As he fastened the buckles down the sides he speculated why Eddie had not wondered how a rentboy who supposedly lived in a box in a back alley could afford boots that cost a hundred and fifty quid. But the dude was a total nerd. He probably had no idea how much they cost. Why did I have to admit I cut myself? Now he’ll think I’m some psychotic emo idiot who spends his spare time sitting in graveyards reading poems by Stevie Smith and Sylvia Plath. But the very fact that he had admitted it at all made him wonder about Eddie and why he had trusted him. He’d never admitted to anyone before that the way he dealt with his pain was to create yet more of it. Fox retrieved his black shirt and finished dressing. Amid the clutter on the desk was Eddie’s laptop. Fox glanced at the bedroom door. All he needed to do was take the laptop and leave. Then he noticed a couple of memory sticks. The information his father wanted might be on those. Eddie would think he had taken the stuff to sell. But even as he shoved the computer into his leather backpack, the thought of Eddie waking up and seeing his laptop gone, believing him to be a common thief was untenable.
