You Can't Bring Me Down

So Hoya;) I just wanted to clear this of my chest, I know in real life Dougie's dad was just a man, who fell out of love with Sam Poynter, and fell in love with another woman. He left his family. Before that the only damage he really done was fighting, lots of fighting matches (as Dougie once said in an interview), and he also drunk quite a lot. I know for a fact he was NOT abusive, just intimidating and as far as I'm concerned never forced Dougie into selling drugs for him! That's just my little twist, okay? Haha, anyway, just felt like sharing that, That's The Truth, and now here's chapter four…

CHAPTER FOUR I'm hurt but I'll be fine

-DOUGIE'S POV-

After a while I started to feel guilty for all what I had said to mum at the hospital.
I creep downstairs into the living room to find her alone. When I walk in she smiles up at me, not a happy smile, sad almost. She pats the space on the sofa next to her and I slowly lower myself down.
"Mum I'm really sorry about what I said. You're a great mum, amazing in fact and I'll promise to try harder" the words pour out my mouth.
She sighs, and then lifts her hand to my cheek, stroking it gently. Any other day I would have pulled away, but not today.
"Dougie you have nothing to apologise for, trust me. This is entirely my fault, your right to be angry at me, and I promise you I'll try harder" she pulls me into a tight hug, carefully dodging my nose. Her sweet scent engulfs me, and I can feel tears start to prick at the back of my eyes. I just want everything to stop, I wish I could rewind time and most of all I wish I could have been stronger. Stronger for me, stronger for mum, and stronger for Jazzie. And the worst part? The worst part is knowing I can make it all go away. All I have to do is raise my voice and be heard, and then it'll all be in the past, buried beneath better memories. I'm not really angry at mum; I know it's not her fault that the cat seems to have caught my tongue. If she knew, she would help me.
I pull her closer to me. I don't know how long it's been since I've hugged her, a year maybe? Probably more than that.
"It's not your fault, trust me" I mumble into her shoulder, my voice all nasally.
She pulls back from me, looking into my eyes, "And what makes you think it's yours?"
The words start to form in my mouth, I can feel them rolling along my tongue, they get so close to my lips… then I snap my mouth shut.
I shrug.
"Exactly" she says with a smug smile on her face. She turns back to the TV, pressing the off button.
"C'mon" she struggles up, bringing me with her, "Bedtime for the Poynter's, I've got work in the morning, and you look completely shattered"
I flash a small smile at her.
We walk up the stairs like zombies.
"'Night"
"Goodnight, honey"
I rip of my hospital-smelling school clothes before hopping into bed only in my boxers. I prop the pillows up, remembering what the nurse said about 'keeping elevated, especially when you're sleeping'. My eyes close and soon I'm dreaming about memories. Lots and lots of memories in a slideshow. One after the other they keep coming. It's going to be a long night.
I wake up with a start, sitting bolt upright. I groan as the room starts to tip to the side and another heavily weighted headache starts up. There's a crash downstairs and I can hear dad drunkenly singing. I tiptoe to my door as the hall light is switched on. Orange light glows beneath my door.
"What the hell" I hear mum mumble as she passes my door and makes her way downstairs.
"Gary, what on earth are you doing? It's half three in the morning! I have work in the morning, and Jazzie has school!" I hear mum whisper-shouting.
There's a clang, "I'm making waffles, want one?" dad slurs.
I grit my teeth angrily. This is not happening again. I wish he would stay at his work. God knows what he works as, or how he needs to go away so often, not coming back until a week or two later. I don't dare to ask, it's probably something illegal and I hate to think where he stays when he's away.
"Waffles? Your making waffles?" mum screeches, forgetting to keep her voice down.
"Yeah baby, there a type of food, you can put syrup on them or you can have chocolate or did you know you can actually get savoury waffles-"
Mum interrupts him, fury bubbling through her voice, "Gary, get to bed now. Do you know what example you're setting for our kids? Dougie is going through a really hard time right now and he needs his dad, which is supposed to be your job! If you put in some effort-"
There's a cracking sound then abrupt silence.
My heart stops. What the hell was that noise?
I hear somebody groan in pain and then heavy footsteps on the stairs which must mean dad finally going to bed. Why's mum so quiet? Fear pumps through my veins as I creak open my bedroom door. I quietly walk to the top of the stairs and listen for any sort of movement. There's a sniffling sound and I realise its mum crying. I kneel down, twisting myself at an odd angle until the kitchen comes into view. She's sitting at the dining table, her hand covering her cheek. He's hit mum! I sit in shock on the landing. I don't know what to do. What do you do in this situation? Dad has punched me before when he's been drunk, although only whenever he's been drunk, he's not known to be a very violent man. A little intimidating, that's for sure! I watch her for a second or two before I get up and walk back to my room. I close the door quietly then slide down it until I reach the floor. I draw my knees to my chest, resting my head on top.
I mull things over in my head. Twisting them and stretching them. Thinking what if's and but's. Ignoring all of this is obviously getting me nowhere, damn I've been doing it for two years and all it's done is wreck my life! There's nowhere left to run, I'm trapped and I'll just have to face up to everything. Although I'm not sure how the hell I'm going to do this, or when for that matter. I massage my temples angrily. For now I need to pretend, for my family's wellbeing. After my operation, times up, I'll need to do something, anything! Happy with my unorganised plan, I climb into bed returning to my troubled sleep.


Tuesday is spent bumming around. I wake up at noon; have a cheesy toasty then sit in front of the telly for the duration of time before Jazzie gets home from school.
She comes into the living room, sighing heavily before chucking herself at the arm chair in the corner.
"Hey" I greet her.
She salutes me as a reply.
"Someone's being blunt" I pout huffily. I've spent the whole day with only myself as company, and the first person I see just blows me off.
"Sorry" she mumbles, rubbing her eyes. She removes her eyes to reveal a mass of black.
"You've smudged your mascara" I note to her. She sighs again. "What's up?"
She shrugs, "Shattered"
"How come, never knew school was that draining?"
"No you moppet, I had a party last night" she rolls her eyes.
"So you did" I remember, "What time did you get in?"
"Got back at about midnight" she pulls of her shoes, "Then I had to get up extre early for rehearsals"
I frown, "Rehearsals for what?"
She groans, "The school play! Somewhere over the rainbow? I'm Dorothy, the main role?"
Oh crap.
"Sorry, I completely forgot!" I apologise sincerely.
She looks at me for a moment or two. "You better come see me in it"
I tear my eyes of the TV screen to look at her, "When is it?"
"June"
"June? That's aaages away! Why are you rehearsing for it away here in November?"
"Wow, you really do appear to have no brain" she gets up and walks through to the kitchen.
"You want a coke?" she calls through.
"Yeah please!" I call back.
The fridge opens then closes. Then the same eerie silence as last night fills the air.
"Dougie?" Jazzie sounds upset.
I jump up from the couch and jog through.
"What's wrong?" I follow her gaze to a small piece of lined paper lying on the dining table. It has obviously been ripped out a notepad or something. I move closer to read it and recognise dad's scrawly writing almost instantly. It's obvious he's written it in a hurry. My eyes focus on the words. The four messy words written all in descent. Just like that in an instant my childhoods gone.

I've had enough.
Dad

I look up at Jazzie's tearful eyes.
"H-he's left?" I ask in bewilderment. Jazzie nods, a sob breaking the truly horrifying sadness in the room.
Dad hasn't always really been that good a dad but he's just been there, you know? Through all the mistakes he's made, through all the mental disruption he's caused me, the nightmares, he's still worn the title as my dad. No one could take that away from him, there was no other Gary Poynter out there. He wasn't supposed to leave, we were meant to work through things. This wasn't supposed to happen. He's taught me so many things. He's taught me how to ride a bike, boil an egg, and even flirt with a girl (not that his theory really works). As a child he's made me laugh so many countless times; like getting Chinese chopsticks and slotting them under his upper lip so he looked like a walrus. He was a goof, but he was my dad and I loved him a lot. Not now. With him he's took my childhood filled with happy memories and the love I've ever felt for him, now he leaves me with the memories from the last couple of years, all the hate he's ever showed towards me.
Jazzie drops her head into her hands.
I feel nothing. No sadness, no anger, nothing.
I just stand as Jazzie lowers herself into a chair and watch.
It must be about an hour later when mum comes back from work.
"I'm home!" she yells happily. Jazzie freezes then breaks down into more sobs.
Mum rushes to us, concern etched all over her face.
"What's happened?"
My eyes zone in on the angry red mark on her cheek, where dad must've hit her. Is that why dad left? Was he afraid she would have told someone? Because she wouldn't have, anyone could have guessed that. She loved him and us all too much to tear us apart. She had put up with all his shit and this is how he repays her. If only I could get my hands on him now.
Jazzie explains everything; mum just sits opposite her and nods, taking it all in. It's like I'm in a dream, everything is so surreal. How can someone choose to leave their own family? How can someone be there one minute, then not the next?
"It was only a matter of time" mum says softly, rubbing circles on Jazzie's back.
"Mum? How can you be so calm, he's gone? What are we going to do for money-" Jazzie sounds close to hysterics.
"Jazzie, if you're worried about the money, then there's no need. We'll do perfectly fine. All me and dad have done the past few months is fight. There's been nothing there, and though it's took a lot for me to notice, I don't love him anymore"
Jazzie blinks up at her in surprise.
Mum turns to me, "How are you coping big man?" she asks me, smiling softly.
"Fine" I say shortly, "Look I'm exhausted, I'm headed to bed, yeah?"
Mum looks at me for a moment, then nods, "Yeah, I think that's what we all need: a good untroubled night's sleep and then to wake up in the morning with clear heads"
Morning. Oh-oh. Tomorrow is Wednesday. Wednesday means operation.
"What time are we to go in to the Hosp-" I gulp, gagging at the word, "Hospital tomorrow?"
"Ten o'clock, sweetie. So I'll get you up at nine, okay?"
I nod then drag my feet up the stairs. It's still early, and even though I've spent all day lying around I feel like I've not slept in days.


Too soon I can feel hands shaking me awake.
"Come one honey, jump in the shower!"
"Why's it so early?" I mumble.
Mum chuckles.
I open my eyes only to instantly screw them up again. Mum whips the curtains open.
"Argh, mum!"
"That'll teach you, now get in the shower!" she stalks out my room.
I heave myself up. I'm so used to the pain in my nose it's just a dull ache to me now. The swellings went almost completely down although there is still a huge lump across my nose where the broken bone must be gathered. It almost looks dangerous having the crooked nose look, like I'm adventurous or something. I climb into the shower and nearly come running back out it again.
"Mum, put the hot water on!" I yell, my teeth chattering as an icy drop rolls down my spine.
I hear her click the switch then feel the water gradually getting warmer. For some reason I'm in a good mood today, which makes no sense at all seeing as we're heading to the hospital in less than fifteen minutes.
I towel dry myself down before pulling on a pair of baggy jeans and a green Hurley t-shirt. I slip on some vans, grab a jumper, spike the front of my hair up then jog downstairs. That's when it hits me. I feel winded, like I've ran into someone's fist. I actually stop to catch my breath.
"You okay, Honey?" mum asks as I take a seat around the wooden table.
I nod trying to disguise the look of recognition plastered all over my face. I feel like such an idiot for forgetting. Yesterday dad left. How the hell had that slipped my mind?
Jazzie walks in, her perfume wafting over to me.
"Hey bro" she nips my cheek whilst passing.
"Ouch!" I scream out, clutching my cheek. She laughs before helping mum set out the plates. It's not that unusual having only three plates at the table. Dad was mostly always away but for some reason its stands out this time. It's like someone's screaming in my ear 'look no place set for dad!'
I tear my gaze away from his seat, using all my strength not to kick his chair over.
"Voila!" mum rips the napkin away that had been covering my food to reveal a full fry up. It's not often she goes to so much effort, especially just for breakfast.
I grin up at her, making sure I compliment her, thinking how strong she's being. Why can't I be strong? I grit my teeth and pick up my fork. I'm not hungry; actually I think I'm on the verge of being sick but force it down for mum. They seem to be being overly nice today. This could be because dad's left or because I'm being operated on today. Whichever the reason is I hate their fake smiles and perky voices. They don't seem to get the hint from me though. I refuse to join in on their conversations during the twenty minute car journey to the hospital. They even start to sing along at some songs on the radio at one point. I want to jump out this moving car. How easy it would be to just pull back the car door handle and throw myself into the millions of cars whizzing past.
I rest my head back and start counting. Not counting anything in particular, just counting upwards. One, two, three, four, five, six… and on I go. Maybe I'm counting seconds, or memories, or cars, or lives, or people… who knows and who cares?
I'm still counting even when Jazzie grabs my hand and leads me to the front office of the hospital. I'm still counting even when they ask me to sign some form. I'm even still counting as the doctor goes through the procedure of the operation.
"Dougie?"
12324, 12325, 12326, 12327…
"Dougie?"
My thoughts are interrupted. I look up at the middle aged, grey haired doctor in front of me. His beady eyes squint down at me. I shudder as he reminds me of Mr Sands.
"Yeah?" my delayed reply comes.
"I said you seem a little pre-occupied today" the doctor says tersely, it's obvious he's had to repeat this a few times to me.
"Yeah… sorry" Where's mum and Jazzie? I could've sworn they were here a minute ago! I look around starting to feel a little panicked. We're in a very small, long room with a row of red comfy chairs.
"Now, there's a bathroom just down there" the doctor points to a door at the other side of the room, "Go get changed into this" he hands me a hospital gown. I look down at the gown then up at his face to see if he's joking. Apparently not. I take the gown from his outstretched hand then go into the bathroom.
Once I'm in the gown, I don't remember putting myself in one, that's how fast events are happening; they take me to the operating room. It feels so weird just walking in. I feel like I should be in a bed or something, being whizzed along the corridors.
"Right Dougie, if you just settle yourself down on here" a permanently smiling nurse pats the bed in the middle of the room. There are scary looking machines and equipment everywhere, making me feel super claustrophobic. I hitch myself onto the bed and lie down awkwardly.
"You won't need any of these machines today except from this" she points to a tall pole on wheels, with a bag full of clear liquid, and a needle pointing downwards, "You'll also have to wear this"
The nurse reaches for the oxygen mask.
"Apart from that, you'll wake up with a little bit of an ear ache and a dull headache" she smiles down at me, "We're ready when you are, Dougie"
I start to panic.
"How will you get the cartilage out from my ear?" I ask hurriedly.
"We'll just make a simple slit and remove it carefully from there" she explains, pointing to the back of my ear.
I nod. What else is there to say?
"I'm ready"
The nurse's smile grows wider, if that's possible and she moves the pole on wheels closer.
"We're just going to sedate you now, okay Dougie? Count back from ten for me" the Mr Sands lookalike doctor tells me.
I feel the slight jab of the needle into my arm then start to count. That's all I've been doing today is counting. Counting for what? Why is it I'm counting? My head starts to float high above my body. I feel the need to laugh but I can't move anything. Everything's went heavy yet at the same time I feel weightless, paper thin.
"8… 7…" my lips become numb. My tongue feels like its swollen but I know it's not. As I try and say six, the grey haired doctor comes into view. I don't know if I really trust this guy, I mean he looks like my depressive English teacher, that doesn't say much about him does it? I wonder if he's been divorced for twenty three years too… would be so funny…

Everything fades to nothingness.


Atleast I kept my promise, this chapters longer:D? So anyway what d'you think of Dougie's dad?
PLEASE REVIEW! PLEASE REVIEW! PLEASE REVIEW! thankyou so much for the kind reviews so far:D

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