Superimposed

5

Walking through the dark streets of South London, Taron took a cigarette from the pack he kept in his jacket pocket and lit it effortlessly. The smoke flowing continuously into the air, disappearing once it reached the height of the street lamp. With only 4 deep drags he'd finished the superking and was lighting another, letting the nicotine envelope his blood and make him feel light.
His head was fuzzy with thoughts about his talk with Ms Jefferson and nicotine, all churning together to make his mind go blank. He wouldn't think about anything anymore so he just walked, staring absent-mindedly ahead as he continued to smoke another cigarette.

"You fucking reak!" Phil grits his teeth, snarling at Taron as soon as he walks through to the kitchen of the house. Phil had a valid point, Taron had just chain smoked 5 cigarettes on his way back from school.
Taron's jaw clenched as he tries his best to not saying anything back.
"Those friends of yours are a proper bad influence" Phil continues, standing close to Taron's face, allowing his eyes to trace his face.
"And you're not" Taron mumbled, pushing past Phil to make himself a cup of tea
"You what?!" Phil marched back up, pressing his chest into Taron's shoulder
"You're not a bad influence on me and mum?" Taron said calmly, finding a new confidence within himself as he stood waiting for the kettle to boil.
"You've got a nerve young man"
"Yeah I've got a nerve have I, huh?! Well I've had enough of your shit, you walking around here like you own the fucking place. Y'know, if it wasn't for my mum you wouldn't have a place would you, eh?! But I guess you'd just find another beautiful woman to take advantage of and abuse every day of her life. What a sad little man you are Phil, I'm so glad you're not my fucking  dad"
Taron was shaking with anger, his face was red and he was breathing so fast. Phil was actually taken back by this, but before he could say anything Taron was tackling him to the floor.

Lisa came in to try to break the two up, but only got pushed to the floor by Phil. Making Taron even more angry, pinning Phil down and punching his face continually until it drew blood. But even then Taron wouldn't stop, all he could see was red, he had so much anger towards this man he wanted to inflict the most amount of pain he could. Each punch representing a word or a situation he'd put Taron through. Soon Taron's knuckles because so sore he couldn't punch anymore and he let out a groan in pain.
"You got off fucking lightly you utter scumbag!" He spat, quite literally on Phil's face and stormed off. Not wanting to see his mum's reaction, he left the house quickly and slammed the door behind him. He didn't want to return for a while, not until he'd calmed down.

Cradelling his quickly swelling knuckles, he went where he always did when he was sad or angry, Dulwich Park. Only a 15 minute walk from his house there was a quaint, large open green space with a boating lake and cafe. It wasn't really seen as a tourist attraction as it was mainly used by residents of the surrounding houses. It was were Taron and his 'friends' would go to drink and smoke on the weekends, a good meet up place seeing as they all lived within the neighbourhood.

There were two preparatory schools in Dulwich and so the group of young men with chains and caps were even made to feel like the black sheep of society; even more so than they would be anywhere else in London. The posh kids would watch the group in shock and disgust as their mothers pulled them away from the park, equally disgusted with this 'anti-social behaviour' as they called it.

Taron couldn't help but agree, it was anti-social. He wasn't really talking to these people, they weren't his friends. More of an escape plan, a reason to drink away his problems at home even if he never voiced them.

The rage was still bubbling inside Taron as he walked towards the park, it felt as though his world was crashing down on him and yet onlookers walked by. Only seeing him as 'Taron from the street'; although there was one girl who was sitting on a bench quietly in the corner of the park. She watched Taron as he crossed the park, pacing along the path as if with a purpose, but he didn't have any at all.
With a cigarette in his hand he proceeded to do laps of the park with his head down, huffing as he went. Thinking about what he'd done to Phil, what would happen when he returned? Would he get the same treatment back? Would Phil be down the pub with his bruised up face, drinking the pain away. Taron smirked a little at that, he'd inflicted pain on the man who had been doing the same to him for years. Even if it was a different kind of pain, one that he'd find out later cut so much deeper than the physical kind; he was happy with what he'd done, content.

"Excuse me! You dropped this!" A small voice calls from behind Taron as he starts yet another lap of the park. His neck snaps to look behind him, although he wasn't as angry as he once was, he wouldn't hesitate to hurt someone else. Causing pain to others after you'd endured so much for so long felt so good.
But his mood shifted as soon as he did look behind him to see a lady stood behind him holding out his lighter.
She had mid length brown hair, her face was small but with defined features. Her eyes were a breath-taking hazel colour and Taron just stared at her for a second before quickly answering, "Oh- thank you" He awkwardly said, turning into a bucket of nerves in her presence.