Storms - 20. Loz

Over the weekend, it began to occur to me that the posters had, possibly, been overkill. I had wanted to punish Daniel for what he had done, for not listening to me and spending time with Michael Storm anyway. No one thought I’d done it. I hadn’t even been suspected. Jason had been, and Alec and Aziz. Some year eleven bullies, too, but not me. It didn’t seem like something I would do. So why had I done it? Why had I done any of it?

It was easier to rationalise now. Easier to think that it hadn’t happened, that I hadn’t done any of those things. I’d given him my scarf, though, in some fit of sentimentality, and I couldn’t quite convince myself that I’d just lost it or forgotten it somewhere.

But then, some dark corner of my brain kept telling me, Why does he like Michael so much? Why can’t he just like me? Why can’t he just want me? I told that part of my brain to fuck right off.

When I arrived at school on Monday, I had almost decided not to do what I’d been doing for weeks now, after PE. I was heading towards my first lesson of the day, when, outside the classroom, I found Jason, Alec, Aziz, William, and Kareem, snickering about something on Will’s phone.

Jason waved me over the moment he saw me. ‘Hey, Loz, come look at this!’

I walked over, hands in my pockets. ‘What’s up?’

‘So, check it out,’ said Will. ‘My brother was at Michael Storm’s birthday party this weekend, and Hartman was there. I got this snapchat from his mate Patrick.’

Upon hearing that Daniel had once again been at Michael’s place, my hands balled into fists. Again! He had picked Michael over me, again. All the same, I looked at Will’s phone.

What I saw made me freeze utterly where I stood, my blood running cold.

I could make out a bathtub. Someone had been pushed face first into it, naked, brown arse filling the frame. On that arse, someone had scribbled, Daniel’s arse, £1 for a fuck. The caption read, Teaching a faggot a lesson.

Before I knew what I was doing, I had torn the phone out of Will’s hand and smashed it into the floor.

‘What the fuck?!’ Will shouted incredulously, but I wasn’t listening, and I turned on my heel, marching down the hall, while Will scrambled on the floor for his phone.

I knew who Patrick was. Patrick Bates. I knew he was in year eleven. What lesson might he be having on a Monday morning?

I didn’t have to wonder for long. I found Patrick standing outside the science lab, laughing with a few friends, including Will’s brother, Ethan. As though I were outside my body, I watched myself rush towards Patrick, grabbing him by the neckline of his sweatshirt, and punching him in the face.

One of his friends tried to pull me away, but I shoved him back with my elbow. I was strong. I was one of the strongest guys in school, much stronger than Patrick who, although just as tall as me, was much thinner, and I punched him again, in the stomach this time, knocking the wind clean out of him. When he tried to get away, I wrestled him to the ground, my fist repeatedly connecting with his face, until he was bleeding from his nose and from a split lip, and if I could, I would have punched his fucking teeth in.

But then, Ethan, Dinesh, and Neal had all grabbed hold of me and were pulling me off Patrick. I fought them, trying to wriggle out of their grasp, but there were three of them and one of me. So instead, I shouted, ‘How fucking dare you? How dare you do that to Daniel, you fucking bastard!’ I spat on him where he lay, curled up in the foetal position. ‘I will fucking murder you, you fucking—’

Before I could finish my sentence, Mr. Hassan was there. ‘What the hell is going on here?’

‘Sir, Loz just went mental on Patrick!’ said Ethan.

I kept trying to get free and elbowed Ethan hard in the ribs. He stumbled back with a yelp.

‘Stop this at once!’ Mr. Hassan shouted. Then he said, ‘Stephen! Give us a hand, please!’

Before I knew it, Mr. Griffiths was there. He had me by the arms, locking them behind my back, and I knew it was over. I hadn’t realised I was crying until that very moment, and I went slack in his grip until he let me go. I realised the knuckles of my right hand were covered in blood. I wasn’t sure if it was just Patrick’s, or if some of it was my own. I let my chin drop to my chest, and a sob wracked my body.

Mr. Hassan was kneeling next to Patrick, who groaned and coughed feebly. ‘We need to get Patrick to Miss Carter,’ he said. ‘Well, come on boys, help him up!’

Mr. Griffiths looked around at the assembled crowd of students. ‘Nothing to see here, move along!’ Then he put his hand on my shoulder. ‘What’s going on, Loz?’ His voice was quieter than I had expected, and I swallowed.

‘Show them that fucking snap, Patrick,’ I said. My voice was thick, but I felt eerily calm now, despite the tears. ‘I dare you. Show them what you fucking did!’

‘Come on, Loz,’ said Griffiths, hand still on my shoulder. ‘I’m taking you to see Mr. Hugh. Now.’

I watched as Ethan and Neal helped Patrick to his feet. ‘Yeah. Thought you’d say that.’ I released a slow breath of air. My cheeks were tearstained, but I’d stopped crying.

* * *

As it turned out, I wasn’t the only one who had seen Patrick’s snapchat, nor was I the only one who hadn’t found it funny. Minutes after I had walked into Hugh’s office, Miss Chung turned up, carrying a student’s mobile phone, and showed it to Mr. Hugh. His face turned pale.

I think that was the only reason I wasn’t outright expelled. Not that it excused my behaviour, but it did suggest that, even though I had instigated the fight, it had not been unprovoked. Instead, I was suspended from school for two weeks.

Dad came to pick me up, but first, he had a long conversation with Hugh while I sat outside with Griffiths, who didn’t have a class to teach until later, anyway.

‘Why did you do it?’ he asked, after Dad had gone inside.

I shrugged. ‘The snapchat.’

Griffiths studied my face for a long time. ‘Yes, but why, though? You’ve never seemed the type to try and deal out justice, Loz. And you’ve certainly never seemed to care much for Daniel.’

I shrugged again, and remained silent until Dad came back outside.

‘Lawrence,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’

I stood up, almost mechanically, and silently followed him out.

He had come straight from work, so he had the pick-up truck, and we drove home, even though home was just a fifteen-minute walk. He didn’t say a word on the way. My hand hurt, and my knuckles were bruised, though the blood had been all Patrick’s.

When we got home, Dad led me into the kitchen, where we sat down at the kitchen table, opposite each other.

‘What happened?’ he asked. He didn’t really sound angry, though there was an edge to the calm in his voice.

‘Hugh told you, didn’t he?’

Dad acknowledged this with a tilt of his head. ‘He did. But I want to hear it from you, Lawrence.’

I sighed. ‘Patrick hurt someone, so I hurt him.’

‘I’ve never even heard you talk about this Daniel. Who is he? A friend?’

‘Just a classmate. But he didn’t deserve that. Patrick’s a bully, anyway. He’s done a lot of shitty things, not just to Daniel, so . . .’

‘Well,’ Dad sat back in his chair, ‘I think it’s good that you want to stand up to bullies. I really do. But I can’t condone what you did today. It was wrong, Lawrence. No matter what anyone’s done, violence is never the answer.’

‘What, you think Patrick didn’t use violence when he pushed Daniel naked face first into a bathtub and wrote “a quid per fuck” on his arse?’

I couldn’t explain to myself why I was so angry. Hadn’t I done something just as terrible when I put up the posters? Was I being a hypocrite? But once again, in the back of my head, that voice said, I did it because Daniel is mine, and no one else gets to come near him. Not Michael, and not Patrick. No one.

Dad exhaled slowly. ‘So, that’s what happened. They wouldn’t give me the details.’ He rubbed his face with his hand and heaved a heavy sigh. ‘All the same, you should have just reported it to a teacher, and not taken matters into your own hands. We don’t deal out vigilante justice. We always take these things to the authorities, be it a teacher at school, or the police.’

‘Like George and Darren never got into fights . . .’

‘Of course they did. And they were punished accordingly. Like you will be. You’re grounded, Lawrence. You’re confined to your room until further notice. And your school is setting you up with anger management counselling. I expect you to attend. Is all that understood?’

I nodded, looking down at my hands, which were shaking, folded on the table. ‘Yes.’

‘Good. Now go to your room. I have to get back to work, but don’t think that lets you off the hook. I find out that you’ve broken these rules somehow, and this will go on much longer, understand?’

‘Yes,’ I said again, and stood up, heading off towards my room. I sat on my bed, knowing clear as anything that this punishment was far less than I deserved. Not for giving Patrick a beating. I didn’t regret that one bit. But the rest of it . . . It was starting to dawn on me now, what I’d done. The posters, and the other stuff. None of it was Daniel’s fault.

I had thought I might break down again, but I just felt empty, and I lay down on my bed, focusing on my own breathing, trying to block out the world. I didn’t realise I had fallen asleep until Darren got home.

‘Hey, Loz,’ he said as he entered. ‘You okay?’

I shook my head slowly. ‘No. Got suspended from school.’

Darren frowned. ‘What for?’

‘Fighting.’

‘Well, you look fine.’

‘He didn’t even get a punch in. Gave him a real thrashing. Hand hurts, though.’ I showed him my bruised knuckles.

He sighed, sitting down at the edge of my bed. ‘Did he at least deserve it?’

I felt my expression darken, and I gritted out, ‘Every fucking punch.’

‘What did he do?’

‘Bullied this kid. Hurt him. I just lost it.’

‘Couldn’t let it stand, huh?’ He pushed my legs out of the way, and I sat up slightly. He scooted back, leaning against the wall, hands behind his head. ‘Did something similar, once. This bloke, he . . . harassed a friend of mine. Jenna. More than harassed her, he—’ He cut himself off, working his jaw. ‘Guess I had a bit of a thing for her, so I went berserk on him. He got in a few good punches too, though. It wasn’t at school, or we’d probably both have been expelled.’

My brain shouted at me, I’m not queer, I’m not queer, I’m not queer! But at that moment, I actually considered saying, ‘That’s exactly what happened to me. I’ve got a thing for that guy.’ I didn’t. I couldn’t. It wasn’t true, anyway. Daniel was—

I didn’t notice until it hit me, so I had no way of stopping it from happening, the sob that pushed forth, constricting my throat. The tears pressing at the back of my eyeballs. My body shook, and I pulled my knees up to my chest, hid my face behind them when the tears came, feeling ashamed, and childish, and angry.

Darren scooted closer, and put a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it firmly. ‘Hey. It’s okay, mate.’ I hadn’t expected that, and it was enough to make it stop, the tears and the shaking, though I pulled a few more gasping breaths. Darren petted my upper arm, almost gently, and then pulled his hand away. ‘There, you’re all right.’

I couldn’t look at him, staring instead at his t-shirt. ‘Don’t tell George. Or anyone,’ I mumbled.

‘Wouldn’t dream of it. Hey, we all lose it sometimes, okay? You think I’ve never cried?’

I scoffed. ‘You?’

Darren shrugged. ‘Well, not in a good long while, it’s true. And not in front of anyone for even longer. But feelings are tricky things sometimes. I’m sorry you’re feeling like this. Whatever happened to this kid must have really upset you, huh?’

I nodded. ‘It’s stupid, though. We’re not even friends. I’ve . . . I’ve hurt him, too, I think.’ I know I have. ‘He’s such a pathetic little shit, basically everyone bullies him.’

‘Not always rational, shit we do.’ Darren got up off my bed. ‘I need to get changed, heading to the gym again today.’

Trying for normalcy, I sniffed and said, ‘That guy still giving you the eye?’

Darren chuckled. ‘Nah. Turns out he’s actually a pretty chill bro. Spots me when I lift.’

It occurred to me that my brother wasn’t quite the person I thought he was. Not only that person, anyway. When he left, I allowed that little part of my brain to speak again. It said, I really like Daniel, and I’ve hurt him for it.

I didn’t know what to do with that thought, but I knew, somehow, it had to stop. I took my phone out of my pocket, pulled up that photo I had taken of him, and deleted it. Then I deleted his number, too. It was safer, that way.