“I’m not doing this,” I mumbled, but the music swallowed my voice. The room was spinning. The alcohol hit me like a ton of bricks had just fallen straight on my head. She led me to the stairs, tightening her grip on my hand, turning back every so often, biting down on her lip. Pulling me towards my mum’s room, letting out snide giggles as she shut the door behind us.
What happened next, I don’t talk about. I tried to block it out as it made my skin crawl, but her perfume lingered like fucking cancer, living rent-free in my brain.
When the buzz of the crowd had faded, I was back on the porch. My head lolled into my lap, pulling my knees tight to my chest. Inside, Mum had passed out on the sofa. The woman was gone, thank fuck.
I believe her parting words were, “I’ll be seeing you again soon, lover boy.” A shudder rippled through my body. My knuckles pulsed, covered in blood from punching the bathroom mirror after the fact, shattering it against the wall. I couldn’t stop throwing up from disgust of myself and her, or maybe it was the alcohol. Either way, I felt tainted.
Happy fucking fourteenth, Screech.
By fifteen, I was just another one of Danny’s lackeys, the one they asked when Danny was too drugged up to sort them out, no questions asked. I hated the way the bags felt in my pockets and how they nodded at me as if they respected me, when really, they didn’t even see past the drugs in my hand.
I had become the very thing I despised, loitering on alleyway corners, dishing out hit after hit to countless junkies. Danny never gave a shit if one of them decided to take it too far, pulling out street-made shivs to scare me into submission. He would laugh and tell me to man up, leaving me no other choice but to harden myself against them. And disguising my childish tendencies with a fake confidence that I wore like a mask.
One thing was for certain, you could never come home empty-handed. He’d be waiting, palm out with a smug look on his fucking face. Completely ignoring the fact that new bruises were already forming on my pale skin. I think he just revelled in the thought of me getting my ass handed to me. Sick fuck.
Danny never gave me anything heavy; I hadn’t earned the right to dish out the expensive stuff, apparently.
Friday nights were the worst. Always brought out the cocky twats, looking for something to hype them up before hitting the bars. I’d been paired up with Matt, another school dropout like me. Only he looked a lot older, weathered in a way that got him into every bar without hesitation. I had my instructions: stay on the corner, guard the gear, and he will send buyers my way. That would be alright if it weren't fucking freezing outside.
Propping myself against a cold brick wall, I made eye contact with a group of four half-wasted lads as they spilled from the entrance of the bar.
“Aye, you Danny’s lad?” tilting a chin in my direction as my hands grip harder against the stash in my pocket.
“Why? Who’s askin'?” I asked, my body tensing in anticipation on what I could only imagine would be a challenging interaction. You can usually tell right away who's going to be a problem the moment they approach. Normally, I refuse and walk away, but I hadn’t made a sale yet, and my teeth were chattering against the cold.
They chuckled among themselves as they got closer to me, “Some lad inside said you were the one to talk to, so, have you got any?”
Surrounding me, the stench of booze radiated from them, “What you after?”
One stepped closer, lowering his tone as he invaded my space, “Call it £30 for a quarter of weed.”
I scoffed as he pulled crumpled notes from his pocket, waving them in front of my face, “Think you’ll find I make the prices.”
The group snickered behind him as he licked his teeth, “Alright then, how much, tough lad?”
“Let's call it £60, would have been £50 but you pissed me off, so take it or leave it.”
His expression shifted from shock to anger so abruptly I couldn’t keep up. “Fuck off! That’s too much. Don’t pay that much back home.”
“Well, if you're looking for handouts, why don’t you go ask ya mum. You’re wasting my time.” Taking a step, his hand planted me back towards the wall.
“Gobby little cunt aren’t ya.”
“Get the fuck off me—”
“Then give me what I came for.” The force of his hand pushed harder against my chest.
“Do one, ya prick.”
“Guess I'll just take it then.” My eyes widened as his fists clenched my hoodie, yanking me into the darkness of the alleyway, quickly followed by the others. Hands gripped my arms as I struggled against them; even in their drunken state, they still had strength on their side. The first blow to my gut took the wind straight out of my lungs, my body doubling over. Subsequent blows knocked me to the floor as their laughter grew.
“Hey, get the fuck off him!” A familiar tone sounded through the blood rushing in my ears. My gear scattered across the wet pavement as they bolted with the rest. Wincing, I look up at the figure rushing towards me. My body collapsed as I attempted to run after them, ragged breaths escaping me.
Chester appeared at my side. “Screech, don’t. They’re not worth it.”
“You don’t understand, I need it back. I’ll be in deep shit!”
He lowered to me, the warmth of his hands cupping my face, “What the hell happened?”
