[I may well rewrite this chapter because i'm not 100% happy with it but here it is, the important one you've all been bugging me over. sorry about this. please let me know what you think!!]

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The iron knocker was ice in my palm. I lifted it once, twice and let it fall. The spikes had carved a dent in the wood over time that intensified the hollowness of the sound so that it resonated all down the street. Doubtless was his intention. I waited, my face blank and emotionless.

A voice from inside called out, muffled by the door. "Come in."

There was something off about his tone, something that sent shivers down my spine. I was expecting yells -deadly whispers - curling malice and heavy silence. Instead, Knuckles' voice was high and strained, almost choking.

Cautiously, I pushed open the door.

The sight that met me made my eyes open wide with shock. Knuckles was crouched in the hallway, leaning over the figure of a small girl with his arms around her shoulders. She was crying softly, her head in her hands, a sheet of fine dark hair splayed haphazardly around her face. As I stepped over the threshold, Knuckles raised his head. His eyes were red and puffy, but his glare was scorching.

"I didn't think you'd come," he said, his usual growl somewhat hoarse yet dripping with malevolence. "But I'm glad. Now you can see firsthand what you've done."

I opened and closed my mouth wordlessly, backing slightly towards the door.

"This is Jake's sister, Ellie. You remember Jake, don't you Dan? Your friend?" Knuckles sneered.

"I don't understand," I whispered, "why's she crying?"

"Why's she crying?!" Knuckles exploded. "WHY THE FUCK DO YOU THINK SHE'S CRYING? YOU KILLED HER BROTHER!"

I took another step back, shaking my head noiselessly and raising my hands helplessly in front of my face. "Jake's... dead?"

Knuckles brow furrowed and he pulled himself up, shaking. He took a loping step forward so that I could feel his hot breath on my face. "Jake and Gabes died three days ago in a car crash trying to escape the police, thanks to you."

"I don't know what you're talking about!" I stammered. "I didn't know they were, that they were dead. Oh my God. Are you sure-? I, I had no idea about any of this till literally a few days ago, and I swear I didn't go to the police!" My pleas faded into the emptiness.

Knuckles raised his eyebrows incredulously, lunging forwards to grasp my wrists in his fists and pin them behind my head. His thick fingers dug painfully into the soft skin on the inside of my wrists and he pushed his face so close to mine that the hairs on the back of my neck were brushed by his breath. "If you're lying to me..."

"No! I swear it's the truth I swear on my life honestly I never..." I whimpered, screwing my eyes shut.

"Why are you here then?" He growled. "Why would you have come unless you were guilty and finally ready to face me? Or are you just here on a social call?"

"Because you said you were going to kill Phil," I whispered, my eyes still tight shut. "I came to tell you that we'd broken up. So there was no need anymore. Because he's not my boyfriend. So that means you can leave him alone, right? It's me you want."

Knuckles' eyes bulged and something shifted behind them.

"Phil didn't tell you?" He hissed, releasing my wrists as if he'd been burnt and taking a step backwards. "He didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?" I spluttered, massaging my hands and stumbling backwards. My heart was racing, I wasn't sure how much longer it could take this.

Knuckles ran his fingers over the stubble on the top of his head as he backed away, his eyes intense and bewildered. I blinked in surprise. It was almost like... looking in a mirror a small voice said. My stomach twisted.

"I don't understand." He mumbled. "I thought that was why... why else? Why wouldn't he...? I don't understand."

"I don't understand, either," I said, trying to sound braver than I felt. "Why am I here if you're not going to beat me up?"

"Did I say I wasn't?" Knuckles growled, looking up sharply from his hands.

I blanched, lowering my head silently.

He started to pace up and down the dimly lit hallway, ignoring the sniffling girl. Clearly coming to some kind of decision, he wheeled around to face me.

"Alright," he huffed. "I'm going to talk, and you're going to listen. I have beliefs that I hold to in everything, and one of them is knowledge and understanding and shit. I reckon it could solve most of the problems in this fucked up world. But mainly I'm going to tell you because I don't think that they should have died without anyone knowing why they did what they did."

I nodded meekly.

"I beat you up because you are a twat. I want you to understand that. You're in this world, this world of fantasy and fucking rainbows and shit. And you have no idea. So when you go around getting all upset and emotional over the tiniest fucking things, you piss me off. And you piss everyone off. So let me tell you some things."

He walked over to Ellie, still crumpled on the floor.

"Jake dealt drugs. You know that. But you don't know why. This is his secret, and then maybe you'll understand why your dance is so fucking pathetic and why you deserve every hit you got for caring too fucking much about your precious little secret.

"His dad, Dave something, beat him up all his fucking life. And I'm not talking a couple of slaps like what we gave you. I'm talking broken bones and concussion and internal bleeding and shit and it wasn't just him; Dave beat Jake's mum and then his little sister too when she came along. Dave was a psycho. Jake had to do something before Dave fucking killed one of them or something. He couldn't go to the police, because then they'd come and find out his mum was messed up and hid in her bedroom all day because she was too scared to go outside, too scared to get Ellie dressed and take her to school even. Jake did all of that, he always did – even when he was so fucked he could hardly move he always made sure Ellie got to school with her hair brushed and her clothes not smelling too bad so the social workers wouldn't come.

"But Jake couldn't stand up to Dave. Because he was only twelve and Dave was mental massive and a boxer and not even fucking Mike Tyson could stand in his way when he was drunk. Jake needed help. He needed people that were hard and would look out for him no matter what.

"That's another thing most people don't understand. These gangs, they're like family. They have to be because if anyone isn't loyal to anyone else they're all going down. They care because most of their members don't have families – not really. Jake didn't need the money, Dave was rich enough to send him to Bradfield. He needed protection. But with these people you don't just get, you have to earn. You have to earn the respect and the trust so Jake told them he wanted to join, wanted to help. The longer he stayed, the more they trusted him and the more protection he got and that was why he was so desperate to move up the ranks – he wanted to get to the big shots, the ones that would be able to give the order to quietly deal with his Dad once and for all so he could finally help his mum and his sister get better. And maybe they'd have a shot at a normal life together. Jake didn't do it too well, but he tried. Fuck, he tried so hard. To everyone else he was a sadistic psycho, which was true I guess. But that wasn't his fault. It was messed up, Dave smoked a fuck tonne of meth while his mum was pregnant and I guess she breathed in the fumes or something because he came out schizophrenic and fucking manic depressed. He was suicidal fifty percent of the time, and every time he tried to cop himself he went mental with guilt because it would have left his mum and his sister alone.

"No one ever understands because they don't try to. That's why I looked after him Dan, to stop him killing himself or some poor little kid when he got bad. Because looking after him was looking after his mum and his sister too, and every stranger that got in his way. And he died scared. He died without Ellie or his mum by his side in a car with smashed headlights on a road somewhere trying to get away from the warehouse where they kept all the gear because some little SHIT spilled to the police. So I'm going to ask you, Dancer Dan. How HARD is your life? Boo hoo you cheated on your boyfriend and now he doesn't love you anymore more. BOO FUCKING HOO someone found out your deepest, DARKEST secret. Your life has fucking ENDED because everyone knows you dance around in a FUCKING leotard well you POOR thing HOW FUCKING HARD IS YOUR LIFE." Knuckles screamed.

He was shaking. His hands were balled into fists so tightly clenched that the veins were bulging out of the skin and hi s eyes were wide and popping. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly under the long thin scar that ran down his face.

He took a couple of steadying breaths and then, with a deliberate effort, slowly resumed his pacing.

"That's why I did it. I want you to know that. I don't like people who just deal out punishment without explaining why. I thought you knew, I thought Phil had told - I'll come to that. But I thought you knew and yet you still went on as if you were the most important little fairy on the planet and I wanted to expose your 'deepest, most darkest secret' because then I thought you'd see how fucking superficial and pathetic it was. But you didn't, you cried and hid and took your little family of queers away and I bet you all cried together about how hard your lives were. How fucking awful they were."

To my horror, tears were glistening in the corners of Knuckles' eyes.

"My two best friends are dead." He said. "Well? Aren't you going to say something?!"

By now, I had perfected my goldfish impression.

He let out a growl of frustration and slammed a heavy fist into the wall, making the whole house shudder. "I want to believe you Dan, fuck I want to. When you first moved to Bradfield you were so innocent and bloody helpless and I wanted to protect you just like I did with Gabes and Jake and I wanted to keep you away from all this, I was convinced you were a good person. That's why I got so angry when you proved me wrong, when you cheated on Phil, when they saw you talking to the copper."

"I didn't cheat on Phil!" I burst out, finally finding my voice. "I only told him that so he'd break up with me and you wouldn't hurt him!"

"Now we both know that's not true," Knuckles shook his head slowly. "You were seen, with Dani Connors of all people. Don't try and tell me you didn't know about her brother – I know you did. You knew that he was the one who persuaded Phil that coke would be the answer to all his problems in the first place, the one that sold to fourteen year old Caitlin Bieir and then killed her brother when he got pissed. You knew exactly what you were doing, how else would you have known who to talk to?"

"It was an accident and I didn't cheat!" I said earnestly. "Ring up Phil and ask him now if you don't believe me, he saw it! I told him I was seeing a guy from my old school behind his back the whole time. I did it to make sure we were definitely broken up. Why do you even care so much – why me? There are so many people at our college with really great and happy lives that fuck up a bit sometimes - why couldn't you take it out on them?! I didn't ask for any of this, it's not my fault I didn't understand I just didn't know why me and why Phil?!" I was nearly crying now, and I heard Knuckles sigh.

"Come through into the other room. I don't want Ellie to hear this." He said quietly, shaking his head at my pathetic form.

I followed him, shaking, into a dingy sitting room. A single sofa that looked like it had been taken from a dump took up most of the room, opposite the smallest TV I'd ever seen – one of the grey ones with a huge, dusty box behind rather than a flat screen. I perched gingerly on the edge of the sofa. It smelled of stale beer and tobacco smoke.

Knuckles crashed beside me, the fabric sinking with a crunch of broken springs under his weight. He buried his face in his hands.

"Fuck, I'm just going to tell you." He muttered, almost to himself.

He dragged his face up and turned it to mine, grey eyes steady in brown.

"I've been madly in love with fucking Phil fucking blue-eyes since he moved here three years ago."

My mouth dropped open. I wasn't sure I could find the muscles to pull it closed again, wasn't sure if I even had them anymore.

"He rejected me three times. Politely, but firmly."

My head started to spin. Knuckles. I fought with my face, trying to control my expression. Jesus.

"I just wanted him to be mine so I could look after him, hell I've had enough experience to know when someone's hurting. He was so fucking beautiful and he let slip the first time I ever spoke to him that he was gay. And that was it. Bloody infatuation. That's why it pissed me off so much, when you got together. Because I'd tried so hard, I bought him flowers and took him to dinner and told him how much I loved him every single fucking day. And you did none of that. You just waddled along your big brown eyes and suddenly he's in love. And you're so perfect together, aren't you. It hurts Dan, it fucking kills. You can't really expect me to be overly friendly towards you after that. And I swear he's the only person I've ever loved, really truly. And that fucking hurts, because you're not good enough for Phil."

I stared. I stared at Knuckles Ned, taking him in properly for the first time.

"And Phil didn't tell you. I thought, I just assumed you'd all know now – that he would have told everyone and you'd all be laughing at me and that why I went so fucking crazy. But he didn't, he didn't tell anyone despite everything even now he hasn't told you. Don't you think that proves just how much better than either of us he is? Yeah he's a little fucked up, but so's everyone. He only ever hurt himself and as soon as hurting himself could hurt someone else he fucking stopped and I've seen how hard it is to quit."

He sighed softly, his heavy eyelids slipping shut.

"You sure as hell don't deserve Phil. But neither do I."

I didn't say anything. I didn't have anything to say. I couldn't speak.

I watched Knuckles' wide shoulders tremble as he took another shuddering breath.

"So now you know. Phil is the only guy I've ever fallen for. He's special. I always knew I wasn't special, that Phil deserved a fucking angel or something I don't know. But you're not an angel. You're a whiny little ballerina with about as much heart as a cockroach."

He looked up at me, almost defiantly, as though expecting me to speak - to protest him even. But I didn't, because he was right. And I was still struggling with the moving muscles on my face. Still trying to take it all in. My heart was seriously struggling by now, definitely too many emotions for one evening.

He sighed, throwing his hands up in the air in defeat.

"I'll just keep talking then, shall I?" He said sarcastically. "Jesus. If this shocked you that much you really have been living a life full of bloody unicorns."

There was no humour in his eyes, and his tone was flat and emotionless. He turned to stare blankly at the wall.

"At least Jake has someone to mourn him." He said quietly. "Gabes doesn't have anyone. His story is simpler, but no different. Because I bet you just thought he was a drugged up thug, just like everyone else. Just like Jake wasn't. Because you didn't know.

"His parents died. It happens. It was a car crash - kinda ironic, huh? He went to live with his Gran but when she died there was no one left so he was shoved into care with all the other unwanted screwballs. Aged nine, the older kids thought it would be funny to feed the new kid cocaine. Care homes are rough.

"While it was just on his tongue it was fine, he just had a tingly tongue and he didn't know what it meant and he was okay, just about, with a headache and a numb tongue for a few hours. But it wasn't long before he was watching the other kids and copying them because that's what lonely little kids do. I bet they thought it was hilarious. He wasn't like the other kids though, his parents were minted and they'd left him a trust fund so his social worker got him fostered and sent him to Bradfield. Only now he was addicted beyond anything I've ever seen before. And I've seen a lot, but I guess it was because he started so young. The money he got each month from his fund wasn't enough, not nearly enough to cover his need. So he asked Jake to get him inside and suddenly he's got a family again.

"But it's not his fault, Dan. Why does no one understand that? He was cutting down, he was doing so well even though it was literally driving him crazy. And every day at the gym he pinned the picture of the bastard who gave him his first hit to the punch bag. That was what I was there for, I helped him. I got him through each week, with Jake's help. We were there for each other and they were doing so well. Things were looking up at last. And now they're dead."

Knuckles' head was in his hands, his shoulders limp and defeated. We sat in silence for what seemed like hours but I suppose was more like a minutes. I sat, and I understood.

*

Eventually, I found my voice. I practiced opening and closing my mouth a few times. I took a deep breath.

"What about you?" I asked quietly. "What's your story? How did you end up in the whole drugs thing?"

His whole body jerked, the muscles in his neck taught and bulging.

"I've never had anything to do with drugs." He spat. "Never."

His response was so vicious I jumped backwards in my seat. "Oh. Sorry, I just thought..."

"Never." He snarled. "I've seen what they do to people, what they did to my parents. My Mum's in prison for slicing my face open with a kitchen knife when she was tripping and my Dad's on the street because me and my sister kicked him out. Trust me, I would rather die than end up like them. Do you understand?!" He rumbled.

"Yes." I whispered.

His breath was coming out in great huffs, his shoulders shaking. I wasn't sure if he was going to scream or cry or punch me. I focused very hard on my hands folded in my lap.

"That's the fucking story, there's nothing fucking heroic about this fucking scar."

He breathed great calming breaths, in through the nose, out through the mouth. I counted fifteen before he spoke again.

"Well?" He said quietly. "Aren't you going to say something?"

"I- I don't know what to say." I mumbled. "You're right, I had no idea. Of course I didn't. And I'm sorry I just.."

"Speak." He muttered. "I'm trying to understand you too here, remember."

I took a deep breath, speaking quickly and tensing for a blow. "I still don't understand - If you only ever wanted to help me, why did you throw me in the pond? Why did you, well, scare me so much that night?"

Knuckles raised his eyebrows.

"I told you. It's your fault you didn't listen. We had to prove you were loyal - that we could trust you with our shit. We need each other. We tell each other our deepest fucking secrets. If I'd told you all this and you'd baled on us when Jake OD'd or something fuck knows what would have happened. And you proved that day that you're not loyal, not even a little bit. Your nature tells you to run and abandon your friends the moment things get a little cold and wet. That's why I hated you with Phil, I knew you'd hurt him. Knew you'd do the same to him in a heartbeat."

I couldn't respond, not to that. I stared at the carpet, threadbare and greying. I couldn't tell what colour it had been originally, but now it was faded and so scuffed in places that the floorboards were showing through.

Knuckles sighed again.

"You're really fucking pathetic. I'm glad you ran, I wouldn't want you as one of my mates. You would probably have shat yourself to death."

I couldn't contest that. The idea of running away from drug dealing psychos with guns and god knows what else made me feel positively sick.

"Look, whatever you did or you didn't do, I don't think you really meant to hurt anyone. You're not cruel; I doubt you could say boo to a butterfly if I held my glock against your head. So I've decided. I'm not going to hurt you. I shouldn't trust you, not on anything, but I believe in second chances. So this is yours. Make it count, ballet boy."

With that, Knuckles pulled himself up off the sofa with a grunt. "I need to go look after Ellie. I don't know what's going to happen, she can't go home and if she stays here the police will find her eventually. I have to fucking do something, now Jake's not here anymore I'm all she has left and I owe it to him. And I don't know what to do, Dan." He sighed, running thick fingers over his scalp.

"Let me help, please." I murmured, pulling myself to my feet.

Knuckles shook his head with a dry laugh. "No. You're out of your depth kid, go back to your happy little fantasy world and do yourself a favour: try to pretend none of this ever happened. You don't want to get involved in all this shit, trust me. It's just painful and fucking hard. Go home, Dan."

"What am I going to do though?" I said, my voice rising in panic. "What do I say to Phil? How do I explain to him what happened wha-"

In one swift movement Knuckles closed the distance between us and gasped my throat in his fist. The word choked in my throat as I fought for breath, clawing desperately at his fingers. The fire that blazed up in an instant faded from his eyes and he slowly loosened his grip, turning away with a look of disdain.

"Oh I don't know, Dan. Why don't you go crying to that girl in the hallway, see if she has any sympathy. Tell her all your troubles and how horrible and difficult your life is. I'm sure she'd love to listen to you and tell you it's all going to be okay." He strode out into the hallway. "Your feelings are no less valid than other peoples', but as a decent fucking human being it's polite to consider sometimes that piling your petty problems onto people who are suffering and expecting them to listen and care doesn't always go down well. Piss off Dan, you don't belong here. Get out of my house, or I will kill you."

*

I could hear him clattering in the kitchen as I fought to regain my breath. He was right. With one last pitiful look around me – at the bare walls, the lack of family photos on the mantel or warmth from the dusty radiators - I padded shamefaced into the hall. Ellie was still where we'd left her, trembling. I crouched down and bit my lip.

No one ever understands

"Hey - I'm, I'm sorry. I know that nothing I can say will mean anything or help or anything but I am. I really am. And I really hope that everything works out okay for you in the end, and that-"

I was suddenly aware of hot breath on the back of my neck. "Touching words, ballet boy."

I straightened up quickly, holding my breath.

"You have no idea. Leave, please." His voice was cold.

And so I left, keeping my head down and closing the door quietly behind me.

As I walked slowly back through the estate, I looked around me. At the high rise tower blocks, the graffiti, the garages and the bikes and the shadowy figures moving silently through the night. And I wondered what stories lay behind each faceless door.