Storms - 12. Daniel

Sunday I woke up feeling strangely happy, but as the day progressed it became harder and harder to ignore the approaching Monday. I tried not to think about it, but I had precious little to distract myself with. I mostly stayed in my room, booting up my ancient laptop to watch Firefly for the millionth time, the one dvd box set I owned.

Monday morning, I dragged my feet to school. I passed the morning hoping to run into Michael in the corridors, to catch just a glimpse of his smile, because it felt like if I did that would make everything bearable. But I didn’t see him, and suddenly I was in PE.

For some reason, Loz was a real dick to me all lesson, to the point where both Julie and Mr. Griffiths told him off. It put me on edge. Usually, the only time he ever talked to me was in the shower, and barely even then.

Still, I kept to the routine, did what I knew I was supposed to, and waited in the shower for him to double back and join me.

He wasted no time on pleasantries. ‘I don’t want you to hang out with Michael Storm.’

I blinked. ‘Wait, what? That’s . . . That’s why you were being such a dick before?’

He didn’t answer that, instead saying, ‘You like him, right?’

‘I . . . I don’t—that’s none of your business!’ I spluttered.

I regretted it the moment I had said it. Loz’s brown eyes turned almost black, and he advanced on me, crowding me against the wall.

‘Think Michael would like to know what a pathetic little faggot you are?’ he growled. ‘I’ll tell him. I’ll show him that picture I took, and I’ll tell him that you came onto me, begged to suck my dick!’

I don’t know why I said it. It was stupid, and I should have known better, but I said it anyway. I said, ‘If I’m so gay, what the hell are you who keep coming after me for hand jobs?’

I expected the punch. His fist made contact with a spot close enough to my liver to almost make me puke.

‘Shut the fuck up! I will fucking show you gay, you little cunt!’

* * *

I ran to the first bathroom I could find. Everything hurt, and I couldn’t seem to stop sobbing. I had been alone, and afraid, and in pain before, but this was the first time I had wanted to die.

I stumbled into a stall, bile rising in my throat, and vomited into the toilet. I puked until there was nothing left, before sinking down into the foetal position on the floor, my face streaked with tears.

I heard a noise, and it occurred to me that I hadn’t shut the door to the stall properly, but I didn’t bother turning my head to look. I didn’t care. Nothing the bullies could do to me could possibly compare to what Loz had just put me through. The thought sent a new wave of nausea through me, and I managed to get to my knees to dry heave and spit stomach acid into the toilet bowl.

Someone spoke behind me, then. It wasn’t a bully. ‘Daniel?’

I spat, and my eyes widened. I couldn’t let him see me like this, couldn’t explain, not to him.

‘Daniel, are you all right? Are you ill again?’

And before I could react, Michael was there, sitting next to me, putting an arm around me to steady my shaking frame and turning my face towards him to look into my eyes with a concerned expression on his face. The last words Loz had said to me before leaving echoed in my brain: “Just don’t get too close to Michael, okay?”

‘Do you need a doctor?’ Michael asked.

‘No!’ I cried at once. ‘Please, can you just . . . Go away . . .’

‘Did someone do something to you? Did someone hurt you?’ His brow was furrowed, but he spoke calmly, quietly. I sensed a storm raging behind that calm. ‘Tell me who. I’ll make them stop.’

That was what broke me. ‘You can’t ever make him stop,’ I whispered, and then I started crying in earnest.

Michael pulled me to his chest, then, and held me. He didn’t seem to care that he was getting snot, tears and vomit on his sweatshirt. He held me, and stroked my hair, and just sat there, not saying anything.

After a few moments I managed to get control of my breathing again. Michael cupped my chin in his hand and turned my face towards him again. He seemed to search my eyes, though I didn’t know what for.

‘You should probably go home,’ he said. ‘Is there someone there who can look after you?’

I gave a short, humourless laugh before I could stop myself. ‘My mum doesn’t look after me; I look after her.’

Michael sighed. ‘Well, she’ll just have to do without you today, then. You’re coming home with me.’

‘What?’ I spluttered. ‘I’m sorry, thank you and all for the offer, but I need to get home to my mum—’

‘What you need is someone to look after you,’ Michael said emphatically. ‘If your mother can’t do that, I will. I’m not letting you go home by yourself if there’s no one to help you there. Wash your face and wait for me here. I just need to go get my things.’

I was too stunned to argue.

* * *

I had never been inside Michael’s house before. I felt compelled to take my shoes off so I wouldn’t muddy the marble floor in the hall, and I didn’t dare touch anything. There were floral arrangements in fine china vases on the end tables and side boards, and the wallpaper looked silken and expensive.

Michael took me by the hand and led me through the hall and up the stairs. His grip felt firm and comforting.

‘Won’t your parents mind?’ I asked weakly.

‘They’re in Africa until Christmas,’ said Michael with a shrug. ‘It’s just me and my sister.’

‘Oh,’ I said, not knowing what else I could say to that.

He stopped outside a door in a corridor that looked every bit as fancy as the hallway downstairs, with crimson carpeting and green floral wallpaper. It put me in mind of a fancy hotel I had seen on telly one time. He knocked on the door.

‘Yeah?’ came a female voice from inside.

‘Hey, Liz,’ said Michael through the door, ‘I’ve got a friend over, he’s staying the night. Thought you’d like to know.’

‘All right,’ came the reply. ‘Play nice. You guys want a pizza? Or a Chinese or something?’

Michael looked at me questioningly, and I shrugged.

‘Whatever you want,’ Michael said. ‘Not sure we’ll be wanting much food anyway, might just grab some toast later.’

‘Well, I’ll order some extra Szechuan in case you change your minds,’ said Liz’s voice. ‘Hang on, I’d like to meet your friend. Lemme just put something on . . .’

‘No, not now, Liz,’ said Michael, and I felt a wave of gratitude wash over me. ‘It’s been a rough day. I’ll introduce you later.’

We continued down the corridor and Michael opened a door at the end.

My room could have fit inside his five times. It was a gorgeous bedroom, decorated in soft shades of blues and greens. A boy’s room, but tidy and tasteful. He had an electronic drum kit in the corner, next to his computer, a monster of a gaming rig with two twenty-three inch monitors. His bed was large and wide, and looked soft and comfortable. There was a television, a stereo, a small sofa, a large closet, and a door off to one side, slightly ajar, leading to an ensuite bathroom. Throw in a kitchenette and it could have been a studio apartment.

I remained standing in the middle of the room, not sure what to do with myself.

‘Make yourself comfortable,’ said Michael helpfully. ‘Do you want a cup of tea or anything?’

‘Yes, please,’ I said automatically.

‘I’ll go make us some,’ said Michael. He took off his sweatshirt, flecked with snot and vomit, and tossed it into the hamper by the wardrobe. I caught a glimpse of his creamy stomach and looked away quickly. ‘How about you ring your mum in the meantime?’

‘My battery’s flat.’

‘Android or iPhone?’ Michael asked.

I grimaced, pulling the old Nokia out of my pocket and showing it to him. ‘Dumbphone, I’m afraid.’

Michael reached into his pocket and pulled out his own mobile, handing it to me. ‘Here, use mine. I’ll be back in a bit.’

After he left the room, I sat down on the sofa, staring at the phone for a few moments before dialling the eleven digits. I had to try again twice as it kept going to voicemail. On the third try, Mum finally picked up the phone.

‘It’s Daniel,’ I said. ‘Sorry, my battery’s dead.’

‘Oh.’ There was a brief silence.

‘I’m at a friend’s house,’ I said after a moment. ‘His name’s Michael. He’s invited me to stay the night.’

‘Is he a friend from school?’

‘Yeah.’

‘That’s nice,’ said Mum. ‘You should invite him over here some time.’

‘Yeah, I’ll do that,’ I replied, absolutely positive that I would never do any such thing. More silence. ‘Will you be okay?’ I asked finally.

‘Of course. I’ll be fine.’

The door opened, and Michael came back inside, carrying a tray with a teapot, two mugs, a bowl of sugar and a small jug of milk.

‘There are some microwave meals in the freezer. You let me know if you need anything, all right?’ I said urgently to Mum. ‘If you need me to come home, I’ll come home.’

‘Danny, I’ll be fine,’ she insisted. ‘Have a good time.’

We said goodbye, and I hung up, handing the phone back to Michael.

He set the tray down on his desk and glanced at me, frowning, his lips pursed. ‘She’s supposed to be your parent, not the other way around,’ he said finally, pouring tea into the mugs. ‘Milk or sugar?’

‘Just milk, please,’ I said. ‘She can’t really help it . . . She’s ill.’ Michael handed me my mug. It had blue elephants on it. I took a sip. ‘It’s all kind of been going downhill since my stepdad left her. It was going downhill before that, too . . . He wasn’t very nice to her. Or to me.’

I wasn’t sure why I was telling Michael about this, but somehow he seemed to inspire trust. He poured a bit of milk into his own tea and stirred in a spoonful of sugar, thoughtfully. Then he sat down next to me.

‘What about your real dad?’ he asked.

‘No such thing,’ I said. ‘Dunno who he is. Some random bloke, probably. One night stand who never left a phone number. So there’s just Mum and me.’

‘It’s not right,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘You’re fourteen, your mum should be taking care of you.’

‘Well, I’ve managed so far,’ I said.

‘Not so well, it seems,’ Michael retorted. Then he sighed. ‘I’m sorry, that wasn’t meant to sound so harsh.’

‘It’s okay,’ I said quickly, and it really was. ‘It’s . . . kind of nice to have someone who seems to give a shit. No one else does.’

‘Meh. They’re arseholes,’ said Michael simply.

We sat quietly for a while, sipping tea. My heart was pounding, and I was starting to feel a little bit sick again. When we weren’t talking, the day’s events slipped back into my brain. I managed to keep my tea down all the same.

‘So, you’ve got a sister?’ I asked at last, somewhat desperate for something else to think about.

‘Yeah, Liz. Elizabeth.’ Michael smiled. ‘She goes to uni, studying journalism. We’ve always been really close.’

‘Are your parents away a lot?’

‘Sometimes. My dad’s a human rights lawyer. Mum used to be a civil servant. She worked for the Department of International Development. Now she runs a foreign aid charity. That’s what this Africa trip is about. Mum’s charity has joined forces with some German group. They’re doing work with, like, hospitals and schools and stuff, I think. Making sure the money they’ve raised is actually being used to help people, basically. And Dad’s looking into human rights stuff.’

‘That’s pretty cool, actually.’ I bit my lip, hesitating. ‘They, er . . . Are they good parents?’ I asked awkwardly.

‘Yeah,’ said Michael. ‘I mean, they’re all right. They’re together, happily married and trying to save the world. Just that’s quite a feat, really.’

I felt suddenly jealous. ‘Wish I had a family like yours.’

Michael shrugged. ‘It’s not all roses. They do travel a lot, so it’s just Liz and me a lot of the time. And she’s pretty busy studying, too.’ He finished his tea and got up. ‘You can get a shower if you want. I’ll find you a spare toothbrush, and I’m pretty sure I have some old clothes that might fit you. There are towels under the sink.’ He smiled. ‘Like I said, make yourself at home.’

I went inside the bathroom and closed the door, but I didn’t lock it. I felt safe, knowing that Michael was out there, and I didn’t really want to be alone.

I took off my clothes. My sleeves were stained with snot and vomit, and underneath my wrists were bruised. I climbed into the tub, just wanting to get clean, making the water as hot as I could muster. It made the bruises throb. I scrubbed and scrubbed at my body with soap, as if cleansing my skin might cleanse everything else. The hot water stung as it poured down my lower back, and unbidden memories streamed into my head, of Loz, behind me, pressing me into the cold tile wall. I tried to choke back the sob, but it spilled forth as a desperate whimper and I couldn’t stop the tears. I sank to my knees, unable to prevent the panic from washing over me.

There came a knock on the door.

‘Daniel, are you okay?’ Michael must have heard my sobs. ‘Daniel?’

I wanted to answer, tell Michael I was fine, and to go away, but as I opened my mouth all that escaped was another whimper.

Michael’s voice sounded urgent. ‘I’m coming in!’