AndyClaremont Police Station was the largest station in the district, housing lock-up cells and interview rooms. The station is a central hub for cops who work the beat on the streets and detectives assigned to task forces within the region. All major cases were processed at this station, along with minor offenders being held until bail is paid.It's been less than a year since I was arrested and forced to spend a night in one of the cells. I'm still haunted by the sound of the metal bars slamming together, the cold, hard bed that offered little comfort and the stench of urine that seeped from the stone walls. I told myself that night that I never wanted to come back here, no matter what but now, here I am, sitting in the smallest interview room, shitting bricks as Claire and I wait for the detective.I don't know who is more nervous at this point, Claire, because she's stressed that the police will dob her in to her parents for skipping school or me, afraid that they will look at my
AndyBy the time we pull up in the parking lot at the back of Irish Ink, it's well past lunchtime, and my stomach growls. I haven't eaten anything since breakfast, which was only cereal, and now I'm starving. Hopefully Ed won't keep us too long, so we can go eat.Walking into the studio, I notice the absence of Bennu and just assume she's stepped out for her lunch break. Ed looks up from the computer and scowls when he sees us, which is not the reaction I was expecting at all.The waiting area is empty, and Ed passes by us, without a word, walking over to the entry door that he locks and spins the sign around to indicate that they're closed."What's going on? You're closing up early?" I question him; the operating hours out front state they're open until 5 pm today, so why would he be shutting up shop at noon?"Yeah, it's kind of hard to run a business without a receptionist." Ed snarls, directing his comment towards Claire."Where's Bennu?" Claire asks, looking around the waiting are
Andy Claremont Police Station was the largest station in the district, housing lock-up cells and interview rooms. The station is a central hub for cops who work the beat on the streets and detectives assigned to task forces within the region. All major cases were processed at this station, along with minor offenders being held until bail is paid. It's been less than a year since I was arrested and forced to spend a night in one of the cells. I'm still haunted by the sound of the metal bars slamming together, the cold, hard bed that offered little comfort and the stench of urine that seeped from the stone walls. I told myself that night that I never wanted to come back here, no matter what but now, here I am, sitting in the smallest interview room, shitting bricks as Claire and I wait for the detective. I don't know who is more nervous at this point, Claire, because she's stressed that the police will dob her in to her parents for skipping school or me, afraid that they will look at
ClaireI try to conceal myself behind Andy as we walk the short distance to Irish Ink because I'm so afraid that my mum or dad will spot us. I've never ditched school before, but I had to admit, it gave me a little thrill, just the thought that I was doing something I wasn't supposed to.The tattoo studio was empty, except for Bennu, who was drawing at the reception desk. When she heard us enter, she looked up and smiled warmly."Are you wanting to visit Edward?" She asked, not even questioning why we were not at school, on a school day, when we were clearly in uniform."Yes, is he here?" Andy asks because my mouth has turned to cotton wool, petrified that my aunty could wander out at any given moment."He is, go down to his room and I'll buzz him to let him know you're coming," Benne says, picking up the phone."Can you not tell Shay that we're here, please?" I manage to get out, keeping my voice low so it's not heard by my aunty."Of course, your secret is safe with me Claire," Benn
ClaireHeath was officially diagnosed with type 1 diabetes and was placed on a highly restrictive eating plan that was low in carbs, saturated fats and sugars, which meant a complete overhaul of our pantry. Anything that didn't get the check of approval from the list the specialist had given Dad was thrown into the garbage, much to Heath's displeasure.I never realised how addicted Heath was to sugar and fatty foods until I saw him being forced to withdraw from his favourite foods. It was as if my parents were attempting to perform an exorcism of the demon that had such a strong hold over their son, and this demon wasn't going to just go quietly. Dad had to pour vinegar over the contents of our garbage bin, just to prevent Heath from sneaking out to retrieve what was trashed.I felt so bad for my little brother, having his entire world turned upside down. He was old enough to understand what his diagnoses was and how it impacted his life, but that didn't make giving up junk food any e
AndyWhat's worse than teachers setting homework? Teachers setting revision homework, that's what. Having to go over what we'd previously learnt months earlier was like being forced to re-read the same shitty book and hoping for a different outcome. Maths and chemistry were easy because formulas never changed so I decided to do them last and focus on my English essay.At the start of the year, we'd been assigned the most boring novel I've ever read, making me question if the school board even wanted students to pass their English exams because there were so many times I fell asleep while trying to get through it. When the school year was over, I was looking forward to being able to burn this book, but for now, I needed it.My desk is a cluttered of organised mess, I know where everything is, but to an outsider it probably looks chaotic, with books piled up high. Claire often pokes fun at how untidy my desk is; her own desk is neatly coordinated into different sections for each subject