Resistance

sixteen

eila kahn

Throwing my bag over my shoulder, I left the library and headed outside. I had stayed a few hours after school because there was a meeting tonight. Tonight I needed to figure out if there was any way that I could use the radio. They don't normally let others aside from Drew use it, but it was my only chance for gauging what's going on in Orlando and seeing if that's a viable option.

I looked to the side when a car pulled up beside me to start following. Cars are never in the suburbs and I didn't have to question who it was because I recognized the exhaust.

The window rolled down, revealing Jovan in his uniform. "Get in," Jovan said, continuing to slowly follow me.

"You know where I'm going, and you know I can't have you drive me there," I pointed out the obvious. Showing up at the meeting after being dropped off by Jovan makes it obvious that there's a mole.

"That's not why I'm here. Get in."

"Jovan," I stopped walking to look at him.

"Come. Here," Jovan demanded like I didn't have a choice. A frown appeared on my lips when I walked around the car to get into the passenger seat. He drove and didn't tell me where we were going. We were driving into a part of town that I haven't been to before.

The homes were a lot more run down and the neighbourhood didn't look the most welcoming. It was something close to a trailer park home. Not a neighbourhood I would've found myself in prior to the walls. He drove in front of a home where the grass was still kept up with despite how the home looked older and not taken care of.

I stayed in the car when Jovan got out. He came around, opening my door for me. I hadn't even realized that I was holding onto my seatbelt like my life depended on it. Clearing my throat, unbuckling the seatbelt to get out of the car with him.

"My childhood home," Jovan unlocked the front door.

The immediate stench of the home was smoky like someone smoked cigarettes inside the house. Portraits were on the wall of Jovan with his parents. All his looks come his mother who shares the dark hair but has dark eyes as well. Every portrait in the house had him with a frown on his face. None of the photos showcased his smile. Despite how unsettling it was to see him never being happy, it warmed my heart knowing he's given his smile to me.

"You come here often?" I questioned. The home wasn't the cleanest, but considering no one has lived here since the walls went up, someone must've been cleaning it ever so often.

"Sometimes," he slowly walked around the house, giving me time to take it in.

I had a million questions, starting with why we were here. But I also wanted to know what his childhood was like. I know his relationship with his father is rocky because of his drinking problem. I want to know why Jovan is so quiet. He never told me that his family didn't have much money when growing up, and it makes me wonder if it's because of the type of family I come from. Did he think he couldn't tell me because my family was well off and his wasn't?

"This house doesn't have the best memories."

I followed him up the stairs until he led me to a bedroom. It was similar to Jovan's current bedroom—black sheet and plain. He had some memorabilia scattered around the room. Trophies and medals for football.

"I wasn't completely honest when I said my father didn't hit. He did, but it was with my mother. He hit her. And every time he was drunk and beating her or forcing himself on her, my mother would make me hide in my closet. I would be quiet and not to come out until she came to get me." He wasn't looking at me. He was standing at the window to stare out of it. He had a view of their backyard which had overgrown grass. "She'd find me when her clothes were ripped and she was bruised. Then she'd tell me that everything is fine and that he's just having one of those nights. She'd promise me that she wouldn't let it happen again."