"Why ?"
A perfectly innocuous little word in its own way, is 'why'. However, once you start bunging other words after it, it is apt to get complicated. Those three little letters then become instruments of torture, especially when wielded by an expert like Jack.
"Why ?"
Jack calmly repeated the dratted word, but didn't expand on it. This was a favourite device of his and it drove me barmy. He assumed that I knew exactly what other words he intended to follow on from that tiny verbal starting block. I squirmed uncomfortably and concentrated on tracing the toe of my shoe around a swirl on the carpet. It was the first word that Jack had spoken to me since collecting me from my sister's house. I suppose I should have been grateful that he was speaking to me at all. I would, however, have preferred it to be any other word but 'why'. 'Why' always led to trouble, for me that is. I remained silent, taking refuge in a self-pitying sulk. I sensed, rather than saw, him draw himself up to his full height of six foot and a bit, and fold his arms.
"I'm waiting, young man."
Bear in mind that I was tired and stressed. Thus far it had been a truly direful weekend (i.e. crap). Thus far I had been walloped by Jack, walloped by Dennis, I was worried about Ally and now Jack was intent on making me squirm like a maggot on a pin. I'm not good with stress. I'm even worse with guilt and for some obscure reason I did feel guilty. Guilt was a new concept for me. I didn't care for it much and I was fighting it all the way. Jack obviously wanted some kind of confession from me, possibly even penitence. I, on the other hand, wanted to forget all about everything. I wanted to store the disastrous dinner with Tristan away in the 'it never really happened' folder, or if it did, the 'it was nowt to do with me' box.
Retrospectively (as ever) I did the worst thing I could do in the circumstances. I stamped. Yes, dear reader, I actually stamped. "But what are you waiting for ?" I yelled, doing a passable impression of Fred Astaire dancing a fandango. "All you've said so far is 'why' ? Why what ? Why's a word, not a question in itself. You can keep saying why and I can keep saying what and we'll be here all fucking night !"
Alas, the floodgates opened with that one profanity. I went into Anglo-Saxon overload.
"Just ask the full fucking question, cos I'm not a fucking mind reader and I'm fucking sick of being fucking picked on by everyone. Tristan picks on me. You pick on me. Dennis picks on me, even the fucking cat picks on me. I notice it never leaves a hair ball on your side of the bed. I bet if I was taller no one would pick on me. SEE ! Even God picks on me, it's his fucking fault I'm only little in the first place."
Incidentally, the second worst thing I could do in the circumstances, linguistically speaking, was multiple fucking. Before I had chance to utter another expletive I found myself at the kitchen sink foaming at the mouth like a rabid fox, as Jack vigorously brushed my teeth and tongue with a soft toothbrush coated in Fairy Liquid. I tried to grab the brush away from his hand, while yelling bad names at him through a mouthful of lemon-scented foam and kicking at the front of the sink unit.
"I've had more than enough of that foul mouth of yours, and more than enough of your tantrums." Jack flung the brush aside. "I'm bringing the curtain down on this little production."
In one fluid movement he unfastened my jeans and pulled them down along with my underpants. Wrapping his left arm around my upper body, effectively pinning my arms against my sides, he pulled me hard against him. He then bent slightly and raising his right hand began to smack my bottom. I vainly thrust my hips forward in an attempt to escape his punishing palm. He alternated spanking my backside with smacking the backs of my legs, something he'd never done before. I was soon bawling my eyes out, promising never to swear again. I tried desperately to twist out of his grip, drop to my knees, to sit down on the floor, anything to stop his hand contacting my tender person. He just hauled me back up and increased the tempo.
I developed a sudden and fervent affiliation with Joan of Arc. I knew exactly how that poor girl must have felt as the flames of fire licked their way up her legs and lower regions. After several years he stopped, and I slid to the floor with tears flowing down my face and little snotty bubbles coming from my nose and mouth as a result of the mouth washing.
"It's not fair." I leaned my forehead on the floor, reaching both hands behind myself to clutch my smouldering bottom, while hiccupping through my tears. "It's just not fair."
Jack reached down, grimly gripping my wrist and hauling me to my feet. I stumbled as he dragged me across the kitchen, seriously impeded by my jeans and pants which were still acting as shackles. Without hesitation he picked me up, draping me effortlessly over his left shoulder, bare red bum and all. "You're going straight to bed, my lad," he said. "We'll continue this conversation when you're in a better frame of mind."
"But it's only five o'clock. This is so not fair. I haven't done anything !" I wailed into the vicinity of his lower back. I might as well have saved my breath.
Jack's hand hovered over the light switch in the guest room, and he gave me a serious look. "Perhaps Tristan has a point when he says that you're too young and immature to be in a serious relationship."
I turned crossly on my side and blew a small raspberry as he turned the light off. It immediately snapped back on. I nearly wet myself.
"Did you say something, Daniel ?"
"Just clearing my throat, Jack."
"Hmmm." The light went back off.
As soon as the coast was clear I crept to the bathroom and turned the tap on as quietly as I could, putting my mouth around it and letting the water run over my revoltingly soapy tongue. On the way back to the guestroom, I paused outside the bedroom I usually shared with Jack and felt the tears start to my eyes again. Perhaps I wasn't ready for this kind of relationship ? Maybe I should just go home to Dennis and Alison and grow up a bit more ? I made my way back to my place of banishment and lay miserably in bed listening to the muted tones of Jack's voice as he conversed with Mistoffelees the cat. He was nicer to the rotten moggy than he was to me.
I lay on my side, gingerly rubbing my sore bottom and legs. Apart from the fact that it had really hurt, the leg-smacking had scared the hell out of me. It somehow served to emphasise that, as far as Jack was concerned, I had totally overstepped the mark. He really would dump me after tonight, I was sure of it. I cried so much that I eventually fell into a sleep of sheer exhaustion.
I awoke early on Sunday morning, getting up to answer the call of nature. On the way back I paused once again outside Jack's door. It was slightly ajar and I pushed it open and looked towards the bed. Jack was sprawled on his back, one hand flung above his head, the other thrown to the side. I tiptoed across the floor, staring down at him in the dim, grey light.
He was beautiful. My heart gave a little skip at the sight of him. His long dark lashes resting against the rim of his cheek bones. The strong, straight lines of his nose, and the masculine curve of his jaw. I loved the shape of his lips and the way they felt when they were pressed to mine. I loved the way his dark hair fell down over his forehead, especially on a morning before he combed it, giving him a boyish look. I gently traced a finger along his cheek. My heart ached at the thought he no longer wanted me. I had spoilt everything, as usual. Tears ran silently down my face. I brushed them impatiently away and bent to kiss him softly on the lips; maybe for the last time.
I started violently as an arm came round my waist. A pair of warm brown eyes gazed into mine and a soft smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "That's a nice way to say good morning," he murmured, then he saw my tears. "Come here, brat." He pulled me into the bed next to him and wrapped his arms around me. I snuggled against him as his hand stroked a soothing circle between my shoulder blades.
"I'm sorry Jack."
His hand slid down my back, caressing my bottom through my shorts, then his lips found mine and I felt the familiar surge of pleasure, little electrical impulses dancing along every nerve in my body. I melted into his arms. I was forgiven and in turn I forgave. All was right with my world again.
* * *
"Aw Jack, please." I dropped my toast back on to the plate, my appetite gone. "I thought we'd sorted all this."
"Afraid not, little darling. What we had was a very pleasant interlude, it was by no means a conclusion."
He poured us both a fresh cup of coffee, moved the sugar bowl out of my reach and asked, "Why ?"
I sighed the sigh of a soul in purgatory, slouching down in my chair. "I don't wanna play this game any more, Jack."
"Sit up straight, Daniel," said Jack crisply, "and it is not a game. This is about you accepting responsibility for yourself and your actions."
"I said sorry, Jack." I pouted resentfully. I didn't want to accept responsibility for anything.
"Yes, but sorry is just a word if there's no sincerity, no understanding behind it. I want you to tell me why you have a reason to be sorry. I don't want you merely paying lip service to the word. I want you to understand the mechanisms that led you to a situation where you're obliged to feel sorry."
God, I groaned inwardly, he was determined to get some mileage out of the philosophy 'O' level he'd sat in his youth. It was like being shacked up with Socrates. I wondered if we had any hemlock handy.
"Why ?" He pointed a cautionary finger. "And I'm warning you Danny, even think of a swear word and I'll spit-roast your backside."
My pout reached competition standard. "At least give me a hint as to the content of the question."
His eyes narrowed. "Why did you choose to behave so badly towards Tristan ? You started taking digs at him the moment he stepped foot in the house."
He put unnecessary emphasis on the word 'choose' to my mind.
"He provoked me."
"Not good enough and not true."
"He did !"
"NO !"
"He looks at me in a funny way; he makes me feel silly."
"And ?"
"And what ?"
"Well, that's hardly a reason to scream abuse and throw bits of sheep at him."
Seemed perfectly reasonable to me, but I didn't dare say so. "I just don't like him."
Jack raised an elegant eyebrow, "I'd never have guessed."
"He's trying to turn you against me. I'm... I'm sure he wants you back." It came out in a rush.
Jack's eyebrow raised itself further and was joined by his other one. "What do you mean, 'back' ?"
"Well, he's obviously an old lover."
"Ah-ah," Jack shook his head, "Tristan is a good friend. We were at school together. He is not, nor has he ever been my lover."
"Bet he wants to be, though, slimy swine," I muttered.
"Do you want to spend the day in bed ?"
I looked up hopefully. "With you ?"
"With a sore backside."
I gulped, "Okay, okay, I let my dislike and jealousy run away with me. I'm very sorry. I behaved like a yob and I'll say sorry to him, I promise."
"You most certainly will." Jack paused in my interrogation to take a sip of coffee. He put the cup down, then smiled softly. "Why ?"
"Jaaack, please !"
"Why did you run off, and why did you feed Alison all that rubbish about me having forsaken you for Tristan ? You know how easy it is to hook Alison. Dennis says she's been tense for days. What she didn't need was you hyping her up even more."
I squirmed maggot style, whining "I need the loo."
"No you don't."
"Are you Lord of my bowel movements now ? Can I only crap by royal command ?"
"Did I not spank you hard enough yesterday evening ?"
"Yes," I nodded emphatically, "oh yes."
"Then watch your mouth, or I'll make last night seem like a loving cuddle." He gave me a warning look, asking firmly, "Why ?"
I did a full Gene Kelly routine in my mind, you know that one from "Singing in the Rain", where what's his face, Donald someone or other, leaps about the furniture and pounds his feet up the wall.
"Well ?" Jack's voice had an edge of impatience to it.
"It wasn't my fault." Drat, my voice had a definite whiny note to it. "I thought you'd decided I was too much trouble and that you were fed up of me. You sent me to bed on my own after I set fire to your computer. Then Tristan made you angry with me and you pushed me away; sent me to bed by myself again. Then you went to work and left me on my own – on a Saturday too. I thought you hated me. I wanted Alison and Dennis to sympathise. I wanted them on my side before you chucked me."
"In other words," Jack folded his arms and surveyed me sternly, "you were indulging in a childish fit of pique and spite. Paying me back for punishing you, even though you got what you deserved. You were having yet another 'Daniel isn't getting his own way' tantrum. Isn't that the truth ?"
"Yes, alright, yes !" I leapt to my feet and risked a small stamp, "happy now, or do you want it written in blood ?"
"Sit," he pointed to the chair, "while you're still able. Let's get a few things straight. First of all, YOU made me angry with you. It was not Tristan's doing, he's the victim here. And yes, I was furious over the computer business. I'd specifically warned you to stay away from it, but you chose to disobey me and almost burnt the house down."
"You're well insured aren't you... YEOUCH !" I yelped as Jack landed a stinging slap on my thigh.
"Insurance isn't the issue here," he wagged an admonishing finger, "trust and safety is. You blatantly went against my wishes, and you risked not only the house, but yourself in the process. You could have been electrocuted, or burnt to death, you idiot boy." Jack's eyes, that had been so warm and loving earlier, were now cooler than a polar bear's bum. "I sent you to the guest room, not because I was preparing to cast you off, but to emphasise how angry and disappointed I was with your behaviour."
He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. "Daniel, I love you. Just how much I love you has been slowly dawning on me, and that means that I can't let some of the excesses of your personality and behaviour go unchecked. Yes, if I thought of you as just a temporary fling, a bit of fluff, then I might let you get away with murder, pretend that a hug and a trite sorry made everything alright again. Fact is, Danny, it doesn't. I'm not made that way. I want more from our relationship than just a bit of brief excitement and sex. I want to share my life with you. I'm ready to settle down, love, I'm thirty-two years old. What I need to know is whether you're ready for a committed relationship of the type we have ? You're only nineteen, Danny. If you only want sex without accountability, then you must go and get it out of your system. I'll understand."
"Jack !" I darted forward, climbing on his knee, wrapping my arms around his neck. "I'm already committed to you, how can you think anything else ? I've lived with you, and all your rotten rules, for almost a year. Doesn't that tell you something ?"
"Six months, Daniel," Jack smiled as he brushed my fringe out of my eyes, "you've lived with me for barely six months."
"You're so domineering and bossy, it just feels like a year." I kissed the end of his nose to show I was teasing, partly. I felt ridiculously happy at his words, he actually wanted me around, permanently. "I'll try to behave better, I promise." I cuddled against him contentedly. "I don't know what you see in me, anyway. I'm hardly Adonis. I've got red hair, a temper to match, freckles, and..."
Jack shushed me with a finger to my lips. "And the most beautiful blue eyes I've ever seen." A blissfully long kiss followed this declaration.
Then the rule-making, law-laying, strict speaking, fun-crushing Jack re-emerged. "I want you to make the best of yourself. I won't let you mess your life up, Danny. You've got to start working harder. Don't think I haven't noticed how little college work you've been doing lately. And there are still apologies to be made, not to mention addressing the matter of your temper tantrums and appalling bad language. Then there's your propensity to run away, instead of facing up to the consequences of your actions. And... Mmm, that's nice..."
For once, he let me distract him from cataloguing all my faults.
Will our hero do the college assignments he's supposed to be doing ?
Will... bugger !
(Nearly finished, Jack... Yeah, I've done a great job with this one, reckon I'm in line for a high mark... Whaddya mean, that'll make a change ?)
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