Prologue
"You don't care about me!" the 15-year-old Connor Mulgrew screamed at his mother. "If you did, you'd listen to me and you would stop poisoning yourself with that stuff!"
Christine Mulgrew had recently left her job as an English teacher at a comprehensive school in Edinburgh. She was currently attempting to wangle herself a case of unfair dismissal, but deep down even she knew it was a lost cause; a 12-year old rushed to hospital due to drinking the vodka that she had left in her classroom was not a matter to be taken lightly. Stupid, curious kids, she thought to herself. The alcoholic had managed to make a deal with the head-teacher – she would hand in her notice today, as long as they let Connor stay at the school until she found a new job. He agreed hastily, not wanting to prolong the inevitable. Christine was a great teacher and it would be sad to see her go, but a court case was the last thing a school with an already-terrible reputation needed. But Connor didn't know they were leaving yet again, and when she delivered the news, he was furious.
"Every time I settle in somewhere, you ruin it! I'd finally made some half-decent friends, after months of being the weird new kid with a teacher for a mother, and you're taking that away from me again! You know what, I'm sick of you. I'd be so much better off without you. I hope you choke on your precious vodka."
Connor instantly regretted what he'd just said. Despite her obvious personality flaws and problems, he loved her. It had always been the two of them, with no father in the picture. To be honest, he'd have no chance without her. Christine's heart broke. She tried to tell herself that he didn't mean it, but she knew she was a terrible mother and she would always live to regret the decisions she had made. There was nothing she could do now, though. Whatever he thought of her, she was completely and utterly dependant on alcohol. It wasn't enough for her, as an addict, to stop just because someone she loves hates her.
"You don't mean that. I'm sorry but we have to move. There are no jobs around here, and if you want a roof over your head then you just have to accept that!" Christine was trying her hardest not to cry. She'd had these types of arguments with him before, but to hear him wish death upon her was painful.
Connor, appalled by his own words, was speechless. He ran a hand through his messy black hair, said nothing, and ran to his room, leaving Christine fighting back tears in their living room, hand itching towards the vodka in her handbag.
Upstairs, Connor lay on his bed, running through the day's events in his head. He'd plucked up the courage to talk to a girl he fancied at school, struggled to finish his History coursework even though it was his favourite subject, then came home and watched the most recent episode of Doctor Who. A good day, by all accounts – and then the inevitable argument with his mum. Sighing, he pulled open his sock drawer, and rummaged around in search of his lighter. He always hid it in there, because if Christine found it she would lecture him on the dangers of smoking, even though she smoked liked a chimney - hypocrite. Connor found solace in fire - watching the flames sparkle magnificently, feeling all worry and anger float away. He casually pressed down, seeing the tall amber flame shoot up gracefully.
Each time he worked himself up so much that he felt the need to ignite something, he mentally promised himself that he would never let his mum get to him that much again. Each time, he was wrong.
AN: I've changed this a little bit, as I realised that it wasn't really relevant before. Cheers for reading x