✓ | 2. young blood [STEVE HARRINGTON]

four.

CHAPTER FOUR:
NIGHTMARES

[ THE POLLYWOG PART I ]

❖ ❖ ❖

           By the time Thomas arrived home, a bruise had well-and-truly blossomed on his cheek after Billy's punch, and he'd already prepared himself for the lecture he'd undoubtedly get from Joyce; surely, he'd be grounded for at least a week, considering the fact that he'd pulled one year's worth of teenage rebellion into one night: out past curfew, at a party, where he got in a fight?

           Quite an achievement. Something like that could be expected of Steve, maybe, but Thomas? Thomas wasn't the type to do that shit.

          Well, until now.

           When he arrives at the end of the driveway, Joyce was stood on the porch, still in her work uniform and cloaked in shadow, the only light being the orange, flickering circle at he end of her dying cigarette. Thomas puffed out a breath, willed himself not to lose his temper, which had been lit like a fuse ever since Steve had left him in the dust back at the party, and started toward the door.

            He ignored Joyce, stepping into the silent house, and he only knew she followed him by the slam of the door. "You're twenty minutes past curfew, Thomas!" she chastised in a yell, as Thomas started for his bedroom, and she followed him. "You sneak out of the house, with no note, no nothing, and now you're ignoring me?" Her voice is shrill, frantic, fuming. "And then Jonathan comes home, and says you went to a party?"

             Hoping ignoring her would succeed in diffusing the argument, Thomas stormed into his bedroom, swinging up an arm behind him to send a jet of blue at the door in an attempt to shut it, before, with a slam! Joyce caught it against her hand and then, with another slam! sent it crashing against the wall to keep it open.

             "Oh, really?" she yelled, shrilly, jabbing her finger in a point at him, prodding air viciously. "You're using your powers on me now?"

          Thomas couldn't help it. He told himself not to — that this was Joyce, that she meant well, that this was a dangerous world they lived in and she was just trying to keep him safe — but he'd been set off too many times already that night, and it was about time he exploded.

         So he did.

          "They are not powers!" he bellowed. "They are not a gift, not a good thing, not special!"

           Joyce pulled her lips tight. "You know that's not what I'm mad about, Thomas," she growled. "What-what's with you today, huh? You wake up this morning and, all of a sudden, you decide you're not gonna act like yourself anymore? Y-you're gonna go to parties, you're gonna let me worry?"