The Tied Man

The momentary discomfort was nothing at all compared to the realisation that she was finding refuge in my flawed embrace.

I don't expect you to be like them. Don't want you to be. It's not them I want, it's you. From the moment we met, it's only been you.

What did you call me?" "Ah. A chuisle. Gaelic. 'My darling'. I prefer the proper translation, mind you." "Which is?" He gave a bashful smile. "My pulse.

Oh, Jesus Christ on a fuckin’ pushbike.

But at the end of the day, everything I do costs me. The only question is how much.

She wore a cantilevered, augmented-breast-skimming satin dress the colour of egg-yolk. Somewhere in deepest Nebraska, a prom queen two sizes smaller than Selena was wondering where the fuck her outfit had disappeared to.

Even at this ridiculous hour, and clad in a faded blue t-shirt and ancient pyjama pants, he looked like something Michelangelo might reject for being too beautiful

It was the first time I had ever felt guilt at finding a man attractive.

In a fortnight Lilith had figured out more about me than anyone had ever cared to know, and I could only hope that she would hold it gently.

God, I’ve just figured out what’s missing – you ditched the hallowed Albermarle Teddy Bear!’ I nodded. ‘Banished to a dark cupboard for all eternity.’ ‘You cold-hearted bastard.’ ‘Give me a hot water bottle any day. At least they have some appreciable function. Not like that pathetic pile of overpriced fake fur and anthropomorphic bullshit I locked in the wardrobe.’ ‘You have serious teddy bear issues.

I can’t do this alone, Finn. I need you beside me.” Nobody had ever said that to me.

I’ve got one of those horrendous personalities that needs to know every detail about whatever I’m working on.

Just out of interest, what did you make of my Finn? Probably the most beautiful man I've ever seen.

I didn’t know what the hell to say to that. I just gave an ungrateful sigh of exasperation and pulled the sweater over my head. ‘It’s just your colour,’ Henry enthused. ‘And you can fuck right off,’ I said.

The summer I met Lilith Bresson, I had begun to die. Not physically, you understand. I had never been that lucky. But each day a little more of my soul disappeared.

It was easy to forget that other people lived in a world where rules and laws and common sense could keep you safe. A world where, if you did the right thing you were allowed to get on with your life in whichever way you chose.

The momentary discomfort was nothing at all compared to the realization that she was finding refuge in my flawed embrace.

Lilith Bresson, innocent of everything except having a bastard for a father, took her new fate with a calm that was terrifying.

[...] Lilith turned on me with the same fury I had watched her unleash on that fat bastard on the TV and I seriously feared for my balls.

The tricky bit was figuring out where we were because I couldn’t imagine anyone, God included, daring to send Lilith Bresson to hell.

On balance, I’d say I prefer performing in front of a few thousand adoring women, but ‘Security Guard at the Castle of the Damned’ comes a pretty close second. I should be fine, as long as there are no ghosts.

You, my delightful Irish friend, terrify me," Gabriel said, and pulled the blanket over his head like a shawl. "You look like you've just stepped off the catwalk, you've got the stare of a serial killer, and you're clearly one of the hardest bastards I've ever met. Basically, I'm terribly keen to ensure that I'm never on your wrong side for the remained of my existence-will that do for now, you fucking sociopath?

Well golly fucking gosh how terribly delightful for her. Now get out.

What I did know was that as we sheltered from our own private tempests, something immutable happened to the bond between Finn Strachan and me, and our unnamed relationship shifted into something far stronger than either of us knew how to control. If I'd had the energy, I might have halted it there, kept my face turned away and driven on through the storm. But right then, I needed the haven that Finn offered more than oxygen.

Congratulations on your moral bankruptcy, Ms Fenworth.

I have this prodigious talent for painting the person behind the facade, but with Blaine the facade is all there is left - just artifice, guile, and an expensive pair of silicone tits.

Normally the first to read the small print, I had deliberately hidden away any paperwork that referred to this ridiculous task, and now I found myself kissing goodbye to a laptop, a mobile phone and two fully-loaded MP3 players, not to mention the halogen light that allowed me to work through the night if I so desired. I stared disconsolately out over the shimmering tarmac and wondered if I might be granted permission to shave my legs.

Each move seemed to take a lifetime: more than anything, I needed him to know that this was all done with his consent; that at any moment he could say 'no' or move away and everything would still be okay. But he stayed, his eyes never leaving my face.

Finn gave a soft laugh. 'What's so funny?' 'I think you're the first person to actually apologise for inflicting pain. Usually it's someone's hobby.

The fanciful theory that a person's life was etched on their physical form - be it despair, happiness, or in this case sheer depravity - was entirely disproved by Blaine. That, or she already had a huge portrait or herself slowly decaying in the attic.