Tell Me a Story

Rebellious

It was coming up on ten o clock and Jake had still not started home.  The sky was dark and it had started to drizzle but that was not important. If the skies had opened up and a flood of biblical proportions had assaulted the Earth Jake would still not have moved. Not yet.

He checked the scratched dial of the plain watch he had carried for at least five years and saw it was 3 minutes to ten. Almost two hours past his curfew. Right now at home his father would be drumming his fingers on the desk, staring at the old, ornate, clock on his desk, his cheeks growing a violent purple colour as frustration mounted over the absence of his eleven year old boy. His mother would be in the kitchen, uncorking her second bottle of expensive wine and would probably not notice Jake’s absence until it was pointed out to her and, by that point, she would likely be too far under the thumb of the alcohol to care either way.

The second hand on his watch marched relentlessly on as he watched it and he pledged to stay out until at least ten past – a new record. Then he would wonder slowly home, attempting to think of his latest excuse as he went. He probably wouldn’t escape his father’s excitable fists altogether, but with a good excuse he could at least reduce his physical punishment to a minimum.

The rain began to pick up and Jake receded against a dirty wall down the alley he was spending his evening in. A broken and old gutter several floors above him protected him from the worst of the shower and he pulled the hood of his top up to protect his thick black hair. He raised out a hand in front of him and watched the droplets splatter onto his palm with explosions of water. This alone was enough to hypnotise his mind for the next couple of minutes.

His mind was pulled back into focus by a honking horn. The rain had now gone from shower to borderline downpour and the sleeve of the arm he held out was drenched through. He hadn’t even noticed. Above him the drain swelled with water, looking as if any moment it would snap from the wall and come tumbling down on top of Jake, drenching him with the collected water.

Jake’s eyes trailed down to his shoes. They were expensive – just like the trousers and shirt he was wearing – and now they had soaked through right into his socks so it felt like was standing in a swamp. No doubt they were ruined and that would certainly bring his mother out of her drunken stupor and to the punishment party. Maybe she would team up with his father like a kind of punishment tag team. Her sharp tongue and his father’s heavy hands. He chuckled at the thought.

The horn honked again and this time Jake’s head snapped round. Through the constant sheets of rain he saw a small dark car, sitting at the edge of the alley. He craned his neck forward, feeling the rain attack and drench his hood the moment he left the relative protection of the drain.

From his current distance of about fifteen feet he could not make out who was in the car. Definitely not his father – who’s cars generally cost more than some studio flats – and not one of the maids either. They would not be allowed out of the house, even if the Roland’s only son was missing.

Someone else then. In one of his father’s many lectures Jake had been warned about strangers, about why not to go with them. It was the same lecture Jake had been warned always to be home by eight o clock and, as much as Jake liked to push his boundaries, to rebel against his father’s wishes… he knew this was one time he would no doubt be better off listening.

The car didn’t honk again but neither did it move, and Jake found himself staring over at it, almost transfixed. Over the last few months he had come home late regularly. He had slacked off at school. He had even started a few fights although he always came off worse due to his small size. All this just to get something out of his parents that resembled care or interest. But all he ever got was anger from his father at being disobeyed, and complete disinterest from his mother. No matter what he did.

His feet started moving without his permission. He moved completely out from under the drain and fought his way through the relentless rain which now seemed to be facing towards him, pushing him back, as if warning him not to make such a stupid mistake. He ignored it and kept moving, heading towards the car that sat patiently at the end of the alley.

He didn’t stop until he reached the back door of the car. Here he paused, allowing his mind to kick back in momentarily, to scream warnings at him that this was not a good idea. He was almost ready to listen – to run home and dry up, to feel the fear his head told him he should be feeling.

The front door opened and a man stepped out swiftly. He was tall and slim with bright blonde hair that immediately turned several shades darker as the rain washed through it. He had piercing blue eyes and a smile that tried to be welcoming but looked more desperate. He rested his arms on the drenched roof of his car and looked over at Jake on the other side.

“You shouldn’t be out this late,” he said with a concerned voice that was as put on as his smile. “Especially not in this weather.” A pause then: “let me drive you home.”

Jake stared up at the man in front of him and almost laughed. It was a lie so obvious even a five year old would have seen through it. His eyes glanced down the empty street. The rain meant he couldn’t see more than twenty feet ahead and his eyes fixed on a roadside drain. It had filled up and now water was spilling back out of it. A flood was coming. If he ran he would be caught in a matter of seconds. He looked back at the blonde man.

“Come on,” continued the helpful stranger, “your mum and dad will be worried about you.”

Jake thought about his parents. His father sitting in his study, trying to work while figuring out what nasty punishment he would inflict on his son when he finally walked through the door. Maybe he would use his fists. Maybe he would go one further and use his belt, or maybe a coal from the fire. His mother would by this point likely be passed out on the sofa, the booze having transformed her from disinterested to delirious. She wouldn’t remember she had a son until the morning, and she would be straight in the spirits when she woke up and would have forgotten him again by ten am.

“No,” Jake said, eventually, “they won’t.”

And with that, he got in the back of the car, closing the door on the pounding rain and any chance he would be home tonight.

This was true rebellion – he thought.