Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1988

The Daily Dormouse.
(aka Bike)
Part 1988
by Angharad

Copyright © 2013 Angharad
All Rights Reserved.
  
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David helped me back to the house and I winced as I ran my bloodied fingers under the tap–cold water on a cold day–lovely, not. I patted them dry on some paper kitchen towel and as the feeling came back into them they began to sting. By this time David had come back to me with an ice pack.

“What’s that for?” I asked.

“You’ve got quite a bruise coming up on your face, thought it might help. I wasn’t sure how much you’re going to tell Simon about this.”

“Ugh,” was all I offered as he held the pack against my face, god it was cold–then it’s supposed to be. I took it from him and held it against my cheek–hopefully it won’t go up to my eye. David was saying something, but my mind was filled with what do I tell Simon–like do I tell him anything? He’ll go ballistic and in Danny’s fragile state, that won’t help anything. I think a little white lie is in order here, if the bruising doesn’t go.

“Can we keep this between us for now?” I asked David.

“Sure,” he shrugged, “I wondered if you might. Tea?” he pointed to the teapot he was holding.

“Please,” I must stop nodding, it makes my head hurt too much. “Where’s Danny?”

“I sent him up to his room.”

“Okay, I’ll drink my tea then go and speak with him.”

“D’you need me to come?”

“Thank you, but no–if I can’t deal with a mixed up kid what chance twenty somethings at the university?”

“Well shout if you do.”

“I don’t think he meant to hit me, it was reflex thing–I must have pushed his buttons–I didn’t mean to.”

“We do tend to lash out a bit more than you girls.” Coming from one of the gentlest men I know that was doubly surreal–seeing that his body was biologically female and mine was male, it seemed a bit upside down–but that’s what happens in our household, and he is a mean cook.

I drank my tea and took some Ibuprofen, hopefully the milk in my tea coating my stomach enough to make it safe to use–one has to be careful with NSAIDs, as they can cause gastric irritation. Time to see my errant son. I took a deep breath and went up the stairs, still holding the ice pack against my face.

I knocked and entered Danny’s room, he was pacing the floor like a condemned man awaiting execution of sentence. “I’m so sorry, Mummy, I didn’t mean to...” I interrupted him with placing a finger on my own lips and he shut up. I closed the door firmly and motioned for him to sit down.

“D’you want me to go? Shall I start packing?”

“For pity’s sake, Danny, shut up.” He stared at the floor his elbows resting on his knees and the tears dripping down his nose. I believed he was genuinely sorry for his act, as I was for apparently provoking him but I was in charge here and we’d do things my way.

“I accept your apology on the understanding that you never hit me again or any of the girls here.”

“I won’t, I promise,” he clutched the straw with two hands.

“Good. Now I don’t plan on telling your dad about this unless you want me to.”

“No I don’t,” there was a look of fear in his eyes when he considered the consequences of that. I didn’t think for one moment that Simon would get physical with him but just his size would be intimidating to a youngster half his size.

“Okay, so I think we’d better set some ground rules.”

He nodded.

“First; I have no desire for you to be anything other than my son–I don’t need any more daughters–okay?”

“Okay,” he sniffed with no more than a glancing eye contact.

“I don’t like your anti-gay attitude, and while I understand you’re angry at what happened, we have no evidence that those men were gay. In fact most male rapes are perpetrated by heterosexual men.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that.”

“It’s not a crime of sex but one of power–making someone do something against their will which is very personal and private, and because of that, it makes the effect on the victim much worse than say a simple beating.”

“I know, Mummy.” The tears started again.

I sat beside him and hugged him. “I can’t begin to know what you’re feeling from this, and I don’t expect you to be able to tell me–but I can promise that we, as a family, and I as an individual and your mother–will do whatever it takes to help you get over this experience.”

He nodded, the tears streaming down his face and I hugged him tightly and held him. “We all love you, son, and want to help.”

“I know,” he sniffed, “I just wish it had never happened.”

“If it was within my power to make that so, I would.”

“I will get over this,” he sobbed, “won’t I, Mummy?”

“Yes, you will, I promise.”

“Thank you, Mummy, I’m really sorry I hit you–I just felt so angry, so angry...”

“I understand, Dan,” I held him and rubbed his back.

We sat for a few minutes and he brought his emotions back under control. “Is Peter still coming on Sunday?”

“That was the plan, but I can cancel if you wish?”

“No, I’d like to see him.”

“If it gets too much, just tell me and we’ll let you withdraw.”

“I’ll be alright, I ’spect.”

“Okay. I’d better go and see what the others are up to.” I collected my ice pack and left him. I glanced in the mirror and noticed that my face had hardly any bruising at all and then at my hand, which had also seemingly repaired itself. I began to wonder if the light was beginning to take care of me without my asking, then I bumped into Trish and the smirk on her face made the penny drop.

“David said you fell over in the drive and bumped your face and hand.”

“Oh did he now?”

“Yeah, we reckon it’s because you’re so old–they say old people fall about all the time.”

“You what–you cheeky little monkey,” I snapped at her and she shrieked and ran off giggling. Two like her and I’d be a basket case–whatever that means.

“That looks better,” said David checking my cheek when I entered the kitchen.

“Why did you have to tell Trish?” of all people, I almost added.

“Because she can do this blue light stuff like you do.”

“Okay, when’s dinner going to be ready?”

“In half an hour.”

“Okay, I think I can last that long, what is it?”

“Frogs legs.”

“What?” I shrieked in horror.

He chuckled loudly, “Your face, Cathy, was a picture.”

“Damn you,” I snapped back, “Now what’s for dinner?”

“Sea bass.”

“Oh, that’s different, but why do they call it sea bass? They’re not freshwater fish anyway.”

“Don’t ask me, missus, I just cook the bleedin’ thing.”

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