A/N: So I think I'm going to start off here...let you get to know the characters a bit more deeper than they appear on the surface. Review! Come on, it will only take a minuteeee. :)
End of July. Summer Before 6th Year.
Jake tiptoed through the door, closing it silently behind him. He then lifted the heavy black suitcase and large gym bag, swinging it soundlessly onto his shoulder. His heart was beating painfully against his chest, as he hoped his parents were out, or asleep-as long as they weren't home. Then again, it wasn't as if they would care he'd been away; they probably hadn't even noticed he was gone. The last time Jake had seen them, his father had informed him that they would leaving on a trip, and would be back in a few days-a week or so. So he told himself he didn't care if they did notice. Or how much trouble he'd get into.
Their little rebel son. Only sixteen and already leaving to Paris on his own. Jake almost laughed at the thought, but really it wasn't such a laughing matter. He really could get in deep trouble...and knowing his father... The smile disappeared, and his heart started picking up pace once more. No no. They wouldn't care. Just keep telling yourself that. Whatever, he just wanted to get upstairs. He was tired from the plane. Although it was only an hour flight to Paris, his watch showed 2AM, and Jake hadn't slept at all.
He tiptoed down the dark entrance hall and to the past the large staircase in the centre of the marble floor, careful not to make noise. He wasn't stupid enough to try the main staircase, right in plain view. What if someone decided to come down? No, Jake instead went to the secondary staircase, this one deeper into the house and further from the flight that lead to his parents bedroom. Ever so lightly he began to climb, luggage still held tightly in his hands.
Creeeaaak.
Really? He had to choose the wooden staircase?
"JACOB ANTHONY RYAN!" someone shouted from behind him. His heart stopped, and he dropped the suitcase on the nearest step, turning around to face whoever had called him. A woman was fast approaching the edge of the stairs case, and when she did, she pulling him down and into a tight hug. Jake dropped the duffel bag to the floor and wrapped his arms around her.
He leaned his head into the pale silver blond hair before pulling away, feeling uncomfortable. "Hey, Mum." Jake murmured, forcing a small smile. Well. That was slightly awkward. Since when did she hug him?
His mother glared, eyes blurry with tears. It seemed she had been up, the tell tail signs of pony-tailed hair and light shadows beneath her eyes. That and the silk house coat she now wore.
"What is wrong with you?" she hissed, slapping him upside the head. It didn't really hurt, but Jake lifted a hand to rub it anyway. "Вы испугали меня до смерти!" You scared me to death...
"I'm sorry," Jake sighed. He pulled away and took a step back, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I didn't think you would have cared."
"Would have CARED?" she shot back appalled. Tears started to spill over her eyes, and Jake's mother looked up at him, anger and hurt written all over her face. "Jacob we came back and you were GONE! You didn't come back for two weeks! What in Merlin's name is wrong with you?"
"Well...you left in the first place!" Jake snapped, unsure of what to say. He didn't know she would have been that upset over it. He was convinced when he left that she hadn't care. His mother never seemed to before.
"So? We had to leave and you just DISAPPEAR! With no NOTE! Where the HELL did you go?" His mother glared at him accusingly, eyes still blurry. She crossed her arms, and stood there, eyebrows raised as she waited for an answer.
"Paris... with the Bloors." Jake muttered, looking away from her guiltily. "I was upset, alright? Father was acting like such a-" He stopped himself, in case his father might hear exactly what he was being and decided to go with something else. "He was...upsetting me. And then you left. So, you know, I truly didn't think you would have cared. I doubt he did."
"Jake it isn't ABOUT him! You can NOT take off like that! Ever, EVER again!" Her voice had gone shrill and the tears were starting to return. He really wished she'd stop crying. Her tears were confusing and irritating, and they were making him uncomfortable. "You are my son, and I do not want to lose you. When you disappear for two weeks and I have no idea where you are, it scares me. I am a MOTHER. You cannot do that! You are only sixteen, Jacob. I don't know what the hell I'm going to do with you!"
Jake looked away, refusing to say a word. Fine, so he had hurt her. He was sorry, 'regretted her pain'. But it didn't seem his father cared. They didn't care a SHIT...then one time he leaves and they all of the sudden give a damn? Maybe his mother had. Maybe. But it wasn't fair for her to decide to show this now.
"Yes, I'm sorry. It won't happen again." Jake muttered, still refusing to look at her. There was no response for a few seconds, and curious, Jake returned his gaze. He found his mother looking at his clothes, as if puzzles, her arms crossed.
"What are you wearing?" she finally asked, her voice quiet.
"It's Italian. Muggle clothing...it's quite nice in their world." Jake said stiffly, crossing his own arms. He glanced down at the leather jacket, button down shirt, jeans and patten leather shoes. They looked fine to him.
"Yes...well your living in ours." She cleared her throat and fingered the jacket's lapel before drawing her hand back. "So change and get to bed. We'll talk about your punishment tomorrow." His mother looked him over, before sighing almost inaudably.
Jake just nodded and muttered 'goodnight, then' before turning and grabbing his duffle bag. He was about to start up the stairs when another voice came from behind. This time, it was unmistakably his father's.
"Actually, I'd like to talk about it now." he hissed, voice a low growl. "Jacob, come with me to my office."
Stopping and straightening his back he turned around to face the broad shouldered man. And that man did not look happy.
Jake rolled his eyes and threw the bag down again. His mother hit his back lightly for it as he passed, but her eyes showed only concern as she watched him follow her husband. The second Jake passed his father, Anthony Ryan grabbed his son's collar roughly, pulling him into almost a drag. Jake stayed silent. Of course, colorful swear words were shooting through his mind-but his Father didn't have to know that.
Jake was lead to the vast darkly furnished office, the lit fire casting a sinister glow on the entire room. Shadows seemed to move up and down over the wood, the marble floor, even the carpet beneath the desk and chairs. His father released him and pulled his wand out-Jake almost thought he was about to curse him-flicking it toward the doors. He heard them shut with a small thud and click and drew in a quite breath, preparing himself for the worst. Jake remained faced forward and still, gaze locked on the back wall.
"What, the HELL is wrong with you?" his father suddenly snarled, coming in front of his line of vision. Jake chose to stay silent, due to the fact he didn't know how to respond. There was a few seconds pause before his father drew back his hand-and hit it straight across his sons face.
Jake's head snapped to the side, and he lifted a hand to his now burning cheek. Bastard, that one actually stung. He turned his head slowly to face forward and glared at his father, heart pounding. He still didn't answer. He didn't know how to, nor did he really want to.
"Leaving to go to Paris? And you didn't even tell us? Not a note? A letter? What the hell is wrong with you boy?" His fathers shouts were starting to come out in harsh Russian. And Jake just looked down, glaring at the floor.
"Nothing is wrong." he replied stonily, using the same language his father had. "I wanted to leave. I didn't think you would have cared. You never seemed to before." Yes, maybe you would have cared that I broke a few rules. Alright, many rules. But you can't go and tell me it's because I didn't let you know of my whereabouts.
His father narrowed his eyes, and Jake kept his gaze down, slightly nervous to look up. "Watch your tone with me, boy." Anthony hissed.
"There is nothing wrong with my damn tone." Jake shot, glaring up at him. It came out before he could stop it, and Anthony slapped him once more, glaring bitterly toward his son. Jake didn't care. His head snapped to the side, but he didn't raise his hand to his face. He just didn't care anymore. Sure, he was scared. But he was angry too. Fucking angry. His Father honestly had no right. Was this a show for their mother? Act like he felt her pain? She wasn't here now though, so why bother?
Jake turned his head back, now glaring toward his father.
"Watch. Your. Tongue." his father hissed, clenching his fists. He looked like he was ready to hit him again, but Jake kept going. He really didn't care any more. (In fact, he was starting to get that, 'Go, on, hit me. Let's duel' line of thought.) Hastily, Jake shoved that back down. Bad bad idea.
"No, I won't. I'm happy I left, and you know what? I had a fucking great time. You left! So you know what? I. Did. To. Deal with it." Jake tightened his hands into fists, ready to throw a punch if needed. His father was 6"2... Jake was only 5"10. The thought scared him slightly...but, oh well.
"How dare you?" his father retorted, raising his voice his voice. "DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH YOU SCARED YOUR MOTHER?"
What? How DARE he say that? Scare your mother? Yeah right! Like he gave a damn! Jake thought, pure anger and hatred pulsing through him. That's it. He was sick of this. "It's not like you two fucking care!" Jake yelled, his knuckles going white. "Fine, she cried! You probably rejoiced! Hoped I was fucking DEAD! Why do you suddenly care NOW, HM? You ALWAYS ignore me! Never cared a damn what was going on with my life! Never bothered to ask! Hell, the Bloors know more about me than you do! And you're supposed to be my sorry excuse for a father!"
"ENOUGH WITH THE DAMN BLOORS! THOSE FILTHY HALF-BLOODS YOU SPEND YOUR TIME WITH ARE NOTHING!" His father's yelling was started to give Jake a headache, and he was starting to think he should just leave. But wanted to stay here and argue... He wanted to yell at his father, let him know how bad of a sorry crap Dad he was.
"They are closer family to me than you will EVER be!" Jake yelled back. The bravery inside him was being pushed on by his anger, and he refused to back down. This was the first time he'd yelled at his father like this. Let alone used this language toward him... Jake was hardly scared anymore. "I don't care what you think of them! You have no fucking right to judge them, you fucking bastard!"
"How DARE you talk to me like that?" Anthony roared, face going red from anger. He looked as if he was ready to punch him, and Jake flinched, about to raise his hands in front of his face. The blow never came though, and Anthony continued to glare at him, fuming.
"I'll talk AS. I. WISH." Jake continued, figuring his face was safe for now. He lowered his hands and started yelling again, waiting for his father to strike. "YOU DAMN BASTARD! YOU NEVER GAVE A DAMN! STOP PRETENDING YOU GIVE ONE NOW!"
"JACOB ANTHONY DOMINIC AUSTIN RYAN! THAT IS ENOUGH! IT'S ENOUGH YOU WENT WITH THE DAMN BLONDE, BUT TO COME BACK AND TALK BACK TO ME? YOU'LL BE LUCKY IF I LET YOU RETURN TO SCHOOL!"
Full name. He really was pissed. But he hadn't raised his fist yet...he was just standing there, fuming, but he hadn't hit him. The muscles in Jake's arms were aching now-he actually WANTED his father to hit him. He wanted a fight. Before he could think rationally and back down, sick with it all, Jake raised his own fist. "I'M GOING BACK!" he yelled, throwing a punch to his father. His heart was now pounding painfully, from fear and anger. He could actually hear the blood pulsing in his ears. Jake could hardly believe he'd just done that. Before his fist could land though, his wrist was grabbed, and Anthony turned his son's arm behind his back, shoving him into the wall. It was lined with a bookcase, and Jake's head slammed right into the shelf, a few books toppling down.
"I've had ENOUGH of this!" his father yelled, pushing his arm up to show how dead serious he was. Pain shot up Jake's arm and he bit down hard on his lip. He was going to brake his arm...his father was going to break it. God, fucking stop...
"NEVER, TALK TO ME LIKE THAT AGAIN. YOU ARE NEVER TO LEAVE THIS HOUSE WITHOUT PERMISSION AGAIN-IS THAT UNDERSTOOD?" he roared, pushing Jake harder into the wall. Jake winced, and tried to pull away, but his father simply pushed him down roughly to the ground. His head slammed down into the corner of his fathers desk, and he fell to the carpeted floor, lifting his arms to shield his head. Blood was now running from a deep gash on his temple and forehead, and a small cut on Jake's cheekbone gave proof to where he'd been slammed into the shelf.
His head was pounding, and Jake was desperately trying to stay in focus. He lifted one hand to where he had hit his head and drew it back down- it was covered in sticky red liquid. Jake glanced up nervously at his father, who looked like he was ready to kill. He backed up into the desk, trying to get out of his fathers way. The hand that was covered in blood was shaking ever so slightly.
"I said something, boy. Answer me when I speak to you." Anthony's voice was turning to a low growl once more, and Jake stumbled to stand up, trying not to get blood on the carpet. He glared at his father, trying to hide his fear and simply stood there, pushing his mind to think of the best way past him. Before he could think a second longer, a hand gripped his shirt and pushed him once again against the book shelf. It was Jake's back this time, so it wasn't as painful-that was until a book came falling down onto the boy's head. Jake winced, and lifted his arms to shield his face. His father's hand moved to his throat.
"I've had enough of you. I've had enough of your backtalk, your disrespect and your ungratefulness. I've had enough of you disgracing us and thinking you can do as you wish, treating my money like sand. I will not stand for this any longer." Anthony's voice was nothing more than an angry hiss now.
Is he going to kill me? Jake thought disbelievingly. A sudden rush of fear pulsed through him. He lifted his hands to his fathers, trying to peel away his fingers. His grip tightened, and uncontrollable tears rushed into Jake's eyes. He can't kill me...he can't. Pain was now overtaking Jake's whole body, and he was having trouble focusing. He needed to stay with reality, or he'd collapse. He was tired, in pain and...afraid. It would be so easy to just faint.
Jake couldn't breathe, and now he was truly nervous. Where was his mother now? Didn't she just say she cared? Where the hell was she now when her dear husband was beating his son?
Anthony narrowed his eyes and took a step toward Jake, practically hissing in his face. "Your not leaving this house until I say. You'll stay in your room. I don't want to hear another word out of your filthy mouth unless it is appropriate. Am I understood, boy?"
With fresh tears rushing to his eyes, and his hands at his throat trying to pry of his fathers, Jake forced himself to choke out a reply. "Yes, sir." He whispered, trying to fill his lungs with air.
"Anthony, STOP IT!" A shrill yell came from the door, and both turned to look. In the door stood Mrs. Ryan, both hands covering her mouth. Tears were slowly filling her eyes, as she was sincerely scared for her sons life.
Mr. Ryan finally released his son, and Jake stumbled to the floor, choking. He took a deep gulp of air, trying to fill his lungs with as much oxygen as possible. His throat burned, and the tears weren't helping. Jake staggered to his feet slowly, swaying as he stood. He looked between his parents, eyes blurry. Mother took one look at her sons face and sighed. "Jake, get to bed." she whispered, trying to stop her own tears from flowing. Jake nodded slowly and was about to leave, he turned to his father first, scared to go without permission.
"May I go?" Jake whispered, voice rough. He was angry, and felt stupid, but he knew it was probably most wise.
"Yes. And you can stay in your room until I tell you otherwise." Anthony glared at him, his response nothing more than a hiss.
"Yes, sir." Jake murmured bitterly. He glanced at his mother once more before turning to leave the room. "Goodnight." he murmured solemnly, walking out the door. He went straight to his room, dragging his suitcase and duffle bag after him. As soon as he shut the door behind him Jake dropped them to the floor and collapsed onto his bed. In a few minutes he'd get up again, wash his face and take a hot shower. Then he'd sleep. For now though, the only thing he wanted to do was sit here. He wanted the pain to fade. The pounding in his head, the burning in his throat and the aching in his chest. He wanted it all to just disappear.
