The runaway

Jeremy lay on his bed and sulked in his unnaturally dim lit bedroom. His room was a loft at the top of the house in which he lived with his parents and two older sisters.
He stared at the lamp on the floor. It was now smashed into pieces.
“Fuck sake.” He whispered and then added, “You bloody idiot”.
Jeremy had always had trouble controlling his anger. It was a definite problem his parents kept saying on long car journeys where he couldn’t get away, but could roll his eyes.
“How are you going to get a job? A girlfriend…? You can’t just lash out when you don’t get your own way!” They would bellow.
He was now fifteen and like most young males he hated authority, but for Jeremy it was more than just immature rebelliousness designed to get attention; it was the very idea that someone could control him. Jeremy could not stand to feel weak, scrawny as he was. He would read books like Junk, Fight Club and On the Road. Watching films such as Clockwork Orange, Sin City and Trainspotting, all the time thinking: “Man those characters don’t take shit”.
This time Jeremy would not take any shit either. He jumped to his feet and ripped off his bloodstained tuxedo and put on his favourite jeans, t-shirt and army jacket. He then pulled out a large sports bag and filled it with a number of items including: his laptop computer, mobile phone, pocketknife, external hard-drive, digital camera and an assortment of specialist tools and weapons. After wrapping each electrical item in clothing, he began to add a few luxuries like tobacco, cannabis and a bottle of vodka he had swiped earlier from downstairs. He now had everything he needed from his room; excitement was growing in the pit his stomach.
He slung the bag onto his shoulder and headed down the flight of stairs that led to the other bedrooms in his house.
He stopped off in one of the guest bedrooms and riffled through the pockets of each coat that lay on the bed, pocketing money where he found it.