I'll explain everything to you then?"

"OK." Dinner and some relationship advice. Sounds exactly what I need in my life.

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