#p:break

The Andrews estate was empty.

Bryce never understood why his parents insisted on buying a five bedroom home. After all, he was their only child and they never used the library, the computer room or the in-home gym. The echo of the teen's footsteps were loud; each mirrored noise repeating itself in the distance was a reminder to Bryce that he was alone. And most kids would celebrate. Both parents gone for an entire week? It called for a house party. It called for take-out every night. It called for absolute chaos. And between the ages of fourteen to sixteen, Bryce took on every chance he could to use the space to his utmost convenience. But the excitement and rebellion in trashing an upper class home seemed to dwindle with every careless glance or tired sigh from his mom and dad. There was no fun in breaking the rules if the consequence was nothing but a firm finger shake.

Now, Bryce simply rolled his eyes when his parents left. The euros left on the countertop in the kitchen were always a reminder of their utter lack of care. Here's enough money for food and entertainment for the entire week, see you then! He used to ignore the money and let it pile up beside the toaster oven. But as it grew and grew with each work trip, Bryce noticed that they didn't seem to realize he wasn't using it anymore. Where was their eighteen year old, unemployed son getting his own money from? How did he pay for gas, food and entertainment all on his own? They didn't care. So he began to take the cash left for him. And he'd use it for the vilest means. Two rounds too many for him and his group, on him. Another three grams of the best weed around. Bryce had become so numb and yet still so angry at his parents, that sometimes he found himself at the strip club, tossing money to the stage with only the thought of ridding himself of the tainted currency in any twisted means he could. He'd come into terms with the fact that they'd never notice or care. But somehow, the bad habit was hard to break.

That's why late on a Thursday night, Bryce had no one to answer to. Not that he would have listened to his parents telling him 'it was maybe too late to go out' even if they were around. And not that they would stop him. But as he gathered his keys and stash and shoved them into his pocket, he was out the door without a word.

Hartfordshire was cold as ever, covered in a thin layer of snow in the beginning of January. Dressed in nothing but a sweater and a denim jacket, Bryce had opted out of skateboarding to Carmen's. Instead, he loaded the board into the back of his '94 Ford Escort and decided time had ticked on past her mother's bedtime. He was parking in front of her home just a little past 11:30 and flashing the headlights in hopes to catch her attention, seeing as he had left his phone at home. But he knew Carmen well enough to know she'd be a while.

It had been years between them. They'd met when they were younger, forced together by their parents when the Andrews would come by the Days' for tea. Bryce had a bad attitude that Carmen found appealing when she found her rebellious streak. Somehow, they worked. Despite her high-maintenance ways and Bryce's foul mouth and constant scowl, the two had made it through some kind of muddled friendship together, cemented later by Bryce's 'occupation' and Carmen's addiction. He had gotten used to her, if anything, and could guess her next move. So instead of sitting in the comfortable warmth of his car, Bryce ambled out, slamming the door behind him and leaning against it with a cigarette already between his teeth. The brown haired girl was probably either talking herself in and out of the plans she had made to sneak out or fighting over what to wear. Either way, time was ticking on and Bryce figured a smoke would maybe help him find some patience.