Hornet's Nest Ch. 01

There were a few times where I'd thump another child or behave boisterously, but nothing really out of the ordinary. So I guess it was a bit of a shock when I got involved in a huge fight when I was 15.

Kids could be really shitty to each other. I suppose it's the fault of the gang culture, invading the youth lifestyle worse than ever before. I tried to keep out of it, I always did my best to stay away. Sometimes I was targeted, because I was that 'rich boy', but I mostly brushed it off. Yet this one time of witnessing some heavy bullying, I just had to intervene.

And almost had my arse handed to me.

Thank fucking God that Wesley was there. But Wesley wasn't the one who started punching someone into the floor and didn't stop until he was dragged off. Wesley didn't get into trouble. Not like I did.

I knew I'd done fucked up, and I was terrified. Two other kids and myself were put into isolation while they 'called home'. I didn't want to be there when my dad came storming in after having an angry school on the phone.

They took ages before they got through to my parents. So they were busy. Great. Dad was gonna be even more pissed.

In the end it was actually Tyler who turned up. I heard the engine of his latest sports car pulling into the school grounds. He looked me up and down with my grazed arms and bruised face, raising an eyebrow like I was the world's biggest retard.

"What the fuck, kid?"

I was completely silent, until I'd been in the car ten minutes, then I blurted out, "I'm gonna get drafted."

"No you're not."

"Yes, I am. This is what happens."

"You're not gonna get drafted for one little fight."

"It's not like when you were a kid anymore. It's not the same. You don't understand."

He let out a deep sigh and gave me this look. "You really think you're gonna get drafted? Really, kid? With who your mum and dad are? Jesus Christ."

I wasn't sure I knew what he meant, or if I liked the implications, so I said nothing else. He didn't take me home. He took me to the company complex and dragged me up to my mum's office so I could explain to her what the fuck had happened. Me being an idiot and trying to dive to the rescue of another kid, basically.

"Is Wes okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, he's fine."

She touched my face. "Good God, David. You're just like your father."

"Yeah," Tyler agreed. "He is. Why do you think they argue all the time, Lia?"

I was shocked by how little my dad cared about it. He asked me if I was okay, looked me over with surprising affection, then asked, "Did you win?"

I had no idea. It'd been split up. Surely I wouldn't have been so bruised and battered if I'd won, right?

The unfortunate thing was that it seemed to open this door to me. Like some violent side had been tapped into, and it kept coming back every time my temper flared up. I hated it, because I couldn't control it. I did get into another fight at school. Then a third one outside. And the stupid thing is that I wasn't exactly winning these fights. Maybe that was what frustrated me so much.

People got regularly shoved. My voice rose a lot. A few chairs got thrown. Tables were flipped. I nearly hurt Hanna storming around the house, which scared me shitless. I couldn't hurt Hanna. I'd snap her in half. I'd kill her.

Tyler thought it was funny.

Sometimes I just couldn't handle Tyler's banter. I think as time went on, he naturally got along better with Wesley, while I got along better with Darren.

Tyler likes winding people up. He'd get too into my face, invade my personal space, put an arm on my shoulder that I didn't want there. I felt like he was starting on me, daring me to do something about it. He insulted my father all the time, but Dad never cared in the slightest. They were always chatting shit at each other. Dad would guffaw, and chuckle, and laugh some more. Tyler's being a prick again. Normal stuff.

I don't know, I guess I'm more sensitive. I guess it was only a matter of time before he pressed the wrong buttons. Or pressed the same old buttons too hard.

It was one of those nights - uncles were over for dinner, so everybody was sitting in the lounge talking afterwards. Tyler was pissing me off. I went out to the kitchen and could almost hear the eye rolls, a tut from Mum. He followed me. Was he going to apologise? No, no. He just kept going. Before I knew what I was doing I spun around and socked him straight in the face.

He went mental. I don't know if any more of my hits landed, he punched me in the head again and again. People dove in from the lounge.

Wesley yanked me away. Darren ripped Tyler back and threw him into the kitchen table. It scraped across the floor. A chair fell over and clattered.

"Fucking kid!" Tyler roared.

He tried to lunge again, but both Dad and Darren held him back. Blood was pouring from his nose. My vision was swimming. Dad gave me an open-palmed smack over the head, salt in the wounds. I stumbled and nearly fell, but Wesley caught me.

Well, shit. I done fucked up again.

Everybody was so angry. A bit of rough and tumble happened in the family, but never anything like that. For a few seconds, that had been... real. Darren was furious. He scolded both of us equally, booming voice piercing every wall of the house.

I was lucky that Tyler's the type of person who was laughing about it, literally thirty minutes later. He came into my room while I laid on my bed with some pitiful concussion. He still held a tissue, even if the worst of the bleeding had slowed.

"Sorry, kid."

"Yeah. I'm sorry."

"You nearly broke my nose." He took the tissue away and checked it for any fresh blood. "Fuck my life. You're a fucking tank, like your dad."

It was only a matter of time before I tried it with my dad.

Two months later, Dad did his annoying thing where he raised his voice at me through my door, forcing me to come out if we didn't want some shouting match. I yanked it open and he was leaning against a wall on the landing, arms crossed, giving me his glare.

He bristled when I surged over. I wasn't thinking, as usual. I got up in his face and shoved him. He shoved me back. Shoved me again before I had any balance. I know it was an accident, but at the time, it seemed like grabbing me and throwing me down the stairs was exactly what he intended to do.

I thudded all the way down and landed at the bottom with a roar of agony. It echoed in the entire house. It was like the floors and doors shook.

This time Mum went mental.

"What the fuck? Zack?!"

Done fucked up again.

"I am sick of this!" she screeched. "You have got to stop this!"

Yeah, I did. And I knew it. I didn't understand what was happening to me. Did I have anger problems?

I writhed on the floor a bit, trying to figure out if something was broken, trying to get air back into my lungs, then dragged myself up to my room, ignoring the voices of my parents. They kept talking for a while, outside my door. Then there was a long silence.

It opened and my dad came in. "Son."

"I'm sorry," I instantly replied. It was always the same. Always my avoidance tactic. Sometimes I didn't even mean it, but if it would make them leave me alone...

"No. It's my fault."

He perched on the end of my bed, but wasn't looking at me. I felt treated like some wild animal as he approached with his side, trying to make himself smaller, appear less threatening. I was still aching and smarting from my fall. My right knee felt like it wouldn't work for days.

There was another long silence.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," I started. "I don't know why I keep doing this."

"You get it from me."

"You think?"

"Yeah." He had his eyes shut and was massaging his eyelids, like whatever he had been 'discussing' with my mother had exhausted him. "David. There's some things I should tell you about."

My stomach tightened, but I said nothing. Just when he looked like he was about to continue, the door opened again, and Wesley poked his head inside.

"Are you two okay?"

Dad beckoned for him to come in without even looking up. Wes took the computer chair and wheeled it slightly across the floor, glancing between us.

"What's going on?"

"There's something I should tell both of you about," Dad replied.

"Oh God."

"Wes," I growled. Dad was opening up about something. I knew this was rare.

He leant his arms on his knees, and chose his words carefully. "When I was your age, older, even a bit younger, I was in a gang. I got into that environment because I behaved pretty much how you are, David."

That... actually didn't seem so bad.

"What, so you were always getting into fights?" I asked.

"Yes and no. You have to understand, it wasn't this petty shit kids these days are doing. It was a drug gang. I was involved in something beside hundreds of other people."

"... Like a fucking drug cartel? Are you serious?"

He didn't reply. He was staring at the wall.

"What were you? What did they make you do?"

"That doesn't matter. All that matters is that they recruited me because I was violent, and useful. Whatever I had, you've got it, so you've got to get over it like I did it. I thought it was just my childhood, but apparently it's fucking genetic." He looked at me. "Don't let it control your life. It's too difficult to get out of that world again, once you're in."

Wesley was spinning in circles on the chair, saying nothing. I guess I was in a slightly stunned silence, too.

"I honestly think I'll be drafted before I get involved in any gang shit, Dad."

"You're not getting drafted." He got to his feet. "Come."

We followed him out, into his and Mum's room. He pulled a box down from on top of the wardrobe, dropped it onto the bed, then reached further back, almost unable to get to whatever it was, even with his height. It was another box, dusty and webby from being tucked into a corner for however long.

He pulled a gun out, and gave it a toss onto the bed. "That's my only relic from those times."

A real fucking pistol. I stared for a moment, then picked it up, and the only stupid thing I managed to ask was, "Is it loaded?"

"No."

Wesley had a hand clasped to his brow, holding hair back from his forehead. He was still completely silent.

"Dad," I started. "That time when you were home for a week. With the broken rib. Was that because of this?"

"No, that was something else."

"What?"

He shook his head. "You'll know one day, when Darren wants to tell you."

"What? You got hurt because of Darren?"

"Yes and no."

"What the fuck?"

"It's not mine to tell, David. Ask him, if you really want. Tyler probably has some things he should tell you, too."

It tore into the fabric of my world. I was so confused. My family had all these dark secrets they were keeping from me? Why? Was I still 'too young'? I was freaking 16. It's not like I didn't encounter worse at school, or on the streets. I knew the world could be a bad place. Nobody could avoid that anymore.

Even if it stuck in my head, I didn't get the guts to ask my uncles anything for another few years. Just as well. I wouldn't have taken it well back then. Not that I can say I took it well when I did find out.

---

Violet

As if I had spent years holding my breath, I suddenly breathed.

I started to think, and see outside of my tunnel vision. I was hearing what people said. I was caring about things I witnessed. The world was opening before me.

I was feeling things.

Apparently puberty gave me emotions. Deciding to be more outspoken got me into lots of trouble.

I lost my cute round face - instead I got cheekbones, a slightly more defined jawline. The way my brows framed my eyes made me look... mean. I'd spend a while looking at myself in mirrors, wondering what I could do with eyeliner and mascara to alter my appearance, to achieve certain looks. How fierce could I look? How soft and kind could I look?

My shallow child body transformed. Hips and waist. Apparently not adequate tits, though.

When I was in that strange in-between stage, not quite child and not quite woman, I didn't have much use.

One of my parents' friends got annoyed about it. He had some genius idea that getting me to flirt with someone was going to get them what they wanted. Mum was against it in an instant, and after a few minutes he agreed with her.

"It'd never work. Look at her. Fucking pancake with a mean face. Only thing she's pullin' is shittin' pedo's."

He disgusted me, and the thought of what he could possibly ever want me to do disgusted me. I hated these people. I didn't understand why I was still getting dragged around with my parents. I was old enough to fend for myself now.

So I started striking out on my own. I could get around by myself, I'd do things by myself. I had some friends at school, I wanted to spend more time with them. The more I paid attention to the outside world, the more I realised that how I had been living was not the way things were supposed to be.

I might've only been 14, but I started getting big ideas. There were ways to make things better. Society had these strange layers. A hierarchy. It was a system, and there's always a way to play the system. I just needed to figure out how.

Unfortunately, the drafting threat was too much to deal with.

I was already on thin ice by the time I was 14, and one more incident pushed it over the edge. The school was kind. They warned my parents that I was on the verge of being taken into service, and advised that I should move, and have a fresh start somewhere. I was clearly having issues with the other kids, or the teachers, or something. For some reason, I just couldn't behave.

So I moved to another secondary school. And it didn't go well there, either. I had these sessions with a counsellor, until he seemed to decide I was a lost cause. When I got stalked and attacked by some gang kids outside of the school grounds, Mum decided it was time to move town, and school, again.

Getting into the third one was difficult. Schools might have been tolerant at the start, but all these switching students became a common thing, desperately trying to avoid their inevitable fate. They got sick and tired of trading delinquent youths with each other.

I think Dad, who was normally such a quiet person, having a go at me when I was 16, finally knocked some sense in.

I came into the flat drunk out of my mind. I was bleeding. Mum stormed out of their room at all my noise and commotion.

"Vi," she hissed, grabbed me, and tried to pull my hoodie off to see where and what my wounds were.

I swore at her and pushed her away. We had some short argument which went nowhere, then she simply shook her head, and left me to it.

Water splashed into my face to wake me up. I was sprawled across the floor in front of the sofa. My entire body ached, and some clothing felt stiff, sticking to my skin.

Dad's angry face glared down at me.

"Wake th'fuck up," he snapped.

"Fuck you," I managed in reply, and he tipped the rest of the water in the glass over me. I swore and rolled away while my head pounded.

"You wanna tell us w'fuck you did this time?" he continued.

I tried to get up, but just flopped onto the sofa, and said nothing. I felt so tired, so exhausted, I couldn't even fathom standing.

"Fuckin' look't you."

The right sleeve of my hoodie and right leg of my jeans were ripped. There were grazes beneath, and on my cheek. I looked at the little black bits of grit on my knee, stuck in the bloody scabs.

"Was parkour," I said.

"Freerunnin' and drinkin'? And w' was you freerunnin' from this time?"

"Nothing." Honestly, I couldn't even remember.

"The cops?"

"No." I would remember that.

Dad got to his feet and shook his head. "You gotta stop this, Vi. I don't understand w' you think you're doing. I dunno who the fuck you're hanging with now, but it's not workin', is it?"

"I'll talk later."

"No, you listen to me right now. You stop this. You stop being an idiot. We can't always protect you, we can't always save you. You're sniffin' out danger, bringing this on y'self. You come home battered, drunk, high, whatever the fuck. We never know where you are. For God sake, Vi. You're gonna get so hurt some day. You'll go too far. You'll be raped. You might even be killed."

I looked up. He stared at me with an empty gaze.

"I can't stand seeing you like this," he said. "Stop mixing w' these people."

Didn't he understand? I wasn't mixing with them. I was fighting them every time they tried to drag me in. I wasn't going to be someone's bitch in someone's shitty gang.

"Yeah," I replied. "You draggin' me about with all your drug dealers and murderers and whatever the fuck really gave me the best start in life."

"Och," he scoffed. "For fuck sake, Vi."

"You know what," Mum interrupted. "You think you're so much better than this? That you deserve better? Then prove it."

I blinked at her with a scowl.

"Start climbing out of the hole you've dug," she said. "You need t' aim for university."

"You really think I got a chance?"

"You have t' try."

"Uni is where all the rich kids go. And my school is fucked."

"You can still fix it."

I had barely passed my first set of exams. I only had two years before the next, fully defining set, then I was 18 and out on the streets, so to speak.

"Just think about your future, child," Mum said.

They both left for whatever 'adventure' they had that day. I dozed off on the sofa for a while, and awoke sometime in the afternoon. I still didn't feel great, but better than the groggy mess I'd been earlier, with their voices pounding on my ears. The conversation ran through my mind again while I took a stinging shower, picking bits out of my knee. University.

I sat in front of my laptop, staring at the rainforest background on the screen, thinking about the late coursework I still had to complete.

They were right, and I knew they were. But did I really have a chance? How was I going to convince some university to take me on? How was I going to push my grades up to an acceptable level?

With hard fucking work.

---

David

I always made sure Wesley kept up with his work. He could be a slacker sometimes. He'd just sigh and shrug, and say that whatever mark he got was whatever he deserved.

But he'd score higher if he tried harder.

He didn't seem to think he was that smart, but I knew he was. It shone through when something caught his interest. And for everything else, there was me. I remember rewriting and rewording an entire essay of his, because he was being lazy.

I was a straight-A student. One of those boring kids who made the effort, yet also loved sports, and sometimes got a bit too competitive and fierce. I really cared about winning. But that was all right. Dad said it was important for me to do physical things and burn myself out. Just don't purposely kick the football in someone's face again.

I think I would've become much more of a loner if Wesley hadn't been there. He was always going out, so I always went out with him, just because it was what we did. If left to my own devices, I'd have spent much more time shut in my room. I wasn't exactly shy. I wasn't antisocial. I just liked doing my own things.

We had the same friends - our little lad group of colourful personalities. Everyone had their own 'role'. Wesley was the funny one, of course. Mine was the most boring, as I suppose I was the 'leader'. I had to be the most neutral. I had the initiative, the big ideas, made the decisions, but alongside it all was the most sensible. Might seem hilarious considering how irrational I'd been in earlier years, but I was slowly becoming very disciplined and controlled.

I rushed to get my driver's license once I turned 17, because as soon as we were all 18 with legal nights out, I was obviously going to be the designated driver. Not like I was buying a car any time soon, though. Mum and Dad weren't buying me one. And Darren was very sternly told that he was not buying me one for my 18th, either.