People=Shit

Chapter 21

Chapter 21- Oli

"Lee found the video on Mr Basset's laptop," Oli informed Lucy, sitting down next to her on the sofa. "He went back in after Mr Taylor told them all to clear out. Legend. And then, uh, he called the police. And Officer Yajima saw us, so she picked us up. Yeah, that's the story."

Lucy nodded.

Oli sighed, chewing his lip anxiously. She hadn't spoken to him since they'd gone in for questioning.

"Can I touch you?" he asked, feeling a bit disconcerted.

Lucy smiled weakly, leaning into him. Oli wrapped both arms around her and buried his face in her hair.

"I love you," he murmured quietly. "And I'm not on drugs anymore."

Lucy started crying.

Oli held her tighter.

"Oh, Oli, Lucy..." a very tearful Carol Sykes gushed as she entered the room, with Ian in tow.

"Told you," Oli said weakly. "Told you he was a nonce."

"I'm so sorry," Carol tried to compose herself, sitting beside Oli. "Oli, I-"

"Yeah, whatever," Oli shrugged her comforting hand off his shoulder, "Just, can we go home?"

Ian and Carol looked at each other cautiously.

"We can't take Lucy unless her mum gives permission," Ian explained, softly, glancing at Lucy who was still crying into Oli's chest, "And nobody's been able to get in contact with Helen."

Oli sighed in understanding.

"So we're stuck here?"

"We can take you-"

"Dad! I'm not leaving Lucy."

Lucy chirped up a bit at that, which lifted a few grey clouds from Oli's thoughts. She sat up straight on the bench and took Oli's hand, interlacing their fingers.

Oli stared at their hands, and he felt a smidge of hope flare in his stomach. They could make it through this.

The ketamine had worn off about an hour ago, and the police had actually been quite cool about it, or as cool as a police could be when it came to Class B drugs. He'd gotten off with a warning and a pamphlet for some sort of rehab thing to go to at weekends, which his mum was rather excited by.

Maybe he'd try it.

Oli felt like such a dick. There were like starving kids in Africa and shit, people in sweatshops working fifteen hours a day nonstop ever since their sixth birthday. These were people who had no choice. Their lives were shit, and there was nothing they could do about it.

Oli's life should've been fine. He'd been the one to fuck it up, despite being fortunate enough to have access to free healthcare and free education, amongst the other perks of living in a developed country, or whatever they called the UK in Geography lessons. He had two loving parents, a largely annoying but also quite sweet brother and the best friends in the whole wide world. He was so lucky. And he hated himself so much for throwing all that away.

The nice counsellor at the rehab centre would go on to tell him that he hadn't thrown anything away, and he could still go to university, still be in a world class band, still have a future. And he shouldn't have had access to the drugs in the first place, nor should he have been in a mentally vulnerable state which led him to accept them. It wasn't entirely his fault. While there were admittedly bigger problems in the world than his life, it was much more solvable than world poverty.