Sever - A Wattpad Featured Story

Blue - Chapter 1 - Then

I trace the words Yor fuct etched into the wall and wonder what happened to the person who wrote it. They're probably in some hole. Same place I'm going. To be sucked like a cigarette into a crumbling husk of ash.

Outside, there's a drumroll of boots-on-concrete. Tap tap tap tap tap tap. Although it's growing louder—closer—the beat is faltering. Taap—tap. Taap—tap. Too soon it's replaced by shuffling. A snare drum of sorts. Then the chime of the cell's lock echoes.

Tired and dizzy—having paced the minutes and hours away—I waver on the wooden bench as the metal door clangs open. Uniforms. In silhouette they're rotund; big blacked out bellies and matching cone shaped hats which eclipse the station's florescent lighting.

Amidst a haze of espresso, we leave the cell.

The handcuffs are rubbing again. Still, I unfurl and clench my fists, fighting to keep my expression deadpan as we exit into blinding sunlight atop steep marble steps. We descend towards a line of police cars mounted on the kerb.

The suit I'm in is musty, and both too wide and too short, as if it's tailored for a gnome rather than my broad, muscular father. He's in his grey suit—starched and hemmed—to look his best. Why that matters eludes me. It's like the time I asked for an advance from Pico's to take Jade to the West End for her birthday. The funds didn't appear in my bank until after the show run finished. These things always happen too late.

On the pavement, I slow to fasten the drooping buttons of my blazer. Jade's serene image slips away before I can grasp the curl of her fine lips or the way she winds her wavy golden hair aroud her fingers.

A hand presses my shoulder blade and I crouch without flinching. They'll put one officer in after me, whilst Detective Pike marches round to the other side. For a few seconds the detective's line of sight is severed. These are the moments I wait for, like the cracks between paving stones, breaking up the hard cold reality of where I am.

A flash of the white cliffs infiltrates my mind. I blink it away. Anxiety is a potent cocktail; a few sips and I'm fighting a losing battle inside my head. The first image to resurface is always the conveyor belt. Its red emergency button. The clicking of plastic slats. Blood trickling from the metal skirt.

I scan the officers filling the other patrol cars for any sign of Mikey, though I know he's not permitted to come, at least not for the journey. Whether he turns up for the service is up to him. But he won't. It's not a reimbursable client expense.

The detective leans in, her breath on the side of my cheek. 'Ready to accept my offer?'

It takes every ounce of restraint not to acknowledge her. My nails grind into my palms and my expression is stolid.

It's a police tactic; scaring you into coercion at the expense of your sanity and of every standard you've ever kept. They want to kneed me into a hole as ill-fitting as this blazer so they can write their report and seal the file. Who cares if it's the truth. Who cares what I'll lose.

When I exhale, the words 'go to hell' slide between us. I glance to the other uniforms in case they heard.

'You can't have your old life back, David. Or should I call you Blue?' Detective Pike snaps.

Three heads in the car turn. Judge. Pity. Shame.

My old life? I'm not ready to relinquish it, even to her.

Wearing secondhand rugby boots—studs worn blunt—chants to Run faster, Blue would carry across the field, where thirty sweaty, arrogant adolescents hurled insults and line-outs in equal measure.