Never Return

The kicking and screaming was a waste of time, so I didn't struggle no more. In the end, I let them use me like a rag doll and cut or punch anywhere that they thought would hurt. I bet it's pissed them off that I'm out before them. I didn't want to leave. At least in there, I had free food, a place to sleep. At least I had a home. A dysfunctional home it is, but then again I'm no stranger to that. With no visits and the one letter from mum, I was left alone to think about how life came to this.

A sharp noise breaks me out of my thoughts. The bus comes to a halt and I'm the only passenger left. The bus driver shouts over to me, 'Last stop.' I move to the end of the bus and prepare myself for the shitty weather. In front of me are newly built tower blocks, and beneath them stand rows of small decaying houses that sort of look familiar. It's a place that, back in the summer, would be packed with children playing hopscotch, football and manhunt. All that seems a distant memory now. Rubbish scatters across the streets with some houses boarded up. She said 'never come home.' Where else am I going to go?

As I walk down the street, I can feel something watching me from the houses. Still lashing down, the rain soaks through my clothes. In the corner of my eye, I see the odd twitching of curtains. The walk takes longer then it should. I go through the many reasons as to why I'm here. How the whole estate must have gossiped when it happened. I wonder how many people wanted my head on a stick, and how many were ready to do it. How did my family cope? Although she didn't care, I wish I could tell my mum I love her and I'm sorry for what I did and what I put her through.

My home, where I grew up is gone. On it, another large tower block stands in its place. Its meant to be the newest building on the estate but you wouldn't know from looking at it, with its faded pale paintwork from years of bad weather. Nowhere to go from here, so I keep walking. Underneath the building stand a group of teenagers, smoking, all in silence staying out of the rain. As soon as they see me they don't take their eyes off me. I don't recognise any of them. One of the kids stamps out his cigarette and places a hand in his pocket, playing with something inside it. I don't want to find out what it was. My head stays down and I keep walking at a pace. But where to? Maybe someone nice enough will give me a place to stay or lend me some money. Like fuck is that going to happen.

At the tower block, a door opens and slams shut, I don't bother looking. I hear the rustle of some feet along the pavement. The kids shout something, which I can't hear through the rain. I pick up speed. This time someone calls my name. I should ignore it, but being the mug I am, I turn to see a face I recognise. That person isn't a friend, but he knows my brother. Smiley stands with a big sly grin on his face. Not far ahead of him is my brother. I smile in his direction but he looks on with a blank expression like he doesn't know who I am. Smiley flicks his finger at me. I edge to him, slowly. All the boys under the building watch, waiting for something to happen. I stop at just a foot's worth. He takes one step in front of me, his crazed grin remaining. He stares dead in my eyes, I fill like he's reading my mind. He knows I'm shitting it.

He finally stops smirking and takes a look over my shoulder at my brother. Smiley firmly slaps my face with a chuckle. 'Welcome home,' he says. I bow, like the coward I am. He pulls me up, grabs me around his shoulders and walks me towards my brother. I quietly say 'alright?' to him. His eyebrows lift, in a half-hearted attempt to say hello. Smiley eyes my every move. My brother pulls out a fag and lights it. His eyes move to one of the floors on the tower block. A dark figure waits at the window, fiddling with the blinds and then disappears.

'How's m-?' I stutter.

'Fine,' he interrupts, then takes a long toke of his fag.

He looks through me like I'm not here like I'm no-one to him. He passes a few glances at the teenagers and flicks his head at them. They march away given their instructions. The main one turns at times to look at me. A police car slowly pulls in from the top of the road, until it stops next to us. The window rolls down. The officer pops his head out and has a good look, taking time to assess my brother and Smiley. 

'Everything alright here?' The officer asks me. 

I look in the direction of my brother. He says nothing and walks away. 

'Fine,' I say, hoping my voice doesn't shake. 

The officer scans the street, but he doesn't look convinced and tells Smiley to move on. Smiley follows my brother down the street. The officer watches until they are both around the corner. 

'Off you go,' he says. 

I can sense he is watching me as I follow the same route as them. Before I can even turn down the street Smiley grabs me. I resist a little, but he tells me 'it's fine.' He is much stronger than me, so I don't put up much of a struggle. His teeth grind as he calms me down a bit. He smells of a heavy smoking household. We catch up with my brother, a bit further down the road. All of a sudden, Smiley stops. He looks at me and signals for a drink. I smile and shake my head. No one speaks as we walk down another street, this time with more abandon houses. My brother smokes another fag and Smiley walks with a spring in his step, despite the horrible weather. They don't pay me any attention.

Out of one of the abandoned houses, the group of teenagers appear again. I try taking in the area and remember what it was like before, but it's hard to even imagine. Most of the houses on the street have had their windows and doors broken. In them are old broken furniture, that is either burnt or decaying from being exposed to the elements. It was like families picked up and left in the middle of the night, never to come back. Empty plastic bags, syringes, needles, burnt spoons and empty lighters cover most of the floors. Each house seems empty except for one. Through one of the windows, a little boy lays in a sleeping bag, next to a put-out fire. He looks peaceful. People will probably pass him every day and never realise he's there. Thrown about the place are old dirty fast food boxes. I'm guessing no one will look for him here. As he lays there I couldn't see a single movement. The kid was better off dead. I feel a sharp pain in my arm and turn to see Smiley, that same grin on his face, as his fist leaves my arm. 

He shakes his head, 'Don't think about it.' 

I rub my dead arm and take one last look at the little boy. He still doesn't move.

At the top of the road, the police car slowly turns around the corner. The engine stops but no-one leaves the car. The teenagers then sit on a wall opposite the pub. A pub that has seen better days. It's smothered in tags left by different gangs in the area. A sign on the front reads: leave all weapons at the door. As if that would stop them. The teenagers watch as we enter the pub. All the loud talking, shouting and laughter come to a sudden stop as soon as we step foot in the place. All the men, young and old, stop their smoking, put down their drinks and stare at us. I bet the whole pub can hear my heartbeat. If at first, I didn't feel welcome, I know for sure I'm not welcome here. My brother heads straight to the bar like he owns the place and slams his fist on the counter. Out of the back, an old, weak-looking bartender slowly makes his way to my brother. Soon as he realises who is standing on the other side of him, he stands to attention.

'Two pints' my brother says and then eyes me for my order.

For some reason, I can't speak.

'Whisky. He needs it,' shouts Smiley. 

All eyes are on me now as I slowly move to the bar. The old man takes his time pouring the drinks. He shakes so much I think he's going to drop the glasses. He places two drinks on the bar and say's 'on the house.' My brother notices that there are only two drinks.

'Whisky?' He says.

The old man replies 'sorry?' Not hearing what he's just said.

'WHISKY!' my brother shouts.

The old man grabs the nearest bottle and pours a full glass, spilling most of it on the counter. He slides it along the bar in my direction. He quickly leaves for the backroom as fast as he can. Two old men drink up and leave the pub with a quickness. Smiley chuckles at this. My Brother and Smiley lift their glasses and insisted I do the same. 'Welcome home,' they say and we take a swig of our drinks. Before I can swallow anything, Smiley grabs my throat and pulls my arm behind my back, dropping my drink and smashing the glass. I can feel him breathing heavily into my right ear. He doesn't say a word. I try to break free of his grip but he's too strong. He puts a little pressure on my neck, only enough so I don't pass out. I then look up at my brother and hope he will pull Smiley off me. He does nothing. He gives me the 'up and down' and takes a long gulp of his drink. Slamming the glass on the bar, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a large rusty knife. I struggle more but I still can't break free from Smiley's grip.

'Please.' I squeak. 

Everyone in the pub just watches with their cold emotionless stares, waiting for the show to be over. My brother ignores my cries. He doesn't look at me like I'm his brother. Not no more. A small tear falls from my eye. That's all they get from me. With no hesitation, my brother pulls my head to one side. I keep flinging my head back and forth. It doesn't work, I'm not getting out of this. After a few tries, I finally give up and remain still. I close my eyes and wait for him to start. Whatever he was going to do I'm ready for my punishment. His cold roughed up hands pulls on my jaw, so my mouth opens a little. I feel the burn as the knife runs from the corner of my mouth to my cheek. At first, all I can taste is the rusty blade, then it's quickly replaced with a copper-like taste. It's not an easy cut and he has trouble parting my skin. Bloods falls on my chest and soaks through my clothes quickly. I hear a few drops hit the wooden floor. Air finds it's way into a place in my body it has never been before. It feels strange. I don't feel faint. I don't feel anything. After the first slice, I don't mind much.