Peeling plaster fell around my shoulders and I spurred my legs on, pushing faster and faster through darkened corridors. I rounded a corner and skid out of control, nearly tumbling head first down a flight of steep concrete steps and into the blackened basement. Blood pounded in my head. The sound of their running feet pushed me forwards again, no time to recover from my scare. Their calls and taunts followed me through the black house. Every step they were gaining on me, I tried to run faster but it seemed as if I was slowing down. They were almost behind me and I slammed into a broken, ruined bathroom; wrenching the door behind me and gasping for breath. As I turned, the quiet splash of thick liquid hitting tiles hit my ears. I wretched. Blood was smeared over the mirror, forming distorted, dripping letters. I tried to make them out, my stomach heaving. Detcidda? Decidida? Detcidida? Knuckles was pounding on the door and yelling, but his cries faded into the hiss of steam as the shower poured red. My eyes were fixed on the bathtub. A hand, wrinkled and bloated by the water and pale grey in colour was reaching slowly over the side, halting and convulsing. The flesh was rotten. Green and rancid, with great black welts that flaked and fell as it moved.

I tried to open the door. Knuckles and Jake and Gabes were nothing compared to this, but now they were holding it against me and laughing.

'Ballerina Daniel!' they taunted. 'Dancer Dan is going to die! Die Dancer Dan!'

I screamed, rattling the door handle with all my might, throwing my weight against the stubborn wood again and again and again.

The creature in the tub was pulling itself up. I could see the top of a head, a mop of dark hair mottled and caked with black blood and rot and chunks of flesh – bone flashing white beneath wiry hair. I writhed and cried, my head spinning, my mouth shrieking.

Slowly, it turned its neck. Not towards me, but towards the tiled wall. And still it kept turning, all the way round with a sickening crack. I slipped down to the floor against the door. I already knew what I was going to see.

I tried to scream but I was mute. Silent tears were streaming down my face and I pushed again, pain flaring in my muscles. Jakob's eyes stared back at me, dead and milky white. As I watched, he started to lift himself out of the bath.

*

I woke with a cry, sweating and shaking, bolt upright in bed. I turned my head wildly, then groaned as warmth floated down on my clammy skin. My duvet felt sticky around my shoulders and I wiped the tears angrily from my face before giving up and collapsing back down to muffle my sobs in the pillow.

My bed was lonely, the room silent and empty. Suddenly I missed Phil with an ache that had me doubled over at the gut. I needed his arms around me, holding me, telling me it was all okay. That it was just a dream. I even missed PJ's snores and Chris's quiet snuffling; and the orange glow of the lamps outside the window. Here in my bedroom there was no one I could call for help.

More than ever now I wanted to move into the boarding house with PJ and Chris and Phil. They had each other, there would always be someone to look after them. Together, they were invincible.

And I was all on my own.

*

Rain pattered blearily against the grey concrete of the college. It had been raining all night and all day, as could only be expected for England. I sighed, pulling a folder out of my bag as I climbed down from the bus. I sprinted towards the double doors, English notes over my head, cold wind driving the rain into my face. The bus had been late - rain always meant more passengers and more stops - so I walked briskly through the corridors trying to shake the water from my hair. A girl three years below caught sight of me and snorted into her scarf. I frowned. Did I really look that awful? As the group of people I was walking behind turned into a classroom, the corridor cleared and I could see Knuckles ahead of me, his grey tracksuit covering every inch of pale skin. My stomach twisted into a sick knot of dread and I shrank into the walls. I knew he couldn't hurt me here, but the reaction was automatic. I was too late of course, he caught sight of me as he turned and made a beeline towards me with a twisted grin on his face. I slowed to a halt and started backing up, glancing desperately over my shoulder.

"It's okay, princess," he gave a crooked half-smile, his voice like gravel. "I'm not going to beat you. Not today, anyways. Actually I've just been helping you out. Have you seen the posters yet? My finest work, I think." He flashed me a toothy grin that was everything but friendly, his breath hot and thick with the stench of stale cigarette smoke on my face, before lumbering past me and out of the building with a laugh.

My stomach seemed to twist itself all the way up into my chest and I shivered. Lessons abandoned, I sprinted down the corridor, eyes scanning every wall and door.

It caught my eye immediately. How could I miss it? It was neon pink.

It took all my strength not to sink to my knees right there in the middle of the corridor. Tacked onto the wall was a grainy photo of me in the dance studio mid pirouette, a lurid pink tutu crudely photoshopped around my waist. Underneath the caption read: Dancer Dan for hire! Contact my boyfriend Phil for a booking. Sexual services cost extra, price to be agreed.

The privacy of their bedroom and the security of Phil's arms all seemed useless now. Knuckles would have been thorough. By now, the whole college would know.

I turned slowly away from the wall, only to be hit in the head by a lump of wet chewing gum. Laughter erupted from the mob of fourteen year old boys as they passed, and another stuck a foot out to trip me. Tears were stinging my eyes already. I had to get out of here before I broke down sobbing. I turned on my heel, trying not to run and keeping my head down so no one would see my face as I fought back choking sobs. Catcalls and wolf whistles followed me down the corridor, along with cries of 'Where's your boyfriend?' and 'Do some ballet!' A tear splashed town on to my cheek.

I was just approaching the front door (and freedom) when a boy with a shock of dark hair sprinted out of a corridor to my left and straight into my side. It took me a second to recognize Phil; a great, puffy purple-black eye covering most of the right side of his face. His hair was drenched with what looked suspiciously like hot coffee and he was clutching his broken bag in his arms. I blanched, pulling him into my arms with a sob. Someone behind me whooped.

"I've been hiding in my room all morning since I saw," Phil muttered. "I only came out to try and find you before anyone else did, but they found me first. Come on. I need a shower, and then we're getting out of here."

We jogged out onto the asphalt in silence, the college almost deserted now due to lessons.

Almost.

Knuckles and Gabes looked up from their cigarettes as we rounded the corner. Expressions of boredom turned to glee.

I might have been able to outrun them, but as soon as I heard Phil go down behind me I slowed and turned to face my fate. There was no way I was going down without a fight.

*

Afterwards, we showered together. There was nothing romantic about it. I washed the coffee and blood from Phil's hair while he pulled chewing gum methodically from mine. We smeared each other's cuts with antiseptic and bandaged them up as best we could. Yet again, Phil took the worst of the beating. His ribs were bruised and bloodied but thankfully not broken; and he'd been kicked so hard in the gut that he was peeing blood.

Blood ran down my thigh onto the white bed sheets from where a savage kick with a metal toed boot had ripped the skin. Jake had put his cigarette out with my left cheek before sauntering off, and I had a burn that was already blistering and throbbing.

We tried to cuddle, but it was too painful so instead we sat.

*

"I don't want to stay here any longer." Phil said.

"No," I agreed, "but I don't want to go anywhere that fucking forest ever again."

Phil shook his head mournfully. "I guess not. The beach is too far away and town is too crowded." He turned his eyes beseechingly to mine. "Will you take me somewhere?"

I furrowed my eyebrows. "I don't have any special places though."

"How about your house, then?"

I considered for a moment and then sighed. Anywhere was better than here. "Okay, I guess. It's not very special either though."

"It is if you live there." He tried to force a smile on to his lips, but neither of us believed it.

*

The bus journey was silent, the walk through town fluctuated only by a brief moan of pain as a woman swung her heavy bag into Phil's bruised ribs as she pushed past. We turned off the main road and on to my driveway and the silence intensified, so I tried to break it.

"My parents won't be home till seven, as they're at work."

Phil just nodded, and I welcomed the metallic jangle as I turned the key in the lock.

My house was dark, but homely. Photographs and children's drawings adorned every wall and mantelpiece, and as I flicked on a light our cat looked up from the sofa with yellow eyes. I cringed internally. I'd planned to cover some of the more embarrassing pictures before bringing any friends home.

"Your house smells nice." Phil murmured, and I was glad to hear him speak.

"What does it smell like? I can't smell it."

"That's because you live here." His smile was a little more felt this time, "I guess it just smells of you."

I didn't know how to respond so I just led him into the kitchen and clattered around the cupboards looking for drinks. When I turned round, Phil was absently minding stroking Percy the cat – curled up and purring in his lap.

I was so surprised I nearly dropped the glasses.

"What the hell. Percy hates literally everyone except mum."

Phil smiled. Finally genuine and almost happy. "All animals like me. That's another thing I have in common with your mum."

"What's the first thing?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

"We both love you." He said simply.

I blinked. Every time he said it, it always came out of the blue and I was always left speechless. I couldn't say 'I love you too' because he hadn't said 'I love you'. And that was how these things worked, wasn't it? It would sound weird. So I just gaped for a moment before turning swiftly back to the kettle.

"Do you want tea or coffee or...?"

"Tea would be good, thanks."

I made up for my social incompetence by whispering 'love you' as I pecked him on the cheek and handed him the steaming mug. I think it worked, because this smile was 100%.

*

My feet pounded on the floorboards as I ran up the stairs two at a time to get to my room before Phil, kicking clothes and underwear under the bed in a desperate attempt to at least suggest a vague sense of hygiene. Phil caught on to me though, slipping in a second later with a low chuckle.

"I've seen you naked Daniel, do you really think a pair of boxers are going to get rid of me?"

I tried to loop my arms around his waist without thinking, pulling away sharply as he winced in pain. My face fell and he kissed me gently.

"Hey. It's not your fault. These things happen, I'm fine. Let's forget about it okay?"

"But it is my fault. It's all my fault. It wouldn't have happened at all if it wasn't for me and you wouldn't have been hurt if you hadn't tried to save me. I can't-"

"Oi. I said forget about it. Now shush and show me your room."

I tried to speak again but Phil took my lips between his fingers and held them shut. I swatted him away, rolling my eyes. "There's nothing to show. This is my room. Yey."

"There's plenty to show! Your bedroom is special. It's the only place you ever truly own. It's where you go to calm down when the world comes crashing down around you and stuff. It can be as peaceful or as loud and hectic as you need to recover from the world – like sleep or emotions or whatever. It doesn't matter, your bedroom is your own and it exists only for you. I mean, have you ever stayed in some else's bedroom when they weren't there? It feels weird." His eyes were glistening and sincere. "Only you know all its secrets and all its perks and specialities. It's your privacy. It's where you live your fantasies and practice your speeches and your dance moves and your poses and no one will ever know, because it keeps your secrets. So don't you dare say there's nothing to show."

I stared open mouthed at his earnest expression.

"I- What do you want to see?"

"Your secrets. Your memories. Your life."

*

We lay on my bed staring up at pale glow-in-the-dark stars I'd glued to the ceiling when I was seven. The bed was large and soft and gloriously brown. It was easily my favourite feature of the room. Being a double, Phil and I could lay out without brushing against each other's wounds.

His sentence was cut short by the sound of my ringtone.

"The number's blocked..." I murmured.

"Don't answer it!" Phil begged, but I ignored him. I couldn't not know.

"Hello?" I said apprehensively.

The now all too familiar heavy breathing forced static down the phone, and I was just about to hang up when-

"Hello, ballet boy." Knuckles growled. "How are you? Nice and comfy now? Little Philip kissed it all better? That's good. Just what I like to hear." He paused for a moment while I squirmed. "I'm afraid I've got some bad news though. It's not actually all over just yet. In fact, it's only just begun. Sorry about that. I guess I'll be seeing you pretty soon then. Give my love to Philip."

The line went dead.

I groaned, Phil just closed his eyes, his face pained.

"They can't kill us." He whispered. "Anything else we can get through as long as we have each other."

"No. It's not fair! This has nothing to do with you, they're only hurting you because you're with me, this is all my fault-"

"Stop it!" Phil yelled. To my horror, tears were pricking at the edges of his eyes. "On your own, you won't get through it. They can't kill you on the outside, but on the inside... I can't let that happen Dan. You have to understand, I can't. Not again. I'm going to be at your side the whole way. I promise."

His voice was quieter now, and I took his hand. More than anything I wanted to pull him into my arms and hold him close, but they had already taken that away from us. What was next? I didn't want to find out.

I drew circles on his palm with my thumb.

"Okay. Never mind then, I'll let you get beaten up because of me. Because that's going to be easy."

"Shut up Dan, please. Just – let's talk about something else, okay?"

I sighed. "Fine. Okay. I-"

I drew in a laboured breath, trying to think of something. My phone screen glinted the sunlight into my eyes.

"You never did tell me what you thought when you heard Human."

Phil smiled gratefully, pulling me back onto the bed and laying his head carefully in my shoulder.

"I think it's pretty much the opposite to what you think, actually. It's telling you not to be a dancer - to clear your heart and discover your human. Dancers are like puppets on a string. Everything is choreographed for them, they just play their part without questioning it and then they're gone. Some do more than others, but they just do what they're told. That's why it says 'cut the cord'. It's talking about puppet strings. It's telling you to set yourself free and become a free thinking human and be yourself, not who society tells you to be." His eyes were closed in thought. "The whole thing is a question though - is our conscience a reflection of ourselves or of what we've been taught to believe? Are we human or are we dancers? Are we free to do as we want and be us? Or are we supposed to just go along with the motions that the choreographer or society or our parents or God or whoever has planned out? It doesn't make its mind up either way I don't think, but I haven't heard it nearly as many times as you. It's just philosophical, I guess."

I nodded slowly. It was kinda disconcerting; everything I'd based my love of the song on just thrown back in my face.

"I guess I get where you're coming from, but I still think it really means dancers are the good ones. It talks about leaving everything human behind and breaking free – grace and virtue and souls and devotion and stuff." I said stubbornly.

"Yeah, but it's talking about them because they're expected of us. He says he gets nervous when he sees an 'open door' and he has to just go for it by closing his eyes and cutting the cord and stuff. To become Human, take the leap and ignore what we're told." He surveyed me through his fringe of dark hair, an amused smile playing across his lips. "But maybe that's part of the question too. Is being a dancer a good thing, or is it better to be free thinking? When you work together so much more can be achieved and it's all infinitely more beautiful and stuff, but then if you're human you are yourself and you owe nothing to anybody."

We sat in silence, lost in our minds.

Phil broke it this time. "I have to go back. Your parents will be home soon and it's pitch black outside. Will you come with me? I don't want to be alone tonight."

*

Katie Kempton swore as she squinted through the rain and into the night. Heavy windscreen wipers distorted her vision so all she could see was the reflection of her own headlamps in the glistening tarmac. The downpour was creating standing water on the road and she swerved and yanked at the steering wheel so as not to skid on huge black puddles. She was half an hour late for dinner with her mother in law, and she was in a foul mood. It had been a long day at the office; she'd wrestled for forty minutes with the photocopier only to discover Mark had already printed and filed the documents and was laughing at her over a cup of coffee with Stacy and Meg from HR.

The road was empty and Katie was driving recklessly fast; already on bad terms with her husband's mother she knew she'd get a grilling from her own if they had to reheat the meal.

It all happened in an instant. Katie only had time to register her annoyance at the people playing bloody pop music on radio 4 before a small black car without any lights swerved out of nowhere, tires squealing, and onto the road in front of her at 90mph. The impact was enough to cut Lady Gaga off mid sentence.

As the airbag was punctured by a chunk of distorted metal Katie's phone started blaring out Paganini – her Mother's familiar ringtone.

"Fuck." She said, and then she died.

* * *

We burst through the door breathless and soaking. As Phil slammed it behind us, I took in the scene in front of me.

Chris was lying on the bed in just his boxers, huge red and purple welts littering his torso. PJ was gently wrapping his calf in a blood soaked bandage, both his arms tinted pale blue and yellow from bruises that were just starting to swell. I heard Phil's gasp as he turned around beside me.

"What the hell happened?" I whispered.

Chris grinned at me. "PJ and I had a little lover's tiff."

"Sure." Muttered Phil behind me.

"We're both fine, don't worry about us. You two look like you've had a fair beating too!" PJ smiled sympathetically.

"Yeah but that was nothing to do with you – why did they come after you?!" I spluttered.

"We're just so good looking they got jealous." Chris tried to laugh, but it turned into a groan of pain that he stifled with a grin.

Trust him. Even now, barely able to move, he was still trying to crack a joke.

"It's not fair." I whispered. "Why did they do it?"

"I'm surprised it took them this long, actually." PJ said amiably. "We haven't really been making a secret of us, I guess they figured that if you two were together but sharing a room with us that would be weird, so therefore we must be gay too. It is highly contagious, after all."

I moaned quietly, sinking onto the bed with my head in my hands. "Who did it?"

"Oh, the usual psychos," Chris pulled a face. "When the normal people saw they went ape shit of course, but not until Knuckles had had his fun."

My stomach twisted. "This is all my fault."

"Oh shut up, Dan." Phil said tiredly. "He's been beating himself up all afternoon, it's not like those bastards didn't do enough of it."

PJ moved to put an arm round me but I pushed him away. "Stop it! You should be looking after Chris and Phil and yourself, I'm the least hurt of all of you... I can't believe I can just sit here not doing anything. Oh God. It is all my fault."

"Hey, no, Daniel." Chris chastised, trying to pull himself upright but giving up with a gasp of pain. "We've had it coming a long time, it would have happened even if you'd never come here. At the very least we were planning to go to the leaver's dance together in matching pink suits."

"No we were not." PJ muttered, but Chris ignored him.

"I reckon they'd suspected us for a long time. We were just too happy to be normal. All they needed was an excuse, and they would have found it sooner or later. So don't be silly Dan, we're all in this together and it's over now."

"No it's not." I said quietly. I could see Phil biting his lip out of the corner of my eye. I ran my fingers through my hair for good measure. "Knuckles rang. Apparently it's only just begun."

Chris's smile only faltered for a second. "Great! I could use a good work out, I'm getting a little podgy belly on me."

I moaned, kneading my forehead with my knuckles. "Stop it. Please. You don't have to pretend for me. You're a mess and I'm practically unhurt compared. I don't care what the reasons are, we can't just let this happen! We have to do something."

"Like what, martial arts training? Why pay someone to beat us up when we can get it for free!" Chris grinned and it took all my strength not to punch him.

"I don't know what, but we have to do something."

"Well let us know when you figure it out." PJ smiled sadly, "In the meantime, I'm taking Chris in the shower."

Phil settled down with a book as they disappeared so I grabbed his laptop, trying to just 'forget about it'. On top of everything else I couldn't get the image of dream-Knuckles out of my head. The sickly red eyes and yellow, pallid skin. The cruel laughter...

The house scared me too. It was like the kind in horror movies; abandoned and decrepit and falling down around me. And the writing on the walls. It didn't look English, so I stuck it into google translate. Apparently Decidida means 'of course' in Thai. Well, that was really helpful. I ran my fingers through my hair and closed my eyes. I was a wreck. Fretting over nightmares and phantoms. I sighed.

"Oi can one of you chuck me Chris's towel?" PJ called from the bathroom.

I hopped up, Phil still absorbed in his book.

Chris's towel was well worn yet still soft, faded and patchy in areas. It was strangely comforting in my arms.

*

When I left the bathroom (considerably wetter and soapier than I had been before) Phil was on his laptop, book abandoned on the pillow.

I sat down beside him with a forced smile, looking curiously over his shoulder at the bright screen. He had the browser history up, a list of every search I'd made in the last three days winking cheerily back at me.

I gulped.

Phil's face was deathly pale as he turned to face me.

"Dan," He whispered, "There's something I have to tell you."