Dance With Me In the Pouring Rain

"Dad?" Tory called, kicking the door shut behind us. "Come here a sec!"

Alan ambled out of the living room, his face mildly curious.

"Hello, Fletch," he said slowly, before turning to his daughter. "So what's-" He glanced back at me suddenly, his eyes wide. "What happened here?"

Tory glanced at me uncertainly.

"I walked into a door," I said curtly. "I'm fine."

Tory rolled her eyes. "Could you just check him over?" she asked, sounding worried.

Alan nodded. "Okay. Fletch, come with me. Tory, get me some frozen peas."

"For what?" I asked suspiciously.

He nodded to my face. "Your black eye."

He turned round and strode upstairs, motioning for me to follow. I did, albeit a little uncertainly. I was a bit scared of him. He was my girlfriend's dad after all. I was pretty sure it was a rule that he was supposed to scare the crap out of me.

He led me into a room and shut the door behind us, indicating the bed. I guessed it was a spare room; it looked barely lived in. There was a wardrobe on the other side of the room, but apart from a small bedside table, the room was empty.

It was also lilac. I grimaced. I didn't like lilac.

"You don't sound like you have a broken nose," Alan murmured, but he felt it anyway and nodded, apparently satisfied. "Breathe in for me." I did. "Any pain?" I shook my head. "I'm going to need to take a look at your chest," he informed me carefully. "If you feel uncomfortable at any time, please tell me."

Duly, I pulled up my top to let him examine my chest for whatever he was looking for. I didn't know. I wasn't a doctor.

"No broken ribs," he murmured, "but some bruising. You were lucky."

"I did only walk into a door after all," I said lightly.

Perching on the end of the bed, he fixed me with a penetrating stare. "Fletch, I'm not on duty," he said slowly. "I have no obligation to report anything to the police. But I want you to be honest with me. Who did this to you?"

"Nobody," I mumbled.

Alan sighed impatiently. "I'm trying to help you, Fletch. Let me."

I was spared from answering, however, by Tory, brandishing a bag of oven chips.

"We didn't have any peas," she explained at our questioning looks. "But I figured the principle was the same."

She handed the bag of chips to her dad, who pressed it against my eye.

“Hold it there,” he ordered. “It’ll help the swelling go down.”

Nodding, I held the frozen bag to my face, wincing at the cold.

“Tory, could I talk to you for a second?” Alan asked briskly.

She nodded and they stepped outside, leaving the door ajar. Shuffling down the bed, I pricked up my ears to eavesdrop.

“Tory, please, just tell me who did this to him,” Alan was asking gently. “I just want to help him.”

“Dad, I can’t,” she said guiltily. “If he doesn't want to tell you, he doesn't want you to know.”

“Look, Tory, if he’s in any trouble-”

“It’s not like that,” she interrupted. “He’s not like that.”

“I’m sure he isn’t.” somehow, he didn't sound convinced. “But someone did this to him. There’s no way he just walked into a door.”

Don’t tell him, I willed her. Please, don’t tell him.

My pleas fell on deaf ears. Tory sighed. “His dad hit him.”

I heard Alan suck in a breath, and then he strode back in, his face lined with sympathy. I hated the pity in his eyes, the apology in Tory’s.

“So that’s why you wouldn’t tell me,” he said softly.

“Thanks a lot,” I muttered, glaring daggers at my supposed girlfriend. She flinched. “What are you going to do?”

“Well,” Alan sighed helplessly, “I suppose I should call the police.”

“No!” I shouted, my eyes blazing. “You can’t! If you call the police they’ll put him inside and I’ll go into care! I can’t go into care. Don’t you understand? He’s the only one I’ve got left.”

Tory’s face drooped with sympathy as she perched on the bed next to me, stroking my shoulder comfortingly.

“He won’t call the police. I won’t let him,” she whispered fiercely. “But you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like. Right, Dad?”

“Right,” Alan replied reluctantly. “Although, can I have your home number?”

“Why?” I asked suspiciously.

“I want to call your father and tell you where you are,” he informed me. “He’s probably worried sick about you.”

I merely grunted, and reeled off my home number. It wasn't like he could make things any worse.

Tory squeezed my hand, offering me a smile. “It’s okay, Fletch. Everything’s going to be okay.”

I returned the squeeze and the smile, but my heart wasn't in it. It wasn't okay. I knew she was only trying to make me feel better, and I hated that I needed it.

Tory coughed, looking meaningfully at her Dad. He started, obviously catching her meaning.

“I’ll just, er, leave you two alone,” he said awkwardly. “But I’m leaving the door open. I know what young people get up to these days.”

“Come off it, Dad,” Tory laughed. “You know you were just the same at our age.”

“Exactly,” he replied sternly, looking at me hard. “I know exactly what teenage boys are like.” He wagged his finger at me in what was clearly supposed to be a threatening way. “I’ve got my eye on you, young man.”

Slowly, he turned round and walked out, leaving the door ajar so we watched him walk down the stairs. The instant he was out of earshot, Tory exploded into a fit of giggles, her whole body shaking with laughter.

“Oh Dad,” she sighed once she had got herself under control, “you crack me up, you really do.”

I rolled my eyes. “He doesn't like me much, does he?”

“He doesn't trust you,” she corrected, “but then he doesn't trust anyone of the male variety when it comes to his precious little girl.” She sounded a tad bitter, but it seemed to pass. “You hungry?” she asked suddenly.

“A bit,” I admitted. My stomach was growling internally, demanding nourishment. “I haven’t eaten since this morning.”

Tory shook her head mock-disapprovingly. “Honestly, Fletch. Do you think that’s acceptable? You’re a growing boy! You need protein for all those bulging muscles.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What muscles? Oh, you mean these ones?” I flexed my left arm. “Impressive, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, if you’re a prepubescent little girl,” Tory muttered. I narrowed my eyes at her and she grinned widely. “Nothing.”

I shook my head at her. “Honestly, Tory. So what were you saying about food?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll get you something. A sandwich okay?”

I nodded and she left, shutting the door gently behind her. Wincing slightly, I got up off the bed, looking round the room. It was very sparsely decorated; there was nothing on the lilac walls. Sighing slightly, I sat back down, waiting for Tory to return.

A few minutes later, she returned, clutching a tray. “I bring sustenance.” She set it down on the bedside table and perched on the bed. “You got your standard peanut butter and jam sandwich, a glass of orange juice and a Snickers bar. Want anything else?” I shook my head. “It’s just, my mum’s making dinner and she wanted to know if you wanted anything.”

I smiled at her. “This is fine.”

She smiled back. “Great. I have to go and eat now, but I’ll be back later.”

She kissed me quickly on the cheek and bounced out of the room, shutting the door gently behind her.