Danny Clark is a Nobody

Chapter Nine

Danny hesitated, then nodded his head softly. As gentle as he possibly could, Freddie wrapped his muscly arms around Danny, who stiffened then relaxed into his touch. He looked so tired. Freddie whispered something in Danny's ear that made him look confused.

Freddie then let go and wiped his eyes. Dad just watched us. I could tell he was proud that we helped each other, cared for each other. I wondered if he ever thought about Uncle Derrick when he admires our sibling bond. He raised us well, even when he went through heartbreak and he still had 3 children to look after. It must've been really hard for him, losing Danny and mom at the same time like that. I remembered the conversation we had, right after everything happened. I was 7, at the time. But his words stuck with me to this very day.

"Danny, go back to sleep, okay? We'll be right outside the door if you need anything." Dad whispered gently. Danny nodded, then wrapped himself in his blankets. His breathing was still rather fast, but at least he was going to try to go to sleep.

•••

Danny's P.O.V

Once Michael, Freddie, and Sam had left my bedroom, I got up and started pacing. I couldn't believe that I had done that in front of them. I was embarrassed, ashamed. I'd broken down in front of them, cried and yelled hysterically. I was a complete and total mess.

I'd never done that before. I've had nightmares, but I've never reacted so weakly. What was wrong with me? I was sure they wanted me gone, Michael must be regretting his decision to bring me in. "We Clarks, together, ad infinitum." Freddie's words made no sense to me, but they seemed to be of great meaning to him, so it made me feel better somehow.

I walked out of my bedroom, desperately needing a glass of water. As soon as I opened the door, I was met with 3 pairs of eyes, all worried. "Danny, you should go back to sleep." Sam told me. "I'm okay. Sorry, for waking you." I said shyly. "Don't worry about it. Danny, I know you're not okay. Please talk to us." He said, his eyes filling with tears.

Feeling my throat aching again, I looked away from them. "I'm fine, really. I just had a nightmare. You all should go back to sleep." I told them. Michael shook his head and said, "Danny. I need to talk to you in my office, okay?" He told me. I hesitantly nodded. He started walking toward the stairs, and I followed him. Climbing up, I realised this was the first time in the week I've been here that I entered the 3rd floor. Honestly, I was curious.

Walking past 3 rooms, we made it to the end of the corridor. He opened the door into his office and told me to come in. Shyly, I entered the fancy office, and looked around at the bookshelves and the expensive paintings.

"Have a seat." Michael said, sitting in the chair behind the desk. Seating myself on the comfortable leather armchair, I looked up at Michael, expecting him to start yelling at me, or reprimand me. Instead, he exhaled heavily, and looked me in the eyes.

"When I was about your age, I acted out a lot." Michael started, "I got into fights, snuck out to parties, got drunk. Everyone just assumed it was because I was a troubled teenager, that I was going through a phase and that it will pass. It wasn't until my senior year in high school, when I met my English teacher, Mrs. Henderson, that I finally stopped my self-destructive habits. I owe everything to that woman. Without her, I wouldn't have gotten into college, wouldn't have had my beautiful children, wouldn't have gotten my job. You know how she got me to get my life together? She listened to me.

"Teachers saw me as a lazy troublemaker. But Mrs. Henderson saw that I was struggling. One day, she told me to stay behind. Then she sat me down, and just said one word. "Explain." I didn't understand what she meant at first. But then, she said, "explain to me why you are the way you are." I didn't have an answer. She did this everyday. Everyday. Until one afternoon, I was tired and in a bad mood. And when she told me to explain, I had a full blown meltdown.

"I told her about how my dad — your grandfather — how he, how he wasn't a good guy. How he'd come home drunk, abuse my mom and me. He'd yell, he'd break things. She just sat there and listened, but it made me feel free. She didn't try to comfort me, she didn't tell me how everything was going to be okay. She just sat in silence and let me talk.

"That woman, God, she drove me insane with her antics. She helped me cope. She was like a therapist, except she didn't say a word. I realised that all the pent up anger I had, this- this pure rage I had inside me was subdued. I stopped fighting, stopped drinking. Improved my grades. I may have snuck out once in a while when the party was really good, but I think that was just the teenager in me.

"My point is, I know you're struggling. But it would really help when you talk to someone. Maybe someone you respect, someone you trust. If that person is me, one of your brothers, a friend of yours, anyone, please, you need to let your emotions out. You're a strong kid, Danny. But you're just a kid."

I felt tears start to form. "You're a strong kid, Danny, but you're just a kid." "We, Clarks, together, ad infinitum." "You might have forgotten what it felt like, but you are loved."

I couldn't take it anymore. Covering my face with my hands, I cried. I cried worse than a newborn baby, worse than a little kid who just dropped his ice cream cone. I couldn't stop the tears, I couldn't control my sobs. It felt like a dam breaking. Like all the years of repressed emotions and pain just came rushing out me in a shitload of waterworks.

I felt so weak, breaking down in front of Michael. "I'm-I'm s-so sorry." I gasped through sobs and tears. "It's okay, Danny. It's okay. Let it all out." Michael encouraged. "And if you need a kiss on the forehead, a bear hug, a small hug, or a pat on the head, I'm right here, Danny. I wasn't here, for a little while. A long while, actually. But I'm here now, son."