Storms - 22. Daniel

‘We tried to reach your mother,’ said Mr. Hugh. ‘Unfortunately, there was no answer.’

I fidgeted in my seat and refused to meet his eye. ‘Oh. Er, she’s probably working. Or something.’

‘How are you feeling, Daniel?’ asked Mrs. Penn, who was also present. ‘We understand that you suffered a rather traumatic event over the weekend.’

‘I’m okay,’ I mumbled. ‘It’s fine.’

She pursed her lips. ‘I would argue that it most decidedly is not fine. For anybody involved. Can you tell us where this assault took place, Daniel?’

I didn’t like the way she kept repeating my name, and shrugged. ‘Party.’

‘Where?’

‘Don’t remember.’ The last thing I wanted to do was implicate Michael in this whole affair. I didn’t want to trouble him. ‘Don’t really remember any of it.’ It was a lie. I remembered everything.

‘You were drunk?’ asked Mrs. Penn.

‘I . . . they made me drink vodka. A lot of it. Then I blacked out.’ Great big lie. I wish I’d blacked out.

‘I see.’ Mr. Hugh sighed. ‘Do you at least remember your assailants?’

‘Patrick, from year eleven. He . . . he was the leader. And some of his mates. Neal? Dinesh, I think. One more. They, er, they cornered me and poured vodka down my throat so I had to swallow.’

‘Well, that matches Lawrence’s story, in any case,’ said Mr. Hugh, and I looked up sharply.

‘Loz? What . . . what’s he got to do with anything?’

‘This morning, Loz attacked Patrick Bates,’ said Mrs. Penn. ‘He claimed he did it because he saw a photo from . . . that. The photo itself was later brought to us by a student. Do you have any idea why Loz would react in such a way, Daniel? Are you friends?’

I shook my head. ‘Not really. I . . . I don’t know why he would . . .’ If ever there was a time for me to tell a grown-up about what Loz had been doing to me, it was then. I should have told them. But somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Had Loz really attacked Patrick because of me? To protect me? If so, did he actually care for me? I felt oddly indebted to him. I realised how fucked up that was, but I couldn’t help it.

‘I suppose Lawrence is the only one who can truly answer that question.’ Mr. Hugh looked tired. I can’t say I blamed him.

‘What’s gonna happen to Loz?’ I asked, though I wasn’t sure why I wanted to know.

‘He has been suspended,’ said Mrs. Penn. ‘For two weeks.’

‘Did he . . . did he hurt Patrick badly?’

‘Patrick will be fine. He’s in the infirmary, though he too will be facing a suspension.’

I nodded. There was silence for a while, and then I said, ‘Can I go?’

Mr. Hugh shook his head. ‘We need to get a hold of your mother.’

‘She . . . she’s busy. We’d be here all day. I can . . . I can tell her myself.’

I struggled to keep my voice under control. They mustn’t know. It was imperative that they didn’t know how sick Mum was, how incapable of taking care of me. I wasn’t sure what would happen if they found out, but right now at least a few things in my life were going right for once, and I didn’t want to jeopardise that.

Mrs. Penn and Mr. Hugh shared a glance. My heart was hammering in my chest.

Mr. Hugh sighed. ‘All right. Mary, type up a letter explaining the situation to Ms. Fowler. You can wait out in the corridor, Daniel.’

I nodded. ‘Thank you, sir.’

After they’d given me the letter, I left and went home. I hadn’t eaten anything that day. I’d been nervous, uncertain about what would happen after PE. Michael had told me to just leave after, come to the canteen before Loz could double back. If Loz had been suspended for two weeks . . . It was like a weight had lifted off my shoulders. For two whole weeks, I wouldn’t have to look at him. For two whole weeks, I’d be free of him. As for what would happen after that . . . I’d cross that bridge when I got to it.

It was late November now. It was getting cold, and my thin jacket was pretty much useless at this point. Though I was still short, I had grown out of my old winter jacket last spring, and my stepdad had given it to charity. He did things like that. I figured it was to keep up his image as a kind man. The image that had made my mum fall in love with him in the first place. Classic sociopath.

When I got home, I checked the biscuit tin. How long until benefits day? Two weeks? I counted twenty-eight pounds and change. If I was frugal, maybe I could go to a second-hand shop once Mum refilled the tin and find something warm and cheap, so I wouldn’t freeze come December. A scarf, too. I was sure as hell never going to wear Loz’s one again.

I ate Weetabix (dry; I’d have to go out and get milk, but I didn’t feel like leaving the house again so soon) and watched telly for a while. Around midday, I got a couple of texts from Michael. He asked if he could come over after school. I said yes. Loz couldn’t do anything to me right now, there was no reason to hide, so when Michael arrived, he rang the doorbell. I let him in, and then knocked on Mum’s bedroom door to introduce him.

‘Oh! So you’re Michael! It’s so nice to finally meet you,’ she said. She was sitting up in the bed and made an effort to seem awake and alert, which was at least something.

Michael and I hung out in the living room instead of my cramped bedroom. The telly was on, but we weren’t really watching anything. Instead, he put his arms around me, and we sat like that and talked.

‘So, I came out to the gang,’ was one of the first things he said.

‘Yeah? How’d they take it?’

Michael laughed. ‘They said they already knew. I love my friends, seriously, but they can be such twats. They could have at least pretended to be surprised.’ I laughed too. Michael went on, ‘I, er . . . I also told them about . . . about us. They seemed happy for us.’

I snuggled up closer at that. ‘Come on,’ said Michael, and he put his legs up on the couch so I could settle between them, my back up against his chest, his warm arms holding me tightly. I rested the back of my head against his shoulder and sighed happily. He placed a soft kiss behind my ear and smoothed back my hair. Something stirred in the pit of my stomach.

‘Michael?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Can . . .’ I bit my lip. ‘Can I kiss you?’

He chuckled quietly in my ear. ‘You don’t have to ask, you know. You can just do it. I mean, I’m your boyfriend. Pretty much gives you carte blanche to kiss me whenever you like.’

I turned my head, and he met me halfway. Kissing him still felt unfamiliar, new, and it made me feel a bit nervous, but it felt so good, too. I felt clumsy, inexperienced. My first kiss, with that girl, had been very chaste. I felt like it hardly counted, especially when Michael put his tongue in my mouth, and my heart skipped a beat, my breath catching in my throat.

A good portion of me wanted him to touch me, in every way possible, and it made my face and my neck feel hot, my whole body tingling. But the rest of me was terrified. One thing was imagining it. I’d done that enough times, and more than once had a wank while I did. But the thought of it actually happening sent me right back to the showers, the boys’ changing rooms, and I shuddered and had to pull away.

‘You okay?’ Michael asked me, concern in his voice, and his arms tightened around me. I felt some of my anxiety ebb away, and I nodded.

‘I was just thinking about . . . I don’t want to think about it. But it keeps . . . Fuck!’ And before I knew it, the tears were coming, and I sobbed, loudly. ‘He’s ruined everything . . . I can’t even . . . There’s so much I want to do, and I can’t, and you can’t, and—’

‘Shh, hey, it’s okay.’ He kissed my cheek, gently. ‘I get it. And I meant what I said, it’s your show. You decide, okay? Whatever we’re doing, if you want to stop, you stop, and I won’t feel any differently about you because of it, I promise.’

I felt a wave of affection for him, which did absolutely nothing to stop my tears, though I did smile through them. ‘How can you be this kind?’ I asked.

‘Because I care about you,’ he said simply.

‘Yeah, but you’re kind to everyone.’

I felt him shrug behind me. ‘Maybe. But I want to be kind to you. I want to make you happy. I . . . I want to take care of you.’ His cheeks were slightly pink when I looked at him, and he smiled sheepishly at me. ‘That sounds so stupid, I’m sorry.’

‘No!’ I shook my head violently. ‘No, it doesn’t! I . . . No one’s ever taken care of me before. Not really. I . . . I love that you want to do that.’ I looked away. ‘I mean, I don’t get why you like me, why anyone would like me. I mean, look at me. But . . . I’m glad you do.’

‘Are you kidding?’ He stroked my arm. ‘I think you’re gorgeous. And you’re sweet, and you’re funny. How could I not like you? And I’m gonna keep telling you that until you believe it.’

I let out a slow, shaky breath, and then I kissed him again. ‘Thank you. For taking care of me.’

‘Thank you for letting me.’ He kissed my forehead and hugged me tightly. ‘You deserve it.’

* * *

He asked me if I wanted him to stay over again, and to be honest I really, really did, but I said no. Last night, I had slept terribly, woken up from nightmares about both Loz and Patrick. Tonight I wanted to see if, knowing that they were both being punished, I could sleep something akin to normal.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘If you need anything, though, like if you need to talk or you can’t sleep or anything like that . . . Seriously. Anything. I’m here for you.’

I smiled. ‘I know.’ I found that I believed it. I really believed that he cared, even if I couldn’t for the life of me understand why. And when he kissed me goodbye, I felt happier than I ever had before.

Sleeping alone was not the roaring success I had hoped for, however. I woke up several times, feeling sick and panicked. I couldn’t bring myself to take Michael up on his offer, though. I didn’t want to worry him. In hindsight, it seems stupid. To suffer in silence when I had a wonderful boyfriend who cared about me and wanted to look after me and help me.

Still, I wasn’t a complete wreck the following day. I didn’t eat breakfast, but at dinner I was hungry, and sat with Michael and the others again. The others. My friends. The thought made me smile.

‘What are you grinning about like an idiot?’ Julie asked, and bumped my shoulder gently.

‘Nothing. Just . . . happy. Things are . . . better.’ I felt Michael take my hand under the table, lacing our fingers together.

‘That’s good.’ Julie smiled. ‘You deserve it. About time you get to be happy.’

Conversation resumed, and Michael was still holding my hand under the table. It wasn’t like either of us was ready to just come out to the entire school, as much as I wished we could just hold hands and kiss all the time, the way Deacon and Siobhan could. I envied them the ability to just be together. The bullying was just letting up. Michael wanted to protect me. As long as he was Michael Storm, the coolest and most popular guy in school, he could do that. If he became Michael the faggot, they’d bully him too, and I didn’t want that for him. We had to protect each other. After school, we could hang out properly, could do all the nice boyfriend stuff. I just had to be patient.

All the same, he still managed to steal a kiss in the shadow of the staircase just before break ended. ‘It’s so hard not to do that all the time,’ he said.

‘Yeah. I know. For me too.’ I sighed.

‘Come home with me after school?’

I nodded. ‘Definitely. Ugh, wish the school day could be over now . . .’

‘Patience, Grasshopper. I’ll see you later.’ Michael grinned, and then, looking around to make sure no one could see us, pressed another quick kiss to my lips before sauntering off, hands in his pockets. Even as I watched him go, I couldn’t help but smile.

He waited for me outside after school, and we set off for his place. I wanted to hold his hand, but that would have to wait. ‘So, did you sleep okay last night?’ he asked.

I sighed. ‘No. I . . . I slept really poorly.’

‘Want to stay over tonight?’ he asked at once, and I nodded.

‘If it’s no trouble . . .’

‘It isn’t. You could never be trouble, okay? And that’s the truth.’ He didn’t ask why I hadn’t rung him when I couldn’t sleep. I was grateful for that.

* * *

I spent every evening with Michael that week, though I only slept over the once. Even though we didn’t do anything other than kiss and sleep, now that we were boyfriends Liz wasn’t quite comfortable with us sleeping in the same bed, and also reminded us that when Michael’s parents came back from Africa in a couple of weeks and Michael came out to them, we probably wouldn’t be allowed to continue anyway. I hadn’t told my mum about Michael and me. There didn’t seem to be much point.

Still, even though I wasn’t ready to go beyond kissing, that didn’t mean I didn’t wake up hard and aching for him most mornings, and Wednesday morning I woke up in his bed with sopping wet pants, much to my chagrin. The dream I had woken up from had been very vivid and had featured Michael rather prominently, and my face grew hot. I tried to roll away from him, but he woke up and pulled me close and kissed me.

I pulled away from him quicker than either of us would have liked and couldn’t meet his eye.

‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.

‘Nothing. It’s . . .’ There was no way he wouldn’t notice when I got out of bed, no way he wouldn’t be able to tell. I’d have to ask him to borrow new pants, or go without, and either way . . . I swallowed.

‘You okay, Danny?’ He looked concerned now. ‘Did you have another nightmare?’

I laughed out loud before I even had time to stop myself. ‘That’s about as far from the truth as it’s possible to get,’ I said, in spite of myself. Then I sobered. ‘Kind of the opposite . . .’ I pulled the covers up to my chin, glancing at him.

Michael looked puzzled for a moment, and then his eyes widened and his eyebrows rose towards his hairline. ‘Oh. So you—Oh!’ He looked away, too, his face turning pink, and I pulled the covers all the way up to hide my face.

‘Sorry,’ I mumbled, my voice muffled by the fabric. ‘I am so sorry!’ God, why was I such a kid? Why did my body have to betray me like that? When I was sleeping in his bed, in his arms, of all things. Though it occurred to me a second later that the fact that I had slept in his arms might have had something to do with the wet dream. I had never felt more awkward and mortified in my life.

I felt Michael get out of bed, heard him pad around it and open his closet. Then he returned and sat down at the edge of the bed, right next to me. Carefully, he pulled the covers away from my face. I shut my eyes tight, afraid of what his expression might be. But then he gently kissed my forehead, and when I looked at him his face was still flushed, but he was smiling. There was amusement in his smile, but also compassion. He held up a pair of dark blue boxer-briefs and then set them down on the bed next to me.

‘It’s okay,’ he said and stood up. I watched him walk back around the bed and sit down, back turned, picking up a book from his bedside table. ‘Go take a shower. I won’t look.’

I got out of bed. At least it didn’t look like I had stained the sheets. A small mercy, I thought, as I padded off towards the bathroom. Glancing behind me, I could see that he had kept his promise, reading his book and not looking.