.:Recap:.
I let out a frustrated groan and dumped my guitar on the sofa, standing up and pacing irritably. What the hell was wrong with me? Why was I suddenly becoming too attached to people I really shouldn't? I shouldn't be getting attached to James; he would only hurt me. I had to stop thinking about him. But how?
The answer came almost immediately; ignore him, unless not doing so is absolutely necessary.
.:Story Start:.
The rain poured against the window and I stared out of it, my chin resting on my knees, which I hugged. The rain matched mine - and my father's - sombre mood.
Ever since he figured out why I was 'ignoring' him, he had been quiet, reserved, upset. He tried a couple more times to get me to talk, but I didn't, and he finally stopped trying, telling me to come to him when I got over it.
Whenever that might be, I thought glumly as I watched the plants and leaves bow under the weight of the rain pouring down on them. I wasn't sure how long it would take me to overcome my paranoia and fear; all I knew was that we needed a bit of 'family time' before I could even begin to recover.
Sighing, I pulled myself off the window ledge and crossed the room. Because I couldn’t be bothered to go up into the attic, I sat on my bed, took my guitar out and strummed it a bit before starting to play properly. I did my best to ignore the image of James in my head as I player 'his song', but it was difficult.
I played a variety of different songs, my melancholic mood being reflected in my music, for several hours until I heard my father call me down for dinner. We had spaghetti bolognaise, and although I was looking forwards to the meal, it was the first with my father since I got back; yesterday and the day before I had eaten in solitary in my room.
Cautiously, I headed downstairs and into the kitchen where he was just laying the plates onto the table. It looked very appetising and smelt delicious, so I sat down, averting my eyes from my father. It tasted heavenly - spag-bol had always been my dad's specialty - and I wolfed it down hungrily, still ignoring the figure opposite me. He too was eating, but gloomily, as though he wasn’t hungry.
When I finished, he stood up and collected his plate before coming round my side of the table to pick up mine. He approached without care, seemingly forgetting about my little dilemma, and leaned close to me.
Memories of him leaning over me threateningly to hit me clouded my mind and I whimpered and cowered away, momentarily blinded by my memories. He stopped, froze for a moment and then sighed as he stepped back. I swallowed nervously, my heart still pumping, and he walked away.
He put his plate in the dishwasher, a frown on his face, and once he was out of the way I followed suit. I ran the dishwasher while dad made himself a coffee and I went into the living room and turned the TV on.
Sitting in front of it, I went through the recorded programmes and found QI recorded from last week. While dad had his coffee and relaxed in the kitchen, reading a newspaper or something, I watched QI. When it finished, I flipped through the channels and saw Eastenders was on, and they were talking about Christmas.
I didn't much like Eastenders, but it reminded me of something. Christmas was coming up in a week. My first thoughts were of presents, which was to be expected after five years of none whatsoever. My second was that it was now the Christmas holidays, which was a relief; it was Monday again tomorrow, and I had been dreading facing Nicola.
These thoughts weren’t too pleasant, so I went back to thinking about presents and considered what to get the Collins'. Sarah probably wanted some game or other; I resolved to ask Alex later. However, I had no clue what to get her brother or mother. I knew I should get something that symbolized my extreme thanks, but what?
And should I get my dad something? After all, despite my fear of him, he was no longer a drunk. He changed his ways for me, even if those ways still haunted me. Would he get me something? Most likely. What do I do?
Frowning, I continued to flip through the channels, but there was nothing else of interest to watch. I stood up, ready to go to my room when dad walked in, a serious and thoughtful look on his face. I sighed grimly as I halted and looked at me, clearly wanting to speak.
"Look, Liz," he started uncertainly, keeping his distance. "I know you don’t like me very much at the moment, but I was hoping that you and I could have that chat we planned before you left," I frowned, not remembering a plan. He caught onto my confusion and explained, "We planned to go out to dinner to talk, don't you remember?"
It all came back suddenly and I knew what he was talking about. I sighed again, wondering if this was really a good idea, and he continued trying to persuade me to go. Finally, I agreed, if only for the chance to talk to the man I'd almost forgotten existed.
~*~*~
I stared at myself in the mirror and frowned at myself. This was definitely not me, I decided grimly as pulled off the dark green, beaded dress. This was going to take more than half an hour, I could tell. Half an hour was the time limit I had set myself so as not to seem to girly, but it seemed that my more feminine side was coming out after all.
Pulling my jeans back on, I clipped the dress back on its hanger and got out of the cubicle, smiling forcefully at the woman who took the dress out of my hands ready to put back on the rack. I left the shop and continued up the high street, wondering when I would find a suitable dress for tonight's dinner.
Seeing another decent and not too expensive shop, I entered and looked around. The formal section was at the other end so I made my way over, glancing at the brightly coloured things that caught my eye as I went.
I scanned my eyes over the dresses they had and frowned. Most of them were pink and floral and really not my thing. I was just about to make my way out when a sales assistant came over to me, and I groaned internally, turning around as I heard the falsely cheery,
"Are you alright there, Madam?"
"Er, I'm looking for a dress..." I trailed, the simple answer of 'yes' not occurring to me.
"Oh, I see!" chirped the small Chinese woman standing next to me. "And you can't decide which one? Hmm, let me see..."
And so the afternoon of terror began.
She made me try on seemingly every dress in the shop - from short, pink clubbing ones to strapless black ones which I knew I wouldn't be able to hold up - until finally she exhausted even herself.
"There must be something that you like..." she muttered as she hurried through the racks of clothing. "Aha!" she cried finally, handing me another dress.
This one was a simple, light blue dress which was beaded around the trim and had straps which crossed over at the back. It was long and not too low. When I went to the changing rooms to try it on, I found it was tighter at the top and loose and flowing at the bottom. I stared at myself in the mirror in awe; this was a dress I actually felt comfortable in, rather than awkward and uncomfortable.
When I came out smiling, the woman seemed to understand that this was the one I had been looking for, and led me over to the till. I paid for the dress and left, thanking the woman profusely.
I walked back up the high street and meandered through the housing estates that led to our street. Then I walked up our overgrown path, skirted round dad's car and entered the house. Dad had just been about to open the door for me when I opened it myself, and he made me jump being so close.
His arm was partially outstretched, his hand level with my neck. I suddenly remembered that day when he had pressed his hands around my neck and I took a few nervous steps back, my eyes on his hand, my mind months in the past.
He sighed and retreated solemnly into the kitchen, and I breathed a sigh of relief before heading to my room. I plonked the bag onto the floor beside my bed and yawned, crashing onto the mattress. All of the walking had tired me out, and I had only visited four or five shops.
Every few minutes, I would look at the clock in nervousness; we would be leaving at seven. I whiled the hours away by playing music and I wrote some random story, too, before all too soon the dreaded hour came.
It was half past six, so I got my dress out of my bag and went to go and have a shower before changing into my dress. Once I was dressed, I blow dried my hair, making sure it wasn't fluffy, put on a necklace to match my dress which I found in a jewellery box hidden in the depths of my room, and put on a pair of blue pumps with a ribbon on top.
Making sure I was presentable before leaving, I went downstairs where my father was standing dressed in a suit looking anxious. He took one look at me and smiled wistfully.
"You look beautiful, Liz," he said as I reached the bottom of the stairs. "Exactly like your mother." He added, shaking his head.
He glanced at my shoulder, which was mostly exposed, and frowned. Then his eyes trailed down my arms and hands. I suddenly realised why; long scars were etched along my shoulder, forearms and hands. Seemingly without thinking, he reached out to touch my shoulder but the memory of how I got that scar clouded my senses and I whimpered, stepping back.
Sighing, he dropped his arm, stepped back and gestured to the door,
"Shall we go then?" he asked, and I nodded wordlessly. He opened the door and let me out first and we got into his car. He started the engine and we began to drive.
It wasn't far to where he was taking me. It only took about ten minutes in the car; ten minutes filled with a tense, awkward silence that could only be explained by our current predicament. But finally, we arrived.
The restaurant was nothing too fancy and I did not feel out of place in my new dress. Diners sat at square tables covered with pristine white table cloths, while empty ones were laid out with sparkling wine glasses and shining cutlery.
We sat down at one of these empty tables and we were silent for a while. A waiter came and we ordered our drinks - coke for me, wine for him - and he went away again, and still we sat in silence. A different waiter came with our drinks and left again, and still we sat in silence.
And then it seemed dad couldn’t take it anymore, for he spoke.
"Liz," he said in a strained voice. "I'm sorry. I've been a terrible father. Elise's - your mother's - death hit me hard but it must have been just as bad for you. I didn't acknowledge that; I just drank a glass of wine one evening to take the stress away...and it helped, my god, did it help. I couldn't stop,"
Yet another silence ensued, and I sighed loudly.
"I know," I muttered, not looking at him. "And as much as I want to forgive you, I can't. Five years of my life, my whole secondary school life, was wasted because of your selfishness."
When I did look up at him, I was shocked to see tears glistening in his eyes. Tears of guilt, loss, pain, anger at himself. I felt bad for making him cry, because it was not entirely his fault. But I knew I had to keep strong. It was true - he had wasted five years of my life. He had to suffer the consequences.
Dinner passed mostly in silence. He questioned me about school, and I told him that my best and only friend couldn’t be seen with me in case everyone treated him the same as they did me. This brought more guilt from my father. He asked me why I didn't try to make new friends, and I truthfully replied that everyone thought I was a freak and no one wanted to be seen with me.
After this, he decided to stop talking.
I tentatively asked him what work was like. He now worked as a P.A for the boss of some company I'd never heard of. He replied that it was just fine and the man was treating him well. I could tell there was more, but I didn't push it; the talk wasn't going too badly, I didn't want to ruin it.
We finished our main course at around eight, and asked for desert. I ordered a chocolate sundae with cream and strawberries while he had a bowl of vanilla ice cream with wafer biscuits and chocolate sauce and a cherry. We talked a little more about my grades at school and my interests. When I mentioned that I was in a band, he was pleasantly surprised.
"Who else is in it?" he asked curiously, and I was about to reply when the bill came and dad paid and we got prepared to leave. Then I reeled off the names, the last one being James, and he arched an eyebrow.
"James Black?" he affirmed, and I nodded before turning my head slightly; I had seen someone look our way out of the corner of my eye when dad mentioned James.
I froze; there he stood, James Black, in all his gorgeous glory.
He was with his whole family, who were a way ahead of him, but that didn’t seem to be what his attention was focused on. No, his attention was focused solely on....me? Frowning, I looked behind me to see if there was anything he might be staring at, but there was nothing other than a wall with boring wallpaper on it.
I furrowed my brow and looked down at myself. There was nothing special about me; I was just me, wearing a dress and a necklace rather than a hoodie and jeans. Why did he appear to be checking me out? He wasn’t, I reassured myself, somewhat gloomily.
Time didn't seem to matter as I glanced back up at him, and he stared at me and vice versa. I was vaguely aware of James' older brother looking our way to see why we had stopped, but the only thing that mattered right now was James.
He was wearing a white shirt, black trousers and a black jacket. He was missing the bow tie, but it didn't matter; he looked handsome enough as it was. The bow tie would have ruined it, especially considering he'd look like he was choking. His dark, mesmerizing eyes slowly scanned up my figure, his mouth slightly open, until they reached my face.
Our eyes met and we stood frozen from embarrassment at being caught checking each other out. A blush filled my cheeks and he gave me a warm smile before I turned away, a strange feeling bubbling through my body.
I turned to face my father who was looking between James and I, clearly unsure of what was going on. When he met my eyes, he gave me a smile with that glint in his eyes that told me he suspected something. I rolled my eyes and we exited the restaurant shortly after the Black family did.
As we got into the car, I saw James getting in his own and his eyes were still focused on me, or more specifically, my chest area. I blushed furiously and got in hurriedly, not wanting him to see any more.
Taking a few deep breaths, I calmed myself and we headed for home. As we drove, I reprimanded myself; I shouldn't have been staring at him. It would just make his already too-large ego even bigger, which I don’t think I could stand.
More than that though, I was trying to convince myself that I didn't like him and it would fail dismally if this carried on. James had not been checking me out. I had to believe that so that I wouldn't be fooled into thinking that he liked me, which was caused by my belief that I liked him.
Sighing, I stared out of the window, my mind a confused mess. I didn't know what to think anymore. What I wanted to think and what I did think were polar opposites, so what was I to do? What I wanted to think was the truth, and what I was thinking was not. I had to hold onto that thought before I succumbed to my feelings and things got very complicated.
With that thought in mind, I determinedly decided that my feelings for James were soon going to be totally annihilated.
~*~*~
Ignore him, I thought irritably, just ignore him...
But I couldn't. I was impossibly acute to James' presence a few feet away from me. He hadn't noticed me yet; thank goodness, I thought grimly. If he had, it would inevitably have resulted in conversation, and I didn't know which way that conversation might go.
I was Christmas Shopping; something I hadn't done in a long time. I had already got most people's presents; the only ones I was missing now were Alex and Dominic. Saskia, Amanda and Emma had been the easiest to find presents for as they were the most girly.
I was currently looking for a pair of jeans for Dominic because he was constantly complaining that he didn’t have enough jeans. James seemed to be looking for a pair either for himself or for one of his friends, as they were all about the same size as Dominic.
And so we ended up being in the same shop in the same isle. My plan was to find a pair of jeans that he would like quickly, and then get out of he has fast as I could so as not to talk to James. Any conversation with him might lead back to when I had dinner with my father.
However, at that moment he chose to look up.
He spotted me standing a few paces away from him and he smiled.
"Looking for something for Alex?" he asked, his smiled suddenly becoming rather fixed.
"No," I replied quietly, my eyes scanning the rack in front of me. "But I will later," I added, so as not to seem rude.
"Do you know what you're getting him? If not, I can give you some help," he suggested.
I hesitated. On one hand, it was an opportunity to talk to him for longer, even if only a few seconds. But on the other, could I trust him? Would his and Alex's argument cause him to tell me to get something he didn't like? Finally, I succumbed to my feelings and chose to trust him.
"That would be great," I replied, my smile not at all forced.
I quickly brought a pair of jeans for Dominic before going back to James. He was standing by the door, his hands in his pockets, a smile on his face. When I reached him, he said,
"I don't think it would be quite right if I told you what to buy. I was thinking maybe we could go round different shops and just have a look at what he might like,"
My eyes widened. More time with James? My heart told me yes, my head told me no. I opened my mouth to follow my head's orders, as I knew I would get hurt later, but when my eyes met his my mind suddenly became blank and I blurted out,
"Yeah, that sounds good!"
And so I went shopping with James.
I started off by thinking of all the bands and football clubs etc that Alex might like, but the merchandise didn't put my message across clearly. I wanted to get him something which symbolized my eternal gratitude for all that he'd done for me.
This was difficult to explain to James, but I think he understood well enough. We kept walking, and we discussed bands and music for a while. We talked like old friends who had only just met up again, our conversations sounded so familiar with each other. And I soon found out that music wasn’t our only shared hobby.
We both also liked snowboarding and a variety of water sports. I had decided that snowboarding had been my favourite thing to do after music and writing because I was actually good at it, and then water sports, which were good fun but I was terrible at them. I had been water skiing and wind surfing with my parents before.
He shared a lot of his memories with me, including a lot of family moments. He asked me about my own family moments, and asked why is was that my cousin was so abusive towards me.
It took me a moment to remember what he was talking about, but the conversation came back to me just in time. It was the second time I had been round his house, and it was during one of his fathers' interrogations.
When we were all resting back in our seats, with Mrs. Black finding bowls to dish out some sort of desert, Michael started asking questions again. I really hated it when he did that.
"So, Liz," he started. I mentally groaned. What now?!
"Yes?"
"It's been bugging me for a while, but I haven't asked in case it offends you, but today my curiosity has gotten the better of me. How exactly do you get all those bruises and injuries? They're not normal cuts and bruises, I can see." I swallowed, thinking up a lie fast on the spot.
"Me and my cousin, we're always fighting. It usually gets a bit rough, so my mum has to split us up. The annoying thing is, he barely gets off with a scratch..."
"Does he not beat you up so much anymore?" James asked. "I haven't seen a fresh bruise on you in ages,"
"Nah," I replied casually as we walked out of another shop. "He can't be bothered anymore."
"Good to hear," he said with a smile, and another warm feeling erupted in my chest.
Sometime in the shopping trip I think I realised that it was not a good idea to get this close to James, but I ignored this internal warning. I was having too much fun to care, and I don’t think it really occurred to me that I might get hurt.
Finally, when we went into an old shop that sold old vinyl records, I found what I was looking for. Alex had once told me he loved AC/DC and his room was filled with things related to them. And here was an old, dusty vinyl and on the cover was their logo and, more specifically, a wine bottle.
I knew he had a lot of vinyls from them, but this one specifically put across my gratitude towards him and his family. I smiled and picked it up while James nodded appreciatively. The shop keeper looked mystified as to why I was buying the record, but he sold it to me without a word.
Once we left the shop, James announced that it was probably time for him to go. I was sad to see him depart, and I felt rather hollow and deflated after he left. Then I reprimanded myself for thinking this way; James was an acquaintance, and barely that. He only showed genuine kindness and compassion on rare occasions.
But today had been a good day. James had seemed like a human being rather than a mysterious, bipolar git. But then I realised that none of his mysteries had actually been unravelled, and my mind started working into overdrive again...