Hey there! This is a short story I wrote for my English literature class, so yeah, enjoy! :) And, yes, the main characters have the second names Freeman and Cumberbatch but only because I was stuck for names. My English teacher read it and went, "Cumberbatch...hhmmn, wonder where you got that from..."
I wake up in a cramped, musty flat and check my phone. Twenty-one text messages from mum begging me to come home, but I turn off my phone. I don't want to go home. I don't want to see him again. Ever. His harsh words, strong arms and the lingering stench of alcohol and tobacco. Deciding against lying in any longer, I get up and head over to the fridge, I am greeted by the scent of spoiled ham. I'll throw that out later. I pull out the milk and boil the kettle, spooning coffee granules into a mug afterwards.
I tell myself not to call my mother, to resist, as I eat my breakfast (an apple and some coffee) but a part of me - the part longing for her warm, comforting embrace - ebbs away at the reluctance.
I pull out my phone and dial my mother's number. She answers after four rings.
"Hello?" Her voice is like a drop of warmth that flows through my body.
"Mum!" I gasp.
"John!" She cries, "oh, John, where are you?"
I'm about to reply when I hear him in the background yelling and cursing at my mother. "Mum? Is that Steven?" The warmth I had previously felt is vanquished by anger.
My mother's voice is very small when she replies, "y-yes."
"Mum!" I exclaim, exasperated, "you let him stay?"
"Yes, John, I-"
But I cut across her in a hiss, "after what he did to you? To me?"
"John, look, I have to go, just come home, please. Bye, love you."
"You too," I mumble, my mum hangs up the phone and I am left feeling even more hollow than before.
The streets of London are crowded and noisy, people shoving and chattering as they blunder along. Isn't it hateful? There's a break in the crowd on my left side, I take my chance and escape from the sea of people threatning to drown me. Suddenly, a pair of hands seize me and drag me into an alleyway. I turn, fists raised, ready to defend myself when I see my captor is no man, merely a skinny boy about my agae. He is tall, though, a foot or so more than myself. Handsome, too, with a straight nose, curly raven hair and pale skin, his high cheekbones defined by a rosey flush.
"Who are you? What are you doing?" I say, sounding more brave than I feel.
"Nicholas Cumberbatch and I just saved your life," he replies in a brisk manner.
Involuntarily, my mouth drops open - like a goldfish - and I stutter, "w-what?"
"There was a sniper in that building across from where you were standing, they were planning to shoot you."
Again, I am dumbfounded. "Sorry, what?"
"That closed building is the headquaters, you stared for too long. Cup of tea?"
"I'd love some," I answer, taken aback.
Nicholas claps his hands together, "excellent! I don't believe I got your name?"
Despite everything, I can't help but trust him, "John, John Freeman."
"Well John, lets go." And I follow Nicholas down the alleyway to the cafe around the other side.
"If you don't mind my asking," I begin, taking in his ragged appearance (crumpled clothes, the sleevs tattered, mud splattered jeans, purple bags under his eyes) "what were you doing in that alleyway and how did you know it was a headquaters?"
