He didn't understand why he broke down, in front of her of all people. She was the sole reason he was running himself into the ground, tangling himself up in dangerous situations that he really didn't want to be in, situations that he needed to get out of. That's why, as Connor lay in bed that night, he made one of the hardest decisions of his life. It was time for him to take control of his life; control was the one thing he desired, constantly.

...

Eight am rolled around surprisingly quickly considering Connor didn't get a wink of sleep all night. Daylight flooded into his bedroom when he pulled open the curtains half-heartedly; his bones aching, craving the solitude of his bed rather than school. He didn't want to speak to his mum, either, because after last night Connor knew that she would think all was forgiven, that he approves of the drinking now. He doesn't, and he never will. After adding the finishes touches to his uniform with his trademark cardigan adorned with the brown elbow patches, he made his way downstairs attempting to compartmentalise his thoughts well enough so that he could decide how he was going to tell Imogen what he was planning on doing without her kicking off .

"I have to be at school early for a meeting so unless you want to hang around until registration, you'll have to walk." Christine informed him, whilst gulping down the remnants of whatever was in her coffee mug. She didn't get a response. "How you feeling? You were in a right state last night."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Don't want to talk about it." He mumbled, sitting down at the table.

It was silent for a little while, save for the gentle rustling of Christine grabbing whatever she needed for the day. "You know that you can talk to me, right?"

Connor nodded, deciding it was probably the best time to let her know what he was planning. "There's, er, something you should probably know." His mum turned to look, intrigued by his tone. "I need to tell someone.. I need to tell someone it was me that started the fire."

That well and truly got Christine's attention; the fire, for her, felt like years ago, a matter of unimportance now. "What? No, no way. I won't let you!"

"It's not up to you."

"Really?" She said, narrowing her eyebrows. "And what does Imogen have to say about this?"

"I haven't told her yet. I'll tell her at school, but she'll understand. Unlike you." He muttered the last words, bitter ness evident in his voice.

"No, Connor, it's not that I don't understand, I do. I know how bad you feel about what happened, but the police closed the case! All you would be doing by confessing is getting yourself into unnecessary trouble. You really want to ruin your life, ruin Imogen's life, because you've had a stab of conscience?"

"It's not that-"

"Oh. It's something to do with that.. thing you're mixed up in, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Connor said miserably, quickly adding, "But I'm still not going to tell you what it is, so don't ask."

Christine sighed, wishing there was some way she could get him to confide in her. She glanced at the clock. "I have to go. Don't do anything until you've spoken to Imogen, okay? And, please, just rethink this. Like, I said last night, whatever it is, we can sort it. You don't have to do this, son."

...

The voices that crowded the halls of Waterloo Road today had become ridiculously insignificant to Connor since he arrived. Normally, he would see someone he was relatively friendly with, stop and talk to them for a while rather than wandering aimlessly down the halls alone. But ever since this morning, he felt as if saying the words out loud made his impending plan all the more real - he was actually going to do this. Fear engulfed him, fear he didn't even know he had. The repercussions were becoming clearer, but the one thing he was not sure about was how long someone got for arson. What if he got sent away for years?

"Hey!" Imogen appeared beside Connor, who didn't acknowledge her. "Connor?" She nudged him gently. "Everything okay?"

"I need to talk to you." He said cryptically, unable to look her in the eye knowing he might be about to land her in big trouble. "It's about the fire. I'm going to tell Mr Byrne it was me. He'll probably have to tell the police, but I thought you should know first."

Imogen winced at the mention of the blaze; the implication of what her boyfriend just said starting to sink in. "What? No! You can't."

"I have to, Imogen. Barry knows it was me, but if I own up before he can drop me in it then he's hasn't got a hold over me. Yeah, I'll get in trouble with the police and Barry will probably beat me up when I tell him I'm not working for him anymore, but it'll be worth it. I won't have to do those jobs for him anymore."

"B-but Connor, what if they send you to jail? What if they send me to jail?" She stuttered, panic setting in.

"They won't. The most they'll do to you is fine you and I'll give you the money that I made from Barry for that. Don't worry, I have everything planned out."

Imogen didn't speak. She knew in her heart of hearts that he needed to do this; if it got him away from Barry, then whatever consequences they might face were fully worth it. But it frightened her. She could cope with being fined, even getting a criminal record - the one thing she feared the most was the idea of Connor being sent to jail. He was vulnerable, really vulnerable, wouldn't last a week in a prison cell. "Are you sure about this?"

Connor hesitated, reaching out for Imogen's hand as if searching for comfort. "I'm sure. It's the right thing to do."

"Then I'll be there for you. I'm just as much a part of this as you. We'll do it together."

...

"Oh, hello, you two." Sonya, the loveable school receptionist, said as Connor and Imogen entered the office. "What can I do for ya?"

"We need to see Mr Byrne." Imogen spoke first, attempting to keep confidence in her voice, trying to trick herself into believing everything was fine more than anything.

"Well, er, he's in a meeting with Miss Donnegan at the moment but that shouldn't take too long, take a seat and wait if you like."

They did as the receptionist said, sitting down in uncomfortable silence. Neither wanted to say anything, although what they both needed at the moment was some reassurance from each other. Hands still clasped together, fingers twirled haphazardly throughout the others'.. the teenagers were anxiety personified. Time passed agonisingly slowly, each minute felt like hours and when Mr Byrne finally came out of his office and gestured for them to enter, Connor had almost bitten his nails right off.

"What can I do for you two then?" The exhausted headteacher asked; it had been a pretty hard day. He looked at Connor. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Once again, Imogen spoke first. "There's something we need to, um, tell you."

"Well, go on then."

This was it, now or never. Connor thought hurriedly about all the excuses he could reel off his tongue to get him out of this room, but one quick glance at Imogen's face, waiting for him to speak, and his decision was cemented - he couldn't back out. It had to be now.

"I know that it was a while ago now, but something has happened recently that has made me realise I need to tell someone what really happened."

Michael sat up in his chair, suddenly interested. "Connor, spit it out."

"It was me. I started the fire that scarred Imogen, and all the other ones too. I'm the arsonist."