Dance With Me In the Pouring Rain

Me and Tory being 'just friends' lasted for approximately two and a half weeks. We would hang out like friends, going to town, the cinema, the park, whatever. I resisted the urge to kiss her every time I saw her and kept up the facade that I was happy with our arrangement.

Ally wasn't fooled. She cornered me once and all but ordered me to tell Tory how I felt. But I refused. It would ruin our friendship, and that was the last thing I wanted. It didn't matter that I was falling for her with every day I spent with her. She didn't feel the same, and I was okay with that. I had to be.

But halfway through the third week, something happened that overshadowed everything else.

I lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. I had been unable to sleep all night. I might have dropped off around four o'clock for five minutes or so, but other than that, I had not slept. For once, it was not because of Tory. She hadn't even crossed my mind.

My alarm beeped and I pressed the sleep button. But I didn't move. What was the point? I reasoned. What was the point in anything?

"Fletch!" I heard Dad call. He hadn't started on the alcohol yet, but he sounded bad-tempered. He probably had a hangover. "Up! School!"

Definitely. He had a hangover. Monosyllabic sentences were a definite clue. But still I didn’t budge. Here, in my cocoon of blankets, I was safe from the world, safe from anything it might throw at me.

"FLETCHER!" Dad roared. "I'M NOT GOING TO TELL YOU AGAIN!"

Mumbling incoherently under my breath, I pulled off the blankets, exposing my skin to the icy cold air. I stomped into the bathroom, slapped my face with wet hands and turned off the tap. My hands grasped either side of the sink as I stared at my reflection.

Longish dark brown hair. Needed a haircut soon. Stormy grey eyes that changed colour depending on my mood. Hard jaw. Couple of stray hairs protruding from my chin. Could do with a shave.

Did Dad see his face every time he looked at me? I wondered. Is that why he couldn't bear to look at me?

My face swam in the mirror, distorting until it was no longer my face. I stepped back, horrified, and blinked again.

My face was back to normal. I sighed with relief and strode back to my room.

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Dad was in the kitchen when I went down, eating cereal. He looked hung-over.

I sat down opposite him, grabbing an apple. Munching it slowly, I stared at him.

Eventually, he looked up. "What?"

I couldn't believe it. He was acting like it was just another day. Was he for real?

"What day is it, Dad?" I asked, my voice dangerously low.

"Friday," he replied, confused.

I shook my head. "Date."

"Third of July. Why?"

I shook my head with disbelief and tossed my unfinished apple in the bin. "I don't believe you. Well if you don't know I'm not going to tell you."

"What on earth?" Dad exclaimed as I stormed out, grabbing my school bag as I went.

I slammed the door behind me and stomped off to school. Things didn't get any better there.

"Hey Fletch," Hassan greeted me as I approached.

I merely grunted in reply. Jordan narrowed his eyes, a sure sign that he was thinking, but then they widened with realisation.

"Guys," he said quietly, "what day is it?"

Kyle frowned with confusion. "Friday the third of July, but why- oh God, Fletch!"

Suddenly, I couldn't take it anymore. I didn't even know why I was there. The whole thing was so pointless. I strode off, heading back out the school gates.

"Tell them I'm sick," I called shortly over my shoulder.

Technically, that wasn't a lie. I was sick. Of life.

I didn't go home, or to town, or to any of the other places people go when they bunk off school.

No, I went to the park.

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I crawled into the tiny space between the ground and the bit of the climbing frame. The park was pretty deserted, since everyone was at work or school, but I wasn't trying to hide. I liked small spaces. I wasn't claustrophobic, I was the other one.

I closed my eyes. I could just sleep for a few minutes...

I woke with a jolt. My shirt was sticking to my back with sweat. I must've had a nightmare, but I couldn't for the life of me remember what it was about. But I could guess.

I crawled back out, wincing at the harsh sunlight. Glancing at my watch, I started. It was nearly two o’clock; I had been asleep for about five hours or so.

I got to my feet, yawning. There were a few people milling about, but I couldn't see any truancy officers. Just to be safe, I walked as slowly and inconspicuously as I could. I sat down on one of the benches in front of the football pitches and dumped my school bag beside me. In my entire life, I had never felt so vulnerable and alone. Even after it happened.

I squeezed my eyes shut to stop the tears from falling. I resisted the urge to curl up into a ball and instead resorted to clenching and unclenching my fists. I could have stayed there forever.

"Fletch? Is that you?"

I opened my eyes. Tory was standing there in her Fiveash uniform, a frown on her pretty face.

I tried to speak but my mouth was too dry. Swallowing hard, I licked my lips. "What are you doing here, Tory?"

"I could ask you the same thing," she replied coolly. "I had a shortened day. What about you? Are you bunking off?"

I only nodded. She sighed and sat down next to me.

"Couldn't face the world? Or you just couldn't be bothered?"

I stared at the ground. "Today is... today is not a good day for me."

"Why?" she asked curiously.

I hesitated, but only momentarily. "Today is..." I swallowed hard. "Today is the anniversary of my brother’s death."

A sort of shocked silence settled after that sentence. Tory just stared at me for a second.

"You didn't tell me you had a brother." Her tone was soft, not accusatory.

I shrugged. "Didn't know how. You don't just go up to someone and say, 'hi there. I had a brother but he's dead now.'"

"How did it happen?" she asked softly.

I closed my eyes, ready to relive the memories. "I was twelve at the time. This was when my parents were still together. We were a normal family, as far as families go. Joe, my brother, was sixteen. He was my idol. I loved him so much. When I grew up, I wanted to be just like him." I laughed harshly. "He was grounded at the time, I don't remember why.

"That night, my parents went out. Dinner with their friends or something. Joe was supposed to be babysitting me, but I was twelve. I didn't need a babysitter. His friends called, told him to come out. I begged him to let me go with him and eventually he gave in.

"We met them in the park, round the back where no one goes. They were snorting crack. They gave Joe some. They offered it me but he said no. I knew he did drugs, but he was adamant that I didn't get mixed up in that stuff.

"Suddenly, he started choking. I think it went down the wrong way or something. His so-called friends freaked and ran off." I ground my teeth together. "The bastards left him there to die.

"I held him while he choked to death. I had never felt so helpless in my life. He died and there was nothing I could do to stop it."

A tear escaped from my eye and I wiped it away angrily.

"My family fell apart after that. Dad hit the bottle and Mum couldn't cope. They argued all the time and eventually she left us. I was left, with no brother, no mother and an alcoholic father who couldn’t care less about me. Joe was always his favourite, see. He was the smart one, the one who was going to make something of himself. Such a waste."

I fell silent. It had hurt, by God it had hurt, to rake up those painful memories, but it was like pulling off a plaster. Once it's over with, you feel much better.

And I did.

"That is so sad," Tory whispered. "You must have really loved him."

I merely nodded, swallowing to try and get rid of the lump in my throat.

She took my hand in hers and squeezed it comfortingly. "Was he buried or cremated?"

"Buried," I replied quietly. "In the cemetery of St. James's."

She nodded. "Come on. We're going to pay Joe a visit."

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The cemetery was quite bright. It was lined with hundreds upon hundreds of gravestones. It didn't creep me out. It just served as a reminder that no matter how hard we try, we can never escape death.

I located Joe's gravestone easily. I didn't come here an awful lot, but I knew the route to his grave by heart. It was right beside the massive stone sculpture of an angel.

"There," I said monotonously, pointing at it.

Tory nudged me forward gently until we were standing right in front of it. She placed the flowers we had bought on the way in the special container.

Joseph Frederick Sutherland
Loving son, brother and friend
Born 17/4/1990
Died 3/7/2006

I bit my lip. "What do I do know?"

"Whatever you want," she replied softly. "Talk to him if you want. I'll be over there."

She smiled reassuringly at me and walked over to some other graves. I turned back to Joe's.

"Hi Joe. God, I feel so stupid talking to a gravestone," I muttered. I looked around furtively. "I miss you so much. You know I loved you, don't know? I never said it, but I guess you don't really. Wherever you are, I hope you're happy. I bet it beats the hell out of here.

"I'm okay. I know you're probably worried about me, but I'm fine. Dad's awful, though. Even when he's sober he's a twat. You'd know what to do. I just feel helpless.

"You know, the only reason I'm here is because of Tory. She's my friend. I want to be more than friends, but that's not going to happen. You'd like her. Heck, you'd probably be dating her if you were still round. I wish I had your guts. I wish I was like you.

"So, I guess this is goodbye," I finished awkwardly. I touched the gravestone gently, then straightened up abruptly and strode over to where Toy was standing.

"You okay?" she asked.

I nodded. "I'm better than before. Thanks."

She grinned and linked arms with me. Together, we walked out of the graveyard.

"What were you thinking about?" I asked curiously once we were standing outside.

She shrugged. "What it's like to be dead."

I shivered. "Morbid much?"

"Come on, don't tell me you don't think about it. It's funny. We think we're so smart, we've got everything figured out, but we don't even know what happens after we die. Heck, we don't even know how we came into existence in the first place," she said thoughtfully.

"There's nothing after death," I said automatically. "No heaven, no hell. Just nothing."

"But how do you know?" she persisted. "You ever died?"

"Well, no, but there's no proof that there is a life after death," I replied uncomfortably.

"There's no proof that there isn't," she said calmly. "I think religious and atheist people waste their time arguing about God and religion. Because really, you can't prove it either way. It's just hat you believe."

"You know, that's a really good point."

She grinned. "So, what are you? Theist? Atheist? Or agnostic?"

I shrugged. "I would have said atheist, but I guess I'm agnostic. Maybe there is a God, but I really don't care either way."

She nodded. "I believe in God. I wouldn't say I have a religion per se, since I believe that all religions are essentially flawed, but I believe in God."

"You know, that shouldn't make sense, but it does," I commented. "I don't know. I guess we find out when we die."

"I don't know why people get so upset about death," Tory remarked. "It's not the end, it's just a whole new beginning."

"I'm sure you nicked that from somewhere."

"So? It's still true," she retorted. "I mean, I wouldn't want people to be all upset when I die. I mean, I'd want them to be a bit sad that I'm gone, but come on. You should celebrate
their life, not mourn their death."

"I guess. But I really don't want to think about it," I said quickly, shivering a little.

"Why not? It's going to happen sooner or later," she reasoned. "It's going to happen to everyone."

"That doesn't mean I want to think or talk about it," I retorted.

She nodded. "Okay. Can I ask you something?"

"Depends what it is."

"Are you always angry because your brother died and you blame the world for taking him away from you?" Tory asked softly.

I gaped at her; that took me completely off guard. "Are you doing your psycho-what-sit thing again?"

"Psychoanalysis," she reminded me. "And you didn't answer the question."

I looked away. "I don't know."

I did, I just didn't want to admit it.

"Do you think Joe would want you to be angry and miserable all the time?" she said quietly.

"I'm not angry and miserable all the time," I retorted.

She raised an eyebrow. "Fletch, you can't hide from the world forever. You're terrified of rejection and failure so you don't try just in case. I'm betting you haven't drawn since Joe died, right? Because you don't believe you're good enough."

I just stared at her. Was I that transparent?

"Sometimes, you have to take the plunge," she whispered. "If it's meant to be it's worth it all."

Suddenly, everything clicked into place. Before I knew what I was doing, I leant forward and kissed Tory. But instead of kissing me back, she pushed me off her.

"What are you doing?" she cried.

"Taking the plunge," I replied with some confusion.

"But that's not what I meant!" she exclaimed hysterically. "I only meant you should believe in yourself more!"

I stared at her, realisation dawning with sick certainty.

"Why'd you have to go and do that?" she whimpered. "We were fine being just friends."

"You might have been, but I wasn't," I said quietly. "I can't pretend anymore. I like you, Tory. I mean, I like like you. Heck, I think I'm in love with you. You've confused me so much. I've kissed you twice. Maybe it meant nothing to you, but it meant something to me. I just can't go on like this. I think I'll explode if I have to be around you another second."

I looked down at the floor, breathing heavily. It was out now, and I'd probably destroyed any chance I had of being around her. But I was fine with that. I wanted to be with her, not around her.

Tory was quiet for a very long time. I thought she'd gone, but then she spoke. "I'm sorry."

I nodded. "I guess this is goodbye, then."

I turned to leave, but she caught my arm.

"Fletch, I-" she faltered.

"Don't make this any harder than it has to be," I said quietly. "It was great while it lasted. You're amazing, Tory. I envy the guy who ends up with you."

I smiled briefly at her. Shoving my hands deep in the pockets of school trousers, I walked away. I didn't look back. I had to hold onto what was left of my pride.

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I got through the door the same time I normally do. It didn't matter anyway; Dad was still at work like normal. The school wouldn't have called if my friends said I was ill, so I was safe. I just had to forge a sick note for tomorrow.

I went up to my room and dumped my bag. Suddenly, I was very, very tired. Of life. That was happening a lot lately.

My phone went off in my bag and I fished it out. I had a text from Kara.

Fletch where were u? the guys sed u were bunkin off but they wouldnt say y

I was sick ahem but yeah i was cos my bro died 3 yrs ago 2day

Oh... that sucks im sorry babes :(

Thats not the worst thing... i told tory im in love wiv her :s

Oh thats great :D isnt it?

Nah cos she dont feel the same :( but its ok

Well shes an idiot cos any girl would b lucky 2 have u

Thanks k ur a great friend :)

I no :) btw I got ur hw and cw u missed 4 u

Oh thanks ur SUCH a good friend :p

I get the feeling that was sarcasm... i have 2 go im meeting david :) c u 2moro fletch xxx

I snapped the phone shut and replaced it in my bag, smiling.

The smile slipped off my face as I heard the door open and slam shut. Dad was home early. I heard his heavy, clunking boots on the stairs and tensed. A few seconds later, my door opened and he trudged in.

"Fletch," he said gruffly. He stood there for a bit. "Are you okay?"

"I'm just marvelous," I replied acidly.

He nodded, wincing. So he'd remembered. "Right. Of course. I was thinking we could go out, to you know-"

"Celebrate?"

"I was going to say commemorate," he finished lamely.

I shook my head. "I don't want to go anywhere. Why don't you just go to the pub with your friends like normal?"

He flinched. "Don't talk to me like that, young man."

I snorted, but didn't say anything. I lay back on my bed, staring at the ceiling. He stood there for a few seconds, then apparently decided it was a lost cause and promptly trudged back out.

Good riddance. I jumped off my bed and knelt down, dragging a box out from underneath. Leaning against my bed, I slid the lid off the box and stared at the contents. It took me a few seconds to work up the courage to get them out.

There were a few old photo albums, some certificates, just bits and bobs I'd collected over the years. I opened the first photo album and started flicking through.

I halted on a picture near the end, a knot in my stomach and a lump in my throat. It was from three years ago, just before Joe died. We went on holiday to Spain as a family for two whole weeks in the Easter holidays. It was the best two weeks of my life. In the picture, I'm grinning like an idiot, braces and all. Mum and Dad are standing together, their arms around each other, looking the happiest I'd ever seen them. And then Joe, standing behind me, ruffling my hair, wearing his cheeky grin. It startled me how much he looks like me now.

I flicked to the next picture, but there was none. After that holiday, we never did anything as a family. Then Joe died, and any semblance of family dissolved. No one wanted to remember.

I closed my eyes and hugged my knees into my chest. I didn't cry. I'd cried all the tears I had for my broken family.