The next few days were insane, filled with endless questions and interviews. Social services had interviewed me at great length while I was in hospital, and once they'd ascertained my life had been in danger that fateful day - after checking and cross-checking everything to make sure I hadn't baited Dad into the situation - they reversed their original decision and told me that, once I was discharged, I'd be allowed to board at the school until the end of the year, at which point I'd leave for Oxford. It was an immense weight off my shoulders, but at the same time, I knew my parents would fight tooth and nail. But the social worker told me they'd have a hard time providing evidence to prove they were still fit parents, and after the shooting, Dad was looking at a whole host of charges, both current and retroactive. Mum was also in for some charges of her own, again, current and retroactive, which eased my worries somewhat.
A few days later, I was released from hospital, but I had no belongings to take with me - Mum had destroyed everything I owned that fateful day, leaving me with absolutely nothing. I hadn't had much in the way of possessions, so this didn't hurt me too much, but it still stung that Mum had chosen to be so spiteful. Social services got to work, and between them and Principal Smiths, I was soon kitted out in much better fashion than I had been under my parents' roof. I was also offered counselling to deal with the traumas I'd suffered, and I took that offer very gladly.
After that, things more or less settled into a familiar pattern, and before long, I was feeling much better than I had for a long while. I was still rubbed raw from the emotional fallout of Dad's actions, and many were the times I'd wake up from horrific nightmares where his promised punishment of shooting me in the spine had come to pass. Phil and Dominic had requested to join me, and they were instrumental in soothing my worries until I could fall asleep again. My counsellor told me they were worth their weight in gold, and that I should hold onto their friendship, because it was rare for boys to bond so closely without getting called faggots. I had no arguments there; Phil and Dominic were definitely the best friends I'd ever had, and I wasn't planning on turning my back on them any time soon.
Being a boarder also had the added benefit of allowing me unfettered access to the pool whenever I wished, and whenever I had a spare few minutes, I'd head in and submerge myself for a while, letting all my fears, past and present, slip away, leaving me and the blue water. More than ever I felt safer underwater than I did on dry land, despite the overwhelming support I was getting on the surface, but no one questioned me, or harrassed me. Even my former bullies came to my rescue, and I found myself bonding with them in a way I didn't think I would, which proved an unexpected blessing when I found out they too had been abused, like Phil and Dominic.
Time passed, and before I knew it, the end of the school year was upon us. Phil and Jerome would be coming to Oxford with me, while Dominic and Joe would be heading to Manchester. We all promised to keep in touch as we parted ways for the last time that afternoon, and though I was nervous about what the future held, especially considering I still had my parents' trial to go to in the new year, I felt better knowing that I had friends - and my underwater world - with me every step of the way.
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