Chapter 8: The Promise

Noah stayed crouched between Damian's knees with the water running down his back.

"Noah?"

"I heard you."

He reached past Damian and turned the tap off.

In the quiet he could hear the water dripping off the chair onto the tiles.

"Say something," Damian said.

"There was a boy at home," Noah said. "When I was seventeen."

Damian went still.

"He used to pick me up in his ute on Friday nights and drive out to the beach and kiss me."

"Okay."

"And on Mondays at school, in front of everyone, he called me a word I'm not going to say. Every Monday. For a year."

Damian didn't say anything.

His hand slid from Noah's hair to the side of his face.

"I'm not doing that again," Noah said.

"I'm not asking you to."

"You're asking me to keep a secret."

"For now. Just for now."

Noah sat back on his heels on the wet floor.

He picked up the phone off the shelf and pointed the torch at the floor between them so he could see Damian's face.

Damian looked frightened and stubborn at the same time.

"Okay," Noah said.

"Okay?"

"I'll keep it. Till the hall fills up."

Damian nodded.

"But you have to promise me something back."

"Anything."

"You don't lie about me. Ever. Not to Brodie, not to your dad, not to anyone. You don't say I'm nothing."

"I wouldn't."

"You don't know that yet."

"Noah, I wouldn't."

"And when you're ready to tell people, you do it yourself. Out loud. I'm not going to be the thing they find out."

Damian held his eyes in the torchlight.

"I promise," he said.

Noah believed him.