Chapter 31: A Friend in Need
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But he didn't stay down unfortunately – kept passing in and out. It didn't matter what he tried to say, his father simply refused to listen. All that he could do was to curl up in a ball on the floor and try to protect his head and stomach as best he could.
If someone had asked Daryl how long his father kept up his assault, he would have had no idea. It probably only lasted a couple of minutes at most but to him it felt like hours what with the terror that his father wouldn't know when to stop before he delivered one blow too many and it would all be over.
Permanently.
Daryl had never seen him so enraged and that was saying something. Just because he'd got it in his stupid head that his son might be gay.
Before he temporarily lost consciousness again, Daryl remembered fearing that his father had broken his nose. In hindsight, it would seem a trivial fear as it was the least of his problems and after all, it wouldn't be the first nor the last time.
Will gave his son one last savage kick to his ribs for good measure before he stumbled out of the room, mumbling 'Stubborn little shit.'
As soon as he deemed it safe to make a sound, Daryl groaned and clutched his middle and sides. He started to breathe hard and fastin panic as he came to more gradually. His head was throbbing and blood was trickling down from more places than he could count or even feel. Mostly, however, he was distracted by the pain in his side which muted all the others because that final kick had been ruthlessly precise in its delivery. He prayed that his ribs weren't broken again 'cos it was a bitch of a healing time. Luckily, Daryl could tell as he slowly got up to his feet that they were only badly bruised.
The only thing he had in mind was that he was set on getting the hell out of there as he stuffed some cotton up his nose to stop the bleeding temporarily and limped over to the window and cranked it open. For some reason, in his state of dazed confusion, he thought he was in Merle's room and he breathed a sigh of relief when he stopped himself just in time from climbing out. He shook his head at his own stupidity as he looked down to the ground. He would've been clinging to nothing but air instead of the pipe on the wall that was an arm length away from Merle's window, which made it possible to get down that way. One mere second later, he would have had a nice long fall down to the ground.
Maybe to his death.
But Daryl was so terrified of his father coming back to finish him off right then that he would have preferred that risk to staying in the house another second with him.
He would never be able to sleep – not with the pain and the need to be on constant alertfor his dad's footsteps approaching his bedroom door.
Besides, where could he go? Merle wasn't around. It took him a while before it alldawned on him - he did have someone else to turn to.
So without delaying a moment in his desperation, he made a makeshift rope by tying a bed sheet with his thin coverlet to his bed legand prayed that it would be long, not to mention strong enough to hold and not break under his weight.
A fall with the injuries he already had was just begging for another visit to the hospital, complete with more looks of pity and suspicion from the doctors and nurses who wouldn't believe them – not this time. No matter what cock-and-bull story Daryl and his Dad made up. Then again, Daryl wondered if his father even loved him enough now to care about taking him to hospital.
He doubted it.
..
Was he downstairs? Daryl didn't think so – he'd heard him stomp to his own bedroom and shortly after he'd heard his father slamming the door shut.
Even so, Daryl still felt the urgent need to work quickly and quietly to avoid raising the bastard's suspicions and alerting him, but then when he heard no noise of stirring, he continued what he was doing undeterred.
He grit his teeth against the pain radiating from multiple places on his body as he slowly lifted up the corner of the heavy desk and placed it as closeas he could to the window. He tried to wipe the worst of the blood off from his face, because really, what good was being careful if you couldn't see? But he soon gave up when it just kept on bleeding, no matter what he did.
The blood was the least of his concerns at the moment and he wasn't worried – he knew that it had to stop sometime.
He found himself staring at the 'rope' and for a moment he was frozen, unable to make the next move. His father would see it no doubt when he woke up and there really was no way for Daryl to hide what he'd done. Then he snorted quietly in scorn. Why bother hiding that he'd run away out of the window?
His dad would probably guess where he was too, especially as tomorrow was Saturday. Not that he could have gone to school in his state, even if it was just another week day. Probably would be holed up at home for days just like so many other times before when his father had gotten too enthusiastic with his fists.
Or his old steel-capped work boots.
Finally, he gathered up a few necessary belongings before stuffing them into his bag which he then threw out of the window before him.
The worst of the pain in his side and his stomach was temporarily replaced by butterflies as his full body weight now was straining on the home-made rope. To his surprise, it didn't break.
He landed with more pain than he dared to think about but he didn't care as he scanned his father's window for his silhouette or a light to alert him to start running straight away before he aimed a mental 'Fuck you!' at him with a strange mix of triumph and defiance.
Relief washed over him when there was no sign of his father – he was still afraid of that brute who could be even now ranging the walls looking for him like that half-man, half-bull monster of old.
Of course – bastard must have passed out on his bed by now. Yet Daryl felt confused, angry, hurt and abandoned all at once. Suddenly, it felt like a hand was squeezing his throat almost cutting off his air-supply.
He instantly knew why, he missed Merle. Even his rudeness, his relentless teasing and his filthy sense of humour. Hell, everything about him. But mostly he missed the occasional tenderness he showed him from time to time. Like the spontaneous quick hugs or Merle's hands ruffling his hair or his brother's smiles on days when he was otherwise pissed at the world. But never at Daryl.
Never at him.
Merle's scowls and glares were reserved for others and no matter how much Merle mocked and teased, Daryl knew that his older brother had a soft spot when it came to him.
The three weeks alone with his father had been more or less OK. But Daryl always knew that it wouldn't take long before he reverted to his old inebriated, abusive, angry and bitter self as soon as an excuse presented itself. This time it had been a combination of jealousy over the fact that Daryl was spending more time with a family that wasn't him, and the rumour going around about his underage teenage son and the teacher had been the icing on the cake.
The youngest Dixon's thoughts were spinning in his head –his Dad, Rogers, Eric but mostly they settled on his absent big brother. He wondered where Merle was and what he was doing. If he was OK.
Before Daryl knew it, he was in Eric's backyard, it was like he'd gotten there almost as if he was in a daze. He grit his teeth at the sharp pain from his sides as he picked some pebbles up and threw them up at Eric's window because he wanted to avoid waking up his parents. He didn't want to particularly stand on their porch in the early hours with his beat-up face and body on display either. That wasn't something he was in a hurry to experience.
He knew of course that they would ooze sympathy and compassion, be willing to do anything they could to help, but he just couldn't stand the humiliation of them knowing, seeing him as a victim. Also, something inside him still wanted to protect his dad.
Whatever he'd done.
Daryl knew that like their son, they were good people. They probably wouldn't even mind that he'd disturbed their good night's rest and they would do their best tomake him feel a bit better, clean him up and tend his injuries. Sometimes he wished they were his real parents and Eric was his brother but he couldn't give up Merle. He'd have to have the both of them.
A small smile tugged at his lips as he pictured Merle mocking Eric like he would him at times when that mood struck him. He'd bet Eric would be offended, where Daryl was used to that kind of behaviour from hisbrother. Merle was Merle, and now he found himself wanting him to be there so bad he even missed the way Merleoften blurred the boundary between of what was yours and what was his. Especially when it came to smokes.
After a while, a light switched on, interrupting his thoughts, and Eric's head peeked out of the slightly open window.
'Who's there?'
'It's me.'
'Wh..Daryl? Is that you?'
'Yeah.'
'Wait up, I'm comin' down. Let ya in.'
Daryl nodded absently and walked slowly towards the front of the house. He was met less than halfway by Eric who could move significantly faster than he could limp. Eric took one look at him upand down and cursed.
'What the hell did he do to ya this time, huh? If I was older, I'd sure love to pay your old man a visit. Fuckin' ass! Come on, let's get ya patched up.'
Daryl hadn't had a chance to look at himself in the mirror, but his gut feeling, and Eric's reaction told him he didn't look pretty. He dreaded what he would see.
But he was genuinelyscared to stay at home this time. He could tell that hisfather had a serious grudge against him now for lying about what had happened with Rogers. Plus being molested again by an adult man and this time his teacher. Will wasn't going to let that go anytime soon.
Daryl found himself being led to Eric's bedroom. 'I'll just get some stuff to clean you up.' A few seconds later, Eric was back and he closed the door quietly.
Daryl fought off his sense of unease and feeling of being trapped when he did that, even though he liked and trusted Eric.
'You'll have to take your shirt off.' His friend announced reluctantly, looking away.
Daryl had been expecting this and dreading it but after a lot of fidgeting, he managed to even though every bone in his body hurt.
Eric hissed when he turned and caught a glimpse of the scars on his back – he hadn't been warned.
'Jesus! They from his belt?' Eric had moved round to check his back close up. Thankfully, he didn't mention the scars from his dad's knife on his chest along with a few old cigarette burns here and there scattered on his torso. Daryl hoped that they had faded enough for someone not to see unless they went looking specifically for them.
But his scarred back was a different matter. Nobody could miss those slightly raised bumps of red scar tissue.
Daryl nodded, looking down onto the carpet shamefacedly, remembering how he'd got 20 of them all at once one time. He'd never told anyone before – well, except Merle but he knew anyway. From then on, Darylalways made sure his back was covered in front of others when possible.
'Sick bastard.' Eric hissed behind him.
Daryl still was staring down at the carpet, angry with his father for making him feel this way. Damaged and ugly and a potential source of pity for everyone, even if they meant well. Curiously, at the same time he couldn't stand to hear someone trash- mouth his family so he grabbed Eric's wrist just when he was about to start patching up his busted eyebrow.
'Don't say that. You don't know him.' He glared warningly.
'But how can ya defend him? Have you looked in the mirror lately..?'
'He ain't always like that. Jus' sometimes...he drinks too much, gets carried away, is all.'
Eric snorted disgustedly but didn't say anything.
Suddenly, Daryl was curious about how Eric's father treated him, although he kind of felt he already knew the answer from watching them together. Eric was adored, like it should be.
'Can I ask ya somethin'?'
'Sure.'
'Ya Dad ever hit ya?'
Eric shrugged. 'Not now, but he used to slap me around sometimes when I was bad as a little kid. But not very hard. Nothin' like this.'
'Uh-uh.' Daryl nodded, trying to get his head around the differences between their fathers.
Deep down, he had always known the things his father did to him and the severe extremity of most of the 'punishments' were way beyond the bounds of 'normal' discipline.
Even for Georgia.
But now he had confirmation.
Eric echoed his thoughts as he shook his head in disgust. 'But this...this is ...fuckin' abuse, man. Ya gotta tell someone 'bout it before he fuckin' kills ya one day. Can't keep lettin' him do this shit to ya.'
Daryl hung his head even lower and avoided his concerned eyes. 'He's nearly always sorry afterwards.' Hedefended him again out of habit.
'Sure, but that doesn't make it OK.'
'I know it doesn't. As for telling someone, everyone knows about it, anyway.'
'Does Merle know how bad it's got?'
'Course he does, maybe not everything but he knows what our old man's like. Did the same shit to him when he was younger. He don't beat me up as much when Merle's around – but he has to go away and work sometimes or we don't have nothin' to eat other than what we're huntin' and there ain't been much of that lately 'cause dad's been drinking more.'
Daryl blushed furiously afterwards when he realised how much he'd given away. He'd just told Eric that they were poor! So poor that they didn't always get to eat! But his dark-haired friend with olive skin that always looked tanned was so easy-going and easy to talk to that Daryl just found himself leaking information about his family situation without realising it until after. But somehow he sensed that Eric would never betray his secrets or look down on him because of them.
'That must be tough.' The other boy replied and then paused, looking at him questioningly. 'You know I can give you money if you ever need it...'
'Thanks but no thanks.' Daryl felt his face burn and he twisted his hands in his lap while he turned away. Dixons don't do charity. Even worse - Eric had said 'give' not 'lend'.
'I'll go to the bathroom and clean the worst of the blood off, OK?'
'Sure.' Eric looked away again as if sensing his embarrassment.
Daryl moved silently towards the bathroom and shut the door, locking it behind him automatically. He did want to clean himself up a little, it wasn't only an excuse to get away from Eric's shocked expression - like he beats the shit out of me is a big secret, he thought bitterly to himself. But also because he wanted to check the damage. His eyes wandered to the mirror that was hanging over the sink and he indeed was shocked.
A split lip, split eyebrow and the worst eye was swollen shut as the other sported a blue circle almost all around it. His nose was also swollen with a pretty deep gash across it. You could detect a nasty imprint of his father's knuckles and even count them. Further down on his left cheek, an ugly bruise was already forming along his jaw.
He cursed silently even as his head kept on pounding from taking so many hits to the face, as well as the initial blow, which had been hard enough to cause the back of head to slam into the wall.
He examined his torso next – more blue/black bruises down the sides and stomach where he'd beenkicked – some on top of those that had already been healing from last time. Daryl winced and sighed as he painfully pulled down his pants. His legs were an ugly sight too with their mass of bruises.
He was forced to admit that his dad had got him real good this time.
He soon found himself fighting back the tears at the pain that kept on reminding him to move with more caution as he took some tissues and wiped the blood from his face, then washed it gingerly with water. By the time he was ready to make his way back to Eric's room, it had almost stopped bleeding.
His best friend had lined the antiseptic bottle and cotton pads up on the table and soon began to work. Even though Eric was as gentle as could be, Daryl winced as the soaked cotton pad came into contact with his cuts and scrapes. When Daryl asked if he could keep his parents out of this, Eric nodded instead of answering. He was too focused on the task at hand to talk, Daryl figured.
Eric had found a tub of witch-hazel and started to rub it into the many bruises. It stung at first but then Daryl slowly started to relax into his friend's touch. He even started to really enjoy it as his shoulders got a much needed massage.
'Ya wanna take those off?' Eric jerked his head to Daryl's baggy pants.
Daryl didn't much care that his legs were a trade map of more bruises but he was more concerned with having to undress in front of another boy. Even if he was a good friend, it didn't seem decent somehow. Although they all got naked in the gym shower at school after sports.
Daryl must've given him a sharp look thenbecause Eric sighed, 'Look, I ain't a fag, like everyone's beensayin'.'
Daryl was surprised that Eric had heard the rumours – but then they probably said the same thing about him. Especially with the gossip going around about him and Rogers. The fact that neither of them hadever had girlfriends had something to do with it too.
'And even if I were a queer, I ain't gonna jus' go and jump ya bones. I know we're jus' friends.'
Eric hesitated, waiting a couple of seconds for him to argue or refuse before he started rubbing the ointment gently onto the marks on Daryl's upper body, taking extra care not to use too much pressure.
'How that feel? Better?'
Daryl stiffened at first but gradually relaxed. After a while, he wondered if it was just his imagination, or did Eric's fingers linger longer on his bruised skin than they needed to? He even worked uninjured skin over as Daryl's eyes followed every move Eric found that he didn't mind even this. In fact, his head started to nod.
'That's why he did it this time.' Daryl murmured, half to himself. Eric snapped his head round at that.
Although his attentions were making him feel sleepy, Daryl found that he wanted to talk. Needed to talk. Especially with no Merle around.
'Ya mean you're...you're...I mean, I don't care but...' Eric stuttered in shock.
'No! I ain't a fag either!' He answered, a little more harshly than he'd meant to. 'I mean... he thinks I'm gay...because he found out what happened between me and fuckin' Rogers and the fact that I didn't tell him...I mean...someone else did – he knew already and I told him nothin' happened. Thought I was lyin' to him. That I liked what that fuckin' pervert did to me!'
Eric stared at him as he took care of the last bruise on the lower part of his back. 'That's jus' crazy. Aint nobody else's fault other than that pervert Rogers'. Acts like he's scared of you. What a dick.'
'Yeah, well he knows I can pretty much ruin his life if I open my mouth.'
'So basically, what you're sayin' is that you have him by his balls.'
That got a smile from Daryl and soon they startedtalking, guffawing at shared jokes and at numerous pranks they pulled on other students. Daryl couldn't stop himself despite it reawakening the pain all over his body when he laughed.
He guessed they both needed the release.
