Verboten

“How often does he do it?” Jack asked softly, brushing a tear from Alex’s chin. Despite his protests that he was used to his father’s abuse, and it didn’t bother him anymore, tears were still leaking from his eyes.

Alex choked on his breath: his crying was getting to the awkward struggling-for-breath stage.

“Whenever he’s angry,” he managed, nuzzling his head into Jack’s side. Jack stroked his hair gently, running the mahogany strands through his fingers, admiring the shade.

“How often is he angry?” Jack pressed, softly but firmly. His head was in a bit of a mess from the new information. He knew he should report this but he was sure Alex would refuse.

“Usually every day,” Alex sniffed. His fingers had found the untucked hem of his shirt and he fiddled with it while he talked. “It’s not always bad, sometimes he just slaps me and then sends me to my room. Other times, it’s worse.” Both of them glanced towards his heavily-bruised arm.

“What about your mum?” Jack asked, his legs starting to cramp from the awkward position. He resolved not to move until he knew Alex was comfortable with it.

Alex hesitated. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I know he hits her sometimes, but she works very late, so she’s not around much. Most of the time when Dad’s angry she can calm him down but she’s usually not there when I need her.”

“Doesn’t she stop him beating you?” Jack asked, appalled. He would have understood if she tried to save Alex but couldn’t, but from what Alex was saying, it sounded like—

“No, she doesn’t.” Alex didn’t sound upset by this in the least. “She knows he does it, I guess she just lets him vent his anger on me.” Jack’s anger flickered up like a match being struck; mothers were meant to love their children unconditionally, not let their husbands mistreat them.

Jack let his memories turn back to when Alex had first joined; had he had any strange bruises then? Now that he thought of it, Alex had always been very covered up, even in the boiling heat.

“It’s not that bad, honestly, Jack,” Alex cut into his mind. He had closed his eyes and was relaxed against his chest, and Jack was thankful to see that his tears had stopped. However he was simultaneously heartbroken: that was probably the most affection Alex had received in a long time, maybe for as long as he could remember.

“It is bad, Alex,” Jack corrected him gently. “It’s really bad.” Alex shook his head. “Do you want me to tell anyone?” He suspected he knew what the answer was before he was given it.

Alex sat up, detaching himself from Jack, and sat down opposite him. “No, please don’t tell anyone, Jack. It would mess everything up.”

“Why would it mess everything up?” Jack shifted into a more comfortable position as smoothly as he could, his legs nearly completely seized up by now. Alex looked scared now and his eyebrows were creased together, a line appearing up his glabella.

“Because loads of people would get involved, and it would disrupt my news, and it would be all over the news and everything.” Alex ran a hand over his face. “I’d just hate the whole ordeal.”

Jack nodded slowly. His mind was in turmoil: he knew he was meant to report this, and everything inside of him was screaming to report it, and make Alex safe. But now there was a new voice in his head, while a lot quieter than others, was much more prominent. He knew telling might make Alex better physically, but psychologically it would set him back terribly.

“I’m not going to tell anyone,” Jack decided, smiling at Alex reassuringly. No, howled the majority of the voices. Go Jack! one cheered.

The look of relief on Alex’s face was so obvious it was almost comical. “Thank you,” he breathed. All of the energy had drained from his face now that the conversation was over, and he sighed, exhaustion clear on his face.

“Go to sleep,” Jack said, jumping up and grabbing his jacket from the desk. He folded it up and set it down on the floor, patting it. “There, pillow.”

“No, I’m fine,” Alex protested, although he yawned widely. Jack had started to notice a bit of a theme going on, regarding Alex’s denials of what was blatantly obvious. He sighed.

“Alex, go to sleep. You’re due to be here for another hour, so go to sleep and I’ll wake you up in time.” Alex nodded reluctantly and settled down on the floor, resting his head on Jack’s jacket.

Almost as soon as he closed his eyes, his breathing regulated and his shoulders slumped.

Jack moved back to his desk and sat down quietly, pulling out essays handed in earlier, and uncapped his red pen.

*******************************

An hour passed and Jack reluctantly stood to wake Alex. He looked peaceful, his face relaxed and all tension gone from his body. He didn’t want him to return to his house, not after what he’d learnt.

Nevertheless, Jack shook Alex awake gently, watching as his eyelashes flicked open, his brown eyes focusing quickly. “Hello again,” Jack said softly, grinning at the younger boy.

“Hello,” Alex murmured. He stretched and stood up, the joints in his knees clicking as he did so. He winced and shook his legs out. “I’ll get going home,” he muttered, barely meeting Jack’s eyes, obviously embarrassed by what had happened.

Jack laughed. “Look outside, Alex.” About quarter of an hour after Alex had dropped off, rain had started to pelt down from the sky. It had been heavy to start with but even then had increased: it was practically torrential now, and if Alex was to walk home, he’d be soaked before he reached the school gates.

Alex paused, momentarily fazed, but then shrugged. He pulled his blazer on, and replied, “It’ll be fine.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Jack scolded lightly, grabbing his bag just as Alex did the same, and pulling his keys from his pocket. “I’ll give you a lift.”

Alex looked uneasy. “Really?” he asked, and for some reason he sounded…worried.

“I’m not an axe murder, Alex.” Alex raised his eyebrows at the comment. “You look worried,” Jack explained. “I’m not going to hack you to death and then eat your heart or something.”

“I know,” Alex hurried to reassure. “Thanks,” was more of an after-thought than anything else. He slung his bag over his shoulder and held the door open for Jack.

***************************

Jack drove slowly, cautious of the ever-growing water on the road. It was more like a river than a road, actually. Alex directed him whenever it was needed; it became more and more frequent as Jack travelled through the part of town he never visited.

When Jack took the fifth successive wrong turn, Alex finally asked, “Do you even live in this town?”

“Shut up,” Jack squinted through the windscreen, the thick rain making it difficult to see. “I live right on the other side, I’ve never been done this bit.” Jack braked sharply to avoid ramming into a lamp pole, previously invisible through the rain.

“Nice driving,” Alex said, and whether there was just a hint of sarcasm in his voice Jack couldn’t tell.

He devoted his attention to reversing instead, and headed back out onto the main road. “Left at the next turning,” Alex reminded.

“Right…left,” Jack muttered to himself. He turned when he saw an opening and then stopped, frowning. He was nearly about to drive into a tree: there wasn’t even enough room for the car on the turning.

“I take it back,” Alex said, “I think you are actually going to brutally hack me to death.”

Jack swatted at his arm. “You said next left!” he accused.

“You missed it!” Alex protested. “This is the second one, you must not have seen the first!”

“Whatever,” Jack replied, reversing for probably the fiftieth time that hour.

In the end, it took another fifteen minutes to deliver Alex home (with three more mis-turnings, one near-crash and one emergency brake when a cat with a death wish leapt into the road). When they finally pulled up, Alex thanked Jack and sprinted from the car to his front door, where he was shielded by a large porch as he retrieved his keys. As he stepped over the threshold, he waved goodbye to Jack.

Jack waved back and admired Alex’s house. He lived in a little bungalow, but Alex lived in what was practically a mansion. It was three storeys tall, and Tudor – real Tudor, not mock-Tudor. Jack whistled and headed back out, wondering if he was going to remember the way out, or whether he’d be trapped in this estate forever.

He braked suddenly when he saw a dark figure dart in front of the car, only halfway up the road. The door opened and Jack thought that, ironically, he was the one about to be hacked to death.

It turned out to be Alex. “Jack,” he panted. “I’m really sorry, but can I come back to yours?”