Perfectly Dysfunctional
Twenty three
“What isn’t going to work?” I rolled my eyes, trying not to sound impatient but failing.
“Telling you from when we met – it starts way before then.” He stood up and pulled his hands through his hair again as he paced at the foot of the bed.
I stood up and walked over to him, “Nathan, you’re actually scaring me now,” I took his hands in mine and led him back over to the bed and didn’t let them go until he was seated. “So, tell me from the beginning.”
He paused, worded what he was going to say in his head, then spoke, “So I went to two different high schools; I went to Sylvia Young’s," I nodded, "But before that me and Liam from One Direction, we went to another school... There was no real clique that we belonged to, we were pretty much losers of the school who enjoyed singing and performing, which was an open window to get bullied. We were the kids who got on in school, doing well despite hating every second of our time there. We were just a form of entertainment for the kids in our school to poke fun at.”
I couldn't ever imagine someone bullying him, or Liam for that matter, because they'd both come so far in their lives.
“Anyway, just before I left for Sylvia’s, a new kid called David started, David Johnston... He wasn’t exactly like anyone we’d ever had at school before, or at least when we had been there. A lot of the kids taunted him, y’know, teased him a lot. We didn’t take much notice cos, like I said, we were ourselves and didn't much fancy getting physically bullied on top of the verbal bullying we got... But one day we did notice, well, I did. It was maybe a month or two into the year, and it was lunch. This one day, the bullies, the popular kids if you like, were picking on him; tossing food at him, walking up to him as he sat down, ripping his stuff away from him and stuff. At one point I looked over and caught his eye but looked away again because we were like, two minutes away from leaving. I didn’t want to get caught up with them all, I was used to what we were given and like I said, I didn't want to be beaten up. It turns out that right after we left they took him behind a staircase at the back of the school and beat the shit out of him. Apparently he was in hospital with a couple of cracked and broken ribs, and a fractured arm or wrist or something.”
I gasped, my hand moving to my mouth. Jeez, why did I feel so affected by that?
“He came back to school after Christmas break, and I kinda admired him in a way. I mean, fuck, if it were me that got beaten up that badly, I’d have just dropped out of high school for good. But he came back... Anyway, when he did come back, he totally took a new approach. He’d bleached his hair so it was blonde rather than the brown, he’d somehow buffed up just a little, tanned a little more – fuck knows how he done it, unless he was recovering in Australia or something – but yeah, and he’d changed his entire look. And, rather than being called David, he constantly referred to himself as Dave.” He glanced up at me from looking at the bed sheets, his eyes intense, as if willing me mentally to get something from what he was saying.
I gulped; I thought he could maybe mean Dave... Like, my Dave... Dave who was my first friend here... But no, how could it be?
“So,” he cleared his throat and continued, “A couple of weeks after we got back, he was starting to settle in more, getting used to all the attention he was getting, all the girls fawning over him... Then about a week after that, people started noticing us, started glaring down at us – well, more me, but you get the picture. It got worse, people would whisper stuff about us when we walked by them, and once, a girl who got paired with me for a group project got spat at just because she was talking to me. It wasn’t until a few weeks later when I actually found out what had happened. Dave had told everyone that I pretty much paid off the kids who had beat him up to do it to him in the first place, that I’d finished off what they had started, and that I’d visited him in the hospital over Christmas break and threatened to kill him there and then... Said something like I’d put something in the IV drip he had or something; whatever. And so naturally, because he was already getting the attention and the sympathy vote, everyone believed him and started treating us like shit, and apparently there was shit written about it on the girls’ bathroom walls. I obviously didn’t see it, but the girl I told you about who got spat on, she took a picture of it once really quickly and let us see it.”
I didn’t say anything, I couldn’t. I mean, what would I say to something like that? I don’t even have a sarcastic, witty response to answer my own question.
“So just before Easter I moved to Sylvia Young’s and apparently the school forgot about it. I still spoke to Liam a lot and he said no one bothered him much anymore. When I was going into my final year that's when I auditioned for the band and got in, and soon forgot about high school and everything that went on. I still spoke to Liam, too, and apparently Dave had been referred to psychiatrists and stuff, so it’s not like he was... ‘right in the head’,” he put quotation marks around that, looking uncomfortable with the phrase, but pressed on, “Then one day we were at rehearsals and decided to get something to eat. Jayne took us to the pub place that we were at, y’know...?” He trailed off and I nodded, “Yeah, we went there. Turns out Dave's dad owns it, and he also owns a music store in town...” He trailed off and stared at me. I refused to speak or even acknowledge the fact that I was putting small pieces together in my mind. “Jenny...” I shook my head, squeezed my eyes shut and motioned for him to continue. He sighed but complied.
“Nothing much happened after that, and this is basically when I can start talking from when you met us." He stood up then kneeled in front of me, “Jenny, I- I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?” I opened my eyes.
“I- Nothing,” he sighed and stood up but stayed silent. I also stayed silent for a small while before I couldn’t take it anymore.
“So keep going... What’s your theory?”
“Telling you from when we met – it starts way before then.” He stood up and pulled his hands through his hair again as he paced at the foot of the bed.
I stood up and walked over to him, “Nathan, you’re actually scaring me now,” I took his hands in mine and led him back over to the bed and didn’t let them go until he was seated. “So, tell me from the beginning.”
He paused, worded what he was going to say in his head, then spoke, “So I went to two different high schools; I went to Sylvia Young’s," I nodded, "But before that me and Liam from One Direction, we went to another school... There was no real clique that we belonged to, we were pretty much losers of the school who enjoyed singing and performing, which was an open window to get bullied. We were the kids who got on in school, doing well despite hating every second of our time there. We were just a form of entertainment for the kids in our school to poke fun at.”
I couldn't ever imagine someone bullying him, or Liam for that matter, because they'd both come so far in their lives.
“Anyway, just before I left for Sylvia’s, a new kid called David started, David Johnston... He wasn’t exactly like anyone we’d ever had at school before, or at least when we had been there. A lot of the kids taunted him, y’know, teased him a lot. We didn’t take much notice cos, like I said, we were ourselves and didn't much fancy getting physically bullied on top of the verbal bullying we got... But one day we did notice, well, I did. It was maybe a month or two into the year, and it was lunch. This one day, the bullies, the popular kids if you like, were picking on him; tossing food at him, walking up to him as he sat down, ripping his stuff away from him and stuff. At one point I looked over and caught his eye but looked away again because we were like, two minutes away from leaving. I didn’t want to get caught up with them all, I was used to what we were given and like I said, I didn't want to be beaten up. It turns out that right after we left they took him behind a staircase at the back of the school and beat the shit out of him. Apparently he was in hospital with a couple of cracked and broken ribs, and a fractured arm or wrist or something.”
I gasped, my hand moving to my mouth. Jeez, why did I feel so affected by that?
“He came back to school after Christmas break, and I kinda admired him in a way. I mean, fuck, if it were me that got beaten up that badly, I’d have just dropped out of high school for good. But he came back... Anyway, when he did come back, he totally took a new approach. He’d bleached his hair so it was blonde rather than the brown, he’d somehow buffed up just a little, tanned a little more – fuck knows how he done it, unless he was recovering in Australia or something – but yeah, and he’d changed his entire look. And, rather than being called David, he constantly referred to himself as Dave.” He glanced up at me from looking at the bed sheets, his eyes intense, as if willing me mentally to get something from what he was saying.
I gulped; I thought he could maybe mean Dave... Like, my Dave... Dave who was my first friend here... But no, how could it be?
“So,” he cleared his throat and continued, “A couple of weeks after we got back, he was starting to settle in more, getting used to all the attention he was getting, all the girls fawning over him... Then about a week after that, people started noticing us, started glaring down at us – well, more me, but you get the picture. It got worse, people would whisper stuff about us when we walked by them, and once, a girl who got paired with me for a group project got spat at just because she was talking to me. It wasn’t until a few weeks later when I actually found out what had happened. Dave had told everyone that I pretty much paid off the kids who had beat him up to do it to him in the first place, that I’d finished off what they had started, and that I’d visited him in the hospital over Christmas break and threatened to kill him there and then... Said something like I’d put something in the IV drip he had or something; whatever. And so naturally, because he was already getting the attention and the sympathy vote, everyone believed him and started treating us like shit, and apparently there was shit written about it on the girls’ bathroom walls. I obviously didn’t see it, but the girl I told you about who got spat on, she took a picture of it once really quickly and let us see it.”
I didn’t say anything, I couldn’t. I mean, what would I say to something like that? I don’t even have a sarcastic, witty response to answer my own question.
“So just before Easter I moved to Sylvia Young’s and apparently the school forgot about it. I still spoke to Liam a lot and he said no one bothered him much anymore. When I was going into my final year that's when I auditioned for the band and got in, and soon forgot about high school and everything that went on. I still spoke to Liam, too, and apparently Dave had been referred to psychiatrists and stuff, so it’s not like he was... ‘right in the head’,” he put quotation marks around that, looking uncomfortable with the phrase, but pressed on, “Then one day we were at rehearsals and decided to get something to eat. Jayne took us to the pub place that we were at, y’know...?” He trailed off and I nodded, “Yeah, we went there. Turns out Dave's dad owns it, and he also owns a music store in town...” He trailed off and stared at me. I refused to speak or even acknowledge the fact that I was putting small pieces together in my mind. “Jenny...” I shook my head, squeezed my eyes shut and motioned for him to continue. He sighed but complied.
“Nothing much happened after that, and this is basically when I can start talking from when you met us." He stood up then kneeled in front of me, “Jenny, I- I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?” I opened my eyes.
“I- Nothing,” he sighed and stood up but stayed silent. I also stayed silent for a small while before I couldn’t take it anymore.
“So keep going... What’s your theory?”
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ANSWERS! Finally! ;)