Storms - 4. Daniel

Something about my conversation with Mr. Griffiths seemed to have lifted a load from my shoulders, and for the week that followed I felt less hopeless than I had before, in spite of the bullying. The fact that my teacher took the time to talk to me, to ask how I was, made me feel so much better than I would have thought. It was good to feel like someone was on my side for once, and not just in my head, either.

I passed Mr. Griffiths in the corridors several times, and each time he would meet my eye, wink at me or smile, and it made me feel seen in a way that I hadn’t in a really long time, if ever.

Needless to say, I’ve never been close with my PE teachers, but now I felt like Mr. Griffiths saw me and cared what happened to me, and that made me like him in spite of his subject. It didn’t hurt that Mr. Griffiths was tall and strong and really handsome, barely thirty, and by the end of the week I was forced to admit to myself that I had kind of a crush. He was kind to all his students, of course. It wasn’t like I was special. Still, it made me feel less alone, and that wasn’t nothing.

So it was without my usual dread that I arrived in PE the following Monday. Griffiths had set up an obstacle course, which was more fun than I had expected. I started next to a girl called Julie, who turned out to be about as shit at PE as I was, so she kept pace with me for most of the course. We even got to talking. She seemed really nice. When she fell flat on her arse at one point, she burst out laughing at herself, and I couldn’t help but laugh along with her.

‘Hey, you two,’ said Griffiths, passing us. ‘More exercise, less chatting.’ But he winked, and didn’t seem angry.

I hung back after the lesson finished, to finish our conversation on the relative virtues of Mr. Khadeer’s English class, before I went to my usual corner in the changing rooms, hiding away and waiting for the showers to empty.

I took my time, surprised at how all right I was feeling about myself and the world. I’d had a good PE lesson, and I’d had a decent conversation with someone for once. Julie and I had even talked about pairing up on an upcoming English assignment.

When I’d rinsed the last of the soap suds off myself and was about to turn the water off I heard a sound behind me and spun around, covering my crotch with both hands.

I was surprised to see Loz standing there, looking at me. He was barefoot, but otherwise dressed, and he had his hands in his pockets. I hadn’t expected anyone to still be here.

‘Hey,’ I said, not knowing what else I could say.

‘Hey,’ he said casually. ‘Seemed like you liked today’s lesson.’

‘Er . . .’ I looked around me, trying to get a grasp of the situation. I wanted to cover myself up, but Loz stood between me and my towel. ‘Yeah, it was all right,’ I said at last.

‘That Julie’s quite fit, isn’t she?’ he said. ‘She your girlfriend or something?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘We just . . . We just started talking.’

He nodded and took a step closer, and I instinctively backed up, my back hitting the tile wall. ‘Yeah, cause I was pretty sure you were gay.’

‘You what?’ I yelped, more than a little surprised. I was used to guys throwing gay, queer, faggot around as insults without much meaning behind them, but for someone to actually specifically state that he thought I was gay was a new experience, and I wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.

Loz took another step, and then another, and then he pulled off his sweatshirt and the t-shirt under it and tossed them into a dry-ish corner of the shower room. My eyes were involuntarily drawn to his chest, where lightly tanned skin stretched over taught muscles, and my gut seemed to tighten.

‘Loz . . .’ I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say. My throat felt dry, and I was confused and overwhelmed. Loz had already showered. I’d seen him come out with a towel wrapped around his middle, water droplets in his dark brown hair. I couldn’t for the life of me understand why he was taking his clothes off, and I wondered if maybe I was hallucinating. Sure, I’d thought about him before, pictured him with no clothes on the way I pictured any attractive guy I saw. Loz was tall, nearly as tall as Michael, though his build was wider and more robust, like a rugby player or something. Of course I’d thought about it. If I was imagining this it felt awfully real, though.

I cleared my throat and tried again. ‘W–What are you doing?’

He didn’t answer. Instead he pulled off his trousers, leaving only grey cotton boxer briefs. I looked, because how could I not, and he was definitely hard. It was almost like my body responded in empathy.

‘You’ve looked at me before.’ It was a statement, not a question.

‘I wasn’t—’

He wasn’t looking at my face, and his cheeks were slightly pink. ‘Do you think I’m hot?’

The question took me so much by surprise that I nodded without thinking. He registered the movement, his eyes flitting to my face for a second.

And with that, the pants came off, and Loz’s hand reached down. I felt my eyes widen comically. I’d only ever seen another guy touching himself in poorly lit amateur porn. My body responded further and I felt my own dick twitch under the cover of my hands.

‘Are you hard?’ he breathed, and again I nodded. ‘Do something about it, then.’

Against my own better judgment, in some strange fit of psychosis, no doubt, I did as I was told. I was fourteen, I was horny, and this gorgeous guy was masturbating in front of me. My whole body was telling me that this was what I wanted.

For a few moments it felt good. It felt exciting, and my breathing grew heavy and laboured. But suddenly Loz was crowding me against the wall, and his mouth was close to my ear, his breath too hot on my skin.

‘Here, let me,’ he whispered, and then he reached out and touched me.

I went rigid. Nobody but me had ever touched me before, and this wasn’t how I’d imagined my first time. I didn’t want this, didn’t want it to be him. So why was I still hard? Why was my body reacting to the touch? I found my voice at last.

‘Wait . . . Stop it, please!’ I tried to push him away, my hands on his chest, but he was bigger than I was.

He just kept stroking. ‘It’s okay. Just relax.’ He sped up, and I whimpered pathetically.

‘I . . . No! Please, I don’t . . . Don’t want—’

I looked up into his face and fell silent. His expression was one of fury, and it scared me enough to shut me up. It occurred to me how much bigger than me he was, how much bigger than almost everyone else. He could hurt me, if he wanted to.

I closed my eyes, tried to disconnect my mind from my body. This was happening to someone else. This wasn’t what it was supposed to be like, the first time I had someone else’s hands on me.

‘No!’ I whimpered. ‘No . . .’ And then it was over.

My knees felt like jelly, and I couldn’t find my breath. A sob escaped me, and I realised my face was wet with something other than the water from the shower.

Loz let go of me. Wordlessly, he took my hand and brought it to his crotch.

The moment my hand touched flesh, it was like my brain whirred back into gear again. ‘No!’ I pulled my hand back, and it took him enough by surprise that he lost his grip on my wrist.

I managed to slink out from between him and the wall, and as fast as I could move on the slippery tiles, I ran out of the shower, grabbed my towel and my clothes, and rushed out of the changing rooms. I didn’t care if anyone saw me running naked down the corridor, didn’t care what they would think. I just had to get away. Thankfully, I encountered no one. I went into the first boy’s bathroom I could find and locked myself in one of the stalls. Then I stood there shaking for several minutes, as my mind tried to process what had just happened.

I began to pull my clothes on, moving on autopilot. I had to cover myself up, get dressed, act normal. Everything was fine. Nothing had happened, nothing out of the ordinary.

What had that been all about? Loz hardly ever even spoke to me. He barely spoke to anyone. Did he like me? Was he interested in me? And if he was, what the hell kind of way of showing it was that?

I felt suddenly sick and got to my knees before the toilet, heaving, but nothing came up. I hadn’t had breakfast that day, as we were out of both bread and Weetabix. Nothing to vomit up.

Hot tears poured down my cheeks, then. I tried to take a deep breath, but it came out as a choked sob instead. I was filled with shame. I must have liked it, on some level, or I wouldn’t have . . . Would I?

I knew I should go eat, but I couldn’t bring myself to. Instead I stayed in that toilet stall for the rest of the break, trying to stop the sobs, trying to stop my mind from thinking, from remembering.

When the break was nearly over, I opened the door and stepped out of the stall. I stepped up to the sink and stared at my reflection. My eyes were red and puffy, and my upper lip was wet with snot. I blew my nose and quickly splashed some cold water on my face in an attempt to make myself look normal and presentable. After drying my face with a paper towel, I took a deep breath before turning towards the exit.

Just then the door opened, and Michael Storm stepped through it. To say that my heart skipped a beat would be a gross understatement. More like my heart stopped completely, and for a moment all I could do was stare at him.

Michael wore the black trousers and navy sweatshirt of the school uniform exceedingly well. His half long hair was mussed up and his ocean coloured eyes bright. His cheeks were a bit red—he must have just been outside. I tried to look away, aware that I was staring, but I couldn’t seem to bring myself to.

He was either completely clueless or just kind, because rather than ask what the hell I was staring at, he simply smiled at me and said, ‘Hey.’

In contrast to a moment ago, my heart began to thunder in my chest. This was the first time Michael had ever spoken to me. I opened my mouth to make some sort of response, but to my mortification only a vague sort of rattling sound came out at first. I swallowed and tried again. ‘H–hi,’ I stammered lamely.

Again, Michael seemed not to notice how pathetic I was being. He walked past me, towards the urinal, but then he stopped, taking a step back and laying a hand on my shoulder, making me jump. His touch was like electricity.

‘You okay, mate?’ he asked. ‘You look a bit peaky.’

I dared to look up at his face, and found Michael studying me, brow slightly furrowed. I hadn’t thought it would be possible for my pulse to increase further, but it did.

‘F–fine,’ I managed at last. ‘I’m—I’m–m fine . . . Excuse me.’

I made the decision to bolt from the room, but before I had the chance to do so, everything went dark.

* * *

I opened my eyes slowly. Fluorescent lights hit my optical nerve hard and I had to blink a few times before I could begin to look around.

I was on my back on a bed. The room had a distinctly sterile smell, like the dentist or the doctor’s. Nurse, then. I must be in the school nurse’s office.

‘You’re awake!’ said a familiar voice, and I froze. Blinking a couple times more, I turned my head to the right. Next to the bed, in a chair, sat Michael. There was concern in his eyes, but he was smiling all the same. ‘Was wondering when you’d come to.’

I tried to speak, but my throat was dry and I coughed. Michael reached for a plastic cup on the bedside table and helped me sit up so I could drink. His touch made me shiver, and I hoped he didn’t notice.

‘You fainted,’ he explained while I drank. ‘So I brought you to the nurse. She’s gone to ring your mum, should be back soon.’

I swallowed a mouthful of water. ‘I . . . Fainted?’ I asked weakly. That was just fucking great. Fainting in front of Michael Storm. Not pathetic at all . . .

‘Yeah,’ was all Michael said. When I said nothing, he continued, ‘You don’t have a fever or anything. Your blood pressure’s pretty low, though.’

I nodded. ‘I . . . Uh, thanks,’ I managed. ‘I—’ A thought struck me and I cocked my head to one side, looking Michael in the eye for the first time. ‘Don’t you have class? Why are you here?’

He shrugged. ‘Beats me,’ he confessed. ‘Seemed like the thing to do, I suppose. Seemed like you needed someone.’

I turned my eyes down and stared at my hands, suddenly and inexplicably ashamed. ‘You needn’t have bothered,’ I mumbled. ‘I’m okay, you should . . . I don’t need your—’

‘My what?’ Michael interrupted. ‘My pity? You think that’s what this is?’

I looked up at him again, and my heart sank when I saw the look on his face. He was no longer smiling. Instead his brow was furrowed in irritation.

‘Wow, okay,’ he said. ‘Think what you want, Daniel, but I was actually trying to help you. I didn’t carry you all the way up here from the ground floor and wait for you to wake up out of charity. I did it because it’s the decent thing to do.’

Upon hearing my name uttered from those lips, my heart began to race again. It barely occurred to me to wonder how he even knew it. Had he really carried me here? He really was a decent bloke. But Michael’s words didn’t help loosen the knot in my stomach. I didn’t want Michael to help me because it was the decent thing to do. I wanted to him help me because he liked me. I knew how stupid that was; Michael couldn’t like me, he didn’t even know me.

He stood up, evidently taking my silence for rejection. ‘Whatever,’ he said, sticking his hands in his pockets. ‘You’re awake now, so I guess you’re fine. Just don’t make a habit out of skipping meals, yeah?’ He started towards the door, but turned to me again before he left. ‘And the next time someone tries to be your friend, you might want to let them. I’ve noticed you haven’t got an awful lot of those.’

Then he left, and I wanted to call after him, say I was sorry. Thank him. But the words got stuck in my throat, and instead I lay back on the bed, shielding my eyes from the fluorescence with the back of my hand. It was probably better to just face the fact that I was, and would remain, alone.

‘Oh, you’re awake!’ said the nurse, walking back into the room. ‘Did your friend leave?’

I nodded and looked away from her, my cheeks burning with the shame I still felt.

‘I couldn’t get hold of your mum, but I suppose she’s working. How are you feeling?’

More likely, Mum was asleep or just couldn’t be bothered to answer the phone, but I didn’t bother correcting the nurse. Instead I said, ‘I’m fine. Do you need to keep me here for very long?’

She shrugged. ‘Far as I can tell, there’s nothing actually wrong with you, though at a guess I’d say your blood sugar’s a bit low, and you’re probably a bit dehydrated.’ She reached into a drawer and pulled out a bar of chocolate. She broke off a piece and handed it to me. ‘Here. Eat this, drink some water, and then you can go if you like. Would you like to go home or are you okay to return to class?’

I took a bite of the chocolate and made a non-committal grunt. I was aware of her eyes on me, but did not meet them.

‘Perhaps you’d best go home,’ she said.

I didn’t know what would be worse: going home to my quiet, unresponsive mother, or staying at school and having to see Loz in my next class. I felt suddenly queasy again, but forced down the rest of the chocolate anyway.

‘Do you feel stressed about school? About making new friends, maybe, or just homework?’

I shrugged.

‘I’m asking because stress can have physical effects. Combined with low blood pressure and blood sugar, it can make you feel faint or cause you to pass out. Do you often feel dizzy? When you stand up too quickly, for instance?’

‘Sometimes,’ I admitted.

She nodded. ‘Well, you should try to stay hydrated, keep yourself fed, and hopefully you’ll be able to avoid episodes like this. I’m sending you home for the day. I’ll let your teachers know, and I’ve written a note for you to take home to your mother, explaining what happened today.’

I drained my cup of water, accepted the note, thanked her and went home. I did not show the note to my mum. She wouldn’t have cared anyway. I spent the afternoon curled up on my bed, trying not to think of anything that had happened that day and failing miserably.

There was nothing to distract me in our tiny flat. I had a laptop, but it was ancient and not good for much, and we didn’t even have working wifi. We owned only a meagre collection of books. Most days I spent zoned out in front of the telly after finishing my homework. That or getting off, but the thought of that made me feel sick now.

One of the perks of living with my ex-stepdad had been his home cinema set-up, with a gaming console. Not that I was allowed to use it whenever I liked. Not that it had made any of the other shit he put us through worth it. Still, I missed video games.

I cooked bubble and squeak for Mum and me for tea. She wouldn’t come out of her room, so I took the plate to her. She was lying in bed with the curtains drawn, the room dark, but she was awake. When I opened the door she looked at me and smiled her sad smile.

‘Thanks, sweets,’ she said softly. ‘My head’s killing me today, but some food will do me good.’

I tried to smile back, but I didn’t really have a lot to smile about. I don’t think she noticed.

I left her and returned to the kitchen, where I ate my food automatically. But when the plate was empty, my stomach churned and I only just made it to the bathroom before it all came back up again. I coughed and spluttered, and when I was done vomiting I brushed my teeth and went to bed. I couldn’t think of anything else to do.

I lay in the dark, and as my neighbours stopped making noise and went to bed, I cried, very quietly, so Mum wouldn’t hear.