Connor – Chapter 2 – "Four Months Ago"

One Year Ago…

"Connor…Connor?"

His mother burst through the door to his bedroom, "Connor how many times have I told you, you need to set your alarm. You'll be late for college again…Get up!" she made her way across the room and fiercely opened his curtains, letting in the dazzling summer morning sun. "Get up now!!" his mother continued "what's you father going to think about this, now up!"

Connor, grudgingly raised his head from his pillow squinting as the light hit his dimmed eyes.

"OK, I'm up already!" he mumbled.

"Well that's funny because you looked asleep to me, now hurry up, breakfast is on the table. You have 15 minutes to get up and ready if you want a lift in."

His mother left the room closing the door behind her. He slowly began to rise from his bed rubbing his eyes. Once he was dressed and ready he headed downstairs to the kitchen, as he entered there was his mum tending to some toast in the toaster and as usual there was his father reading the morning paper at the table. David Nox was a typical nine-to-five sort of man, he lived to work. If he wasn't at work he was always reading books or articles on work related topics, and if all else failed he would always talk about work. He was an accountant at a local bank, his stern face showed years of number crunching and had now become his life. Connor and his father never really connected, he was always seeking his father's approval but all his father could see was disappointment; his grades weren't as high as they should be or he wasn't keeping up with his piano lessons or any achievement Connor had gained was always dimmed by his father, usually with the same old phrase beginning with 'I was different when I was your age". As he entered the room he caught his mother's attention.

"Ah! There he is. See I told you he'd be up in time didn't I mark?" she said looking at her husband. "breakfast Connor?"

"Err, no thanks. Not hungry" Connor grumbled.

"You have to eat breakfast, it's the most important meal of the day" said his father not lifting an eye from behind his newspaper, "When I was your age I always made sure I had a healthy breakfast to prepare me for the day, that's how I got my grades. Maybe you should consider breakfast more rather than just dismissing it?"

"Yes dad". Connor sighed as he took a piece of toast and sat at the opposite end of the table to his father, who was still buried behind the Daily Telegram.

He always loathed the look of this kitchen; he always felt that when he came in he had inadvertently stepped into the 70s. The cupboards were made of a light wood and all the worktops were a hideous shade lime green, even the floor reeked distaste with it's patterned brown lino.

"You ready?" his mum asked snapping him back to the moment.

"Yeah, just need to grab my bag" he said rising for the table heading for the door

"OK but hurry up, your dad can't wait forever." She replied following him into the hallway.

"Dad's taking me?" Connor said appalled at the thought, his voice low enough for his father not to hear.

"Well yes, my car's in the garage isn't it!?"

"Since when!?" Connor asked,

"Since some idiot in a Jeep backed into me" she retorted surprised by his ignorance "now come on, your father's waiting"

The ride to college was excruciatingly painful for Connor and no doubt for his father; they sat in silence for the vast majority of the journey apart from the frequent interlude of lecturing from Mr. Nox on his studies. His father could never understand why his only son was so different to himself, when faced with the prospect of having a son, almost nineteen years ago, he envisaged a boy of whom he could see himself in and who would look up to him in everything from demeanour to work ethics . To him, Connor was a disappointment, the more Connor individualised the further the two of them grew apart and the bigger the arguments got, often ending in Connor being left bashed and bruised. The older Connor got, the more violent the attacks, and the more he wanted to fight back.

When Connor arrived at college he had barely stepped out of the car before his father sped off without so much as a goodbye.

Connor was now finishing his A levels at college and had one more exam to sit that day, he was thankful his studies were over, for the moment anyway; the thought of university was too daunting to think of at this time. He was an average student, not failing his subjects but not (much to his father's disapproval) excelling either. His last exam was psychology, the exam he knew he could ace.

He had just made it to college in time for his exam, leaving him five minutes to cram in some last minute revision. Soon enough he found himself sitting at a single desk in a strict grid-like outlay. He sat there staring at the writing on the desk as the papers were given out, admiring the handiwork of the so called 'rebel' youth of today.

Once the papers had been given out the woman at the front of the class gave them the signal to begin, Connor opened his exam and began to answer the questions almost mechanically; he knew the answers but honestly didn't care. His mind was somewhere else.

After the exams Connor and a couple of his mates headed down the pub to celebrate the end of their two year course. Connor's father hated the thought of Connor 'wasting time' in a pub, and though he never came home drunk his father would still display his disgust with him for doing so, though often hypocritically.

His father, when stressed became even more unbearable to live with, the pressure of crunching numbers nine-to-five would take its toll on anyone and it seemed the longer he worked in this profession the less emotion he showed until it reached a point were any emotion was suppressed, be it happiness or sadness, this monotony and repression often turned his hand to drink, and to him this was the only way he could escape from his emotional subjugation. This in turn, turned into bitterness and resentment for those he felt who trapped him in this life. That night was no exception.

Connor returned home that night a little later than intended but still relatively early, he had decided to stay till around ten o'clock but not to drink, in order to spare any further reason for his father to start a row. When he stepped over the threshold he could hear the raised voice of his father shouting at his mum, Connor knew then that his father had been drinking. He was about to step into the kitchen when his father caught his oddly coloured eyes. It had started.

"What time do you fucking well call this!" he shouted the stench of scotch ripe in his breath.
"Don't start on him Mark, he was just out celebrating" pleaded his mother, as if she knew what would happen. This wasn't the first time.

"Don't you stick up for him" his father said with a slur, and a face filling red.
"I'm not I , I …I…I." his mother stammered with fear "please you don't want this, you'll get out of control"
"What?" replied his father coldly.
"I meant… 'it' 'it'll get out of control'…I didn't mean you, I… just meant…this" she said, tears filling her eyes as she whimpered and pleaded.

"I know exactly what you meant!" he sneered, moving towards her.

Connor's eyes began to burn...