I am so super sorry for not updating in ages! I've been really, really busy! Anyway to make up for it this is a nice long chapter.
Drowning
Alex was woken by the doorbell. Groggily he glanced over at the clock and realised he had overslept – normally Jack would have noticed and woken him up, but today she had caught an early train to visit a friend. Alex quickly pulled himself out of bed and found the nearest clothes (fortunately, with the state of his bedroom, he didn't have far to go).
It was a week on from when he had shouted at Laura, and he had been doing better. There had been another visit to his therapist, and they had talked about managing his isolating and anger; it had actually helped. Now his temper wasn't bubbling away under the surface in quite the same way. But it was still there, the deep anger and injustice he felt, and it was fighting to be let out from his tentative control.
Alex was about to rush down to the door, but then something stopped him. With the caution that had saved his life on several occasions, he padded barefoot over to the window and glanced down into the street. It was two men; young, fit and inconspicuous. They screamed MI6. No doubt they were here to persuade him to come in. He wasn't going to play by their game. Especially since he was almost late for school.
"Hang on, I'm just getting out of the shower," Alex yelled down, playing the typical teenager (he was grateful he'd showered the night before, because he wasn't going to have time this morning). The men didn't move. Alex grabbed the rest of his clothes, found his shoes under his bed and pulled them on. Then he found his schoolbag.
Ready for school, he went round to the back of the house and quietly opened the back door. He climbed over the fence into the adjacent street and went on his way to school. He hoped the men would wait for a good long time.
He was five minutes late, but luckily nobody spotted him on his way to tutor and when he arrived the teacher was absent. He sank down into his seat wordlessly.
So MI6 had stepped things up – they were sending people to his house. But they were still playing nice (by their standards). They knew that they couldn't manipulate him unless he engaged in dialogue with them. They always got what they wanted – they knew how to make it so that he would volunteer for missions.
He sat in silence for the rest of the lesson, just thinking. He didn't know what to do. There was nobody on his side – he was powerless. He hated feeling powerless (he was so used to that gut wrenching feeling of knowing that there would be pain whatever he did, and that there was no way he could avoid it). Everybody was giving him a wide birth, with occasional stares; the news about him and Laura has spread around the school.
At the end of the lesson Alex didn't even hear the bell – he was lost in his memories. He only noticed when everybody else left the classroom. He couldn't even remember what his next lesson was. He groaned as he checked his timetable and saw it was swimming – Mr James his games teacher was awful.
At swimming he searched his bag; Jack had written him a note explaining that he couldn't swim. But he couldn't find it. With a sigh he realised that in the rush to leave the house in the morning he had left it behind on his desk. He had already forgotten it the week before – Mr James had not been happy and he wasn't looking forward to the teacher's reaction.
"Sir, I don't have my note," Alex said, getting that out of the way as soon as Mr James came in. It was just him and Mr James left in the changing room – everybody else had already gone out to the pool.
"Again. That's it Rider. I know that you aren't sick – you've been playing football," Mr James started angrily. "I've had enough of excuses!" The raised voice made Alex wince; he had spent months with people yelling at him – yelling meant pain. Mr James noticed the wince and frowned.
"I'm scared of water," Alex said quickly, trying to get some sympathy.
"You were fine last year," Mr James said with a glare. Alex kicked himself; he had assumed that because Mr James hadn't taught him, he wouldn't remember Alex swimming (never assume, Alex. Assumptions are what get you killed).
"But not this term. Really," Alex responded.
"Get changed," Mr James demanded. "There are spare swimming trunks if you need them."
"I can't. Honestly," Alex said desperately. He couldn't let anybody see his marred skin.
"Why not?" Mr James wouldn't let things go.
"Ok. I'm self-conscious about my body." Alex tried, sounding as sincere as possible. After all, it was true, in a twisted way.
"Stop giving me ridiculous excuses and get changed," Mr James snapped.
"I'm telling the truth!" Alex exclaimed. What was wrong with the man?
"I am fed up of all of your class thinking that sport is optional. You may not just sit and watch. Get changed right now, or I'm sending you home and asking the head to exclude you."
"What?" Alex gasped, appalled. Why was his teacher being so utterly unreasonable? "You can't do that!"
"I most certainly can. You've been talking back and refusing to follow instructions. This isn't the first time. Quite frankly, I'm tired of your behaviour and excuses. Get changed or go home."
Alex knew that if he got sent home again this soon after all his absences and behavioural problems (along with plummeting grades), he would probably be excluded permanently. It wasn't something he wanted at all. School was the only thing that he could hold onto at the moment; it was the only place he could begin to feel like a normal teenager. But there was utterly no way he could show his scars and marks to his entire class.
"Okay sir." Alex sighed. He really didn't want to do this. "I'll show you why I don't want to go swimming." He reluctantly unbuttoned his shirt, and peeled it off.
"What an earth?" Mr James muttered, more to himself. His demeanour had completely changed; he was concerned instead of angry, his face filled with pity. Alex hated other people's pity. He could only imagine what he looked like to somebody who wasn't used to this sort of thing – the puckered, unmistakable bullet scar was no longer the worst thing on his chest. There were slashes made by knives, electricity burns that still hadn't faded, the strange marks that whips made on bare skin. His injuries may have healed, but they had left behind scar tissue that now dominated Alex's appearance. Even to a layman, like his teacher, they were obviously torture marks.
"Alex." Mr James' face was serious. "What happened to you? Has somebody been hurting you?"
"No. I can't explain it. But I'm fine now, honestly. But please, I don't want people to see…"
"I'm driving you back to the school right now. We need to see the head, and bring in social services."
"I told you, it's fine. It's all in the past," Alex tried to brush things off. He didn't understand why this had to be a big deal – it wasn't a big deal to MI6 after all (because they were already ready to put him back in the field).
"No arguments. We're going back to school." Mr James said, but not in his usual harsh tone. Alex sighed and nodded. Hopefully when he saw the Mr Bray, the head teacher, he could explain that this wasn't important, and that he was moving on (he couldn't let this be important; it was just another mission for him to bury somewhere in his mind).
Alex had to wait outside while Mr James talked to the head. He considered running off – but then realised that he would have to face this at some point. He didn't know what had come over him when he had showed the Mr James; he'd thought, somehow, that the teacher would just drop it. He was trying to think of what he was going to say when he was called into the office.
Mr. Bray spoke for a while, but it was like he was on mute. Alex had no idea what he was saying; he didn't even try to listen. He was used to doing that – zoning out, letting the world be somewhere else. He could make himself practically catatonic – although he didn't go so far this time. Mr Bray was staring at him, and Alex realised he'd probably been asked something.
"This is just a misunderstanding," Alex said slowly, answering whatever the question was with a random answer. "You don't need to call anyone. Especially not social services."
"I need to see this. Could you please take your shirt off Alex? You don't have to if you aren't comfortable with me seeing, social services will send a medical professional," Mr Bray said, trying to be friendly.
"I hate to break it you but I play for the other team." Alex said with a slight smile. It was the same thing he had said when he had been asked to remove his school shirt by the Boss, when he had just woken up after his kidnapping. Somehow the memory of his initial defiance was warm (and wasn't that so screwed up).
"Just do it please, Alex." Mr Bray said warily, bringing Alex back into the present. "You said you didn't want social services involved – so I'll have to see."
Alex sighed and reluctantly unbuttoned his shirt. Mr Bray gave a startled intake of breath. Whatever he had been expecting, it hadn't been this.
"Who did this to you?" Mr Bray asked softly.
"I don't want to talk about it," Alex said stiffly (because, really, hadn't he done this to himself? He had agreed with MI6, he had let them use him).
"Have you told anyone?" Mr James asked.
"The government know, don't worry," Alex said bitterly (they were the only people he blamed for this whole situation almost more than he blamed himself).
"Alex. This is serious. Are these torture marks?" Mr Bray asked. "Is this why you got so upset about the water boarding thing?" Alex winced – the teacher who'd agreed not to tell Mr Bray about his outbreak had clearly not kept her word. Mr Bray misinterpreted the wince. "Have you been water boarded?" His voice was filled with horror; he was trying to hide it but it burst out in every word. Alex didn't respond – he just looked down at the floor. "This is too much. I have no choice but to call social services and the police," Mr Bray finally said. "Everything is going to be alright Alex."
That made Alex laugh. Everything would be alright. He didn't think that was even possible. He was tainted. Tainted and broken – even if he managed to fix himself the cracks would still show through, scars that would never fade. He wasn't safe; MI6 were still trying to track him down, the Boss was still out there.
"Alex-" Mr Bray started, but Alex interrupted.
"I'm going home. Make your calls. It won't make a difference," Alex said. Then he walked out, the teachers calling out behind him fruitlessly.
But Alex didn't go home – he knew MI6 could well be waiting. Instead he made his way to a hotel. On the way he picked the pocket of a noisy man wearing a suit who was on his phone; he felt bad about taking the guys money, even though he sounded rather nasty and looked like he could easily afford it – but he needed the cash. After he had taken the cash out he slipped the emptied wallet with all the cards back into the man's pocket; there was a couple of hundred in twenties which he gratefully pocketed.
He was half tempted to keep walking – to try to disappear. But he didn't know where he would go, what he could do. He didn't want to leave Jack and Tom; ultimately they were keeping him here. So Alex went to a close hotel; he spoke with an American accent and acted like a tourist (easy, he'd had plenty of practice). The hotel had lost his luggage – his mom was sorting it out and would be arriving later, or would stay at the airport if it got too late. No he didn't need help. Yes he could pay; he had cash.
Up in his room, Alex sat on his bed in silence. He didn't know what to do. Finally the light faded and it was dark, so he undressed and got into bed. His sleep was filled with nightmares.
Please, please leave a review. It will make me happy! I'll try to update soon but I have exams on at the moment. Plus I'm not sure if I should carry on... I don't know, what do people think?