Page 64 of Inbetweeners
He knocked gently on the bathroom door. “Harry missed that consequence of drinking too much. Are you okay? Need anything?”
Emmett came out wearing just his shorts, carrying a glass of water. He still looked gorgeous, but uncomfortably pale.
“I’m fine now. Cleaned my teeth three times. Don’t forget to tie yourself to me.”
Nix got ready for bed, thinking Emmett would be fast asleep in moments, but he was still awake when Nix came back into the bedroom. Nix brought a tie to the bed, but didn’t fasten their wrists together. “Are you going to be dragging me out of bed every few minutes to throw up or piss?”
“I’m pretty sure that even if you squeezed me very hard, no liquid would come out. I’m empty.”
“Yet you need to drink more. Water though.”
“Harry left something else off his list of alcohol-related behaviour,” Emmett said.
“What’s that? That you get desperate for sex when you’re pissed?”
Emmett looked at him. “Not that desperate.”
“Fuckhead.” But Nix chuckled.
“I find myself feeling rather vulnerable, with a wish to tell you why I’m such an abject misery.”
“I’m listening. Then tell me getting drunk makes you feel horny.”
“Do you want to fucking know or not?” Emmett’s eyes blazed. “I heard what you and Harry were saying about how lucky I was to have had that house, the pool and tennis court and the rest.” He gave a choked laugh. “I wasn’t lucky. I’d have swapped all of it for parents who cared about me.”
Nix sucked in his cheeks. Did Emmett think he was the only boy who’d had shitty parents?
“No, I don’t think I’m the only one who had fucking horrible parents. And no, I can’t read minds, I can see it on your face.”
“I—”
“Just let me tell you.”
Nix nodded.
“Imagine a boy with two younger siblings. Imagine a boy who never heard one positive comment or kind word come from either of his parents’ mouths. His siblings gobbled up the little praise there was, and what was left for him was disgust and disdain.”
Nix found that hard to believe, that parents would treat one child so differently from the other two.
“And I yeah, I can see in your face that no parent would be like that. Hate one kid and not the other two. But you’re wrong. If I did well at school, it was because it was easy. If I won a prize, it was because the standard was low. If I made a meal, no matter how it tasted, my parents found it unpalatable. My mother led the way and my father followed. My mother called me ugly, she laughed at the way I looked, at the gap I used to have between my teeth, my ears which used to stick out, my hair which still sticks up. If I didn’t keep my room perfectly tidy, she wrecked it, threw all my stuff everywhere and told me to tidy it all up. Then when I had, she messed it up all over again. I was never good enough.”
“She sounds psychotic.”
“When I was old enough to understand what the words meant, I thought she was schizophrenic, bipolar or just crazy. She could change in an instant. It was as if she had two people inside her and one, the horrible one, came out just for me. So, I stopped trying to be good because being good didn’t get me anywhere. Well, it did, it got me into trouble and at first, I didn’t care. I wanted to give them something to hate me for until I realised I was only hurting myself. So, I closed down, closed up and behaved like the Stepford son she wanted. I just accepted unhappiness as normal.”
Nix wanted to take hold of Emmett’s hand but he was worried he’d pull away.
Emmett took a shaky breath. “My father used to have me stand in front of him and he’d ask me questions that I couldn’t answer. Maths that was too hard or stuff like why is the sky blue—when I was just five years old. And when I didn’t know or I guessed wrong, he mocked me for my stupidity.”
“And never your brother and sister?”
“No. They were strict with them too, but not like they were with me. I was five when my brother was born. The damage had been done to my self-esteem. I was made to stay at home on my own when they went on day trips to the seaside. My mother would whisper that she didn’t want to see my miserable face when they were having a lovely day. I was never happy, but it was their fault. I kept saying I was sorry because I thought that was what they wanted to hear, but it wasn’t. They continued to torment me so I stopped saying sorry, stopped reacting to what they said, as best I could. I thought not reacting might make them stop, because surely all they were after was for me to be upset, but it made little difference.
“When my brother was six, he started in on me too. He gave me a sandwich to eat, said he’d made it especially for me, then told me there was a worm inside it. I hit him. It was September the ninth, I remember the date, and I was told that year I’d get no Christmas presents. I didn’t. You think I’m exaggerating, but I’m not. My brother was never mean again. He tried to give me chocolates out of his stocking that Christmas and my mother stopped him. Punished me, not him.”
Nix had thought his childhood had been awful and it had been, but… “Did you tell anyone?”
“There was no point. They never laid a finger on me. Literally. No beatings, but no kisses, no cuddles either. It was all cruel words and unpleasant punishments. My version of events compared to theirs would never have been believed. They were adults; I was a jealous, wilful child. And now I find they didn’t even honour my wishes. I wanted to be an organ donor. I had the card in my wallet and they denied me that. They dumped my ashes in the woods I hated because I was scared to go in there after the tales they told me.”
