Max picks up the shredded and torn rubbish bag and throws it into the green wheelie bin.

He's beyond pissed off but is trying his hardest to rein it in.

He doesn't know how to parent Rhys and me or even if he should. The line in the sand hasn’t been drawn between us, so he’s not sure if he should rip into me or if he should wait for Mum to do the dirty work. And truth be told, I’m not sure either.

The half-empty bag hits the bottom of the bin with a thud, and I look around at all the rubbish that’s strewn over the front of the house and their perfect emerald lawn.

It looks like an animal, maybe a fox, has got in the bag.

By the look of the mess all over the lawn, so did his crew of foxy friends.

I stand and watch as Max begins to collect all the garbage. I should offer to help but I hesitate, and the words refuse to pass my lips.

I really did forget to put the rubbish bag in the bin. It wasn't something I did on purpose or out of spite.

For some reason, Max isn't shy about giving me chores to do, but he doesn't give them to Rhys, who still barely talks to him. I'm not sure why that means I get given tasks and jobs to do while Rhys gets away with doing nothing. Its seem beyond unfair.

"I wish you'd told me you hadn't put it in the bin," he mutters in my direction. "I could have done it, and then we wouldn't have this bloody mess."

I shrink back a little from his tone. I want to be able to say something flippant to him, but I was the one in the wrong, so I remain silent.

The more I get embarrassed by my inability to apologise, the angrier I get as I watch him clear up my mess.

Galen walks around the side of the house and immediately bends down to help his father pick up the trash.

"Need some help," he asks with a grin. "Looks like you've made quite a mess, Dad."

Max's cold and steely eyes snap towards his son but before he can speak Galen picks up the last of the rubbish and drops it into the green bin.

"Sorry," Galen says with sincerity in his tone. "My bad. Fflur asked me to put the bin bag out for her because it was heavy, and I forgot."

Max looks at us both. He doesn't believe Galen's lie. And it is a lie because I never asked him any such thing, besides the fact that the bin bag wasn't heavy.

Max must decide it's not worth calling us out on, and he claps Galen on the shoulder and says, "Next time remember, Gal. I hate spending my Sunday picking through mouldy bread and used tissues." He gives his son a devious grin and adds, "Since you made the mistake, you can help your mum get dinner ready."

Galen groans loudly and tosses back his head to look at the cloudy sky. He hates cooking.

Max, satisfied he's made his point, walks away with a smug smile on his face.

"You didn't have to cover for me," I say quietly, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.

He slams the lid of the green bin shut. "You were about to argue with my dad. It was your mistake, not his. He didn't deserve your anger, Fflur."

His gaze scans the lawn that's the same colour as his eyes for any remaining trash, and once satisfied, he moves to walk around me.

"Sorry," I say to his back, feeling very put in my place, as I fall into step behind him.

Galen's steps falter, and he spins around to face me. "Don't, Fflur."

"Don’t what?"

"Don’t shrink back from me, like I’m public enemy number one."

"I—I’m not."

"You think I don't know you, I do. You'll hide out in your bedroom and ignore me for days. All because I covered up for you with my dad."

"No, I won't."

He knows nothing.

His eyes flick away from mine and towards the house. "You owe me,” he says, and I see the grin as it tips up the side of his lips. “You owe me big. So now you can be my slave."

"Your what?"

An evil glint appears in his emerald green eyes, and he looks like a Disney villain about to lock the princess in a cage.

"Slave, Fflur. S-L-A-V-E. And I’ve got plenty of stuff for you to do."

I shake my head and follow him into the house.

"It’s a bit shitty to take advantage."

"Me? Take advantage?"

"Yes. I know you will. You’re loving this. I don’t think your grin could get any wider or your face might split across the middle"

He turns and looks at me over his shoulder, his grin seemingly broader and more wicked than before until my mother calls out from the kitchen, "Galen, your dad said you're going to help me. I've got a pile of potatoes that need peeling."

I sit and eat our Sunday roast with Galen staring daggers at me the entire time.

Mum had him in the kitchen for hours. Not only did they make our usual full roast dinner, they also cooked up batches of food to store in the freezer for the following week, and now he's staring at me with a look of payback on his face.

Max clears his throat, gaining everyone’s attention. "Jenny and I have been talking." He smiles warmly at my mum. "And today we’ve booked our next family adventure for the spring."

Rhys squirms uncomfortably in his chair, the last few adventures not to his liking.

I break the uneasy silence that's descended over the table.

"What is it?" I ask excitedly, having loved the last time went away. Two days walking through grassy fields and finding new flowers on the isolated mountainside.

"Well," my mum answers, taking over from Max. "We decided to do something in the Brecon Beacons again."

Max is unable to let my mum finish, and he looks exactly like Galen when he gets excited. With a broad smile, he yells out, "We're going Gorge Walking!"

"Will we be camping too, Dad? Galen asks, an equally wide smile on his face.

"Yes, well, no. We’ll be staying in the dorms at a country adventure centre."

"In bunkbeds?" Rhys grumbles while pushing his fork around his empty plate. "Sounds... awesome."

"It’ll be fun," Mum offers encouragingly. “You can share with Galen.”

“Like I said, awesome.”

"Or, Fflur," she adds quickly. "Or you can toss a coin for the single room?”

Everyone is quiet for a while, and I take another mouthful of food. Galen twists his hands and stares at Rhys. I know exactly what he's thinking. Rhys doesn't want to share with him, and he knows it.

"It sounds amazing," I say overcompensating for the awkwardness in the room. "I can't wait to go."

Galen calls my name as I approach the stairs.

I turn to find him with an apron wrapped around his waist and that devious smile once more on his lips.

“I haven’t forgotten our deal. My room needs tidying, so hurry along.”

"Huh?"

"I covered for you. Now it's your turn to pay me back for the mess I cleaned up for you." Without waiting for my agreement, he’s gone.

I stand on the bottom step and debate sticking my tongue out at his back. But he’s right, I do owe him.

When I walk into his room, it's not as bad as I feared.

He doesn't have anything gross like dirty underwear lying about, so I get to work clearing up some books and magazines. His room smells of him. He always smells the same. I can't name the scent, but it smells like the sunshine.

His bedclothes are rumpled and unmade, and as I straighten them, his scent thickens, and I take a deep breath and hold it.

Sunshine. And Galen.

As I pull back his duvet, I notice a wad of used tissues in the bin at the side of his bed, and my face burns in understanding.

I’m not naïve. Galen is almost seventeen, I can only imagine what he does in bed to use all those.

God, don’t think about it.

But the more I try not to, the more it’s all I can think about and I find myself staring at his bed with a film reel of Galen touching— Gah. Stop. This is wrong.

I quickly make the bed, and stuff any clothes I find into his laundry basket. Then I look back at the bin. I should empty it. Gross. I find an old plastic bag from a sports store, and bend to fit it over the top of the bin so I can tip it out without touching anything. The contents slide out and hit the bottom of the bag heavily. I remove the now empty bin, set it back next to the bed and peer inside the bag filled with rubbish. I can now see that what was heavy at the bottom—only now it sits right at the top of the open bag—is a magazine.

I blink.

It's porn.

I've seen porn before. Rhys has it at Dad's house, only he hides it under his bed.

I blink again, rapidly. The weight of the bag in my hands getting heavier and heavier. This should be funny. I should be laughing my arse off right now. But I’m not. It actually makes me quite angry and a touch nauseous, and I can't figure out why I'm so upset about it.

'Liar,' my heart whispers. 'You know why.'

"I was just coming to check if you were doing a good—” Galen stands in the doorway. “—job.”

He looks at the bag in my hands, to the empty bin, then up to my face. "And you have," he rushes out. “Thanks, Fflur. You’re off the hook now.”

I should shove the bag in his face and run, but I can't.

I saw the women on the front page. Is that what Galen wants?

He stands in front of me and takes the full bag from my hands, before dropping a brief look inside, and forcing out a laugh. It sounds strained.

"Did you like what you see?" He tries to be funny and laugh off his embarrassment, but it falls flat.

I can't look him. I can't look at his room. I can't look at his bed, and I can't breathe in his sunshine anymore.

I all but run out of his bedroom, grab my trainers and rush downstairs, darting through the kitchen and taking my first deep breath to clear my lungs when I get outside.

I need to find some flowers. I need to tell them my secrets.

But it's night time, and the only night flowering blooms anywhere close to our house would be the evening primrose that Galen showed me all those many months ago.

I have no choice. I have to go.

I push my way through the trees and feel tears pooling in the corners of my eyes, but I swipe them away with my knuckles before they can fully form.

The primroses are precisely where they were before. Some have already bloomed, but the further I make my way down the brook the closer I get to some that are just beginning pop open.

I toe off my trainers and slide my feet into the cold stream.

My skin feels like it's burning to ash, and the cold water helps ground me. I wade down towards the furthest patch of primroses and find a rock to sit on close to the bank.

Instead of picking one flower, I tell my secrets to the whole bunch.

How do I stop the whispers in my heart?

Why am I feeling like this?

Why did I run away like a stupid kid?

The Primroses don't answer.

I feel Galen's presence long before he murmurs in my ear, "What are you doing out here?"

I don't turn around to look at him and I don’t bother to answer him.

He sits next to me in the mud even though I know it must be uncomfortable as it seeps into the fabric of his shorts, but I don’t care, I just continue to whisper to the flowers

"Why do we still do it, Fflur? Why do we do this to each other? We could be friends, you know."

"You tell me,” I flippantly reply, annoyed that he’s followed me here when I’m feeling so off kilter.

"I wish I knew," he admits forlornly. "It was the roles we fell into, I suppose. But that doesn’t mean we’re stuck in them. We can change it, if we both want to."

He turns to look at me and asks, “Can’t you even look at me now?” And when I turn my head, it's fire I see in his emerald eyes.

"I know you didn't choose to have me in your life. I know all of this was out of your control, but if I had a choice, Fflur, if anyone had bothered to ask me what I wanted, I would have picked you."

My breath sticks painfully in my throat.

"What I’m trying to say is,” he continues, his voice strong, his words emphatic. “If we hadn’t been thrown together, in what has to be one of the most ridiculous situations, I think I would’ve found you any way. You were meant to be in my life, Fflur.”

The words are out before I can stop them. "Liar. I'm weird remember? Plus, I'm younger than you. You wouldn't have given me the time of day."

He chuckles softly. "What can I say? I'm a fan of weird."

I would have picked you.

My traitorous heart races as I replay his words.

He can't possibly mean them.

“So, Fflur?” he says with a hint of challenge in his voice. “Do you think you could befriend a boy like me?" He stands and pulls me up too fast, forcing me to hold on too tightly.

If he knew what I confessed to my flowers, would he still want to be my friend?

"I'd like to be friends…" I hesitate.

"But?"

"But I kinda like the ‘The Battle’ when we play it."

“The Battle?”

I smile shyly, and allow my gaze to fall away from his knowing stare to my feet. “Yeah, you know. I wait for my bus. You wait for yours. I call you a wanker. You pretend not to laugh.”

His head tilts back, exposing his throat and Adam’s apple, and he barks out deep laugh that settles low in my belly.

"Yeah, Fflur, we can still play ‘The Battle.’"