Damaged Goods

It was an understatement to say that Howie felt bad for attacking his father. In truth, he felt absolutely awful and wanted nothing more than to apologise.

But he couldn't.

Somewhere inside him, he knew his father wasn't a bad person. If he looked hard enough, searched his head and his heart, he knew Dean probably hadn't meant to do the horrible thing he had done. He wasn't malicious. Dean was his father, a volunteer fire-fighter, a man who did all he could to help justice prevail.

Howie knew, it was just the alcohol. The drink had done something horrible to his father before - the night Howie's mother left them - and it had obviously done so again.

Howie forgave him the first time. He'd understood his father's anger. Besides, bruises fade, and it hadn't hurt all that much.

But Rhiannon was his best friend. He loved her. And she would never forget that night. The memory of it would tarnish her soul forever, like red wine upon white carpet. It would never truly fade.

Even if it was only the alcohol that had made Dean do such a horrible thing, Howie could never really forgive him for destroying his best friend. He pretended he was okay, for the sake of his family, but the anger and hurt were always there. He felt like he would explode any minute. He felt like the pain would eat him away from the inside, until only a shadow of his former self was left - an evil, angry shadow.

He felt vulnerable.

The bravery he'd shown when attacking his dad hadn't been his. It had been for Rhiannon. She'd been so tough, hadn't even told a soul about it. Someone had to feel the rage for her, even if she was going on like nothing had ever happened.

*
Dean had never asked him how he knew what he had done, either. Not like Howie would have given him an answer. How could he? The rumours had killed him - just thinking of how his father would feel made his heart ache.

Of course, the rumours weren't straight forward or entirely true. They never were. But whispers of how Rhiannon had slept with somebody's father soon reached Howie's ears - and it wasn't hard to put two and two together.

*
Howie had woken up a short while after Rhiannon had, that night.

He'd given Helena a blanket, made sure she was comfortable on the couch in the downstairs loungeroom, and made his own way to the nearest available couch - the rumpus room, upstairs.

He hadn't slept. He'd stared at the ceilling for hours, thinking about how beautiful she had looked that night. He barely noticed the shadow that came out of his room and floated silently down the stairs. But he had noticed when she had flown out the door - obviously just a little distressed - and rushed to the bathroom. He'd heard the sound of water splashing against the porcelain sink, and wondered whether he should get up and check if she was alright. Maybe she'd had a nightmare.

But he decided not to, and started to regret it the minute he'd heard those lies going around the school.

He'd done some fact-checking. Rhiannon stiffened whenever Boxing Day was mentioned. She changed the subject when he talked about his family, particularly his dad. She even started avoiding him, thinking up excuses, staying at home whenever he invited her out.

It killed him, but he knew those lies were almost true.

There wasn't anything he could do. Family's important - he couldn't sell his father out. He couldn't tell his older brothers. He couldn't stay angry at his dad forever. But he couldn't let go of his anger, either.

There was only one solution: he had to get out of there.