Beneath These Scars

chapter three

We shouldn't be doing this, he's just a kid.

Jan remembered listening to one of the policemen say this as they raided his home. It was at the end of April, when the promise of summer stretched out days and brought its welcome heat. He had been standing by the living room, staring at the men drifting around but not really seeing anything.

"Are you going to tell him that?" the other officer had replied, his voice injected with so much venom it made Jan's chest hurt.

Even with the silence that followed, Jan heard the words lingering in the air loud and clear. And they tormented him. Not the fact that his family was gone. Not that college was only three weeks away. Not that he was now completely alone.

But words that hadn't even been spoken into existence.

"This is just something we have to do," another officer had whispered fifteen minutes later. "Try to keep your emotions away."

Those words triggered the resentment in Jan, as he picked up a suitcase and left. All the way to another city, on that hot, crowded, stinky bus, all Jan could feel was hate. Hate for the family who'd started this and the town that let them continue. Hate that grew fingers and gripped his heart like dying men on the edge of a cliff.

A decade later and he still was not free. He had not even been back in Hillford for a full day and it already consumed him.

Gripping the coffee mug in his hands tightly, he let the comforting smell of ground beans fill his lungs before he took a long sip. He swirled the liquid in his mouth for a few seconds before swallowing, letting the bitter liquid infuse with his saliva and smack the inner walls of his cheek.

A couple of gulps later, the mug was empty. Jan turned towards the machine and poured himself another one. Hello cup number three.
He would keep drinking till the caffeine did it's job and he no longer felt like the living dead. Stupid jet lag.

His ringing phone cut off his thought process so he set his mug aside and pulled it out of his sweatpants. Caller ID said it was Rhea Davis. Jan let it go to voicemail. Six minutes and eleven missed calls later, he changed his mind. "What do you want, Davis?"

"I don't think that's how you're supposed to answer the phone," she teased. "Especially as this call is about to make you richer."

Jan rolled his eyes even though she couldn't see him. "I don't have time for this, I need to catch up on my sleep."

"So you don't want to hear my idea? It's more of a business strategy with a new client but—"

"No."

"You know you want to," she continued in a voice too innocent to be considered genuine. "I promise its good."

"No," he repeated vehemently because Rhea only used that voice when she was about to cash in a favour.

The sound of running water filled Jan's ear and Rhea's voice was muffled as she replied, "I'll share this amazing idea with you if you do one tiny little thing for me."

"I don't think you heard me the first time—"

She cut him off. "So, I forgot to rent an apartment and I hate this hotel and I can't spend another night here so I was wondering if I could, you know, move in with you. Temporarily. Until I find an apartment that speaks to my soul," she said in one breath.

"No."

"Jan," she whined. "Don't be mean."

"Not considering the fact that you're my employee and people will talk if they find out we live together, you're a fucking terrible housemate." Jan finished his coffee in one large gulp, letting it burn its way to his stomach.