Chapter Text
CHAPTER 1: ON THE DRIVE HOME.
The night air was cool, and a gentle breeze lit up the night sky. The silence was broken only by the chirping of crickets.
A man wearing a blue hoodie and a red beanie entered a curved brick tunnel under the railway bridge.
Suddenly, a teenager wearing a dark hoodie appeared behind the boy. His name was Zack. He was a student at the same school as the boy. He pushed the boy against the wall and approached him. His friends stood behind him, full of enthusiasm.
"Hey, brush boy," he said sarcastically. His friends chuckled behind him, finding the whole situation hilarious.
"I didn't think we'd meet again." Zack's sinister smile widened, then he pushed the boy harder against the wall.
"Go away," the boy said in a quiet voice.
Ash. That was his name. He was the boy who was always targeted by Zack and his friends.
"Oh, you've got some nerve," he teased, amused. His friends were still laughing behind him.
Zack’s grip on Ash’s shoulder tightened. Tilting his head, he glared menacingly at his victim.
Ash knew he was cornered—acting on sheer desperation, he threw a punch at Zack’s face and then ran off as fast as he could.
"You're not getting away that easily!" Zack shouted, stumbling backwards.
Ash continued to run, evading their pursuers. His breath was ragged. He spotted a large bin in the corner of the park.
With no other option, he quickly dived inside to hide. Zack and his friends stopped in their tracks. Realising that they couldn't find him, they finally left. Ash slowly emerged, making sure it was safe.
Suddenly, someone grabbed his wrist and twisted it.
It turned out to be Zack.
His grip on his wrist tightened, almost painfully. "You think you can hit me and then run?" he taunted.
Ash tried to fight back, pushing Zack's body away, but to no avail.
The night swallowed him up again. No one came to help him.
The sound of the television in the living room was drowned out by clashing high notes. His father spoke sharply and his mother was no less loud; their voices echoed.
Zack gently closed the front door behind him, trying to ignore the argument. It was a habit. He hung up his jacket without much thought.
His father saw him hanging up his jacket. Furious, he blamed Zack for always coming home late, as if Zack never cared about the house.
However, when he caught sight of his mother's tired face in the corner of the room, something inside him wavered.
"Why would I come home?" he said quietly but sharply. "Everything is still the same, if my father never wants to take responsibility?”
His father's face grew redder.
Zack looked away.
He knew there was no point in prolonging it. He closed the bedroom door softly to separate himself from the chaos.
The walls were covered in posters of hockey players and music bands.
Zack flopped onto the bed, grabbed the wireless headset from his desk and pressed it to his ear to drown out the fighting.