Sinner's Prayer

The Edge of Seventeen

In all of Jack's seventeen years he'd never imagined he could feel such dread, such shame. Not like he did in that moment, sitting in an old metal chair in the middle of the police station, bouncing his leg nervously as his ocean eyes fixated on the seedy tiles below.

It had started with an older Sam Greene and the seat of his Chevy pickup. He'd had Jack against the passenger window, taking his breath away with each thrust of his hips. It was just them and the crickets chirping outside and breathless pleas.

That is until the cabin of the truck flooded with a blinding light from the sheriff's cruiser, the two of them unable to separate and tug their discarded clothes on quick enough before there was a tap on the window. Jack's blood had frozen in his veins, panting hard from a moment of intimacy and an impending panic attack because he'd still been struggling with his jeans.

Sam had squinted with mossy eyes against the sheriff's spotlight, pale and defeated. Green plaid unbuttoned, lean chest moving with his own heavy breaths.

Jack was removed from the truck, and Sam was ordered to follow them back to the station.

There were lines of questions seeing as Sam was a legal adult, twenty two years compared to Jack's minor status. Sheriff Barker had asked if there'd been any coercion, if Jack had been pressured into something he didn't want any part of but he hadn't been.

If anything, he'd jumped the other man as soon as he'd parked the truck, out by the creek- supposedly hidden by the trees.

It wasn't enough, Jack thought bitterly.

As easy as it'd be to let Sam take the fall for this, Jack couldn't lie. So now, he was waiting on a parent to come and pick him up, presumably his father. The thought alone was terrifying. The moment Sheriff Barker had told him that his folks had been contacted it'd felt like his entire world was crashing down. He couldn't imagine what must have been said over that phone call, what words were shared.

Regardless, he knows the reaction couldn't have been pretty.

Jack squirms, mind racing to all the things he was to be faced with as he sat there. He doesn't have much longer to debate, Sheriff Barker, a middle aged man with a hooked nose and narrow eyes, steps out into the hall not a moment later, boots knocking against the tile, metal spurs clicking and his thin lips pull into a tight line.

Jack doesn't look up at him, but he hears the man clear his throat as he stops short in front of the brunette.

"Yer pop's here, son," he informs. Jack feels his chest constrict at that, pulse suddenly racing as he's overwhelmed with anxiety.

He merely nods, keeping his head down before he slowly stands. There's hesitancy to his steps as he follows the officer to the lobby, staying behind him as his stomach churns.

There's a thousand eyes on him it feels. Other officers peered over their desks with following eyes, sticky and wet like peaches.

Jack could see them twisting stories in their minds, and could feel the weight of their silent judgment as he walked through the station.

It's nothing compared to the way John Twist stands, a sternness over his face that Jack's accustomed to. However, there's a coldness to his glare as he watches his son enter the room. Barker steps aside so that Jack can pass but the brunette almost feels as if he shouldn't.

He does so sheepishly, baby blues finding the floor once more as his cheeks start to burn.

"Let's go," is all his father says, a demanding edge to his voice that chills Jack to the bone.

He follows obediently to the car, head down like a dog with its tail between its legs. The tension is thick as he slides into the passenger seat, waiting for his father to light him up with his fury.