*****

23 February 2002

Today is my 18th birthday.

It should have been the best day of my life. I was planning on getting the girl, the bike and the freedom. Did I get it? Like hell I did. What did I end up with? One broken rib, a black eye and one incredible... no wait, I'll leave that for later. Things hadn't gone all that bad by the end of the night. In fact, it's a day I'll never forget. Today, I found out who Spike - me, or Will as my Uncle Rupert calls me - is.

The morning started fine. I got up, had breakfast, followed by the usual argument with Professor Rupert Giles - my uncle. He works at the Sunnydale University and is head of the Historical Department. I will attend there myself in the fall, after graduation from high school that is. He wants me to do a course in anthropology. He's bloody thick! I don't want to turn out like him when I'm fucking forty. Single, tweed suits and no bloody life! Me, I want to do a course in literature. I want to be a horror writer. I haven't exactly got any idea what to write about at the moment, but that's what I want to be. Last month, I wanted to be a poet. You know something like John Lennon but without the music. Unfortunately, I discovered I had little flair for poetry. Having gotten stuck on the word `effulgent' for weeks, I finally gave up that idea. The month before that, I wanted to be a pop idol. Billy idol with a little twist. That didn't work. I discovered I couldn't ever read music - it just looked like black paint drops on paper.

The Billy Idol idea did go a little overboard. I got my hair cut and bleached and brought the tight black jeans and leather jacket. My uncle almost had a fit when he saw me. He was so furious he threatened to sell my motor bike, but in the end, school rang about a problem and he forgot all about me. Lucky me. It's not like I hate him, but he's so bloody stiff and boring. I haven't lived with him forever. My parents died in a car accident in Lincolnshire, England about 5 years ago and he is my only living relative. That's when I came to Sunnydale.

I don't have many friends here. I'm strange and English, and that tends to distance me from people. I know some people. Take Buffy Summers. One real knock out of a girl. Then there is Willow, Xander, the Queen Bitch Cordelia, but none are really friends. The only other friend I have is Drusilla, the daughter of the local pastor. And I think the only reason she likes to be with me is because it upsets Daddy dearest.

Sorry, I'm going of topic a little. Back to my birthday. After another argument with Giles, I finally manage to get away from him and take my bike out for a spin. Today is Saturday and thankfully there is no school. I was planning on taking Drusilla to LA for the day and having a great time with the false ID I have, and getting drunk. Unfortunately, when I arrived at Drusilla's, I discovered her in the arms of the local dork Xander. Bitch! I ripped off my jacket, got out my leather gloves and was going to beat the shit out of him... but I lost my nerve.

They never saw me. I just stood there staring into her front window, watching them neck on the sofa. I didn't do a bloody thing. Well, actually I did. I turned on my heel and ran back to my bike. Five minutes later I roared out of Sunnydale and onto the road to LA.

After that things got steadily worse. First off, I got a speeding ticket. Second a puncture. After that the bar I found tore up my fake ID. Then on the way home, I got bike jacked. They stole my bike, my money and left me bleeding on the side of the road. I tell ya, I've never had a broken bone before, but that rib felt as though someone was trying to rip my chest open with every breath. I couldn't move, and was just left lying there in some deserted, dirty alley. I thought this was it. Some lowlife nutter would come along and either rape or kill me. I mean, I couldn't do a bloody thing! I was just lying there waiting and then I saw him.

My first thought was really stupid. I mean I'm a tough, English punk that... Okay, I try to be a tough, English punk, but when I first saw him I thought he was some sort of Angel. He has these just perfect brown eyes. Deep chocolate... no more like hot chocolate, all-liquid and swirling colours. His skin is pale with an almost unhealthy hue. His hair was dark and spiky, but looked thick and lusciously soft. He has this strong caveman brow, but his features are... well, they are perfect. He's beyond handsome, and I've never ever thought this of another man, but he's beautiful. Hence the whole me thinking he was an Angel kinda thing.

Large, strong hands pulled me up right, and he helped me to my feet. At this point I was beyond caring about my image, and tears were flowing over my cheeks. He didn't speak, but just got me to my feet and wrapped his arm around my back to hold me up. I must have leaned all my weight on him, but he was surprisingly strong, and almost carried me down the alley. I had no idea where we were going, but at that moment, anywhere was better that lying in that stink hole.

"Hey Angel, I don't think he'll be able to afford you tonight!"

My silent companion growls softly, but doesn't answer the voice. I notice another young man dressed in drag standing on the side of the road.

"Angel, I'll take your customers if you leave!" he shouts again.

"Customers?" I mumble.

Angel - my helper - didn't answer me, but continued to carry me into a small alleyway and up a few stairs. He pulled out some keys and unlocked a heavy metal door. He shoved it open, while balancing me on his hip, and then dragged me inside.

Inside it was a complete dump. The only furniture in the room was a dirty bed, fridge and tiny gas stove. There were a few clothes scattered around, a needle, and then in the back of the room, around 12 canvasses and an assortment of paints in whatever pots available. Angel, pulled me up, and lay me gently on the bed. He left me a moment, but returned with a handful of bandages, and a plastic box filled with condoms, Vaseline and antiseptic.

"You're a hustler," I breathed softly, amazed at what my saviour was. I didn't really mean to say it out loud, but I've never met a male prostitute before.

My words seem to have offended Angel, and he paused in his work. "If that offends you I can take you back out on the street," he snapped back.

"No!" I cry. Okay, I'm a little scared. I really don't want to go back out there with a broken rib, no transport or money, and the other problem which would be - I'm completely lost. "I'm sorry," I mumble. I'm really not used to saying that word. I never say it.

Angel gives a little sigh, and takes off his black cotton shirt. Underneath he's wearing a slightly discoloured white T-shirt, with black leather jeans. Really nice black leather jeans, revealing a well-toned ass... Whoa! I think I might have hit my head in that assault, because I'm actually looking over another man. A prostitute to boot.

"I'm going to have to take your T-shirt off," he tells me in his soft, husky voice. For a moment I hesitate, but Angel helps me up into a sitting position. "I will tape up your chest; it should help ease the pain."

Well, that changes my mind straight away. I don't care if Jack the Ripper was offering to bandage me up. Anything to stop the pain. I help him pull my T-shirt off, and for the first time I notice the tracks on his arms. I've never been into drugs. Oh, I've smoked some pot but nothing more. I've seen other kids try heroin and such, but from the amount of scars on his arms, Angel has been a user for awhile now. Anyhow, Angel gets my shirt off and starts poking around my chest. The tanned skin is marked by the beginnings of black bruising down one side of my rib cage. His large fingers are surprising soft and warm as he runs them over each bone.

"ARGGGH! Fuck!" I scream when he touches the broken rib. He rubs over it, making me curse and scream even more. "What the fuck are you doing?! It's bloody broken!" I cry. Tears burn my eyes again, and Angel pulls away to pick up the antiseptic.

"Actually, I think it's just fractured." He smoothes some cream on my chest and then takes up the bandages.

"Oh yeah, and you're a doctor," I scoff.

"I've had a couple of broken ribs in my time," Angel answers calmly.

"Oh," I reply unsure of what else I should say. This young man is totally doing my head in. I mean I usually don't have any trouble talking to people, or saying what I think. But around this stunning hustler, I'm feeling lost for words. He makes me feel strange and uneasy, but comfortable at the same time. We don't speak as he starts to tape up my ribs, wrapping the bandage tightly around my chest. He is damn good at it too, just tight enough to help the pain, but at the same time allowing me to breathe.

"Better?" he asks, as he ties off the bandage.

"Yeah, thanks," I mumble. I think the pain has finally gotten to me, and my eyes start to close.

"Lie down a moment and I'll get you some water." Angel helps me to back down onto the bed, and as soon as my head hits the pillow, I fall into a deep sleep.

~*~*~*~

It must have been hours later when I awoke to the sound of voices. I slowly opened my eyes, the right one still swollen but I could just see out of it. My chest ached as I lifted myself up on an elbow to see what the noise was. At the door stands Angel, dressed in sweatpants and T-Shirt, talking to a taller blond haired man. In the man's hand is a brown paper package, it looks like he's trying to get Angel to take it.

"Come on, Angel-baby. I know you can't be without it for long. How long has it been now? A couple of days?"

"I can't..." Angel mumbles in return. He's not the type of person I would have expected to be pushed around by anyone. He gives off an air of being totally in control of himself and his own destiny.

"Angel look, I'll give you a little starter and then tomorrow you can have the rest at a reduced price." He man leans forward suddenly and I realise I've been spotted. He gives me a luscious grin, licking his fleshy lips. "Come on, Angel! You have a customer waiting. Hey, I thought you didn't like to sleep with them after? He paying you extra?"

Angel looks a little confused and gives me a quick glance. I see something reflected in his eyes. They are such old eyes for a man that couldn't be more than twenty-one or two. I'm suddenly wondering if I've read him wrong. Maybe he's weak and just a junkie without any character at all. Yet, I just didn't feel that around him. Angel felt strong and honest, and well, I just wanted to know him. I wanted to know how a gorgeous man like him would end up on the streets... no, hold that thought. I know how, I bet many would and do pay to touch him. I don't know what it is, but I just want to learn more about him. Also I really want to know what the pile of canvasses on the floor is. As I look around, I notice a whole pile of old books next to the closet door. My attention is caught by a title that stands out - `the complete works of Shakespeare`. Angel looks to be educated as well. Next to them is an open cupboard and a couple of home made dumbbells. I guess he uses them to keep in good shape. Yes, I've noticed how well muscled and proportioned he is. He's pale, so he doesn't jog outside or anything, but he has to keep healthy in some other way.

"Malloy, no!" Angel's startled voice calls out, drawing my attention back to their conversation.

I look over to the door and notice that this Malloy is roughly shaking Angel by the arms. "I paid for this place, Angel. I found it for you. I got your first customer. Now take the fucking bag, and you'll work off what you owe me."

"I don't want it!" Angel shouts back.

Malloy pulls Angel forward and kisses him harshly, painfully biting into Angel's smooth pink lips.

"No!" Angel cries, true fear marking his voice. He tries to push the larger man away, but he seems afraid to fight. Why?

"Don't make me put you in your place again, Angel. I give you protection, bring you what you need, and you had better fucking well respect me, or you know what happens," Malloy growls out, his eyes flashing with psychotic anger. He pushes Angel away, causing him to fall back against the door and throws the little bag into Angel's face. Angel grabs it angrily, but doesn't throw it back at Malloy. He keeps it. For some reason, this saddens me more than it should.

When Malloy is gone, Angel slams the door shut and picks up the nearest object - a plate - to throw at the wall. That's when he notices me staring at him. He seems to calm instantly, and puts the plate down.

"It's morning. The streets are a lot safer now," Angel starts, throwing my T-shirt over to me, "and I'll give you twenty bucks. Is that enough to get you home?"

Angel turns away and starts fingering the brown paper bag. There is a slight tremble in his body, and his large shoulders seem to have dropped, making his body stoop as if in protection. He doesn't look like the same person that helped me last night. He was strong, silent and unwavering. This one is afraid, low and unsure.

"Why didn't you fight back?" I ask, pulling on my shirt.

Angel laughs harshly. "Don't ask about things you know nothing about, boy," he answers back.

"What this Malloy chap must be around 40 plus, not in great shape, surely you could take him. I mean look at you..." Damn, I wish I hadn't said that because I'm really looking. Horribly enough, I like what I see. "You're fit; you don't have to take his crap."

"I can't," Angel whispers softly, "you don't know anything."

"What, he's your pimp or someth... Oh," I guess I hit the nail on the head there. Now that's not what I expected. I thought only women had them.

Angel doesn't answer, but starts to look around in a couple of coffee tins and pulls out a roll of bills. Nothing big, a couple of twenties and plenty of dollars. He throws one over to me, along with my T-Shirt. "Here's the money, now get out."

Angel vanishes out of the open door and I hear his footsteps running down the alley. I dress in silence and pick up the twenty. I really hate taking it. From the looks of it, Angel really doesn't have any money to spare, but I do have the problem of not having a cent to get me home. I feel like I am stealing from him, but it was freely given. So why do I feel so bad? Why the fuck should I care? I mean, this isn't the first time I've taken stuff. I steal money from my uncle all the time, drinks from the corner store, stuff from school, but I've never felt bad about it. Why do I feel so damn guilty about Angel giving me twenty bucks?

I get dressed, wincing from the pain in my ribs. They feel better this morning; maybe Angel was right about them not being broken. I grab up the twenty, and I'm about to leave when something catches my eye - the stack of paintings in the corner of the room. The light is dull, so I grab hold of a couple and carry them over to the door. In the morning light, I examine my find.

"Bloody hell!" I cry. These are damn amazing! The paintings are done in soft, muted tones of watercolours, but they are... well, they are just amazing. What do you call art that makes you stop breathing? The pictures are entirely of the one girl. She couldn't be anymore than 16 at the time, with dark brown eyes and wavy brunette hair. All of them are painted in sunlight, making her look like an angel with skin that glows with light and life. She's very pretty and delicate. Each drawing of her is perfect in every way. Every line of her face, every curve of her body. The colours of her hair and skin make it look like she could jump from the painting and come alive before my very eyes.

There is one drawing of her dancing - a ballerina pointe. The picture catches my attention because at the bottom of the canvas is a signature. The name is Liam O`Branbudh, signed 1999. Is Liam the same person as Angel? If so, then where is the girl in these drawings? And why the hell is he working on the streets when he can draw like this?

Okay, Angel has my interest peaked. I put the paintings back where I found them, and find an old scrap of paper and a pen.

To Angel, or is it Liam?

Thanks for the twenty bucks. I will repay you, expect me.

The guy you helped and didn't bother asking for a name. By the way, it's Spike.

Okay, so I wasn't sure what to write. I didn't want to come across as being bothered about him, or sorry about his situation. I did wonder about what name to write however. Should I have written Will? Everyone calls me Spike now, apart from my uncle, but I'm not sure if I want Angel to call me that. Don't ask me why, I don't know. I leave the note on the bed, and walk out off Angel's dirty slum. I close the door behind me, and I wonder if I shall see him again. For some reason I really hope so.

5th March 2002

Finally! I've been in the shit house for over a week now and have been released, at last. My uncle was absolutely fucking furious when I came home after my night on the town. Not only had I lost my bike, my money and everything else, I cost him a small fortune in medical bills for a bruised rib. He was far from pleased. I mean he had to take time out from his all-important work and take me to the hospital. Of course, it was all my fault I was beaten up and left bike-less. On returning home from the hospital, I was instantly grounded for a week. It became longer when I screamed and argued with him about how it wasn't my fault. He never listens to me and detention was extended to 10 days.

Now, with my freedom I can finally repay my debt. I haven't forgotten about Angel. Actually, he's never been far from my mind. I can't help but think about him - his face, his lips, and his eyes. Even when Drusilla broke up with me, I wasn't really thinking about her but him. I think there is something seriously wrong with me.

So with my release I borrow my uncle's car (without telling him) knowing he won't miss it. He walks to the university and he's never home during work. I fill up with petrol, steal twenty dollars, drive down the freeway to LA and a certain dirty alley. I arrived around late noon and set about finding Angel's humble abode. I got a little lost, but while looking around, I spotted the same man dressed in drag, that had shouted at Angel the other night.

"Hey you," I shout, and the man turns in my direction.

"You looking for me, honey?" he asks, putting on his best sexy voice. It sounds a little ridiculous and I have to hold back my laughter.

"Kinda, I'm actually looking for Angel. Do you know where he is?"

The man's shoulders hunch and he looks disgusted at me. "He's busy at the moment," he nods down an alley and casually walks away.

I'm not really sure what he means, but I don't stop to think. I just walk down into the alley and stop dead.

*****
Part 2:

There before me is Angel giving another man a blow-job. He's on his knees in a filthy alley, his hands resting on the man's hips. Strong fingers grip Angel's hair as said man thrusts his hard dick in and out of Angel's mouth. Angel's eyes are closed and there is a look of... pain upon his face. His body is tense and stiff, but he sucks and licks rigorously as he strives to get the man to cum. After a couple more vigorous sucks he does, and fills Angel's mouth with creamy cum.

"Pretty boy," the man murmurs as his softening cocks slips from Angel's mouth. He touches the soft cheek, but Angel pulls away as if the caress repulsed him. "Same time next week?" asks the man.

Angel just nods and gets thrown a couple of bills. He shoves them into his pocket and then looks up... straight into my eyes. The other man doesn't even notice I'm here, just walks away whistling a happy tune in his post-orgasmic bliss. Angel does see me and stares, a look of disbelief and... disgust in his eyes.

"I brought you the money," I mumble in surprise. I hold out my hand with the twenty bucks and Angel stares at it. For a moment, I don't think he's going to take it. He seems to be in as much shock as I am. I'm not sure why. Maybe from being caught giving a blowjob, or maybe from the fact that someone actually brought his money back. After a long time, Angel reaches forward and snatches away the money.

"Thanks," he chokes out, and then shoves past me, running down the alley and towards home. Of course, I have to follow.

Angel runs back to his room, throws open the door and flies into the bathroom. I enter behind him and listen as he heaves and chokes. I hear the water running and then Angel comes back out looking 5 shades paler. He gets himself a drink of water and then turns to face me.

"I...err... Thanks for..."

"It's okay," I answer. He looks so uncomfortable trying to talk to me.

"I... err... didn't think you would... err... come back..." he whispers.

"I said I would," I reply. I sit down on the bed, making Angel look even more uncertain.

I look around in the uncomfortable silence. I notice that Angel has used the brown paper bag, or it's another one. A syringe lies broken and bloodstained on the table, with a candle and spoon next to it. Angel notices my observation and rubs his arm nervously.

I'm about to ask him if he's okay when there is a sudden knock on the door. Angel almost jumps out of his skin and turns to open it. Outside is the same man in drag I talked to on the street.

"Angel man, you're in deep shit! Malloy is out looking for you."

"Thanks for the warning, Jerome," Angel smiles and closes the door again.

"You okay?" I ask, noticing how his body tightened at the mention of Malloy's name.

"Fine," he lies.

Now how did I know that? There is something about his eyes when those words past his lips. I just knew it wasn't the truth.

"You should go now," Angel opens the door and stands patiently beside it. "Thanks for keeping your promise."

"Angel, run away from this Malloy. You can fight him, you..."

"Please... You don't understand. Things aren't that simple... Please go..." he pleads, looking around nervously.

Why the hell doesn't he fight? I mean he's big, young and strong. I'm guessing that he doesn't take shit from anyone else. He stands his ground. He exhibits that type of personality. Surely, I'm not that wrong about him. There is something about Angel that pulls at me. Something that makes me forget all the things I want to try to be. I just want to be around him. I want to know him; I want him to know who I am. I've never felt like this around anyone, not even my parents. With them I was trying to be someone else. A movie star, a tough biker, I even learned the cockney accent to make it sound like I was from the rougher part of London. With Angel I even forget that accent.

I did think about fighting him, but I know I won't get anywhere. I don't intend to leave and not come back. I'm just going to do as he says and I`ll be back around to see him later. When I have a good argument to get him to leave. Even if I have to pay for time with him, I will. I leave with a curt nod, and Angel closes the door behind me.

Suddenly, I get an idea. I run towards the place where Jerome stands and find him waiting there. If Angel won't talk to me, maybe he will.

Four hours later and I still haven't learned anything useful about Angel. Jerome doesn't even know his real name. I did learn that Angel might have been doing this for about two years. Since he was 18, which would make him twenty now. I also found out that Malloy is a complete bastard and has a lot of hustler's under his *wing* as he calls it. Unfortunately, many of them don't have a very long life span and usually end up dead from an overdose. Malloy keeps them under him because they can never pay off what they owe him. He supplies them with drugs, then more drugs until they are forever trying to pay him off. Angel is addicted to heroin. He's tried to quit a few times. That's when Malloy turns up on his doorstep and strong-arms him into having more.

I was also correct about Angel not taking anyone else's crap. Jerome told me a tale of Angel standing up for another hustler, beating up a man twice his weight and size. Angel's customers don't beat him around, he doesn't take their shit. He's a total good soul as Jerome puts it. Jerome is obviously jealous of Angel's charm and looks, pulling in the paying men and women without having to do much of the legwork. Angel spends his free time reading, or helping out the local shelter.

I knew I was right about him! I just knew it. I knew Angel wouldn't take shit from anyone. So why doesn't he just fight off his good for nothing pimp? I still haven't found out about the girl in the paintings. Nor how Angel arrived here two years. Concerning his personal past, Jerome has no ideas. In the end, I pay for Jerome's dinner and for his time. Then, I decide to go face Angel.

I know I shouldn't be doing this. I know I should just mind my own business. Forget about him. I mean he's just a whore. He's hardly said 10 words to me, but for some reason the other night he saved me. I just can't forget that. I can't forget the concern in his eyes, his gentle fingers and soft husky voice. I can't forget him.

It's getting dark when I reach Angel's room. To my amazement the door is slightly ajar so I peek inside. Without doubt Angel wouldn't have left it open and gone out. I don't think he'd be so careless. Angel's pretty streetwise even if he does have a kind heart. I open the door wider and look inside. It's pitch black, the curtains are drawn over a tiny window and there are no lights on.

"Angel?" I call into the darkness. Nothing. Not a sound. I mean it's not like he couldn't hear me. He's only got the one room and a bathroom. I try and find a light switch, but when I do the bulb remains dead. I'm about to turn and leave when I suddenly hear a stifled sob. "Angel!" I shout again, this time with an added edge of panic to my voice.

I reach into my back pocket, and pull out the lighter I use for the fags my uncle never allows me to smoke in his house. I flick the flint and it ignites the gas. The room is illuminated around me and I advance inside. I find the small candle Angel uses for his habit and light it. The light is stronger now and I look over at the bed. I almost wish I hadn't.

"Angel," I gasp. I almost feel like throwing up as he did earlier.

Angel sobs louder at the sound of my voice and covers his eyes with his arm. I wish to god I hadn't seen this. I wish I had never left him. I should have stayed, refused to leave until I had spoken to him. But at the time what could I say? I want to know you? I dream about you? I can't stop thinking about the colour of your eyes? Yeah, right. I'd sound a real pervert.

A part of my mind doesn't want to process what I see. I don't want to see my Angel lying broken and bleeding on the bed. I do however, and I can't look away. Someone has raped him. His hands are still tied to the centre pole of his bedstead, his body covered in bruises and lacerations. The bed is coated in his vomit and blood. But the worse part is his back. His firm buttocks and thighs are smeared with blood and cum. I casually notice a blue etched mythological creature on his back with a `A' below it. Under that someone has cut a `M' into his skin.

*M*

"Fucking bastard!" I scream.

Angel's sobs become louder with my words. I suddenly realise that he thinks I'm shouting at him. I'm not. I've just worked out who did this. I know why Angel was afraid. Malloy did this. This is what that fucking pimp meant. Angel didn't show the right respect, he tried to stop his habit. So to keep him under control - Malloy raped him.

"Angel!" I sob. My heart breaking for this man I don't know, yet feel the deepest of connections. Why the hell did I leave him!? "Angel!" I cry out again, pain breaking through my voice. In an instant, I move into action. I search desperately for a pair of scissors or a knife. Upon finding a reasonable kitchen knife - I cut into Angel's plastic hand ties. They have been tied so tight his fingers are blue, so I rub them urgently while trying to get his circulation going again. He trembles and moans under my touch, but I won't allow him to pull away. At this moment I don't think he can. His buttocks are covered in fresh blood, and he weeps brokenly into the dirty linen.

I can't leave him here. I can't leave him to that prick who might come back and finish him off. I won't let anyone touch Angel again...ever! I run into the bathroom and damp a couple of towels. With one, I wipe the blood and vomit from his body, and the other I place between his buttocks. He moans and cries out but I press it down hard. I have no idea how to help him, but I remember from my first aid course at school that pressure should stop the bleeding. My touch seems to alarm Angel even more, so I roll him over on his back and that holds the towel in place.

Angel doesn't do anything to stop me, or move for himself. He just lies there as I start working my way around his room. What am I doing? I'm fucking packing! He's not staying here. He's leaving... with me. My uncle has lots of room at his house. It's a big house on Rodeo Road with a spare room we don't use. Angel can stay there until he's healed. He can stay forever if he wants. He's just not living in this hellhole another moment.

"Are you robbing me?" a soft voice asks from the bed.

I turn around and face him. His eyes are swollen with tears, but he opens them enough to see me. Does he really think I would do that? I guess that in his line of work you don't trust anyone.

"You're leaving," I tell him in my firmest voice.

"What? I can't... I belong here..." he sobs.

"What the fuck are you talking about? How can anyone belong here? It's just a room, Angel!" I shout back.

"No... I deserve this... I deserve..." his weeping becomes louder and broken. His body shaking with pain, shock and... guilt? He keeps mumbling that phrase over and over. "I deserve this..."

What does he mean? He deserves to be raped? A whore? No one deserves to be used, torn and beaten no matter what they have done. Jerome called Angel a good soul and I'll never see him any differently. In a city where people walk by the starving, dying and injured on the street every day, Angel didn't. He helped me. He gave me money to get home. He doesn't deserve this life. In my heart... my soul... I know that. I don't care that I'm trying to be tough. That I want to be known as Spike, the big bad. At this moment I'm Will, and I want to help my future friend.

Angel is quiet as I collect his stuff together and place it next to the door. He really doesn't have that much at all. His most prized possessions seem to be his books and paintings. His clothing, bed linen and other items are cheap and in poor state. I do find one cleanish sheet and cover him with it. I help wrap it around his bleeding body and leave him lying on the bed.

"I'm just going to fetch the car, Angel. I promise I'll be back." For the first time I touch him. I rest my hand on his cheek and his damp eyes look up into mine. He doesn't flinch away from me, but in fact, seems to calm at my words. He turns over on his side and closes his eyes. I look back as I'm leaving and he hasn't moved. Please don't be broken, Angel. Please be okay...

It doesn't take me long to bring the car back, but I do have a little trouble trying to get it down the tight alley. I'll be in deep shit with my uncle if I scratch it. With a little shuffling I manage to park the car outside Angel's door, and while doing so Jerome appears. He asks what's happening, and I tell him the truth. It doesn't surprise him. To my astonishment he helps me pack Angel's stuff in the car, and in the end assists me in lifting Angel up - and he's bloody heavy - and into the front seat. Angel's first action is to check where his canvasses are. When he sees I've laid them safely on the back seat, he relaxes.

"Good luck, Angel and don't come back," Jerome tells him as he smiles through the car window. He doesn't say anything about what happened, he knows and understands. He has seen the blood on Angel's sheet.

"Thanks," Angel mumbles as he curls up, more tears threatening to fall.

Jerome smiles and pulls me away from the car. "Look man, don't ever let him come back. This job will kill him. Angel's not cut out for this. Oh, he's strong, pretty and has a damn good mouth, but it's killing him. He doesn't belong here, he never has done."

"I won't let him come back," I promise. "Thanks for the help, Jerome." Jerome waves and swaggers down the alley to his corner of the street. I can't believe I've just thanked another person. This is going against all my big bad routine. First, I help Angel, then I end up buying a drag queen lunch just to find out about Angel and now I'm taking Angel home with me. What the hell am I thinking? I turn back and look at the figure curled up on the front seat. He looks so small and damaged... Okay, I know why.

*****
Part 3:

When I arrived home, a lot later than I expected, I was dreading finding my uncle standing at the door, waiting for me with another of his tedious lectures. I was surprised when I discovered the house dark and deserted. Angel was asleep so I left him a moment in the garage while I checked out this unexpected development. My uncle wasn't home, but there was a message on the answer machine. It seems he's staying late to grade papers and tells me not to expect him early. What a bloody relief!

I turn my attention back to Angel and gently awaken him. He looks to be completely out of it, but with a lot of struggling I manage to get him inside and up into the spare room. He's asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. I just have to watch him a moment to get it into my head that he's really here. In my house, with me. Angel is here. I know I don't really know him. I might end up hating him, but I really doubt it. He looks so young at this moment. His face pained even in sleep, his body trembling with the aftermath of shock and violence. I don't stop myself reaching over and touching his soft hair. I stroke the damp locks away from his face, across his fine cheekbones, then allow my fingers to glide over his lips. He's so angelic, even now.

Suddenly, I pull away. This can't be happening! I can't be falling for another man. Not me! Not Spike - the big bad. I can't! He's... he's... oh, shit. Angel turns in his sleep, stretching out one arm and it brushes against my leg. A tingle travels the length of my body directly to my aching cock. The truth is I've been half-hard all night. Ever since my first view of naked Angel. I tried not to think it about at the time. Hell, he'd just been raped! I thought I shouldn't contemplate the sight of him naked... and so bloody perfect. Okay, there was a tiny twinge of jealously. He is bloody well hung, must be at least 10 inches of perfect, pale, straight cock attached to him. With large round balls nestling in a sea of thick dark pubic hair. And for the rest of his body - well, I think anyone shagging him must have thought they had caught some kind of god. Great muscle tone, perfect abs tapering to a chiselled stomach, lithe hips and toned legs. What I really like however, is the fact that his chest is almost hairless and he as the cutest little brown nipples. Bloody hell! Did I just think the word `cute'?! Good grief, Angel is reducing me to mush, and he hasn't even done anything yet!

I drag myself away from his room to allow him to sleep off his traumatic experience. I unpack the car and pile whatever I think Angel should keep in his bedroom. I get rid of the old dirty clothing... and that's when I come across the brown paper bag. I don't open it. I really don't want to look inside. I don't want to see what Angel has been pumping into his body. I decide to flush it down the toilet but for some reason I don't. Instead, I hide it in an old tea box in my room. Then I forget about it.

6th March 2002

I hate Wednesdays. They are smack bang in the middle of the week and I have two more hellish days at school to go. Thank god, I'm eighteen now and will be graduating in a few months. I'm counting down the days. I slide out of bed, and pull on some black jeans and T-shirt. It's then I remember... Angel! I race out of my bedroom and into his... it's empty! The bed is made, the bloodied sheet gone and so is he. No! Shit!

"Damn it!" I yell.

"William! You're going to be late for school again!" my uncle shouts from downstairs. I hate him calling me that!

I run down, thinking Angel might have left a message, when I discover the most amazing apparition. There in the kitchen sits my uncle eating eggs, toast and bacon. At the stove, stands Angel who's flipping over another omelette. Angel! He's still here... cooking for my uncle!

"Angel," I gasp, uncomprehending the sight before me.

Angel turns and smiles shyly as he puts the omelette on a plate and hands it to me. I take it without really thinking and sit down. He gets himself some breakfast and limps over to the table. I wince at the pain in his eyes and how carefully he lowers himself into the chair.

"Morning, William," he grins as he picks at his eggs. I don't like the gleeful look when he said my name. I get the joke. We share the same name. Liam being Irish for William and mine the English Will.

"William," my uncle scolds as he continues eating, "Angel and I have been having a little chat."

Oh shit!

"I really do wish you would tell me when we are having lodgers. I know we discussed it, but you really must inform me when someone asks to rent the room. Fortunately for Angel, he's a very good cook and a very well mannered lad. You could learn something from him."

"Thank you, sir," Angel replies to Giles's compliment. I do notice the smirk on his face, and I can't stop myself smiling. Oh yeah, I bet Uncle Rupert would love me to tell him what Angel did for a living.

"Oh dear, is that the time? I really must go, and William please don't be late again!" Giles swallows the last mouthful of food and grabs his briefcase, running out of the kitchen, slamming the front door behind him. Beside me, Angel started to chuckle.

"What are you laughing at," I scold, tasting my breakfast for the first time. It's really very good.

"You're uncle is so uptight. I was going to leave but he caught me, so I pretended to get breakfast. He thought I was a friend of yours, but I told him I was staying in the spare room and he automatically believed you had rented me a room." He laughs some more and pulls out a piece of paper from his pocket. "He gave me this. They are house rules and regulations," Angel chuckles, almost choking on his food.

I'm a little hurt that he said he was leaving, but thankfully that didn't happen. I take the paper from him and read the first line. "No girls after ten." "No heavy snoring." I can't help but laugh right along with Angel. I can't believe my uncle actually wrote this down. When I calm down, I look seriously into his dark lusty eyes.

"Angel, don't leave," I plead.

"Spike... Will, I can't stay. I'm not worth the effort. I can't pay you. I don't have a lot of money and I can't work around here for more." Angel looks down at his hands. All of a sudden, he looks self-doubting and very afraid again.

"You helped me, Angel. Let me help you." I reach over the table and tenderly touch his fingers. I really had no intention of touching him, it just happened. My body is acting on it's own desires without my head's consent. Angel doesn't pull away however, but doesn't answer me. "Look just stay a week until you're healed. You can't do anything like this."

"Okay," he whispers agreeing to my words. "What did you do with my clothes?" he asks, his eyes suddenly filling with life again.

"I threw them out!"

"Spike! I don't have anymore!"

"They were torn and dirty. Look, I'll pick you up some jeans and T-Shirts at this cheap place I know. Then you can promise to go and see my Doctor." Okay, where the hell did that come from?

"Doctor? I can't see a Doctor, Spike. I'm a whore... I..." Angel looks away from me and tries to stand up. He winces in pain and sits back down again.

"You have some money to pay for a Doctor, Angel. Please..."

After a long conversation of trying to get the most stubborn person I've ever known to do something in his own interest, I finally wear him down and he agrees to see the a doctor. I skip another day of school and drive him down to the surgery. I trust this doctor. He's middle aged and has treated enough teenagers not to ask stupid questions. While Angel is there, I go to the local clothing store and pick up a few bits. It's strange, but I feel almost euphoric buying clothes for Angel. Its usually an activity I hate doing.

Angel isn't happy when he comes out of the surgery and rubs a new plaster on his arm. At first, I thought drugs but then remembered where he'd just been. I notice Angel's concern.

"What happened?"

"It's a blood test," he sighs, "for HIV." Angel leaves me standing there in shock as he goes to the chemist to get some cream and antibiotics.

HIV... AIDS... Oh god... No, not Angel. Please, this is even worse than seeing him raped. Please no... I feel tears pick my eyes and I shiver in fear. I really have to get a hold of myself. I can't do this. I can't feel this for him. It's ripping me apart! He's breaking down all the barriers I built so nobody ever hurts me again. Since my parents died, I never wanted to love another soul. Never! I never loved Dru, or other girl's I've dated. I'll never lose anyone I care for again! So why the hell does this news scare the living shit out of me!?

8th March 2002

Today, I really wanted to escape school. My hated computer teacher gave me detention. I've just been so out of it all day. I can't concentrate on the work, all I think about is Angel... Angel... and then Angel some more. I'm really furious about being late, but my anger is forgotten when I arrive home to find the house looking a complete mess.

"Angel?" I shout, running around the house as I desperately search for him. "Angel!"

"William!" My uncle calls from upstairs.

Oh, shit! I run up the stairs and directly into Angel's room. I stop dead at the door and just stare.

"Will, go get a wet flannel and a glass of water, Now!" Giles shouts at me, as I stand frozen at the door.

With all kinds of frightening thoughts running through my head, I stumble into the bathroom and wet a flannel. As I do I notice the toilet seat up and covered with white powder. No! Shit, no! Oh, bugger. Why the hell didn't I destroy it before? Angel must have been looking for it. Now, Giles is certainly going to throw him out if he knows Angel is an drug addict.

I run back into the bedroom and give him the flannel. "Uncle Rupert, it isn't what you think. Angel doesn't..." What can I say? Angel did use it. Oh, please be okay. "Is he... is it an overdose?" I whimper, fearful of his reply.

"What?" My uncle stares at me with wide eyes. "Oh no... no. He's suffering from withdrawal symptoms. I came home early and found him shaking and delirious in the bathroom. It looks like he tried to find what you had hidden, and then flushed it down the toilet."

Angel moans loudly and struggles on the bed. He is sweating profusely, yet his skin is covered in gooseflesh.

"Huh?"

"Will, pay attention! Now go ring Doctor Summers and tell him that Angel has been vomiting, has severe convulsions, abdominal cramps, and profuse sweating, but his heartbeat is strong and regular."

I do as Giles tells me, acting on automatic as I ring the doctor and give him the full details of Angel's condition. I tell him that Angel was a user, but he had been cutting down, and has now given up. Doctor Summers takes this as good news and says the withdrawal might not be as severe as if he were a heavy user.

The next few hours are the worst of my short life. Uncle Rupert would not allow me in Angel's room while the Doctor was there, but when he left they seemed pleased with Angel's condition. Doctor Summers gives my uncle some drugs and tells him Angel needs to be watched constantly for the next 48 hours. My uncle agrees and finally allows me inside.

Angel is asleep on the bed, curled up and sweaty. His body trembles now and then, but he seems more relaxed. Giles sits down in the only chair in the room, so I sit on the bed next to Angel.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks.

"Oh yeah! I can see that. Oh, Uncle Rupert, this is Angel from LA and he's a heroin addict, but he's trying to give it up."

"I'm not stupid, Will!" he yells back. "I wasn't always as you see me now. When I was younger I did a lot of stupid teenage pranks. I tried the drugs your friend used. Fortunately, I came around before it became an addiction. I'm not going to throw him out just because of that. As long as he keeps off it, he is welcome in my house."

Well colour me stupid. I don't say a word. I just gawk at him. I can't process the words that have just fallen from my uncle's mouth. I can't ever imagine him doing anything as stupid as trying drugs. I mean look at him, little wire glasses and tweed suits. Please!

"He won't go back on it," I promise.

"I know. He threw them away. He's doing this himself, and that way he'll get through it." Giles stands up and hands me a bottle of tablets. "This is Methodone. It's to help him recover from the withdrawal symptoms quicker. I'm holding you responsible, Will. Make sure he takes them." With that he leaves and closes the door behind him.

"Wow!" I whisper. Giles trusts me! I mean he actually trusts me! Also, he didn't throw Angel out. What the hell is he on? At this moment, however, I can't think about that. I can only consider how I nearly lost Angel. I lie down on the bed and turn to face him. "I won't leave you," I whisper softly into his ear.

*****