Page 19 of Kiss Me Honey Hone

But that was in another life.

He handed the tablet back, a sense of foreboding settling over him. He’d only meant to just ‘take a look’. But, again, he couldn’t walk away from something so severe. Whoever was behind these deaths wasn’t just meticulous; they were clinical, seeing human life as a component in their design, their victims merely players in a dark, calculated game.

And anyone could be their next victim.

But for now, he needed to get home, scrub the antiseptic from his skin, and brace himself for a Friday night dinner party. With his colleague and his wife, Kenny’s ex-boyfriend and his new husband, and the woman Kenny had once dated in a misguided attempt at normalcy.

All the while grappling with the undeniable truth: Aaron had upended his world and clarified how normal was never going to be his path.

Fuck his actual life.

* * **

Aaron arrived at Taylor’s student house, clutching his bottle of JD, wondering why the fuck he was here.

To get drunk, mostly.

To get absolutely off his tits.

Then he might just let Taylor have at him.

Sighing, he trudged up the small path, music already blasting out from inside, silhouettes through the net curtain suggesting this faux birthday was already in full swing at not even five on a Friday evening. Neighbours probably loved living next to a bunch of university students. He rang the bell, and the door swung open immediately after, revealing Max, one half of Taylor’s housemates. The annoying half. And he was already half cut.

“Aaron! Happy birthday, mate!” Max clamped an arm over Aaron’s shoulders to drag him into the living room teeming with people Aaron didn’t know.

Taylor and his mates might have said this was in honour of his recent birthday, but as everyone in here were third years, he was under no illusion this party was forhim. Now he wished Mel was here. But she’d got herself a job at HMV and they had a late night opening on Fridays. So, ushered into the living space, he had to do the awkward smile at people he didn’t know.

“When’s Taylor getting here?” he asked into Max’s ear.

“Said he’ll be late. He’s chasing that story about the netballer.”

“Great.” Aaron rolled his eyes as George bustled over, a plastic cup of something in his hand.

“All right, Aaron?” He tipped his cup at the JD. “Want me to take that in the kitchen? Get you a cup?”

Well, he supposed he couldn’t well drink it out of the bottle. So he nodded and handed it over. “With coke, yeah?”

“I know what you drink, dickhead.” George tutted and off he went.

Aaron shrugged out of his denim jacket, the air inside warm and cloying with the smell of booze and the faint tang of sweat meshed with dust and leftover food. Three blokes living together were a disaster. Aaron knew that from his days in the halfway house back in London, and living with ten other males in his Halls, all of whom had had their mums clearing up after them for years.

George returned with his drink and he took it with a forced smile, watching as George wrapped an arm around Max and they went immediately into their usual snogging session, with Max groping George’s arse. Aaron knew, from experience, within ten minutes, they’d each be chatting someone else up. Neither minded. Aaron wondered if that was the way to go. To be open about it. Fuck who you wanna fuck, but still have your fella at home. He could be that way with Taylor.

Could he be that way with Kenny?

Absolutely fucking not.

Aaron tipped his head back, slamming the drink down in one go, the burn scorching its way down his throat. It wasn’t enough to dull the gnawing ache in his chest, though. Because, in some twisted way, what he had with Kenny waswayworse. They mightbothbe with other people, yet not with each other despite being bound in ways they couldn’t admit, couldn’t act on, leaving him in this unbearable limbo.

The thought roiled in his gut like poison, so he stalked into the kitchen, cluttered with sticky cups and abandoned drinks. Heavy with the scent of cheap booze and spilled mixers, he grabbed the bottle of JD, poured more into his drink with a reckless splash, and took a long pull before heading back into the living room.

The noise hit him again, louder this time, laughter and fragmented conversations bouncing off the battered walls andmismatched furniture. Groups of students sprawled across sofas, faces flushed with drink and naivety. Aaron remained on the outside of it all, moving through the room like a ghost, steps aimless, interest detached, drifting from one group to another. Conversations ranged from upcoming exams, hookups, plans for Christmas break, and Aaron feigned interest, checking his phone for anything from Taylor. One message popped through.

Sorry babe, be there when I can. Tell Max keep his hands off you x

Aaron sighed. Thought about going home. Until the conversation within the group he’d found himself in turned to the netballer.

“Still can’t believe what happened to her,” some bloke sprawled on the couch said. Tall, lanky, wearing a faded band tee, Aaron vaguely recognised him from previous Taylor-induced gatherings but couldn’t place his name.

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