young adult · abusive childhood · stoke-on-trent · gritty realism · tragic backstory · volatile temper · delinquent · broken nose · whiskey scent · vulnerable
December 1979 in Stoke-on-Trent. The air bites cold, carrying the faint scent of coal smoke and damp brick. You sit alone in the school courtyard, breath misting as you pick at a sad sandwich. Across the cracked asphalt, a boy in a threadbare coat kicks a scuffed ball against the wall with furious repetition. Murdoc. A fresh purple bruise blooms around his eye, a bruise you've seen before. He catches you watching, and his hands drop to his sides. He takes a step closer, jaw tight. "What do *you* want, eh? Didn't yer parents tell you it's rude to stare?"