I take my bicyle and hurry home.

My real home.

And all the while I keep seeing Fuzz’ face. Milan’s face. The image of the sweet 5-year-old boy from my memories merging with every face I’ve seen him make today. The apologetic, the shameful, the hurt, the desperate.

I feel like I’m choking, so at one point I throw my bike to the curb and crumple to the pavement, desperately trying to catch my breath.

But the images won’t leave me alone.

“You can’t save me, Ravi…”

Well, I can fucking try.

I grit my teeth as I try to steady my breath. Then I turn on my phone and call.

"For emergencies, please call the alarm service 112. This is the police. Which bureau are you trying to reach?" An automated voice tells me.

"Eindhoven." I try to speak clearly, but I can hear my voice trembling still.

"You are trying to reach the police in Heilo. Is that correct?"

"No!" I grumble.

"Which bureau are you trying to reach?"

"Eind-ho-ven." I say slowly, pronouncing every sound with bitter urgency.

"I am sorry. I did not understand that. Which bureau are you trying to reach?"

Aaaaaah!!!

"Eindhoven!" I try again.

"You are trying to reach the police in Eindhoven. Is that correct?

"YES!"

"Please hold."

I wait as doubt creeps in. Am I doing the right thing? God, I hope so.

"Eindhoven police office. How can I help you?" Thankfully an actual person.

"Hi. I want to report something serious."

"Who am I speaking to?"

"A snitch." I reply. Because that's what I am, right?

"Sorry sir, I need a name to file your complaint."

"It's not a fucking complaint! It's a matter of life and death! You've got to do something!"

"For emergencies, please call 112."

"No! You listen to me!" I rage. "There's a squat on the Heezerweg, and there's people using drugs, even heroin! And there's kids there, they make them into addicts and prostitutes, and they can't go home because their parents abuse them, and Ogon is their dealer and he rapes them, and Milan Stassen is there and he's only fifteen and forced to sell his ass and you've got to save him goddamnit!!" I cry.

"Please calm down sir. Maybe you should come down to the station to discuss this."

"No I can't! I need to go home!" I scream at her.

"I'm sorry sir, but if you're not taking this seriously, then I can't do anything about it."

"I AM taking this seriously! It's the most serious thing I've ever done!" I yell. "But you need to do something. I'm only sixteen and I can't help them! And I need to go home and tell my parents I'm sorry! Go find the squat, arrest Ogon, save the kids, please I'm begging you!"

"Did you run away from home?" She asks, her voice taking on another tone instantaneously.

"Yes. But I'm going back, I swear! Please help my friends! You've got to! Please!"

"Go back to your parents. You can come to the bureau with them later."

"No! They can't know! Please look into it. It's the abandoned Weko building on the Heezerweg. Please save them!"

I hang up before she can say another word. My heart is bursting out of my chest, me head's throbbing, and my lungs feel like they're on fire.

I fucking ratted them out. And I don't even know if the police are going to do anything about it. I don't trust them to do anything right, really. But I really don't know what else I could've done.

"I trust him." I hear Joshua's voice in the back of my mind. That was only yesterday. I remember feeling so warm inside. Yet I've already betrayed him.

I'm cold and numb as I step back onto my bicycle. I ride home on autopilot, park it in the garage, and head inside.

I'm not ready for what comes next. But I'll bear it. I have to.

I haven't even removed my key out of the backdoor lock, and I already hear my name, accompanied by hurrying footsteps.

"Ravi!!!" My mother screams as she sees me. She looks like complete and utter shit. Red puffy eyes, face ashen, her black curls standing out to all sides in an unkempt mane.

She flies over to me, and I flinch, expecting to be hit. But instead, she wraps me up in the tightest of hugs. I literally can't breathe for how hard she squeezes me.

"My boy, my baby boy... You're really here, you're okay... Oh thank Allah you're really okay..." she sobs.

I'm startled. Out of every reaction I could have thought up, I wasn't expecting this. Especially not her invoking a deity she stubbornly turned her back to years before I was born. But also not this happiness. Why isn't she mad?

But when she finally pulls back, allowing me to breathe, I can see the anger is definitely there alright.

"Where WERE you, baby? We've looked everywhere! Called everyone! We thought you went to Abby, but Jolanda hadn't seen you. And then we called your school and your friends' parents and they didn't know anything either. So we started calling your workplace, Berend's family, and then hospitals, and the police... But they didn't know anything either! Oh we we're SO worried! None of us have slept! Jamie and Berend are still out there looking for you!!"

"I'm sorry mama." Is the only thing I can manage. "I'm really sorry."

"I'm sorry too baby. I never should have hit you. I’m so sorry…" She repeats, enveloping me in another crushing hug. She’s crying and now I’m crying. I don't know for how long this goes on, but we’re still standing there in the kitchen when my father bursts in.

“He wasn’t there either! I don’t know-” He shouts, exasperation colouring his every word until he pauses. “Oh my God you’re back!” he calls out, thoroughly relieved.

I turn in my mother’s grasp, looking at him. Shame flooding every part of my nervous system. Until his expression changes from one of relief to one of anger. And I know what’s coming.

“What on earth possessed you do this to us, Ravi!?” He yells at me. “To just disappear like that after everything you put us through this weekend?! After I get a call from the school that you’ve assaulted a teacher? And you just up and leave to God knows where?! Not answering your phone?! Your mother and I haven’t slept! She couldn’t stop crying, worried you were lying dead in a ditch somewhere! Where have you been!?”

“With friends…” I squeak. “I’m sorry.”   

“Damn right you’re sorry. You should be sorry!” He yells.

But my mother clenches me to her chest and pulls me close. “Don’t yell at him Berend. He’s sorry. He’s been through a lot, and although running away certainly wasn’t the right course of action, he must have had his reasons. Shouting at him isn’t going to help.”

I love my mom. She strokes my hair as I attempt to hide myself in her arms, sobbing.

My dad lets out an angry breath, but doesn’t say anything more. He takes out his phone to call Jamie, who’s apparently still out looking for me. When he’s finishes the short call, he exhales again and turns back to me.

“Tell me what happened at school.” His voice is now level. Still demanding an answer, but the bite is gone. He sounds exhausted instead.

“I texted Abby earlier, and finally received a notification when in class. I took my phone to quickly check, but Mr. Hamers took it from me, said I’d get it back at the end of the day. But I couldn’t wait that long, so I panicked and took it back from him. He bumped against a desk when I did so. I swear I didn’t punch him or anything. But I know it was wrong. I just couldn’t…” 

I start crying yet again. From the pain of the loss of Abby, from everything that happened today, the whole situation I’m in now, from exhaustion, and maybe a little bit for sympathy, because it does work.

“You really love that girl, don’t you?” My mother says softly. I nod “Yes. But she blocked me. She doesn’t want to see me again…”

“She dumped you because she got in trouble with her parents?” My father asks, there’s clearly an opinion there.

I can’t answer that, so I say nothing. My father takes it as an admission, so he starts trash-talking Abby’s parents instead. There was a point in my life where I’d laugh about that. Not now though. Nothing is funny about this.

My mom takes a soothing tone of voice, stroking my hair. “Well, I think we can convince the school to drop this issue, if we explain and you apologise to your teacher. But they also said you skipped class a lot. Was that to hang out with these friends you were with?”

I nod.

“Who are they, Ravi? Are they in your school?”

I shake my head.

“Did their parents know you were there?”

“No.” I say.

She sighs. “Well, I want to talk to them.”

I shake my head again. “You can’t. I don’t want to get them in trouble.”

My mother sighs, and I know my father is going to demand answers any minute now. But apparently I’m saved, because Jamie bursts through the door.

“Fucking hell Ravi! I’ve been looking all over for you!” He shouts the second he sees me. But he doesn't sound angry. There’s just relief.

“Take him upstairs. Your mother and I need to talk.” My father tells Jamie.

Jamie does as he asks, and follows me upstairs to my room, where he plops down on the bed. I don’t look at him, but focus on unpacking my bag instead. I have no idea what’s coming, but it can’t be good.

“Where did you go?” Jamie finally asks me, when he realises I’m not volunteering any information.

I shrug. “Friends.”

“You don’t have any friends.” It startles me. That’s such a mean thing to say. But his tone isn’t mean at all. It’s matter-of-factly. Which maybe makes it meaner.

I don’t honour him with a reply.

“Mom called the school and then got the contacts for all your so-called friends. I know who they are Ravi, don’t forget I used to be in the same school. And don’t think rumours don’t travel from VWO to HAVO either. These guys she mentioned, are not your friends. They’re the popular bunch in your class. They are calling you names behind your back, and I’m sure they do it to your face as well.”

“What do you care?”

Jamie sighs, wiping his dark curls out of his face. “I told you. I’m your brother. I care. Why’d you think I went looking for you?”

“Because dad said so?” I venture.

“No, of course not! I went because I was worried!”

“Oh so if I’m bullied in school you don’t give a crap, but if I leave the house, you care. Some great brother you are.” I huff.

“Hey, don’t blame me for that. Also, I didn’t think you were being bullied. I just thought people were making fun of you because of your fashion sense. I mean, you wear make-up like a girl. Of course they’re gonna call you gay. But that’s not really bullying is it? I mean, if they beat you up, I’d know. And I’d have kicked their asses, obviously. But these guys are just jealous you’ve got a girlfriend and they don’t, so they call you names. I didn’t think you cared.”

“I don’t.” I growl. Because I don't have a girlfriend, not because I don't care. But Jamie doesn't get that.

“See? Nothing I should’ve bothered with. Just a bunch of pathetic losers. Pompous rich boys. Probably couldn’t even throw a punch to save their life. Let them call you things you’re not. They’re probably faggots themselves.”

I clench my teeth. Part of me wants to punch Jamie on the face, another part of me wants to come clean. But both of these options wouldn’t make anything better. So I just stay silent.

“You weren’t secretly with Abby anyway, were you?” Jamie finally asks, putting a hand on my shoulder. “You can tell me. I won’t tell mom and dad.”

“No. Abby doesn’t want to see me again.”

“Oh, shit man, little bro…” He grabs me in the biggest hug. Which is awkward, because now we’re somewhat sitting on top of my bags in the floor in a very uncomfortable position.

It’s also awkward, because I can FEEL he means it. But he’s got it all wrong. He’s got ME all wrong. Would he still hug me and mean it if he knew the truth?

I can’t ponder that for long, because my father comes in the room. Jamie releases me from the hug with a kiss on my cheek, that’s covering for a whispered “good luck.” Then he disappears from the room, pointing up once before he closes the door behind him.

I know what he means by pointing to the attic: ‘I’m right here for you.’

And I don’t know how to feel about that.

“Ravi.” My father begins. He sounds stern, but not angry anymore. This doesn’t feel like I’m getting a scolding, more like a verdict. I’m trembling anyway. Making myself small as I sit on my bed.

My father takes the chair from my desk and rolls it over to the bed, and takes a seat.

“Your mother and I decided that we have been too harsh on you. Yes, stealing is wrong, but you’re already receiving punishment for that. We shouldn’t have added onto that by confiscating your birthday gifts. Also, maybe we should’ve talked to you more about the whole situation. Instead of scolding you, we should have tried to understand what motivated you to do such a thing in the first place. But even if there isn’t a profound reason, I do get that teenagers are impulsive, and that you might even have done it for the heck of it. That’s alright. You learned your lesson.”

He pauses for a minute. A pause I use to fully grasp what he’s saying.

“So, this means we expect you to follow through on the punishment given to you by the government. Your first meeting with HALT is next Thursday. You’ve been sentenced to attend four afternoons of work at the local thrift store starting the Saturday after that. You will do as you’re told and cause no further trouble.”

I nod, breathlessly.

“Tomorrow we will go to the school for a meeting with the principal, the department head, and your teacher Mr. Hamers. We will do everything we can to not get you suspended or expelled, but in turn you must promise to accept whatever punishment they have in store for you, and never skip classes again. Can you do that?”

I nod again. It’s not like I have another choice.

“With words, Ravi.”

“Yes, I promise.”

“Good. Then you can resume the use of your new phone, and you are hereby ungrounded. But…” He pauses. I knew there was going to be a but.

“Even though we love you very much, you must understand that, in the light of recent events, we’re worried about you. So we expect you to text us beforehand if you’re going to be any other place than, school, home, work, or that thrift store. We need to know where you are and with whom. Also, and it pains me to say this: since you refuse to tell us where you’ve been all this time, we can’t trust you yet. We will install an app on your phone that allows us to locate you. Don’t worry. We won’t use it unless you go missing. But don’t turn it off. Can you promise us this as well?”

I hate it. It’s like I’ve got an ankle monitor. This isn’t freedom at all. I may be ungrounded, but…

Then again, what is the alternative?

“I promise, dad.”

“Good. Now have a good rest. Tomorrow morning we will visit your school together.” He puts a hand on my shoulder that’s clearly meant to be comforting, but is anything but.

As he leaves, I prepare for bed, but can’t sleep. I wonder about Milan. About the police. About Anna, Jasmine and Joshua. About what would happen to them.

But it's all out of my hands now.