The First Step

CHAPTER ONE - JACOB

"WHY THE HECK DID I MARRY YOU?"

"I DON'T KNOW, BUT I DEFINETELY HATE ALL OF IT!"

I've had enough.

My parents have been arguing for a few months now, and it's beginning to get a lot more aggressive and loud than before. For several weeks, I have pondered running away from home, to either start a new life, or just to at least have a few days out of the household. 

I've had a suitcase in my room for a long time now, and I left the zip slightly undone, so that way if I ever resorted to going in the night, I could make the least noise and not alert my parents. It has become harder now, because they sleep in separate rooms. My mum sleeps closer to my room, and if she ever found out I was planning to run away, she would grill me.

I haven't gone yet, because they've only been screaming at the top of their lungs, and it hasn't resorted to violence, but even though it never has, I'm sick of the two of them.

I hear another muffled, loud grunt from downstairs, and then a deafening bang.

Without thinking, I bolt downstairs, almost tripping in the process. As I quickly manage to dodge the shards of glass that remain on the floor from previous altercations, I see my dad, crying on the floor, breathing shallowly. 

"Jacob, please help me back up."

I feel a twinge of guilt form inside of me, and I scramble to help my dad up, but my mum slaps me and I stumble backwards.

Angered, I finally decide to go.

"Right."

"I've had enough of you two."

"What do you mean sweetie?"

"I SAID, I HAVE HAD ENOUGH, MUM!"

I run back upstairs, tears beginning to form in my eyes, and I quickly crawl under my bed to get the suitcase out. Then, I begin to scramble through my wardrobe, quickly browsing through different shirts and trousers. After finding a decent pile of clothes, I ram them into the suitcase, along with my 3DS, a DVD player, the first five seasons of Doctor Who and £300 that I had saved up.

As I begin to zip up my suitcase, I hear more arguing from downstairs, this time it being about me rather than them. 

"NOW HE'S LEAVING, YOU SCUMBAG!"

"WHY DON'T WE ACTUALLY STOP HIM, JACK?"

"BECAUSE HE'S SICK OF US!"

"HE ALMOST NEEDS THIS!"

"YEAH, ALMOST."

"HE'S NOT GETTING OUT OF HERE!".

When I finish packing, I run downstairs again and I quickly begin to put on my shoes, and my mum runs to the hallway, her face turning completely red as sweat begins to trickle down her forehead.

"You are not going anywhere young man." my mum says to me in a rather patronising tone. 

"Try and stop me." I say back as I grab my coat.

"Then I will." she says, and she dangles the keys to the house in front of me, smiling and laughing childishly.

I feel the anger and stress building up to a dangerous point, as my eyes trace the keys. I then shift my eyes to my mum, who is smiling evilly at me, and her body begins to loosen up and her cheeks puff outwards as she takes a long, exhausted breath.

"Bet you won't try to run now, will ya?". she says.

"And you thought that you could outsmart your mother, eh?".