Shorts

Hold: part two

a wild sequel appeared!

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The new school was six miles away, which meant they’d have to leave that much earlier in the morning. His mum had said she’d give him a lift, if he wanted - just the first day, or the first week. Isaac wasn’t going; he said he would have transferred, would have been kicked out for beating the shit out of them, but he’d finished school that summer. Thomas nodded yes, he would have a lift, just to start with, and he promised himself in his head that he wouldn’t ruin his shoes. (There’d been a moment when he’d been trying to convince his mum to let him wear trainers, and she kept asking why with that look on her face, so he muttered something about ‘too shiny’ and Isaac had thrown the TV remote at the wall.)

It was warm, the first days of July, and Thomas knew he’d already stand out because who transferred in July, but his dad had said he couldn’t miss any school, and You’re not staying there another minute, my God. On top of the strange time of his arrival, Thomas was wearing a sweatshirt, and he was already a bit too warm as they left that morning, but he felt safer in it, his skin covered, because it had been three weeks and bruises faded quickly, but his wrists were scarred and it wasn’t like he could just quit - the woman he’d seen said that was normal, it was an addiction, he was an addict, he shouldn’t be afraid to talk about it. He’d just scowled at her, because he knew that anyway (he thought).

His dad had half wanted to come too, but Thomas had said no. He’d only make a fuss, rush in, ask to talk to the headmaster. He’d done that at the old school, and whilst it had been kind of impressive, the way his dad yelled at the teachers, slammed his hands on the desk like he was in a film, and Thomas had got this warmth inside of him, like maybe he and his dad and Tom-and-Dad would be okay, it had still been a bit embarrassing looking back. And there was that sick, hot, trembly feeling he’d got when they said to show them where (and he had; behind the science block, out by the bins, one of the old smoking spots before someone had made a hole in the hedge at the top of the school).

He didn’t want that feeling again. He knew the cut, cut, cut; the silent slash well, too well.

Isaac had said he’d pick him up at the end of his first day, having just passed his test (Thomas couldn’t even remember him taking lessons, wondered when that had happened). He’d said maybe Eric would come too, now that they were off for the summer, and there’d been this little look in his eye that said Oh, little brother and Thomas remembered with a hot, happy lurch that they were brothers, true brothers now, and then there was a hot, sick lurch that said he knows he knows.

When it happened, the First Day, it was a bit of an anticlimax. Thomas had gone in ready for battle, his whole body curved in on itself wearily. His mother had grabbed his hand, teary, over breakfast - You can just call. Isaac had sat in his room with him for nearly an hour the previous night, talking a lot and not really saying anything until Thomas’s head was dizzy trying to read between the mumbled lines and the outcome was something like no one else will hurt you.

(Not even himself. Isaac had said he believed in Thomas - Tom, he’d called him - to beat it. And if he hadn’t looked at him quite straight whilst he said it, that was okay, because three weeks wasn’t very long and they were proper brothers now anyway and Isaac made a point of saying he loved him every couple of days, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly as he did so.)

He’d gone in prepared for anything (well, he had his mother’s phone number and Isaac’s reassurances and a strange alien toy from Rachel who didn’t understand but tried and glared at him with a faint smile now) and come out with two pieces of homework and a couple of people telling him he should get Facebook so they could add him.