The Undercover Bad Boy

Prologue

Prologue

The boy's hands trembled as he desperately used his fingers to comb through his hair. It was a chaos of brown and golden curls. Though the cracked mirror was covered in a layer of grime and who knew what else, he could just about make out his reflection; all the blood had drained out of his face and beads of sweat had collected on his forehead and upper lip. The only light source came from a single, flickering light bulb loosely hanging from a wire.

Every few minutes, a train would travel above him causing the entire public bathroom to shudder. The boy wasn't sure what was more violent, that or the way his heart was pumping in his chest.

It was precisely 3:02 in the morning – according to the time on his phone. Due to the untimely hour, the public bathroom was currently unoccupied.

Thank god, he thought.

If anyone had seen him in this state, they would have immediately phoned the ambulance. Or the police. The boy didn't think he would be able to handle two encounters with the authorities in one evening.

Another train passed overhead. The deafening sound reverberated through his body, disconnecting him entirely from his surroundings. It felt as if the foundations that held the building together would break at any instant. He wouldn't really have minded if the entire bathroom caved in at that moment.

He felt numb. Numb is good, he thought.

When the train was further away and the noise subsided, the boy continued to assess his condition. He removed the oversized leather jacket to reveal the torn and ripped rags that had once been his t-shirt – in fact, it had been one of his favourites. He peeled back the blood stained material to reveal deep cuts on arm and his chest.

He layered toilet paper, ran it under the tap to make it damp and then dabbed it on his wounds. He inhaled sharply and winced.

"God damn," he hissed.

Fifteen minutes later, the boy exited the public bathroom and clambered up a set of stairs to find himself roaming the streets once again. He had purchased some cheap bandages from a small 24-hour convenience store that he had used to patch himself up in the bathroom. They seemed to be holding up – for now. He also bought a white t-shirt that read 'I LOVE LONDON' to replace his previously destroyed black one. His giant leather jacket was weighing him down but he was adamant not to remove it – it covered up the hideous t-shirt.

By looking at him, you almost wouldn't have realised he was seriously injured. The only give away might be his slight, slow limp.

A backpack was slung over his right shoulder, containing all of the money he could find around his house and some other necessities. He sighed angrily as he kicked at the loose gravel. How could he let this happen? When the anger receded, panic was quick to replace it. His parent's would have been notified by now.

Only one thing was certain; he couldn't return home tonight.

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A/N: For anyone wondering, the rest of the book is written in first person :)