Diamond in the Rough Chapter 4
Legalities and author's note in Chapter 1.
DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH 4/4- This chapter contains major spoilers for the movie "Snatch"
- You look like the perfect fit
- For a girl in need of a tourniquet
- But can you save me?
- Come on and save me if you could save me
- From the ranks of the freaks who suspect
- They could never love anyone.
- Aimee Mann "Save Me"
Gorgeous George woke up three days later.
Tommy was still missing.
I sat miserably on a patio chair outside the caravan while Charlie tried to massage some life back into George's aching parts. The boxer cringed and moaned. He was barely recognizable now with his face puffed up and scars running here and there. More than just a tooth missing. Gorgeous was going to be eating baby food for quite some time.
"I'm sorry about this," I muttered, taking a dejected pull at my new glass bottle of milk.
There was something about drinking milk from a glass bottle that was disturbingly similar to suckling at a mother's nipple. Something about the purity of smooth white milk delivered by bicycle every single week that was comforting, that brought you back to your childhood home in a small farming town in northern England. The one constant in my childhood, in a time when the mines closed and money was scarce, had become the one constant in my adulthood, where the fistful of ideals you carried in your youth were dissipating into hopelessness and fears. I really loved milk.
And Tommy hated it. Figures.
"It's no' yuir fault," Gorgeous managed to say, sounding an awful lot like a drunken Scot I had met in the Hebrides last time I was there. "It's mine. I should'a been more careful," He winced as Charlie prodded at his neck.
"No, it's me," I sighed. "I shouldn't have been so…myopic about Tommy."
"Where is Tommy, anyway?"
"He ran away," I practically whispered it.
"Wha'? Ye let 'im run away?"
"'F course I didn't let him. That would've been kicking him out. And I didn't kick him out, he ran away."
"Oh, ye should nay a'let him run off, Turkish." I bristled at the way he whistled my name funny. "Boy like t'at won't know wha' to do wit' himself." He grinned disturbingly at me. "Ye just lost yer most precious possession, me friend,"
"No, that's not it at all," I stood up. "You're just brain damaged is all," I turned to leave the lot. "Merry Christmas by the way,"
I got back at the lot and hung up my coat and sat in front of the telly and proceeded to do what I had done every day before Tommy came into my life. I drank.
I drank and I drank and I had the occasional spot of tea but it didn't seem to help.
The funny thing is, or the really sad thing depending on how you look at it, was that I didn't even know why I was drinking. I just was. Like there was nothing better to do. There was nobody there to fuss over or boss around or fight with, so I drank. I figured I would drink until I felt better but I never did.
It was the first Christmas Eve I have ever spent, excluding the Christmas Eve that Suzy died. Well, maybe it was just as bad.
There wasn't much on the telly. Christmasey family crap that just made me drink more. Eventually I got out that bit of marijuana I took from Tommy and smoked it. Not even with friends. How sad is that? I just did it. I can't even say I did it to mellow out or bliss out or take the edge off, I just didn't want to think about anything so I needed something to do with the rest of my body while I watched that tripe on television.
I kept glancing back at the Christmas tree for some reason and feeling sick. The sun was setting and a storm settled in and blew snow around. I took a nap. Then I got up and looked at the Christmas tree and the gifts under, like a mockery of a happy family, and I felt sick again. So I drank more, still a little drunk from before the nap. It was maybe midnight now, officially Christmas day, but it wasn't really dark out. Well, I mean it was pitch black, but there was so much snow and it had that pinkish hue that snow sometimes gets when it's in huge quantities that lit up the streets.
I still felt sick, even when I wasn't looking at the tree, and I realised that the tree really had nothing to do with it and eventually I was hunched over the toilet spewing everything I had consumed that day, which wasn't much except alcohol.
The phone rang.
I could've cried. I think I did. It was, what, one in the morning? I was tired and sweating and drunk as hell and staring at my own vomit, like I had been for the last three nights, and now I had to take a fucking phone call. A fucking phone call at one in the fucking morning. Could this fucking holiday get any fucking worse?
I wept a little and wiped the vomit off my mouth with some toilet paper and blearily answered the phone.
"What?"
"Hello sir? Is this Turkish Gilmore?" A familiar voice, as tired as mine, on the other phone answered.
"Yes, what?"
"This is Officer Whitworth. I believe we've met before,"
Great. A fucking pig.
Dammit, dammit, dammit.
"Oh, Jesus, what?"
"Mister Gilmore, are you drunk?"
"Yes! Now would you fucking tell me why you're calling? Please?" I wanted to go to bed.
"Sir, we've got Tommy in our custody here. He'd like to talk to you."
That sobered me up.
"What? Well what happened? Is he okay?"
"He's fine," Whitworth responded; though I could hear the concern in his voice. "He's just a little worse for wear. He didn't want to tell us anything until he spoke to you,"
"What happened? He's not in prison, is he?"
"No!" He sounded offended. "In fact he's a victim. We've got the perpetrator here too, but Tommy isn't going to make any statements until he talks to you. Understandably."
Perpetrator? I felt like I was going to be sick all over again.
"He's right here, he would like to talk to you. Is that okay?"
"Yes!" I practically screamed at him. God I hated pigs.
There was a minor scuffle and confused silence and then Tommy's small, shattered voice. "Turkish?"
"Oh, Jesus, Tommy, I'm here,"
"I wanna go home, Turkish," I could see him there, cringing and fidgeting, on the verge of tears.
"It's alright Tommy I'm going to be right there. Do you want me to bring your coat?"
"Yes please. And Turkish?"
"Yes, Tommy?"
"Could you bring Antwerp?"
I glanced frantically around the loft, not seeing the teddy bear anywhere. "Where did you leave him?"
"I can't- I can't remember. I just don't have him. If you find him, will you bring him?"
"Of course, Tommy," I said softly.
"Th-thank you. I have to go now," He told me apologetically.
"Okay. I love you, Tommy." There. I told him.
"I-I love you too," a whisper. There was a faint click and then I was searching the room for the bear.
Now his coat I had just kept hung up, and the rest of his things in a neat pile by his mattress, a little symbol of hopeful wait. Antwerp was nowhere.
I went to throw up a bit more and came out losing hope, not ready to go there and not be able to give Tommy the one thing he needed. Then I spotted it.
Underneath the Christmas tree, sitting by himself, with a red bow tied clumsily around his neck was a sweet little teddy bear.
I could almost hear my heart breaking in two when I picked it up. The bastard had done it again. I squeezed Antwerp to my chest and fought back mounting tears. He was willing to give me his most prized possession and I had nothing to give him, except tears and bad memories evidently.
I ran down the streets through darkness and snow and damned well froze my ears off. The precinct was warm but not inviting at all, had an unpleasant formality that made you feel as insignificant as possible.
"Mr. Gilmore-" Whitworth started when he saw me.
"Where the hell is he?"
"Just calm down and wait here a moment," Whitworth's eyes were puffy and red, working long hours on Christmas must do that to a guy. "He's just…cleaning up."
I sighed and paced.
"Turkish…" His use of my first name made me seethe. "I know you don't like this, but I've known Tommy since he came to London when he was eleven. In fact," He pointed at Antwerp clutched frightfully in my arms. "I gave him that bear. It was going to be a present for my niece but I left it with him in the warehouse once. He doesn't know it's me so don't tell him," He sighed. "There were times when he'd be in here every other day for one reason or another. He's come a long way and he was doing so well and I know he's tearing himself up about this, so go easy, okay?"
I didn't know what to say to this so I didn't say anything.
"Turkish!" I turned at the sound of his voice and suddenly had an armful of Tommy, trembling and cold.
"Shh, Tommy, it's okay now," I rubbed circles on his back as he cried into my chest. "Here," I wrapped his coat around him and handed him Antwerp.
"Thank you," He managed through sobs and he crushed the teddy bear to his chest, still leaning to mine. "I'm sorry…he was supposed to be for you,"
"I know Tommy. That's very sweet of you. It's okay. Thank you."
"So I have to ask," Whitworth interrupted our reverie. "Do you want to bring charges against the person who did this to Tommy?"
I looked down at my diamond in the rough and saw the bruises, the cuts and his puffy lips, say the way he cringed at the feel of my hands on his back. I pulled them away as if they had been burned and gently touched his shoulders.
"Shit, Tommy, I'm sorry. Who did this?"
"It was just," He shuddered and took a deep breath. "It was just Dr. Anderson. It's all right, I know him." He refused to meet my gaze.
"Tommy," I cupped his chin and moved his face to look at me. "What did he do?"
Tears spilt over the huge dark eyes. "Nothing he didn't pay for."
"Do you want to press charges?" Whitworth asked again. I looked down at Tommy, who was shaking his head frantically.
"Why not?" I asked gently.
"They'll never believe me Turkish," He explained. "I'm just a whore, I was asking for it."
"Tommy, that's not true,"
"That's how they'll see it. And they'll find out all these things about you and I don't want that." He stared at me pleadingly. "Please, Turkish, let's just forget about what happened and go home. I promise I won't go out to the streets again, I mean it, I'll try way hard this time. Please?"
I felt a will to live slowly re-enter my blood. I sighed and looked at the bobby. "Tommy doesn't want to," I said.
Whitworth nodded slowly and smiled at Tommy. "Alright then. Merry Christmas. You take care, Tommy."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
The walk home was brutal. The winds picked up and snow as blowing everywhere and Tommy's tears were freezing in his eyes. I ended up wrapping him in my own coat close to my chest and carrying him the last little way. It was hard, he had gained weight since we met, and I suppose that's good.
We got home and I ran warm water in the tub and clumsily helped him out of his clothes, wincing at what I found underneath, while he flinched from my touch and cried his little heart out.
I helped him into the tub and held him there for a while, whilst he cried into my arm. I held him there and stroked his head and whispered soothing words. Then I cleaned.
Oh, what a feat. Dried blood everywhere, bruises almost everywhere I touched. It wasn't so bad in the parts I was much concerned with, he said he was 'just beaten around a bit' but that didn't put any of my fears to rest. I sighed and set to work on his delicate little feet and hands and we spent a lot of time like that, holding each others' hands, staring sadly at each other.
It was surreal.
I helped him out and dried him off gently, helping him into an old set of clothes of mine like the first time I had found him, and carried him to bed, my bed. I tucked him in gently while he stared up at me, holding Antwerp protectively.
I ruffled his hair a bit and bent to plant a gentle kiss on his forehead.
"I'm sorry," He whispered. "I'm sorry I let this happen and I'm sorry I didn't listen to you,"
"Shh," I kissed him again, I couldn't get enough of it. "It's okay,"
He sighed, shaky. "You can take me if you want…" He offered, hopefully.
"No…Tommy," I sighed and tucked him in a little tighter, for no other reason than just to be near him.
"Why not?"
I sighed. "Because I love you." It was easier now that I had already said it.
"I love you." He bit his lip. "I'm used to it. My dad did it to my mom all the time. S'why I ran away."
I sighed and blinked back a tear and leaned in to nuzzle the side of his face. "No more, Tommy," I whispered. "It's over, you're safe now."
"Then why not?" His dark eyes pleaded with me, hurt.
"You're too young,"
"Why not? Give me a real reason." Whining now.
"Because I love you, Tommy, I don't want to do this to do if you don't really want it."
"But I do want it."
I stroked his face. "Two people have to love each other back for it to work."
"I love you. I told you that."
"I don't think you love me the way I love you,"
"Please, Turkish," He grabbed on to my shirtsleeve. "I need to know it doesn't hurt, I need to know it's okay." He sighed. "You know that time I kissed you? On the lips?" He flushed. "That was my first kiss." He smiled at me. "I liked it."
I looked at those dark eyes and that trembling lip and I was lost.
And gently, lovingly, I showed him. Just with my mouth, and my hands, I showed him.
And I liked it too. Funny, never thought I would.
I look back now on what happened then and I smile. We slept like that almost every night, I holding my most prized possession and he holding his. Not anymore, though, Tommy outgrew that and Antwerp sits on the self. He finished his school, and last year I sent him travelling through the continent by himself in another caravan. It was the most worrisome three months of my life, but he pulled through.
And then we got that damned dog, and with it came the diamond. A diamond fit for my diamond in the rough. We're still figuring out what to do with it. At least we can stop worrying about anything else though, that much we know.
But back then, on that first time, Tommy lay with his head on my chest and smiled a smile that did an ego good.
"I'm happy," He finally said.
"Good," I rubbed his back.
"And I'm happy for you,"
"Why?"
"'Cause I finally saved you." He leaned up over me in the darkness and kissed my forehead.
I laughed. "I always thought it was you that needed saving."
He only smiled. "Was it?"
I wrapped my arms around him and placed a loving, chaste kiss right on his lips. I drifted off to sleep secure in the knowledge that I had found a purpose, a meaning, in my diamond in the rough.
But what do I know about diamonds? I'm a boxing promoter. That's it. That's all. Tommy is my partner. That doesn't mean we hold hands and take windy walks.
But that also doesn't mean we don't enjoy the occasional snuggle.
End.
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