Goth - 2. Chapter 2: Freak

There I was, screaming to my heart’s content at a police officer who had just arrested me. My brain wasn’t working well today… The whole school would hear about this for sure, and it wouldn’t be long until they were calling me an ‘emo’ or an ‘attention whore’ or something along those lines. The officer gave me a warning about outbursts like that, and how if I made another I would be detained on charges of perverting the course of justice.

“So, Mr. Tempest, would you care to explain why you had a knife in your pocket?”

“I…. I….”

He was stumbling…. Shit. The cop wasn’t going to buy any story that came after this, if the anxious boy sat in front of him could even muster the courage to come up with an answer.

“I just did…”

“OH SAMMY FOR FUCKS SAKE TELL HIM THE TRUTH! BE ASSERTIVE OR YOU WON’T GET ANYWHERE IN LIFE” It all came out before I could think to stop myself. The arresting officer stood up, and I darted out of the interview room. I ran past the custody desk, knocking over a stack of papers as I flew past.

“Sorry!” I exclaimed, trying my best to get out of this hell hole. Wait… I can’t abandon Sammy like this, what sort of boyfriend would I be? Who leaves their true love in a police station while they run away on less serious charges? I stopped dead in my tracks. Then I stopped completely, and the last thing I remember was slumping to the floor.

I awoke a few hours later to my mum and 2 police officers standing next to me in a hospital bed. The surge in adrenaline must’ve caused my blood pressure to drop. I fainted while trying to escape from custody. Pathetic…

As I tried to stand up, I noticed a cold metal binding me to the bed. This was fucking perfect, first I abandon my boyfriend now I’m shackled to a hospital bed like some sort of mad man. It was at this point my mum noticed I was awake. I got the traditional ‘Mum look’ and I knew I was destined for trouble.

“Where’s Sammy?” I asked, hoping to get an answer. My mum just looked at me with sorry eyes. “WHERE IS MY BOYFRIEND? HE’S GOT FUCKING ANXIETY ISSUES AND YOU’RE KEEPING HIM COOPED UP IN A TINY CONCRETE ROOM? WHAT KIND OF FUCKED UP MONSTERS ARE YOU?” That got the police officers’ attention.

Screaming and shouting at them in the police station was one thing. But doing it in a public hospital? Every set of eyes was on me, and I started to get nervous. Nerves soon turned to anger when I noticed a police officer coming towards my bed, taking out a key and a pair of handcuffs. Back to the station it was…

“David, why did you try and run?”

“No comment.”

“Do you understand the seriousness of this?”

“No. Comment.”

“Do you understand you could serve time for this?”

“GET IT THROUGH YOUR THICK SKULL! I’M NOT TALKING WITHOUT A LAWYER PRESENT.” That was all it took. I was taken to a cell and left in there for about 4 hours, giving me a chance to vent all my frustration, worry, and every other emotion I felt. Except one. Nervousness. I was worried. This could carry a sentence of life imprisonment. That’s 25 years of my life gone. But most importantly, 25 years away from my gorgeous lover and his tantalizingly blue eyes. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. We were supposed to get something to eat, go on a nice walk through the Albert Docks, grab a coffee and take a walk around the shops, maybe pick up a few CDs along the way. Then we would’ve gone to Sammy’s and had a little post-shopping game. But we got that one police officer that looks at the pockets of every teenager who walks past, hoping to home in on something.

Another half hour passed before I was called back into the interview room. This time, the handcuffs weren’t removed, and there was a tall man in a suede suit (Talk about tacky…) and clutching a briefcase in his right hand.

“My name’s Richard, I’m your lawyer.”

That’s all he said through the entire interview. Some fucking lawyer he was… The police officer proceeded to start the recording and we got on with the interview.

“Davi-“

“I’m not answering any questions until you tell me where my boyfriend is.”

“That’s none of your concern.”

“Then anything I know is none of your concern.”

“David… The knife is now broken, and can’t be used as evidence. You are formally being charged with perverting the course of justice on the grounds of tampering with evidence. I’d suggest you answer out questions.”

“You’re getting the bone, that’s it. You can fuck off to some over poor teenager if you want meat.”

“Why did you try to leave the station?”

“Maybe the fact that you’re interrogating a boy with anxiety problems in a small space whilst putting him under so much pressure to answer the questions that he was too scared to face the truth.”

“And the truth is?”

“Sammy carries the knife because he has anxiety issues.”

“SAMUEL, has been charged with carrying a concealed weapon.”

Brilliant, first he tries to correct me with my own boyfriend’s name, then he tells me he’s being charged with carrying a concealed weapon. I refused to answer any more questions there and then, asked to be taken back to my cell, and agreed to go to court over the charges. The recording was ended, Richard left without another word, and I was walked back to my cell. It was around 10 O’clock now, and after the events of today I just wanted to curl up on the ‘bed’ and get some sleep. After 20 minutes of tossing and turning trying to find a comfortable position, I finally drifted off to sleep.

I was awoken by a police officer at around half 10ish the next day, telling me I had to once again report to the interview room. Waiting there for me was Sammy, his head hung in shame. I ran up to him and gave him the biggest hug I could. We stood in our silent embrace for 10 minutes, before Sammy whispered to me those 2 words he always muttered, no matter what he did.

“I’m sorry”

“Sammy, you listen to me. You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. I ran away from you so I wouldn’t have to face my own problems, what sort of a boyfriend am I?”

“A ruddy good one”

“So, what’s happening over these concealed weapon charges?”

“I’m due in court on Thursday…”

“Thursday?! That’s 2 days!” At that point Sammy burst into tears. “Oh baby I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry.” He slowly lifted his head to look at me, tears streaming down his face.

“It isn’t you… I just can’t believe this is actually happening. What’re Claire and Steve gonna say when they find out I’ve been arrested, never mind going to court?”

That I never thought about… What WOULD they say? Claire and Steve were strict arseholes who would report Sammy to social services every time they got a chance. His life could’ve been ruined and it was all down to them. When they found out about me, they called him ‘a pathetic fag’, but when I walked through the door I glared at them and they stopped immediately.

“We’ll get through this babe, I promise. I’ll be there for you.”

“But we’re not going to get through it. I’m never going to be able to call up the courage to talk in court, and that’s just going to make me look worse since I can’t even murmur a decent answer as to why I had a knife.”

“Let me do the talking then.”

“What good will that do? You were there when they confiscated it, you knew I was carrying it so it’ll make things worse for both of us then.”

“Then I’ll let it happen. If it means that your charges are dropped, then I don’t care what I have to do.”

“David Jones.”

Now that isn’t fair! He can’t call the surname card like that! I’m trying to stop him from getting sent down and he’s trying to get me to shut up!

“Sam, in all fairness, this isn’t a matter to be taken lightly.”

By now his cries had softened down to mere sniffles here and there. That and the added bonus that he understands that I’m trying to help (Calling him Sam is like him calling me by my surname.).

“Davey, I can’t let you get sent down for what I did.”

“Then don’t let me, but at least let me help.”

Right, we have 2 days, one stroppy teenager and one who wants to kick every cop he sees in the balls. We’re supposed to make a court case out of this. Shit…