You’ll Never Walk Alone

“I never lie because I don’t fear anyone. You only lie when you’re afraid.”

Well damn, I thought, my day couldn’t get any better than this, sadly enough. I trudged along the grimy streets of Wood Road, bags of groceries weighing down each hand while Nathan perched on my shoulders, his small hands tangled in my hair for balance. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the dilapidated buildings and wretched, abandoned cars that lined the street. The scent of damp and decay lingered in the air, mingling with the occasional whiff of fried food from the corner chippy.

Nathan and I hadn’t had a decent meal in what felt like ages; it seemed like all we’ve managed to eat lately were bars of chocolate and the greasy fare from the chip shop when we could afford it. Tonight, though, we’d have a proper dinner, and that small victory felt like a luxury.

I glanced down at Nathan’s feet, his worn-out shoes barely holding together. I wished I could afford to buy him a new pair. His shoes never lasted long, thanks to his playful nature. By the end of each week, they were always unwearable. Whether it was from kicking a ball around the crumbling playground, snagging them on a protruding nail through the weak fabric, or simply splashing through the mud with unrestrained glee whenever he saw a puddle, his shoes were always in tatters. Each step he took seemed to carry the weight of our struggles, and each laugh and playful shout was a reminder of the innocence I fought so hard to protect.

I couldn’t stress enough to Nathan the importance of looking after himself and the few pieces of clothing we had left in our wardrobe. Everything I said seemed to go in one ear and out the other, but then again, I was asking a five-year-old to shoulder responsibilities that should never be his. His wide, innocent eyes would look up at me, full of curiosity and mischief, not comprehending the weight of my words.

As we walked, I sighed, thinking about how often I had to remind him to be careful with his clothes. Every tear and stain was a small catastrophe in our world, where every item had to last as long as possible. Yet, he continued to be a child, blissfully unaware of the harsh realities I shielded him from. His laughter echoed down the deserted street, a stark contrast to the decay around us.

Sometimes, I forgot how quickly I had been forced to grow up. My childhood had been stolen by the harsh hand of fate, leaving me to navigate a world that was unforgiving and cold. Having a single father did wonders to my maturity and mental health—or rather, it shattered any semblance of a normal upbringing. His neglect and the need to fend for myself had forged a steely resolve in me, one that now drove me to protect Nathan at all costs.

I can’t take away the freedom he has. Being happy as a kid and having someone to watch his back constantly is what he needs before he can even think about responsibilities. He can leave that to me. But, it’s hard—exhausting, really—to look after a toddler who has so much energy and life within him. It’s a mystery how he has so much of it. I love Nathan to bits, but he can be a pain in the ass, a real fucker when he doesn’t go to bed. Well, I say bed, but in actuality, it’s just a mattress with strands of springs sticking out. I don’t blame him. Honestly, I think I’d rather sleep on the decaying floorboards.

The point I’m trying to make is, I’m conflicted in so many ways that my head is going through its own version of D-Day. I want Nathan to grow up—smile with tons of friends he can play with on his own when he’s old enough—and eventually make his own way in life. Maybe find himself a good-looking bird, go wild at festivals, have sex that same night, get together, and maybe even break up. I don’t care, even if his heart was broken and lost in a sea of doubt and pain. Just as long as he lives a better life than me, that’s all I worry about day and night; I couldn’t care about myself these days. My days of catching my dreams were numbered when I ran away from home. Bet my father is in his flat, smoking bud and fucking slags from the corner like the fucking pleb he is.

“Mia… Mia?” Nathan whined, tapping the top of my head to get my attention.

I glanced up to meet his big brown eyes and chubby cheeks. “What’s up, lad?” I smiled, putting a spring in my step to get him to smile too. Instead, he just pointed up to the fluffy sky.

“The clouds are grey again; it's going to rain,” he muttered, looking up at the gloomy fog above as if to see if his prediction would come true. I sighed inwardly, looking up with him. The sky did look threatening, dark clouds swirling as if they were ready to unleash a downpour.

“Aye, it does look like it’s going to piss down. Just what we bloody need.” Rain was the last thing we needed. Nathan only wore dirty, brandless memory foam lace-up trainers, a pair of modest black shorts, and a plain lime zip-up jacket. Underneath the jacket was the latest Liverpool t-shirt with Salah’s name emblazoned on the back. Funny story about that shirt—some dumbass left his bag of shopping next to his seat while he and his kid went to order their meal at Maccies. Without thinking, I swooped in and grabbed the bag, scoring some free clothing. Call it cruel to take something expensive from a dad and his son, but I couldn't care less. We needed those clothes more than they did. Besides, Nathan always wanted a Liverpool kit. You should have seen the smile on his face when I gave it to him.

As for me, I wore a simple, lightweight, light grey hoodie with a sports bra underneath. My pants were torn light blue jeans that had seen better days, and on my feet were grey trainers that barely kept the dampness out. Not quite the outfit to wear on rainy days. Thinking about it now, with winter near, I’m going to have to find some winter supplies despite our severe money shortage. The chill in the November air was already biting, and there was no doubt December would be worse. The thought of facing freezing nights with barely enough to keep us warm sent a shiver down my spine. We needed heavier coats, proper shoes, maybe even some gloves—things I had to figure out how to get, somehow, before the real cold settled in.

With the block of flats finally within view, the rain — to our displeasure — decided to fuck us over, lashing down without warning. Nathan quickly lifted his hood, and I yanked mine up, the fabric already clinging to my hair. I broke into a swift jog, the weight of the groceries feeling heavier with each step, as the downpour soaked through my clothes.

Reaching the lobby, I leaned down to let Nathan slide off my back, his small feet hitting the ground with a splash. My shoulders felt lighter but my body was drenched. Together, we ascended the stairs, our shoes squelching and leaving a wet trail behind us. The smell of damp and decay in the stairwell mixed with the musty air, a stark reminder of our living conditions. We moved quickly, eager to reach the relative safety and dryness of our flat.

Climbing the stairs, the pungent aroma of ciggies mixed with weed assaulted my senses, masking the scent of the mossy, crumbling white render. A shiver ran through me as the wind picked up, whistling through the multiple balconies alongside the corridors. Graffiti of gang brands and names littered the walls, floors, and doors, even the cracked windows blocked off by newspapers. The whole building was a hoodlum’s canvas, a testament to the neglect and decay of Halewood.

Underneath every flickering light, swarms of flies buzzed in chaotic traffic, flying each way as we passed through. In the shady parts, gangs always loitered, smoking and drinking with their black hoods up and masks on, leaving only their eyes visible. Those eyes always seemed to follow my every move, their beady stares lingering on my arse. Just to confirm my discomfort, one of them whistled suggestively, making the others snicker. Nathan turned his head, curiosity piqued.

I quickly freed my hand, already burdened with grocery bags, and placed it on his furthest shoulder, urging him to keep walking. “Come on, lad,” I murmured, my voice steady despite the tension. My mind raced with thoughts of how vulnerable we were, how exposed. I had to protect Nathan from this dark world, even if it meant enduring the lecherous gazes of these pricks.

I thought about the countless times I’d walked these halls, each time feeling a little more like a battlefield. I remembered the lessons I’d learned the hard way — never show fear, never look back, and always be ready to defend yourself. My fingers itched for the comfort of the knife hidden in my waistband, a habit I’d picked up from years of living on the edge.

These hallways were a far cry from the childhood I wanted for Nathan. He deserved to play in safe, sunny parks, not navigate these treacherous corridors filled with broken glass and hostile stares. Each step we took echoed my determination to give him a better life, no matter the cost.

As we neared our door, the weight of the groceries and the oppressive atmosphere made my muscles ache. The only solace was knowing that once we were inside, we could shut out the world for a little while.

This place is a nightmare. Muggings, theft, assault, and even murder are routine. Bloodstains on the walls tell tales of the unfortunate souls who never made it out. Their remains are forever etched into this decaying structure. The likely culprits? The Stoners. The name might sound harmless, but these guys live by a brutal code. Look at them the wrong way, and you’re emptying your pockets. Get caught talking shit, and you’d better be ready to fight.

Living here is a last resort, but it’s the cheapest option, and right now, that’s all Nathan and I can afford. Three months we’ve managed to survive in this hellhole. Somehow, we’ve stayed under the radar, avoiding major trouble. But there’s always a dark cloud looming, and that cloud’s name is Jordan. He’s a nasty piece of work who doesn’t give a damn about anyone.

Jordan’s been to jail twice, and his reputation is well-earned. The first time, at 15, he was part of a mob that robbed and torched a corner shop, trapping the employees inside. He got caught trying to flee. They say it was revenge for one of their own getting caught stealing and being held until the feds came. The second time was worse. He was in a knife fight, killed three, injured five, and got nabbed again.

Now he’s out and lurking around the block, smoking, drinking, and eyeing me like a predator. He’s relentless, always trying to corner me with lewd comments and sleazy looks. Every encounter with him makes my skin crawl. Last time, Nathan was with me. His little hands clung to my jeans, sensing my fear. I’d stood my ground, my hand on the hidden knife in my waistband. “Not today, you bastard,” I thought, glaring at him with more confidence than I felt. He’d smirked, that infuriating smirk that made me want to punch his teeth in, but he’d backed off — for now.

I can’t let my guard down. Not for a second. This place is a battlefield, and I’m fighting a war on all fronts. For Nathan, for myself, for a future that doesn’t seem as bleak as the present. Each day is a struggle, but giving up isn’t an option. Nathan depends on me. I can’t afford to show fear or weakness. I have to stay strong, no matter how much it tears me up inside.

Reaching the floor of our dorm, we shed our hoods, and I paused Nathan before he could dash off to our room.

“Here, take the keys. They’re in my hoodie, left pocket,” I instructed, leaning toward him slightly. He retrieved the keys with a childish giggle and scurried away. As I gripped the strained handles of the plastic bags a bit tighter, thoughts of a soothing bath momentarily lightened my mood.

Just as Nathan was about to turn the corner, three lads emerged simultaneously. My heart lurched as Nathan collided with the one in the middle, drenching the man’s thick, raven coat and shirt with the contents of his bottle. Nathan stumbled backward onto his rear, his face a mix of anxiety and regret as he surveyed the mess.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Fucking watch where you’re going, kid!” the man bellowed, his eyes igniting with anger as he towered over Nathan. Frozen, Nathan sat there, his eyes wide and mouth agape, struggling to formulate a response. “Fucking hell, you twat.”

“OI!” I yelled, letting my bags fall to the floor. “There’s no fucking need for that; he’s just a kid!” I marched forward, positioning myself between Nathan and the looming figure. The man’s hood shadowed his face, but as he looked up, the unmistakable green eyes of Jordan met mine, morphing his anger into a cocky grin.

“Oh, didn’t see you there, Mia,” Jordan said, ignoring Nathan for the moment as he approached me with that smug look plastered on his face. “I’m having a gaff later on; maybe I could pick you up around 8, ay?”

“Don’t bother,” I shot back, my voice dripping with disdain. “I don’t have time to get drugged up and drunk off my ass just so you can get me into your filthy bed. Besides, I bet you already have slags going to your flat just so they can get paid by getting fucked. I don’t want anything to do with that, you rag-ass cunt.” I emphasized every word, making it clear exactly how I felt. I knew Jordan and his type all too well. He looked at me like a predator sizing up his prey. To him, I was nothing more than a slab of meat.

“You’re cute when you’re angry, y’know. Come round whenever, there’ll always be a spot on the bed for you.” Jordan sniggered, clearly not catching the venom in my voice. He never did take me seriously, nor did he take any other girl seriously. It didn’t matter what we said; like all the lads these days, our words went in one ear and out the other. Mention money, video games, or sex, though, and you had their undivided attention. It’s fucking unreal. I could only hope Nathan wouldn’t grow up to be like that.

As Jordan walked by, staring me down the entire time, he couldn’t resist slapping my ass and giving it a squeeze, making his intentions blatantly clear. I grimaced at the contact, my skin crawling with disgust. It took everything in me not to reach for my side, where a kitchen knife was tucked in, ready to be used. But I didn’t move or turn my head, even when I heard my bag of groceries being kicked. I just sighed in relief that he only kicked the bag. He could have robbed me, and I wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it.

I waited until I heard the fading footsteps heading downstairs before turning around. My shoulders dropped as I saw the carton of eggs smashed to bits, the yolk spreading like blood across the floor. I could only hope a few eggs survived. I haven’t had eggs in ages. I leaned down, grabbing the plastic bag in one hand and the scattered groceries in the other. Nathan joined me, his small hands carefully picking up the undamaged items.

“You okay, Mia?” Nathan finally broke the silence. I turned to meet his concerned features and mustered what I hoped was a reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry, kiddo, I’m fine. But you need to be more careful where you’re running, especially around here. Not many nice people in this place, you hear me?”

He nodded silently, a frown creasing his little face. “Sorry,” he said apologetically. I exhaled, rubbing my tired eyes. God, it felt like I hadn’t slept in days.

“Look, I just don’t want to see you hurt. Stay close to me when we’re around here, okay?” I wrapped my arm around his neck and pulled him into a warm hug despite the cold. “I love you, okay? I’m not telling you off because I’m disappointed. I just want you to learn from your mistakes. Trust me, you’ll make a lot more in life, but remember, I’ll always be there for you no matter what.” I smiled as he smiled back at me.

“Okay,” he replied, freeing himself from my grasp. “Come on, I’m hungry.”

“Alright, just stay by me,” I said, picking up the bags once more.

-/:/-

Unlocking the front door of my apartment, I groaned at the sight that greeted me when I flicked the lights on. The single, flickering bulb cast a harsh light over the room, revealing the extent of the decay. The wallpaper hung in ripped and torn shreds, stained yellow from years of neglect. A persistent leak dripped steadily into a half-filled bucket in the corner, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent room.

The floorboards creaked ominously underfoot, some of them warped and others splintered, threatening to give way at any moment. The entire room reeked of mold and decay, like a rat’s corpse had been left to rot somewhere hidden. Piles of old newspapers and discarded items cluttered the corners, adding to the sense of squalor.

In other words, a complete shit hole. Yet, despite its many flaws, it was still a refuge from the dangers outside. I’d rather be here, in this decrepit apartment, than in Jordan’s place. Fucking prick.

I set the groceries down on the rickety kitchen table, its surface scarred from years of use. The table wobbled slightly under the weight, but it held. Nathan looked up at me, his eyes wide with concern, and I mustered a reassuring smile.

“Home sweet home,” I muttered sarcastically, trying to lighten the mood. But the truth was, this place was all we had, and I had to make it work for Nathan’s sake.

Dropping my keys into the pocket of my hoodie, I hung it on the back of the door, revealing my black tank top and the handle of the knife tucked into the side of my jeans. I hated carrying it, hated what I might have to use it for, but there was one thing I hated more: this town.

I despised the way I felt afraid in my own home, loathed the times I had to walk past chavs with their hoods up, not knowing if they intended to rob me or worse, violate me. That’s why I stayed equipped and ready. I didn’t want to stab anyone, let alone kill, but for Nathan’s sake, I had to be prepared for anything.

The weight of the knife was a constant reminder of the life we were trapped in. Every time I felt its cold handle against my skin, a shiver ran down my spine. It wasn’t just a tool for protection; it was a symbol of the harsh reality we lived in—a reality where danger lurked around every corner and trust was a luxury we couldn’t afford.

I turned to Nathan, who was watching me with those big, innocent eyes. He deserved a better life than this, a life free from fear and violence. But until I could give him that, I had to be strong. I had to be ready to do whatever it took to keep him safe.

“Come on, Mia. I’m hungry!” Nathan complained, running over to the couch and reaching for the remote. I rolled my eyes and chuckled a bit. Should have known he would head straight to the TV. Liverpool were playing today against Manchester United at Old Trafford. I was actually excited about it too. Man U hadn’t done well this season under Ole, so Nathan and I reckoned we’d win five or six nil. Doesn’t matter if they do have Ronaldo—big Virgil will sort him out. It’s going to be a good game.

“Alright, alright, I’ll get dinner sorted,” Walking over to the kitchen side of the room, I placed the bags on the countertop and began putting everything away in the cupboards and the old, rickety fridge. Only three eggs had survived Jordan’s kick—better than two, I guess.

“So, what are we having for tea then? Fancy egg on toast? Or I’ve got a packet of chicken noodles here? Up to you,” I asked, glancing over my shoulder to see Nathan flick off his shoes.

“Ooo, can I have egg on toast! Haven’t had that in ages,” he cheered, his smile lighting up the room. That smile always managed to brighten my day, no matter how tough things got.

“Alright then, egg on toast it is,” I said, more to myself than to Nathan. Suddenly, the sound of commentary filled the room, and the familiar, somewhat annoying voices of Gary Neville and Jamie Carragher blared from the TV.

“Hurry up, Mia. It’s about to start,” Nathan moaned, getting comfy with a pillow over his lap.

“Alright, calm your ass down, kiddo. It’ll only take a few minutes, you big dope,” I smirked. He always loved his food and didn’t like to wait for it. Typical lad behavior, that. But I couldn’t blame him—I was bloody starving too.

I quickly cracked the surviving eggs into a pan, the sizzle filling the kitchen with a warm, comforting sound. The smell of frying eggs wafted through the room, mixing with the excitement of the impending match. Nathan’s laughter and the pre-match commentary created a cozy, almost normal atmosphere, a rare respite from our usual struggles.

As the eggs cooked, I prepared the toast, my movements quick and practiced. These small moments of routine, of caring for Nathan, grounded me. No matter how chaotic our lives were, these little rituals brought a sense of stability.

“Here you go, Nate,” I said, placing the plate of egg on toast in front of him. His eyes lit up, and he dug in with enthusiasm.

I joined him on the couch, our eyes glued to the screen as the players took to the field. For now, at least, we could forget about the world outside and enjoy the game together.

-/:/-

“Aww, what a ball from Hendo!” I cheered in awe, a glass of coke in one hand as I stood up.

“Go on, Salah! Go on, Salah!” Nathan bounced on the couch, crumbs of toast and bits of egg plastered to the side of his mouth.

“YESSSS!” we both shouted as Salah scored his third goal against Manchester United five minutes into the second half. To say we were buzzing was an understatement. With everything that happened an hour ago, we felt like we were on top of the world. It was five-nil to Liverpool with forty minutes to go. This could easily be seven or eight nil.

“Man United are fucking shit!” Nathan laughed. I laughed with him. Some may judge me for letting Nathan swear, but honestly, I don’t see what all the fuss is about. When you’re a Scouser, swear words are just part of your vocabulary. It’s like saying a nun isn’t allowed to pray to the Lord. Shit slips out in the heat of the moment. We do it unconsciously; it’s not our fault.

“Alright, lad, let’s see if they can make it six,” I said, settling back down beside him. We both leaned forward, eyes glued to the screen as the match continued, the tension and excitement palpable.

Nathan’s laughter filled the room, mixing with the triumphant roars of the commentators and the crowd at Old Trafford. For now, we were in our own little world, united by our love for Liverpool and the shared exhilaration of the game.

“FUCK SAKE!!!” a man’s voice shouted from behind the wall, followed by the sound of a bottle smashing. Nathan snickered.

“Was that Tony?” he whispered, as if he thought the next-door neighbor could hear him.

“Yeah, he’s a dirty Manc,” I whispered back, wrapping my arm around him. Tony is a lifelong Manchester United fan, one of the OGs who’s seen his team win almost everything. But now, he’s a bad alcoholic, and recently, I’ve noticed some odd smells coming from his place. Drugs, if I had to guess. I would say I feel sorry for the old bastard, but let’s be real. I have better things to do than worry about anyone else other than Nathan.

“He stinks, y’know,” Nathan giggled.

“Yeah, that’s why you don’t go near him. He’s got gobshite-arthritis.” Nathan laughed harder. His laughter echoed around our dingy apartment, a bright spot in our otherwise grim surroundings.

The game continued in the background, but for a moment, all I could focus on was Nathan’s smile and the warmth of his small body against mine. His happiness, even in these tough times, brought a rare sense of comfort. Suddenly, I heard my phone buzz. Reaching for my pocket and pulling it out, my smile faded a little as the name ‘Gaby’ appeared on the screen. Gaby? What does she want? And at this time?

“I’m going to take this call, I’ll be a sec,” I said to Nathan, making my way to the front door and picking up my hoodie on the way out.

“Alright, don’t take long,” he replied, his eyes fixed on the game.

Leaning on the railing of the balcony, I stared at the phone in wonder. Why now? Why me? With a deep breath, I answered the call, waiting for her to speak first. That’s the rule these days. Paranoid as fuck, I don’t truly know who the person is behind any call. That’s why I never speak first. I’ve got too many rival gangs, feds, or hell, even my dad could be looking for me. If it’s not Gaby on the other end, I’m smashing this phone and we’re leaving. I’m taking no risks, not now, not ever again.

“Hey, Mia. It’s me, Gaby.” The soft voice of Gaby came through the phone. I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Gaby is an old friend; we met at a park when we were young and became close. The only downside is that she’s a bitter blue, so we’re constantly at each other’s throats when our teams play each other.

“Hey, Gaby. It’s been a while, huh?” I murmured, gazing into the darkness of the night.

“Yeah, it has. I miss the times we spent together. It hasn’t been the same. It’s all business and no joy. JC has us working around the clock after you left, y’know,” she said, yawning right after. Bloody hell, with a deep yawn like that, she mustn’t be kidding.

“JC? Why is he making you lot work for him? He’s a nobody. Kenny better not be pulling another favor for him,” I growled, knowing Kenny all too well.

“Aye, we’re meant to be a gang, a family, not employees who get paid with free dinner and tea. It pisses me off!” she shouted over the phone. “I just—I just want out. I want to start over with someone I know. Kenny and even JC have got us linked with a lot of shady firms that I don’t like the sound of. They’re picking Kenny and JC apart and they can’t even see it. All they can think about is making the dough. I think they’re gonna leave us to rot and take all we have.”

Gaby started to sob over the phone, and I felt my depression build within. The thing I hate most of all is seeing my friends cry helplessly and not being able to do anything about it. I waited for five painful minutes for her to finish as she babbled on about her situation. I pulled out a pack of ciggies and lit one, inhaling the unhealthy bullshit that’s supposed to make me feel better.

“I’m sorry, at this point I’m just offloading everything onto you,” she said, her voice shaky.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m your mate. What are mates for, ay?” I chuckled lightly. “Besides, I’m the gal you usually come to talk to.”

“Yeah, you always did listen to what I had to say, what everyone had to say. You’re a good listener without meaning to be,” she sniffled, her sobs stopping for the time being.

“In my eyes, if you don’t listen to the people you care about, you might as well hang up the phone,” I murmured, taking a quick drag. “No point picking up the phone at all if that’s how you want to treat them.”

“And that’s why you’re my best mate, Mia,” she sniffled before asking the question I had been waiting for. “Hey, I don’t mean to be a pain, but could I stay with you for a while? You know what my arl fella is like, and well… I don’t really have any more family or friends. You’re the only person I can turn to… so, could I?”

I didn’t answer at first. It was tempting to bring back a familiar face into my small circle, someone trustworthy and honest. But providing for another mouth with the financial problems I’m facing, that’s shit I can’t be dealing with, especially with a 5-year-old kid to care for. I knew for a fact she had no dough; otherwise, she wouldn’t be calling to freeload off me. The reasonable thing to do was to tell her to fuck off and unload on someone else. I’d told myself countless times I had better things to do than feel sorry or care about anyone else other than Nathan. But… I couldn’t. Not to Gaby, not after everything she’s done for me.

“Hey, Mia? Still there?” Gaby’s voice came through nervously, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“Oh, yeah, sorry. Just blanked out for a second there, these ciggies just hit different.” I took the last drag of the cigarette before flicking it away. “Yeah, you can stay with me and Nathan. We could do with some company. Must warn you, though, we’ve got a scruffy, fat mess of a Manc as a neighbor, and the block is packed full of Stoners. It’s not going to be your dream room either.”

“That won’t matter too much, gal. With you and me, we’ll be flying.”

“You’re too optimistic. We hit the peak when we were robbing corner stores left, right, and center. Now look where we are. Kenny and JC are taking the piss and left you lot with the scraps. I left because I saw that a mile away and I wasn’t going to let Nathan be in the middle of that shit-wreck.” I fumed, gripping the railing tightly.

“Aye, you said that before you left. I guess I loved them too much to see what Kenny was doing to us. Sorry I didn’t believe you.” She sighed. “Now I’m more miserable than ever. I guess that’s what I get for not listening to you or paying attention to what was happening right in front of me.”

“Hey, there’s no need to beat yourself up over it now. I know you meant well at the end of the day. Come over to mine, we can talk more. I kind of want to get back to the match. I’ll text you the details of my place. Ring me when you’re near.” I said, leaning back from my spot.

“Oh, are the Red Shite playing? Bet you’re getting twatted everywhere.” She laughed.

“Nah, only winning five nil at Old Trafford. Standard shit. How about you Blue Shite, where are you on the table?” I replied snarkily.

“You lot, always worrying about us. You lot would never have existed if it wasn’t for—”

“Since 1995! Since 1995! You haven’t won a trophy, you haven’t won a trophy, you haven’t won a trophy! Since 1995!” I sang, blocking out whatever her snide comeback was until the familiar sound of her hanging up came through. I chuckled. That always pisses her off.
Quickly texting her my location, I didn’t leave right away. I leaned back on the railing and sighed deeply, feeling the weight of the world pressing down on me. I wanted to cry right then and there, curl up like a toddler and let the tears flow. I felt so tired, so pissed off.

The little bit of happiness I’d felt was fading away into the night. I try so hard to keep a smile on my face so I don’t turn into a sobbing mess, so I don’t look weak in front of Nathan. I hate the way I have to risk my ass going into strangers’ homes, wondering if I’m going to die or not. I hate the way I get looked at like some bitch who will fuck any lad from the block. I hate the way I have to look after a fucking five-year-old child as if I have the money to do that, as if I had a home to do that, as if I had the fucking time to do that.

Slowly, I turned my back against the railing and slid down to the cold, hard floor. My hand reached out to my jacket pocket, pulling out another ciggie. Holding the orange bit with my lips, I covered the lighter with my hand as I tried to light the end. After five minutes of futile attempts, I realized I had no more gas in the lighter. I felt like giving up right there, letting my arms fall to the floor and the ciggie drop from my lips. What was the fucking point anymore? I can’t even enjoy something that is slowly killing my lungs.

I don’t believe in God, but fuck you, I thought bitterly, staring up at the dark, indifferent sky. The stars offered no solace, their distant light only mocking my misery. I felt the tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them away, refusing to let them fall.

I sat there for a few more moments, letting the night air chill my skin. The noise from the apartment—Nathan’s laughter and the commentary from the game—felt distant, almost surreal. I was stuck in this liminal space between despair and duty, knowing I couldn’t afford to break down, not now.

“Fuck me, you look like shit,” an unwanted and unwelcome voice said out of nowhere, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“Fuck off, Jordan. I’m not in the mood,” I said, not bothering to look up into his eyes. I could already imagine the smug look on his face.

“No seriously, you look like shit. Look what you’re doing to yourself. Why are you taking responsibility for a kid that’s not even yours? It’s fucked. You’re nineteen years old, for fuck’s sake.” His voice carried a note of genuine confusion, as if the concept of caring for someone else was utterly foreign to him.

I didn’t answer. He would never understand, even if I tried to explain. Jordan had always been about himself, never having to take care of anyone but his own sorry ass.

“Nothing. You’re going to say nothing. Wow, fucking unbelievable. Fucking unreal. Well, you fucking bitch, let me try and get something through your thick head,” he babbled on, his words slurring together. I could practically hear the alcohol speaking for him. Why did I have to deal with him now?

I glanced up, meeting his bleary eyes, bloodshot and unfocused. His breath reeked of booze, and he swayed slightly as he tried to make his point. “Jordan, just leave me alone. Go sleep it off,” I muttered, my patience wearing thin.

He took a step closer, invading my space, his presence oppressive. “No, I’m not done. You need to wake up and see what a mess you’re making of your life. That kid isn’t your problem. You could be out there, having fun, living your life, but instead, you’re stuck here in this shithole,” he spat, the words laced with disdain.

I clenched my fists, trying to keep my temper in check. “You don’t know anything about my life, Jordan. So back off,” I said through gritted teeth.

Jordan’s expression shifted from confusion to anger, his eyes narrowing. “You think you’re better than me? Huh? Just because you’re playing house with that brat? You’re nothing, Mia. Nothing.”

His words stung, but I refused to let him see it. “Get out of my face, Jordan. Now,” I warned, my voice low and dangerous.

Suddenly, a force grabbed me by the collar, yanking my body up to be level with Jordan’s eyes. I saw the unstable fury burning in those eyes. I was about to retort, but a pain like a sledgehammer to the stomach left me breathless. My body crumpled to the ground, and I curled up immediately, wrapping my arms around my belly as spit dribbled from my open mouth. My body struggled to comprehend the pain. Fuck me, he has a mean gut punch.

But he didn’t stop there. While I was in a ball on the ground, he took a few steps back and, like taking a goal kick, volleyed me right in the nose.

“I’ve. Fucking. Had. Enough. Of. You.” He roared, kicking me wildly while hanging onto the railing above me. “Who. The. Fuck. Do. You. Think. You. Are. Telling. Me. To. Fuck. Off. You. Fucking. Skank!” he finished, landing his last kick to my ribs.

All I could feel was pain searing across my upper body. I couldn’t think straight; I could barely see as my vision started tunneling and doubling. The taste of iron filled my mouth as warm blood ran from my nose down my face. My mind was rocked, and I felt sick from all the dizziness.

I knew he was still ranting about me, but it was only background noise compared to the ringing in my ears. I tried to keep my breathing under control, but with the shock and lack of air, it was impossible to get my shit together. Each breath was a struggle, each gasp sending jolts of agony through my body.

I blinked, trying to clear my vision, but the darkness was closing in. The world spun, and I felt like I was teetering on the edge of consciousness. I had to fight it. I had to stay awake. For Nathan. For myself.

Then I heard a faint creaking sound, and my vision brightened a bit. The next thing I heard was a young voice calling my name. My blood went cold as the realization struck home.

Shakily, I looked up to see a blurry Nathan in the doorway, his face twisted in horror. I tried to speak, to tell him to close the door and lock it, but my words were stuck in my throat.

“M-Mia?” he said, his voice trembling with terror. The poor kid must think I’m dead with the way I look. Considering the state I’m in, he’s not far from the truth.

“Ah, and there’s the other little shit. I still have to pay you back for spilling my drink all over me and for cock blocking me, you little prick,” Jordan said with a low, menacing chuckle. No, no he wouldn’t. Not to a kid, surely. Even if he was hammered, no one could just hit a kid, could they? But as Jordan slowly walked towards the frozen Nathan, my body worked overtime to pick myself up. Even if my body screamed in protest, I had to get up, I just had to.

My arms shook from the weight of my own body, which felt ten times heavier than normal, but I had to keep pushing.

Making my way to one knee, I took a breather as all my senses started to come back, along with a bit of my balance. Looking back up, I started to panic as Jordan closed the door behind him. The sound of the door being locked only deepened my fears. With the stories of what this maniac had done in the past, I could only imagine what was happening inside. I eventually got onto my feet, my heart pounding in my chest.

“AHHHHH, THAT HURTS, STOP!”

All the pain, all the fear I felt from Jordan instantly vanished, and something deep within me, something I hadn’t felt in years, began to stir. My blood boiled, ready to erupt with corrupted rage. No one, and I mean no one, touches Nathan and thinks they can get away with it. I don’t care whose block I’m staying in. Jordan is done.

Gritting my teeth, I charged the door, leaning my shoulder into it without a thought of slowing down. I didn’t feel the impact; all I knew was that the door wasn’t open. So I did it again, and again, and again, until the rusted old door broke off its hinges, all while shouting death threats at the top of my lungs like an animal to its prey. I was beyond furious. I couldn’t care less if it was me getting beaten, but Nathan is a different story. No one touches my little boy.

I swear to God, if I see him being beaten, I don’t know what I will do, especially with a knife by my side. I’ve stabbed someone before—someone I didn’t know. Who knows how many times I’ll shank this prick.

With a feral roar, I charged the door with everything I had. Finally, the door was slammed off its hinges, and I fell to the ground with it. The sound of pleas for help and cries of agony grew louder, mingled with the sickening noise of flesh hitting flesh.

I scrambled up from the door and instantly saw Jordan kneeling over Nathan, beating him relentlessly. My whole body trembled with fury, and I felt a sharp pain in my mouth—I’d chipped my tooth from clenching my jaw so hard. That was it. That was all I needed to see to know what I was about to do to him.

Blood pounded in my ears as I reached for the knife at my side, my vision narrowing to a tunnel focused solely on Jordan. The rage I felt was pure, unfiltered, and unstoppable. No more words, no more hesitation. Jordan was going to pay for this.

With a few quick steps, I positioned myself behind Jordan. Grabbing the back of his hood, I yanked him backward, causing him to lose balance and fall on his ass. The unstable Jordan was momentarily confused, giving me just enough time to pull back my leg and deliver a powerful kick to his jaw. His features went slack, and his eyes became foggy.

Dazed, Jordan fell back, and I knew this was my moment to put an end to him. Pulling out an eight-inch kitchen knife from my jeans, I straddled him. Without a second’s hesitation, I plunged the knife deep into his chest, right through his coat.

His eyes shot open, and his mouth formed a silent scream. It was satisfying to see such a rare expression of shock on his face. Jordan, who always wore a cocky smile or a snarl, now showed fear. Seeing that fear brought a twisted smile to my face.

But I wasn’t done. I plunged the knife into him again, and again, and again, each thrust fueled by the pain and torment he had inflicted on us. As many times as he kicked me, for as many days as he tormented me, for every time he hit Nathan — which I didn’t know the exact number of, so I continued until I was satisfied.

Each stab was a release of all the pent-up rage and helplessness I had felt. Blood splattered with every thrust, covering my hands and clothes, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. Not until Jordan was reduced to a motionless, bloody heap beneath me.

“How do you like it, Jor-dan?” I chuckled mockingly. “I know you’ve killed people before. I was told you pissed on one of their graves right after because he didn’t pay the money he owed. What are you? A kid? You’re so childish.” I shouted, twisting the knife within his body. I felt the flesh give way, and the blood gushed more fluidly. It was like music to my ears when he screamed like a bitch.

His screams were raw and filled with terror, a stark contrast to the cocky and menacing persona he usually wore. I twisted the knife again, savouring the sound of his agony. This was payback for all the pain he had caused, for every bruise and scar he had left on us.

“You thought you were untouchable, didn’t you?” I hissed, leaning closer to his face. “Well, look at you now. You’re nothing.”

His eyes rolled back, and his body convulsed beneath me. The sight of his bloodied, defeated form brought a grim satisfaction. I had finally taken back some control, reclaimed some power from the man who had terrorized us for so long.

As his screams subsided into weak gasps, I pulled the knife out one last time, watching as his life drained away. His eyes glazed over, and the fight left his body.

“M-Mia?” a frail sob came from behind me. I froze on the spot, the knife still held above my head, ready to strike down. Slowly, I turned around to meet the eyes of the boy I swore to protect and raise with all the love I had to give. The kid I vowed to give a better life than my own.

Nathan’s eye was almost completely swollen like a balloon, tears pouring down his face. His nose was leaking blood, and there was a cut on his forehead, nearly hidden by his hair. I immediately dropped the knife onto Jordan’s unflinching body and moved to comfort Nathan with a deep hug. As soon as I got close, Nathan clawed back and flinched when I tried to wrap my arms around him, his eyes closed as he shook violently. I stopped, inches in front of him.

Only then did I realize what I had just done right in front of Nathan. The fear in his eyes broke my heart. My hands trembled, and I felt myself go cold as fresh tears of my own spilled. What did this mean for me? Would he ever forgive me? Would he ever want to stay with me? After all this time, is this how it ends? Me murdering someone to protect Nathan? Why did I do that? Why didn’t I do something else? Why didn’t I just knock him out or stab him at least once in the arm or leg? Why was my first thought to kill that son of a bitch?

Now, the only person I truly cared for feared me. What is wrong with me?

I let my arms go limp and my body sag, feeling my energy and will expire. Getting up, I nearly fell back down as the pain came back into focus. Steadily, I walked to the wide-open door and closed it behind me. I debated on leaving then and there but instead leaned back to my previous spot and pulled out another smoke, knowing full well that one wasn’t going to be enough.

0-0-0-0-0

Five cigarettes later, I found myself half-debating asking the lads across from me for some weed and half-debating jumping off the two-story block right then and there. Smoking these fags hadn’t helped me whatsoever. I didn’t know why I was still smoking them. It was like applying for college and only turning up for one day—pointless and a waste of time.

The nicotine did nothing to numb the storm of emotions inside me. My mind raced with guilt, fear, and regret. I glanced over at the group of lads huddled together, their laughter and casual banter a stark contrast to the chaos in my head. The idea of losing myself in a haze of weed was tempting, but I knew it wouldn’t solve anything.

The thought of jumping crossed my mind again, the dark allure of escape whispering seductively. It would be so easy to just end it all, to let go of the pain and the fear. But then Nathan’s face flashed in my mind, and I knew I couldn’t leave him alone in this world, especially not after what he had just witnessed.

Yet again, I’ve been smoking for the longest time, finding a bit of comfort in the familiar ritual. It brings me back to when I was younger, when life was simple and meaningless. When I was with my friends and family, we didn’t fuss over the big or small things in life—we just enjoyed the time we had together. Back when Kenny, Linda, Ben, Mason, Mark, Gaby, and I were kids, playing footy or hanging out at school. That was the life.

But now, I don’t even know what to do with my life. I don’t know where to go after what I did. Should I just walk away and let Nathan be someone else’s problem? That kid—the gorgeous, bright, young lad—deserves better than me. He doesn’t deserve a murderous bitch like me. It was tempting, so tempting, to run free without the responsibility of someone on my back.

But I couldn’t. I could never leave such a precious boy in a place like this. Never. Not only that, I promised Nathan’s mother, my big sister, that I would never leave him. I promised I would cook, feed, and bathe him; hug, kiss, and show him all my love. And at the end of the day, I promised I would fight, protect, and yes… I promised to kill for him.

Flicking away my fifth and final ciggy, I was about to turn back to the door to confront Nathan when my phone started to buzz in my jeans. Pulling it out, a notification popped up on the screen. It was a message from Gaby saying she was ten minutes away. Good. The faster she’s here, the quicker we can go. Jordan’s fuck boys are probably wondering where he is, or they’re too stoned to care. I’m hoping for the latter.

“Sooo, let me guess. The red stain on your face and clothing is just tomato sauce and not the blood of a man you just killed,” a charming old voice said from my side. It was a pleasurable tone to listen to if you didn’t know who you were speaking to, but now wasn’t the time. Huffing, I turned to see a cute German Shepherd puppy, sitting in the middle of the catwalk, staring back with those sentient eyes.

“What’s up, Discord?”

~End Of Chapter~