Bad Influence by William Sutcliffe

Author:William Sutcliffe [Sutcliffe, William]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2004-02-15T05:00:00+00:00

My Room

When I catch sight of myself in the hall mirror, all bloody and appley, I understand why Olly was staring. It makes me stare, and it’s my face. But I can’t stand there for long. I have to get washed and changed before anyone sees me, or there’ll be questions.

I go straight upstairs, and I’m just going past the toilet when Donny comes out and sees me. At first he looks right through me, like normal, then he does a double take and grabs my arm to stop me getting away.

I wriggle free and run for my bedroom, but I can’t get the door shut in time. He shoves his foot in so I’m just pushing against his shoe. It’s useless. Usually he’s only in socks, and I’d be able to crunch him into submission, but today he’s got his DMs on.

Then the door starts to push back. I keep him out for maybe ten seconds, then my feet slip and he’s in. This is typical of Donny. The only time I don’t want his attention is when I get it.

He looks at my face, and gives a little wince. He reaches out to touch it, but I slap his hand away. He’s between me and the door, so I can’t escape.

‘You OK?’ he says.

Just him asking that makes me almost start to cry, and I have to sit down on the edge of my bed. Donny being nice wasn’t what I expected. The shock of it undoes all my defences.

‘Who was it?’ he says. He sounds angry.

I just shake my head.

‘Who was it?’

‘No one,’ I say, my voice wobbling.

He sits down next to me, and puts his arm round my shoulders. It feels strange at first, but then I’m glad he’s there. I can’t remember the last time he touched me friendlily. It’s probably when I was a baby. I try not to cry, and just about manage it.

Just when I’m getting used to the idea of Donny being nice, he gets up and walks out without saying anything. I hear a tap go on and off, then he comes back with a damp flannel and sits back down next to me.

‘You can’t tell Mum,’ I say.

‘This might hurt,’ he says, and he starts to dab at the apple and blood on my face. My hands are trembling now, and I sit on them so Donny won’t notice. I can’t help wincing when Donny touches the cut on my cheek, but he’s being as gentle as he can. Twice he goes back to the bathroom and rinses out the flannel.

Every so often, he tells me I’m being brave, which isn’t something he’s ever said before.

When it’s done, he says again, quietly, ‘Who was it?’

I shake my head.

‘Was it the boy from down the road?’

‘It was an accident,’ I say.

‘It was him?’

‘We were just playing.’

‘What did he hit you with?’

‘We were just mucking around.’

‘So you’re playing with him now? He’s your friend?’

‘We don’t play with him. But we do stuff with him.

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