Page 11 of Catch Me

Her eyes are a little sunken but she grins at me all the same. “I’m good honey, I'm good.” She doesn’t sound too good. “Come, come sit down, let’s talk.” She waves me over to the living room, the same split cushioned, vomit green coloured sofa sits in front of the coffee table and I fall down onto it. Mum sits down beside me, twiddling the tassel of her favourite cushion, the one with the word’s ‘best mum’ neatly sewn across the front.

“Ok Mum, out with it, what did you drag me here to tell me?” I sigh, taking her hand in mine to stop her fiddling. Her skin is icecold and I suddenly notice the antarctic style temperature in the flat, I bet she’s faltered on paying the heating bill again.

She eyes me for a second before the words tumble out. “Your dad’s going to be home for Christmas.”

I fucking knew it.

“You say that like it’s a good thing.” I murmur, letting go of her hand and running my own over my rough, stubble covered chin. “I won’t be coming over on Christmas Day if he’s going to be here, you know that right?”

“Nick come on,” she throws her hands in the air, exasperated. “You have to forgive him at some point. He’s been in there fortwelveyears and you’re a man now, things are…” her soft, empty eyes find me, “Different.”

But I'm not having that sorry excuse today, not for a man who thought it was ok to assault his own son twelve years ago when I could barely raise a fist to fight back. The man hit me, three times, so fast I could barely blink between each punch. All because 13 year old me borrowed his CD and accidentally scratched it. I’d love to say it was the first time he’d hit any of his children, but that would be a big fat lie.

I stand up fast, stepping away from her. “Nothing has changed Mum and it never will, I can’t forgive him for what he did.”

She sighs and swipes a tear from under her eye. “Ok, ok,fine. But at least go and visit with him before he’s released, I'm sure he would love the chance to apologise and try to put things right with you.”

“Yeah, I bet he would.” The words come out a mumble and I stomp off towards the front door, already desperate to get the fuck out of this toxic environment where people think it’s ok to hit their kids. My mum is just as bad as him, making shitty excuses for his behaviour, she always has.

My parents were married at 18 because my mum was already pregnant with me. Dad joined the army at 19 and came homeriddled with PTSD from fighting in Afghanistan. I don’t blame him for that, actually I admired him as a child for what he gave up for his country. What I don’t admire is his still constant refusal to deal with his problems, instead he prefers to use his fists to get his bottled up emotions out. Those fists are often connecting with someone’s jaw or stomach, that being my mum or one of his six children.

I grab the door knob to leave and Mum grips my elbow tightly. “Nick please, just think about it ok? He’s had trauma counselling in there for his PTSD, he’s changed and he’s sorry for what he did.”

I want to believe her, really I do, but the image of his reddened face, rage puffing from his ears like steam just isn’t something I can wipe away that easily. I peck her cheek goodbye and take off out the block, my legs carrying me faster until I'm back in the safety of my crappy, silver Toyota.

CHAPTER 7

LOIS

“Just shoot me now and bury my body under the Royal Albert Hall.” I groan, dropping my cheek to Molly’s bare shoulder as we walk over the gravel driveway toward’s Sean’s house.

She chuckles heartily, letting her arm drape around my shoulder. “I know you love Toby Bennet,”

“TonyBennet,” I say rolling my eyes.

“Whatever,” she flaps a hand and continues, “but I think we’ll keep you alive for now. Anyway I can’t fucking wait to see how tonight plays out. Nick’s going to be drooling like a mongrel when he sees that outfit.”

The outfit in question was chosen by Queen Crawford herself, she insisted that I needed to change up my wardrobe and that my party dress selection is becoming too ‘predictable’. So she dressed me up like her own personal barbie doll and I'm now scantily clad in a black, corset backed, satin dress that barely covers my ass. The bodice is fitted tightly, painted to the curve of my small waist and flows out at the hips, the satin ruffling into a perfect wave of midnight black.

My prideful smirk can hardly contain itself. “I’m not sure about drooling, but I hope he at least spares me a glance tonight, you know, instead of forgetting that I exist.”

I haven’t spoken to Nick since he came to my dorm almost a week ago with his tail between his legs. My throat almost closed in on itself when he apologised for flirting with me at The Good Mixer the night before. I didn’t know the man even had it in him to apologise, even less to go out of his way to come and do it in person. Maybe he’s not the dick people make him out to be.

“Come on, let’s get inside, I'm dying for a drink.” Molly says, hauling me into the house by the hand. The first person I spot is my brother who somehow looks different, older or something even though it’s only been like a week since I saw him last. The dad effect must be a real thing.

I approach him from behind, smacking two hands against his back and making him jump. He spins around to face me, palm planted against his chest in mock terror, a sneaky grin tugging at his dimpled cheeks.

“Hi bro, how’s fatherhood treating you?” I yell, because the music is obnoxiously loud as usual.

He ruffles my freshly styled hair and I almost slap the grin off his face. “It’s fucking great actually, the girl currently shits and eats on repeat but the cuddles are out of this world.”

“You know you shouldn’t talk about Callie like that.”

His eyes ping pong with panic. “No, I was talking about Lily.”

It’s my turn to switch on the evil grin. “I know, I was messing with you, you big doof.”

“Ha-ha.” His dead pan voice only makes me laugh, before he jabs a light fist into my ribs. “Your dress is too short.”

---