The Boxer and I

Sixteen

Hello loves, forgive me. I thought I was never going to write again, but I can't give up on these characters. Please have a read of the last part of the last chapter to refresh what has happened so far.

Sixteen

It looks heavy, but he carries it with ease.

He checks if it's loaded, then hides it away in the waistband of his trousers.

I'm sat still, shocked. Unable to move, unable to speak. He realises.

"I'm so sorry," he says, regretful.

I'm not sure why he said it that way, I'm not sure about what has even happened. Piecing two and two together, whoever that was on the phone gave Jake some bad news, and now he's as stiff as a statue, with a gun hiding under his t-shirt.

"About what? Jake what's going on?" I manage to choke up, not realising how shaky my voice has become.

"Flo," he turns to face me, pausing a moment.

His demeanour is stiff, like he's bracing himself for an impact.

"I need you to listen to me," he says, before pausing again.

He's taking the time to think, I can see him calculating as his eye dash between the floor between us and his bedroom door. He shakes his head as if he's having an internal battle with himself.

"I'm so sorry, you shouldn't be here," he mutters under his breath, thinking I won't catch it, but I do.

"Jake, what is going on?" I urge, my hand rests of his thigh.

He looks down towards my fingers, and takes them with his own.

"I will explain everything later," he finally says pointedly.

"First, we need to get out of here. We can't go downstairs, we have to take the back exit through my balcony," he gets up from the bed, guiding me up with him.

"Follow me closely, please," he whispers the last part, almost as if he's begging me.

I do as he says. He leads the way to the balcony, down the back-building stairs, past what looks like where the bins are kept before they're collected, then finally into the car park. All the while, I'm glued to this side, his hand firmly bonded with mine. He digs into his jean pocket but for a moment I thought he was grabbing his gun, and my heart almost sank. Instead, I see car keys.

He takes me to the passenger side of a low black BMW, and only closes the door once I'm safely strapped in. His eyes aren't on me though, they're scouring the car park, looking for something or someone.

Within mere seconds, I find ourselves swerving onto the main road, the apartment complex blurring into the distance behind us. Jake wastes no time, and is straight on the phone. The shrills of two rings come through the speakers of the car, before whoever is on the other line answers.

"Where are you?"

It's a much more mature voice, a gentleman in his fifties maybe.

"On my way, I'll be ten minutes," Jake replies, his voice calm and controlled.

"Come through the back," the man commands.

"Fine."

Before I think he's going to end the call, Jake says one last thing.

"Flo is with me," I turn to face him, and he looks back at me, his eyes show regret.

"Flo who?" The man asks, with a tone that is suspicious.