Goth - 4. Chapter 4: Weirdo

I woke up at around 12:30 pm the next day. I instantly got dressed, tossing on a pair of black jeans, a dark blue t-shirt and a black hoodie to hide my cut. I slipped on a pair of black socks and practically forced my black Donnay trainers onto my feet.

“I’m going out”

“Honey, we need to talk…”

“Later.”

“No, now”

“I SAID LATER, OK?”

I walked out the front door and ragged it shut furiously, not bothered about the 10 or so neighbors staring at me. I shouted a few choice words at them, including ‘slut’ and a few other similes for promiscuous nosey parkers before putting up my hood and walking towards the bus stop. I hopped on the bus and headed straight for Derby Square. As soon as we got there I stormed off the bus, muttering my thanks to the driver as I passed him, and started heading straight for the Queen Elizabeth II Law Courts. Once inside, I asked the receptionist for the details of Sammy’s youth detention placement. A few phone calls later I was given a slip of paper. He was being housed in the HMYOI section of Altcourse. At least he wasn’t too far from home… I had another stop to make before I could go there though. I called a taxi, and gave the driver the address of Sammy’s foster placement.

Claire told me to come in, and asked me if I was here to tell her why Sammy hadn’t come home. I rushed through the story as quickly as possible, and she ushered me out at about the same rate. Shit… She wasn’t happy. This wasn’t going to go well. I walked around the corner and got on the 63. Bad choice, this thing goes all around the world… Half an hour later, and I was stood outside Altcourse prison, a large building surrounded with concrete walls and razor wire. It’s managed by G4S, so it was guaranteed by security was going to be tight. I asked for the visiting hours of the Young Offenders wing, and was told that I would have to call ahead to make an appointment. I saved the phone number into my contacts and was on my way. While I was waiting for the bus I called the prison, and arranged a visit for 3 o’clock the next day. I was told to turn up 30 minutes prior to the visit so I had time to get through security.

I returned to my house, only to find a note attached to the door.

‘Blood is red, veins are blue; the blade is sharp so we’ll turn it on you’

Perfect, just what I needed… First I had to wait another 24 hours to see my boyfriend and now somebody was threatening to kill me.

I swung the door open slowly and closed it at around the same speed, positioning the lock silently and heading into the living room to find my mother, clearly waiting for me. I sat down opposite her, and she looked up, shocked to see me home. Her green eyes had a look of sympathy, and I could tell she felt sorry for me after the events of the last week.

“So, where is he?”

“Altcourse”

“What’re visiting hours?”

“I just have to call ahead of time and book, I’ve got one booked for 3 o’clock tomorrow afternoon.”

At that point I felt a drop of salty dysphoria trickling down my cheek. I stood up and slowly maundered to my bedroom, wondering what would happen during tomorrows visit. The biggest question I had, the one I’d have to wait until tomorrow for the answer. Would I be able to make it through the visit? I’m extremely unstable when it comes to emotions, and if something triggers me, I have to walk away from it otherwise I break into hysterics and black out.

I rolled up the sleeve of my jacket to check on the gaping wound the razor blade had left. There was still blood seeping from part of the hole in my bony wrist, and I was pretty sure I could see my bone, blood soaked and scratched. I’d never gone this deep before, and it was paying it’s toll.

I pulled my sleeve back down and headed back out.

“I’m going back out. Be home later”

I peregrinated to Alder Hey children’s hospital and walked into the A&E department, holding my wrist tightly. I joined the queue, and after a brief wait I was at the front desk.

“Hello, how can I help you today?” Said a woman standing the opposite side of the freshly polished marble counter. Her strawberry blonde hair flowed down to her hips, and her perfectly shaped lips were rouged heavily, accenting her hazel eyes.

“I was preparing dinner, but I dropped the knife, and now…” I revealed the wound. She asked if there was any rust or obvious erosion to the knife but I told her that we had only just got the knife out of the packet. She gave me a form to fill out, which I filled in rather quickly and returned to her. I was informed to take a seat and that a doctor would be with me shortly. I checked the watch in my other wrist. 3 o’clock.

Around 15 minutes later I heard my name being shouted, and I walked in the general direction of the voice. I found a doctor waiting for me by the entrance to the examination rooms, and was directed to a bay where I could be seen to.

“Okay David, what can I do for you today?”

I showed him the wound “I slipped while I was making dinner.”

“Right, I’m just going to pour a saline solution in to make sure it gets cleaned out properly.”

I kept my arm steady whilst the doctor got a small pouch and emptied the contents into the gash, and boy did it fucking sting. The salt in the solution was starting to make me regret coming here…

“Right, now we have 2 options. We could glue it back together, or we could go with stitches. Which would you prefer?”

I thought about it for some time, and settled on stitches, considering that they would be less noticeable than a blob of glue holding my skin together. The saline solution was drained from the wound.

I felt the suture needle pierce my skin, but it was nothing compared to the pain of the cold steel against my unloved wrists. I didn’t show the doctor my other arm, the scars of many sad days gone still remaining, a constant reminder of my struggle against reality. But reality was winning, taking over my body, now completely covering my left arm.

I left the hospital with 30 stitches and a patient report form, which I slipped into my pocket before starting the solemn walk home. Seldom did I walk long distances alone, but tonight I needed the fresh air, something to clear my mind, to stop me thinking about tomorrow.

Whilst walking home, I saw a young lad, no older than me, sitting out in the cold with nothing but a jacket and a rucksack. Bear in mind its 10 o’clock at night. I slowly approached the silent figure, and when I was within a meter, he looked up at me.

“You alright down there?”

“Yep.”

“What are you doing out here at this time of night?”

“Ran away.”

Then it dawned on me. I could prove a point. Go home, pack my duffle bag (What can I say? I have lots of school stuff), wait for mum to go to work and then grab my coat and leave. It was perfect! I could clear out my bank account and get a train to the middle of nowhere without it showing up on my payment records. I could vanish. I could prove that this is what separation causes. I could fight the justice system…

I waltzed through the door around eleven-ish.

“Long walk was it?”

“Aye… I needed to clear my mind.”

“For 8 and a half hours?”

“It’s been a long week. I could have gone 24 hours if I wanted to but you’re such a worry wart.”

With this I started dilly dallying up the stairs, swung open my bedroom door and started clearing out my school bag. I had an insulated pocket that I could keep food and drink in, plenty of space for clean clothes and extra shoes, and of course a compartment for my laptop, which I could charge in coffee shops and the likes. I leapt towards my safe, quickly inputting the code and pulling the door wide open. From it I pulled my bank card and about £250 pounds straight up cash for ‘rainy days’. My plan was falling into place. I emptied out draw after draw, filling my bag to its 12 kilo capacity. Next I wandered back to my bed, before pulling the razor blades from their hiding place.

See, I’m the smart kind of person. I keep certain things hidden and I hide them well. For example, my 6 inch combat knife. This was stored in a draw, but far out of sight. I took the razor out of the Ziploc bag it was contained in and shoved it into a slot on the underside of my sock draw, forcing up the false bottom. I pulled it out the rest of the way, revealing a black leg sheath, ‘Born to fight’ engraved into the thick leather. I slipped it into my bag along with the razors, and then I was off to bed.

I awoke around half nine. Perfect! My mum had not long left for work. I trotted to my desk, pulled out a piece of paper and a pen, and proceeded to start writing a note.

“When you read this, I’ll be long gone. I’ve cleared out my bank account, packed my bag and cleared off. The justice system is a corrupt pile of shit, and I need to prove a point. I know you’ll be getting worried, so let me tell you this now. I AM safe. I have travel arrangements and accommodation sorted for 2 weeks, at which point I will start living rough. I’ve changed my laptop’s IP and Mac Address, so it’ll make it much harder to track me down, but do know this. No matter how this looks, no matter how long I am gone for or if I don’t make it back. I will bloody miss you…”

I picked up the note and a roll of tape, adhered the note to the door with the bulk of it facing inwards, ‘MUM’ written in bold on the side she would see first. First stop, the post office. I walked round the corner to the post office on Knowsley road, observing the queue for the hole in the wall, which was surprisingly small for pay day. I took my place at the back of the line and waited patiently, arriving at the cash machine within 2 minutes. I slipped my card into the awaiting slot, dashed in a few numbers and walked away, £500 in pocket, plus the £250 from the safe. That was £750, my train to Glasgow costing me £50 one way, and my ‘accommodation’ being completely free of charge, I had £700 to live on. Stop 2, Altcourse prison. I walked through the main entrance around quarter past 2, after spending a couple of hours at home and leaving my large quantity of cash and packed bag there as not to seem suspicious. Plus the fact that I was carrying a knife…

See, I never explained the plan to you. I had booked day release for Sammy, and I had money, clothes, and a knife. Towards the end of my visit, I was going to tell Sammy about his day release and explain to him the toughest part of the plan. I was going to go home, grab my gear, go to Liverpool City Centre, dump my bag at Starbucks, come back for him and head into town. I’d then give him £50 for his train ticket (I’d only thought of this after booking my ticket), and we would get the train to Glasgow, hopefully never to be caught.

After going through numerous security checks, I was good to go, and was directed to my seat in the visitors area. The first thing I noticed was that there was a thick sheet of glass between me and Sammy, and we’d have to use phones to communicate.

“Hey baby!”

“Oh David I’m so glad you came. You look shaken, what’s wrong?”

“We’ll get to that in a minute, how is it here? Are they treating you too harshly? Are you eating enough? Is anyone making you feel uneasy?”

“David Jones you are too worried for your own good… I’m perfectly fine. I’m still getting used to the fact that I’m behind bars though. It’s just so much to take in at such a young age.”

He was right. I was on the opposite side of the glass and I was struggling to take in my surroundings. I felt as if I was going to be closed in, cooped up like a chicken ready to go to the slaughterhouse. He continued to ramble about how it seemed different than a prison, how the atmosphere could actually be quite relaxed. But then he came to the question I was dreading.

“You still didn’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“Sammy boo. I tell you now that I only do this for your own good. I’ve requested day release for you and it was approved.”

“Yeah, someone mentioned that.”

“I’m going to be back in an hour, and we’re heading into town. I’ll have left my duffel bag in the toilet at Starbucks, the one under Liverpool One. There’s a set of clothes that should fit you in the bag. From there, meet me at Lime Street Station. We’re getting on the half 8 train to Glasgow. My mum won’t get home until 9, so we’ll be gone before they get a chance to stop us, and you don’t have to be back until half 9 anyway.”

All this was whispered, as not to attract attention from the guards.

“I understand”

At this I stood up, and was on my way.

Now I had to be quick about this. I walked from the prison to Fazakerley station, got a saveaway All day train/bus pass) and jumped on the train home. I grabbed the bag, shoved the cash into my pocket, grabbed my first aid kit and got back on the train to Liverpool Central. From there I walked to ‘The Cave’. This was the nickname for the Starbucks I had instructed Sammy to get the bag from. I walked into the toilets, stuffed the bag into a disused storage closet and was outside the prison again all within an hour. This was it. I took a deep breath as I stepped inside.