Between the Lines

Fifteen - Oliver

Because it's later than usual, I don't waste any time at the train station or walking through the streets. Instead, I walk directly home. I can't afford to admire the strangely empty roads or the halos of streetlights, not after dad's call.

I reach my street and I feel anxiety start to swell in the depths of my stomach. Something has to happen. It's been too calm for too long. I reach out for the door handle, turn it slowly and slink inside. I'm not trying to be sneaky. I'm just hoping that for some reason I won't get called out if I enter this way. I hesitate for a few seconds, waiting for my dad to call out to me, or even to hear my mum's voice, but nothing happens.

Before I leave the entryway, I make sure to put a sweater over the top of my Calvin Klein sweater. I have a bad habit of leaving it on and almost getting caught by Mum, so I make sure to leave something in the walkway to remind me to take it off or hide it. I walk through to the living area, notice no one is there and then head to my room to change. I can usually wear sweaters no matter the weather, but two sweaters can get a little uncomfortable after a while, so I decide to change into some comfy shorts and an oversized tee.

With no one around, it gives me some room to breathe.

Shortly after I collapse on my bed, I hear footsteps down the hall. I can tell they aren't Mum's, they are way too organised for that, especially if she was as drunk as Dad said she was, I don't even think she could walk. Dad appears in the hallway, and I jump, startled, and sit up awkwardly.

Dad eyes me inquisitively, as if trying to question my reaction but I recover quick enough for him not to care. "Hey, how are you?"

I know why he's asking. He probably already knows how frustrated I am, even without knowing the situation entirely. "I'm alright," I say, this time sounding a lot more convincing. I don't want to admit I'm mad, it's not fair on dad. He's just trying to look out for me.

"I'm sorry, I just wanted you to get home okay-"

"No, Dad," I chime in, stopping him, "It's okay, I'm okay thanks to you."

Dad watches my nervous shuffling and fiddling, "You are alright, aren't you?" He cocks an eyebrow at me. I nod slowly, slightly caught off guard. He's trying to get me to talk, I can feel it. His gaze burns into my skin like a brand, but I just look down at the wooden floorboards. Since I've never really gotten too close to anyone, Dad has been the only person I can talk to, but now it feels wrong. Not only is what I'm doing wrong, it's all a little different from being sixteen. It's almost like there's something in my throat that stops me, but it's not anxiety. I just want to protect what I have. Dad rests a hand on my shoulder, "You wanna talk about him?"

I carefully look up at him. There's a teasing gleam in his eye. I sigh, relieved that he brought it up instead of me. I scan the room as if I'm expecting to see someone there. But we are alone. I listen for any noises, but the house is dead quiet. Mum's room is the furthest away from mine but even with the distance, we still talk with hushed tones.

"What's his name? What's he like?" He pushes me on.

"Uh, well his name is Calvin." Even if I see Calvin every day, it's strange to explain him to someone. Nothing I could say would do him glory. "He's really tall and thoughtful and loves spending time with people. And he listens to literally anything I could tell him, he just lets me rant about everything with zero judgement." I wait for Dad to say something, but he doesn't, so I wrap it up, "He's just really amazing." Saying that brings a wave of relief over me. Dad notices too, sending me a smile.

"And he's the reason you go to the Middle so often?"

I nod and soft silence rests over us. I think he already knows where this is going. I don't want to say it, but I can't stop myself. My voice drops even lower, until it's barely audible, "He's... an Upper-class."

This time it's not relief I feel, it's dread. But when I dare to look over at my dad, he's still smiling.

"I always knew you had expensive taste," he says with a wink and a nudge in my side. Then I get hit with rapid fire questions, "How old is he? What car does he drive? Is it cool? Does he actually have style, or does he just wear boring name brands? Is he funny? Does he work? Study?"

He barely gives me time to process anything, rattling off the widest range of questions I've ever heard, but it sounds more like curiosity than judgement.

"Uh, he's 19. Mercedes, and yes, it's a very nice car. He has a nice style and can be very funny too. And he is still in school, same grade as me. He doesn't work but helps his parents out," and after spitting that length of an answer out I finally find room to breathe.

Dad seems pretty impressed, but I don't know if he's impressed with himself, Calvin or my capability to answer everything he threw at me. I assume it's the questions because it didn't stop there, "Did he get you that fancy white sweater I've caught you wearing?" He gestures to it. Its on the end of my bed so he picks it up to examine it.

I try to casually brush off the facts that I completely failed to hide that. "Uh, yeah."

"And have you two gone on dates, kissed and-?"

I cut him off immediately. There are very few places where that last option can go and I don't want to hear any of them, "So far, yes!" Although I can't see myself, I feel my face go a bright pink.

He smiles at me again, practically radiating proud-father vibes. But the moment passes and he glances past my doorway into the hall before resting his hands square on my shoulders, looking me dead in the eyes.

"Do you like him?" I can tell he doesn't mean casually liking Calvin, the sort of casual where I could live without him or be happy with just the physical attributes of a relationship, he means a lot more than that.

"Of course I do."

The conversation takes a more serious turn, "Ollie, I know why you stayed quiet, but I want you to remember one thing. You don't always need to leave people in the dark, you just have to shed light with caution. Okay?"

The words are almost poetic, so much to the point where it's obvious he's been preparing this conversation for me. "Thanks Dad," I say, and he pulls me into a warm hug. Dad always knows what to say and how to say it. That's one of the reasons I'm so lucky to have a dad as good as him.

He lets go of me but remains close, with his voice barely a whisper, "She went to bed."

That's all wee need to say.

When he stands up, he explains that he is going to go pack for his work trip tomorrow and that my secrets are safe with him. Then he leaves. I linger in my room for a little longer before I head to my bathroom. Luckily, it's an ensuite and I don't have to cross Mum's room. One of the only benefits of having split parents who didn't want to share the main bedroom is that I got it instead.

I run a steaming shower and slip my clothes off. I step under it and let the elation of everything that happened tonight consume me. Starting with Calvin. Everything about him tonight was perfect. He was so relaxed, so understanding and... gentle. He wasn't going to push me into anything I wasn't comfortable with. And that's only one thing I like about him.

The scorching water flooding over me helps burn off some of the pent-up emotions, but even if I can shed the anger, I can't escape everything Calvin made me feel. That is the furthest I have ever gone with anyone, and I pisses me off that I couldn't have more.

I take my time, then get into bed.