escort

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Jacob insists on driving him home, an offer Troye refuses several times, every bit of him aching as Jacob literally shoves him into his Ferrari. 'Just drop me at Clapham Junction station and I'll walk,' Troye mutters miserably, the cuts on his palm stinging as he tugs on the seat belt. A request that is roundly rejected as Jacob gets in and turns on the sat Jacob, threatening to call Charlotte if Troye doesn't give him his postcode.

They drive in silence, Troye leaning against the window and trying to avoid eye contact with the people who turn and stare as Jacob's ridiculous yellow car roars down the Fulham Road, the engine so loud, Troye can feel it in his teeth. It's a strange car for someone as guarded as Jacob to drive, but then Troye doesn't know this Jacob, the Jacob who lights up at the roar of a crowd and holds his arms out to them like a fucking king. Actually, maybe he does know that Jacob, Troye thinks as he watches his hands wringing the steering wheel, the collar of his shirt sticking to the back of his neck at the thought of his fingers. He's the only man he's met who'd have him on his knees with a look.

Jacob speaks first for once. 'Who is he?'

'No one.' Troye closes his eyes.

'A client?'

'No.'

'An old client?'

'No.'

'A husband?'

'No. Nothing like that.'

'So he's someone, then?'

'He's no one. Just some nutter.' Troye sniffs, not realising that he's still holding the handkerchief until his fingers fist around it. When he sees the blood, he feels a fresh shiver of panic and he's glad then, that Jacob's with him, shivering again when he thinks about what he'll find when he gets back to his flat.

'Nice suit for a nutter,' Jacob mutters under his breath but lets it go as they pull off Wandsworth Bridge onto the York Road.

The silence resumes, Jacob fussing over his hair and tugging on the cuffs of his shirt every time he has to stop at a traffic light. At first Troye thinks he's mad, but when he watches his gaze dart in all directions, he realises that Jacob's nervous, no doubt terrified that someone will see him with a bloodied Troye and wonder what's going on. So Troye slumps into his seat and props his elbow up on the door to cover the left side of his face with his hand as he wonders if Jacob's regretting the ridiculous yellow car now.

'You can drop me here,' Troye tells him as they approach the 24-hour Tesco at the top of his road, but Jacob keeps going and turns onto his road.

'Which number is it?'

'The one with the white door,' Troye sighs with defeat as Jacob pulls into a space.

'Do you have a first aid kit?' he asks, turning off the engine and panic punches at Troye again.

He's not coming in. He can't come in. What if they've been to his flat, too?

'Look, if you want a blowjob for the lift, I can give you one here,' he says with a shrug he hopes is nonchalant.

Jacob ignores him, climbing out of the car. By the time Troye follows - with a whimper, every bit of him aching - Jacob's taking a green box out of the boot.

'You're not coming in,' he tells him, but Jacob just gives him that look, the one that always makes Troye turn around and put his arms behind his back.

Troye holds his breath as he opens the front door, wincing as he bends down to pick up the mess of envelopes and pizza menus that has doubled since he charged out earlier. He drops them onto the bottom stair, reaching for the banister as he walks up them gingerly, his back throbbing. He can hear Jacob behind him, his footsteps a little lighter as Troye suddenly regrets his decision to rent a flat on the top floor. He never normally notices the three flights of stairs, glad not to have anyone living above him and grateful to have as much space between him and Mrs Burton's television as possible. Troye hears a tinny round of applause as they pass her door and he can't help but wonder what Jacob is thinking. He must be appalled by the shabby hall, the wallpaper peeling and the carpet so worn it's balding in places. Troye feels a burn of shame when he thinks of Jacob's house, his hand shaking as he puts the key in his door, sucking in a breath before he turns it, terrified of what he's about to find. If there's anyone waiting for him, or if they've already been, turning his flat over like they did last time, his clothes spilling out of the open drawers and the sofa stripped off its cushions. But he still goes in first, making sure Jacob is behind him as he opens the door and stands in the doorway.