He felt a hand touch him lightly on the shoulder. Charlotte. She held his bag in front of her. He kept his eyes on the ground, trying to calm himself. His body felt like it had been electrocuted, shaking and wired with a deep feeling of fatigue all at the same time. Jake, who was the closest thing he had to a best mate, crouched in front of him, his face lined with worry.
"What the fuck, dude? He picked the wrong thing to say to you today. Are you alright?"
Toby gave him a nod. "Is he going to be okay? Where is he?"
Jake shrugged. "He'll live. More mess than damage I think, that happens with the face." He chuckled, shaking his head. "I don't think anyone will ever say a thing about Charlotte ever again. Fuck."
Toby made no reply. Charlotte's hand was still resting on his shoulder; he reached up to take a hold of it but stopped short when he saw the blood again, still damp and sticky, clinging to him. He dropped his hand and stood up, reaching down to take his bag from her instead. "I need to go home and clean up. Can you find out later if he's alright for me?"
Jake nodded. "Yeah, dude, whatever. What do you care anyway? He's a jerk."
"He didn't deserve what I did."
Jake flicked his eyes to Charlotte, connecting with hers briefly, an exchange passing between them that Toby was too weary to decipher. Returning his gaze back to Toby he nodded again. "Yeah. I'll catch up with you about that later. Are you alright though?" He indicated the puddle of vomit with a jerk of his head.
Toby nodded. "Forget that. I'm going home." He swung his bag up onto his shoulder and started to walk away. He heard Jake speak again, this time to Charlotte, who Toby had so far avoided looking at. Still, he stopped and waited, listening to what Jake was saying to her.
"Charlotte, you go with him."
"Shut up. I was."
"You take care of him and I'll take care of everything here. Go."
Toby began walking again, not waiting for Charlotte to catch up to him. She wasn't having any of him ignoring her though and she caught up to him within moments, matching his brisk pace. Surprisingly, she didn't say anything, which was odd, because Charlotte was not known for lengthy silences. She either had nothing to say, or she had plenty to say but was too afraid of him to say any of it. Neither option was a good one.
He went directly to the bathroom upon arriving home, stripping down and getting straight into the shower, the blast of cold water a welcome shock to his senses. He stood there, his arms braced against the wall, the spray hitting him on the back of his neck as it slowly heated through the water pipes. This is how it happens. This is how it starts. One hit, one comment, and he was reduced to madness, a carbon copy of his father in more than just appearance. He heard Charlotte come into the bathroom, glanced out from under his arm to see her scooping his clothes up from the floor.
"I'll put them in a bucket to try and soak the blood off."
He nodded. "Thanks." His voice sounded rough, his throat dry from heaving. "I'm sorry."
"What for?"
"For completely losing it like that." He reached down and backed the hot water off, the temperature of the shower now heated to scalding.
Charlotte looked over at him, her face full of sadness. "Is that what you think you did? Completely lost control?"
"Charlotte, I know that's what I did. I wasn't even there anymore, I wouldn't have stopped if I hadn't been pulled off of him. Don't you see what I am? What I'm capable of? I don't want to be like this but it's inside of me and I have no control over it." He curled his fist and hit himself in the chest, the blow not even touching the edges of his inner pain. "It terrifies me. I'm so afraid Charlotte; I'm so afraid of what I might become." He sunk to the floor of the shower and covered his face, his humiliation complete. "Go away. Please, just leave me for a while."
"Why?"
"Because I don't want you to see me like this!" He didn't mean to yell at her, but he was overwrought, and desperate to just be alone.
"Like what?" As was her way, she pressed at him, needling, getting in under his skin. "Like a human being who feels remorse for what he's done? Who regrets hurting another person even though that person had it coming? Toby, Damian is a disgusting creep. Last year, before you even moved here, he tried to get me to have sex with him at a party and when I said no, he spat in my face and pinched my nipple through my shirt so hard he tore the skin. It took ages to heal. Ellie told me that he once held her down and forced his dick into her mouth and when she bit him, he hit her so hard he split her lip. You're better than him. You think if he was bigger than what he is and more able to hold his own that he wouldn't have had a go at beating the shit out of you? You weren't standing where I was during that fight, seeing what I could see. He tried to bite you and that was when Jake got involved and the others followed his lead. He's a dirty person who calls girls sluts if they don't give him what he wants and he's not worth your remorse."
Toby looked at her, the water obscuring his vision, but not so much that he couldn't see how angry she was, her cheeks now flushed pink, her hands perched up on her hips. He only knew Damian in the most casual of terms. He was someone who hung around a few different groups but he had always been friendly enough and Toby had passed more than a few lunch times in his company. He did trash talk a lot of girls, but Toby had generally ignored that part of his dialogue and had never really taken much notice of the things he said on that score. Lots of the guys' trash talked from time to time, it was just the way it was. Knowing this about him, even knowing what he had done to Charlotte and Ellie, didn't make Toby feel any better about his own actions. He had still had completely no control over the situation and the realisation of this was terrifying. Whether Damian had deserved a beating or not, Toby would have far preferred to not be the one who had given it to him. He turned his head to the side, closing his eyes wearily, wishing so badly that she would just go.
Instead, she leaned into the shower and grabbed a hold of his face, forcing him to look at her. The water hit her head, soaking her hair and shoulders. "You are not your father. You will never be your father. You are a good, honourable person, and this does nothing to change that. You're not him. You're not him, Toby, you are not him." She released his face and stepped back, picking up a towel to rub herself dry with before grabbing his clothes back up off the floor and exiting the bathroom. The depth at which she understood his despair was profound, so much so, he couldn't help but be a little awestruck by her. Once again.
Charlotte put Toby's clothes into a bucket to soak before calling her mother at work. Iris was never easy to get a hold of during the day, she worked in a nursing home and was not always near a phone. Charlotte was on hold for some time before her mother finally came onto the line.
"What's wrong, Charlotte? Are you sick?" Her voice sounded breathless.
"No, I'm fine. I just thought you needed to know that Toby and I have come home from school. In case they ring you. Toby got into a fight this morning before school started and he needed to clean himself up. He's really upset, Mum. He can't go back to school and I don't want to leave him by himself."
Iris was silent for a few moments. "Is he in a lot of trouble? Will we need to come in to the school?"
"No. It wasn't in the school grounds."
"Well, that's one thing I suppose, but what about the other boy? His parents might complain." Iris sighed deeply. "We'll have to just wait and see if that happens. Alright, you can stay at home, I'll give the school a quick ring. Is he hurt?"
Charlotte exhaled with relief. She had not been entirely sure her mother wouldn't insist on at least her returning to school. "No. He's not hurt at all but like I said before, he's very upset. He thinks this makes him like his father."
Iris sighed once more, and Charlotte could picture her pinching herself between the eyebrows, the way she always did when something frustrated or overwhelmed her. Charlotte wondered which emotion was winning out at the moment. "Oh dear, that's not very good. We'll have to handle this one carefully. Poor boy."
"No, not surprising really. He's had more than enough violence in his life without creating more of it himself. Well, I don't really know what to do here, Charlotte. I'll have to have a think. Just keep reassuring him, I suppose. That's probably all we can do. Did you cause this fight?"
Charlotte felt her cheeks heat. "What? Why would you ask that?" She was glad her mother couldn't see her discomfort at the question.
"Because Toby is a very calm boy and all of a sudden he's gone and gotten into a fight, just at the same time you and he have started this little romance; it seems a bit suspicious."
Charlotte clenched her free hand into a fist, so frustrated by her mother. Little romance, indeed! And jumping straight to the conclusion that it was all her fault, so typical. Made all the worse of course because she was right! Charlotte had no intention of giving her mother the satisfaction of knowing it though. "You're way off the mark. I'll let you go, you're probably really busy."
"Yes, I am. See you later." She hung up without waiting for a farewell from Charlotte.
That suited Charlotte just fine. She put the handset back onto the receiver and was just going to head up to the kitchen for a drink when there was short knock at the door. Opening it, she was surprised to see Jake there. "Why aren't you at school?"
"I ditched PE. I'll head back in a few. Toby alright?"
Charlotte leaned against the doorframe. "Yeah, he just needed to clean himself up and calm down a bit."
"He seemed pretty upset, vomiting like that, shaking away like nothing else."
Charlotte eyed him cautiously. "He isn't a fighter. He was worried he'd gone a bit overboard and hurt Damian more than he meant to. It was an adrenaline thing, you know, like when you ran that cross country last year flat out and won only to puke your guts up over the finish line."
Jake laughed at the memory. "Yeah, thanks for the reminder. My finest moment. Made all the richer by puking on Ellie's shoes. Fair enough, I get that."
Charlotte grinned at the memory. Jake's mortification had only slightly eclipsed Ellie's. "You should just get over yourself and ask her out."
He shook his head, suddenly looking sheepish. "Nah. She'll say no. She's too pretty for me."
"That's about the dumbest thing I've heard in my life. You're a nice guy. You always have been."
Jake looked down for a moment, studying the doormat intently. "Not always, Charlotte. What Damian said today, it's not much different to the sort of things I've said about you before. I've just picked my time and place better. And I've never said it to one of your boyfriends." He glanced up then, looking contrite. "At least, not while he was your boyfriend, anyway."
"I've never had any boyfriends for you to say it in front of." She shrugged. "Whatever. Look, ask her out. She's not like what I was, in the past. She really isn't. No matter what Damian has said about her, it's not true in her case and I know he's spread shit about her, but he's a liar."
Jake nodded at that. "Yeah, I know he is. That's one of the reasons why we let him get a pounding for so long this morning. I probably would have let it go for longer but when I saw him try and bite Toby I thought, whoa, no way. He'd end up with some gross infection and need to have his arm taken off or something. Anyway," Jake shrugged, sending Charlotte a half smile. "I told Toby I'd follow up on it and I did. There's nothing really wrong with Damian except for bruises, a couple of cuts, and a split lip. He's fine. And he's not saying anything because he's too embarrassed at having had his arse kicked to the curb in front of all those girls." Jake laughed at that, but Charlotte could only muster up a small smile. "Well," he continued, "I gotta go, can't cut Science. That would be really pushing it. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"
Charlotte nodded. "Yeah. Thanks, Jake, for checking in and having Toby's back."
"No worries. Toby's a good guy. He's a mate. I'll always have his back over someone like Damian. No question."
"Ask her out, Jake," Charlotte persisted. "Today. I mean it. You came off as a bit of a secondary hero this morning, throwing yourself between them. She'll think it's a turn on and totally say yes. It's perfect timing."
Jake looked at her with a crooked grin, his head leaning to one side. "Are you just shitting me for a laugh?"
Charlotte shook her head. "Absolutely not! I mean it. Don't be a loser, trust me."
He shrugged and turned away from her, heading down the front steps. "I know where you live if this all goes wrong," he called over his shoulder.
"It won't!" She shut the door as he left the yard and resumed her trek up to the kitchen, finding Toby there at the table, picking at a sandwich, wearing only a pair of loose shorts. "Hey," she said to him as she entered the room. He didn't look up at her. "That was Jake at the door."
"Yeah. I heard."
"Why didn't you come up?" She pulled out a chair beside him, plonking down onto it sideways so she could face him.
"I didn't feel like it. But I heard what you were both talking about, so there's no need for a recap. I'll talk to him later. Thanks though, for the cover story. I appreciate your quick thinking." He kept eating his sandwich, not looking in her direction at all.
Charlotte sat, watching him, the silence stretching between them. "Look at me."
He gestured to his sandwich. "I'm eating."
She reached out and snatched the sandwich out of his hand. He turned to her then, a look of annoyance crossing his face. "At last, eye connection."
"Charlotte, give me back my food."
"In a minute. Are you alright?"
"No. I'm hungry. I puked my guts up and then some an hour ago. I need food."
"That's not what I'm talking about."
He looked at her, sighing with frustration after a few moments. "I don't know. Just give me the sandwich. Please."
She handed it back to him, satisfied for the time being with his response. I don't know seemed far more realistic than yes, so that was something, she supposed. She got up so she could get herself the drink she had been wanting before Jake's visit. He spoke to her as she was leaning into the fridge, rummaging for a carton of juice concentrate to make up into a jug.
"Did you tell anyone about what Damian did to you last year?"
She paused, still leaning into the fridge. Toby's tone was quietly angry, giving her pause to consider the wisdom of having told him about Damian's assault on her. At the time, she had been appalled, and embarrassed, and completely aware of what anyone would have said if she had told on him. She had it coming, she was a slut anyway, and she probably enjoyed it - comments such as those, and a whole host more. Truth be told, Damian had frightened her that night, that was why she had turned him down. There had been a menacing manner about his advances that had given her cause for concern. She had thought to herself, while he was leering at her and attempting to touch her up, that he might actually hurt her, deliberately, because it would add to the enjoyment for him. Panic had set in then and she had tried to get away from him, his resultant reaction a confirmation of her fears. She just wished she had told Ellie. Then she might have saved her from the hurt he had inflicted upon her. It was only when Ellie appeared on her doorstep, sobbing and bleeding, that Charlotte realised her error in keeping it to herself. Both of them had spread the word since, quietly warning other girls to steer clear of him. She thought he knew they had been doing that. He looked at them both with hate in his gaze and never failed to hiss 'sluts' at every available opportunity, to have a dig at either of them whenever he could, just like this morning. Charlotte wondered if he would be a bit smarter in the future, but she wouldn't go holding her breath. He didn't entice that sort of confidence.
She straightened up, the juice in hand, shutting the fridge and crossing to the sink. "No. I didn't tell anyone. Later, after he hurt Ellie, I told her and we both started telling other girls, to warn t
hem. That's why he hates us both. He knows we've spread it around. We aren't the only one's he's been pushy with. I think some of the guy's know what he's really like, but they don't want to get involved. But it's also why they let him get beaten today. That's why no one stepped in until they thought you were actually going to get hurt. No one likes him all that much, not really."
Toby stood up and crossed to the sink, leaning heavily against her, his arms trapping her in place. Taking hold of her chin, he turned her face to his, looking deeply into her eyes. "It is not okay for a guy to do those things to a girl. You both should have reported him. Don't you ever, ever let another guy hurt you and get away with it. It's not okay. Not ever."
Charlotte nodded, a little daunted by his intensity.
"I'm not kidding, Charlotte."
She nodded once again. "Okay."
"I don't like what happened today. What I did. I need to be careful. With you. So I don't hurt you." His eyes shone, a vulnerable sadness coming to the fore in his manner.
Charlotte fell into him, putting her hand onto his hips and her forehead against his bare chest. "Toby, you will never hurt me. Why would you even think something like that?"
He sighed, deeply. "I don't know, Charlotte. What scares me is the idea of waking up one day and being him. What happened this morning is a step in that direction." He dropped his face down to rest onto her shoulder, his arms slipping around her waist, his breaths uneven beside her ear. "The minute you fear me, run. And don't look back." Releasing her, he pushed himself away from the sink, turning to head out of the kitchen.
Charlotte blinked rapidly, her heart beating wildly, a tangle of thoughts churning inside of her mind, yet no words were making themselves available to her. It was the saddest thing she'd ever heard someone say; the raw expectation within his voice, that inner burden of acceptance for who you were and where you'd come from. There were no if, but's, or maybe's. Only a when.
Selling the Drama Page 8