Incite (Sphere of Irony 1)

chapter 1

Adam

The screams from the flat next door start up like clockwork at ten p.m., just like they do every night. After six months of listening to the couple argue, I know that there’s nothing I can do to shut out their voices, not a pillow over my head, not cotton wool stuffed in my ears, not even turning up the ancient radio on the filthy floor next to my crappy mattress will stop me from hearing them.

Instead, I do what I always do when the neighbors get loud. I pull out my well worn, second-hand guitar and create. As the music flows from my calloused fingers and through the strings beneath them, I swear to myself for the millionth time that I will get the fuck out of this hellhole someday.

As usual, my crackhead mum is out for the night, probably on a piss up or selling herself for drugs. If I’m lucky, I’ll see her once a week, maybe twice. My dad, well… who the hell knows where that tosser is? Whenever he graces us with his presence, all he does is beat the shite out of me and my mum. Not that she gives a crap if he does. She sits there with her drugged-up, glazed-over eyes and lets him pound on her or me until he’s bored.

Unable to block out the neighbors, I squeeze my eyes shut, adding words to the strumming. Softly singing as the yelling becomes violent next door.

“I’m not going to die in this pit of despair…”

Something or someone slams against the wall behind me. The sketches I have plastered all over it flutter outward from the shaking. I’ve learned not to cringe anymore, so the trembling wall doesn’t cause me to react, not even a blink.

“I’ll pull myself out…. Get the fuck out of here….”

Only one more term. One more term until I’m done with school and can leave this shitty town, this shitty flat, and this shitty life.

I play until it’s quiet on the other side of my bedroom wall and my fingers are numb, then collapse under the covers passing out instantly.

“Reynolds!”

I don’t even need to look back to know that my best mate Dax Davies is rushing to catch up to me in the hallway. A dozen or so girls leaning on lockers turn their heads to watch him walk by. Yeah, he’s popular with them, we both are.

“Dax.” I remain unaffected, pretending not to notice the sighs and giggles that are thrown our way.

His heavy hand slaps my back, making me stumble a bit before regaining my footing. “Tosser.” I sound angry but I’m unable to keep the smile off of my face. Dax is a huge guy, all muscles and intimidating scowl, but he’s been my best mate for so long I don’t even notice how terrifying he can be anymore.

“First day of our last term, right?” Dax speaks as we dodge other students who are making their way to their respective classes. We make sure to avoid eye contact with hopeful girls, saving that for after school not during. It’s too distracting if you let them get close during school hours.

“Right,” I nod in agreement. Dax knows how it is. He grew up here in the blighted suburbs of London’s East End right alongside me. His family is just as fucked up as mine. We know we’re not going to university, which means we’re done after this year. Off to become adults when we’re hardly out of puberty.

“We still heading to town Saturday to see if we can get that gig?”

I stop and turn to face Dax before ducking into my first class, in no way eager to start another boring four months of school. “Fuckin’ hell! Of course we’re going!” I point at his swollen eye. “Nice shiner by the way.” It’s hard to miss Dax’s various bruises since he usually has at least a few. Then, I’m not one to talk, since I show up with plenty of my own from time to time, for totally different reasons of course.

“Hey, Adaaaam.” I cringe when I hear a female voice sing my name out from the sea of students. My body immediately tenses up as Lucy Collins weaves through everyone, ending up uncomfortably close.

“Lucy,” I respond in a detached tone, not wanting to give her any sliver of hope that she has a chance. Christ, I gave in to better judgment and fucked her once at the end of last term. Unfortunately, her obsession with me has only gotten worse. Silly me for hoping that the holidays were enough to make her forget about me and move on. I should have known better, the way she acts around me that she wasn’t going to let go that easily. Lucy knows I don’t get with the same girl twice and she’s already had her turn, so I haven’t a clue as to why she thinks she’s different, because she’s not.

Bastard that he is, Dax stifles a laugh and slowly backs away, his shoulders shaking in enjoyment at my predicament. As always, he’s amused by girls’ persistence, as if it’s some kind of game to him.

“After school, Reynolds. Practice, at our usual spot.” He points at me, spins on his heel, and takes off, leaving me stuck with a clingy Lucy.

Useless fucking twat of a mate he is!

Lucy flips her long brown hair and sticks out her lower lip, pouting and trying for sexy. As hot as she is, it’s not working, it never works.

“Adam, I was hoping we could meet after school.” She trails her nails up my arm and grips my bicep tightly, going for a display of ownership that only manages to make me angry.

I reach up to carefully pry her fingers off of me, resisting the urge to grimace. Gotta keep that happy, smiling façade for everyone so no one realizes what a fucking disaster my life is.

“Can’t, you heard Dax. I’ve got plans.” Dismissing her, I duck into the classroom and leave her standing alone and infuriated.

Lucy knows I don’t do girlfriends. Most of the girls I’ve been with know that and seem to be okay with it. You get me once, that’s it. I don’t do attachments, that way there’s no disappointment when they inevitably let you down. The problem is that I always stay friends with them afterwards. It’s my nature, I think, to be overly nice. Probably because I’

m afraid of becoming my dad. A cold, violent, unfeeling bastard.

With a sigh, I shove my hand through my hair and make my way to the last row of desks. First period always seats us alphabetically for attendance, so you don’t get to choose your seat. I drop into the chair behind Jeffrey Owens, a weird kid that I’ve sat behind for the last two years, and throw my bag on the miniscule desk.

Not yet five minutes into the term and I’m already bored and twitchy. I yank out my notebook and begin sketching. It’s just a random design, sort of like tribal artwork, all black swirls and jagged edges. Ever since I saw some massive Samoan guy on the street covered in similar tattoos, I haven’t been able to get the design out of my head.

“That’s lovely. Are you an artist?”