'Drunk!?' I can feel a harsh slap across my face, but it only sting for a second before tingling, making me giggle even more hysterically. 'You're despicable!' I hiccup, accidentally rolling my eyes at the hazy picture of my mum standing in front of me. Another figure, a more dominant one, a man pushes my mum out of the way and edges so close to me our noses almost touch, I feel the sharp breath he takes against my face.
'Hi, Dad!' I lean on the balls of my feet, absentmindedly nearly falling backwards.
'How DARE you?'
'I'mnotthatdrunk' I slur. I tip back again, but too much this time, and feel gravity failing me in slow motion before I have a strong grip on me. I'm being shook violently. I can see the fire blazing in his eyes.
'It's that BOY!'
'Nope' I say simply, in an almost naive way.
'What do you suggest it is then' I grimaces through gritted teeth.
'Badparentsthatswhatitis' I reply, taking no breaths whatsoever. In a second I'm on the floor. I can still feel the pressure of his hand prints on my shoulders from the shove. 'I'mtired,' I yawn, 'I'mgoingtobed'.
I get up, dust my skirt from the back and make my way up the stairs.
'Come back down here, right now!' I could see a vein, red and bulging, mounted on his temple.
'Ohmakeme' I carry on walking, he stands, certain I'm going to come back down. Am I hell.
I break into a run when I;m on the landing away from their eyes, frantically making my way to my bedroom. I drop to my knees at the foot of my chest of drawers. I tear the last draw that had been glue into place when it had broke, or so my loving mother and father thought; I had used a saw to prize it open days after it had been mended. I pull out the case and bit my lip hard to stop any tears escaping the grips of my lashes. It's true what I said, I aren't very drunk at all, I mean; I'd been drinking, but not enough for it to expect my speech - I could speak fine. Lets just say I'm a talented actress, that's what I'll be one day. I crossed my fingers before zipping open the case. In my other drawers I rummaged hastily for underwear, 3 pares of pants, three tops, my favorite jacket and the money I'd stashed in ten pairs of socks right at the back of my underwear drawer. I flicked through it quickly, £1000. I sniffed it appreciatively, though it smelt of nothing but dusty paper. One thousand pounds is nothing to my dad, and he hadn't been missing it for the past two months I've been hiding it. Dealing drugs pays well, he knows that, so he won't mind me using this bit to sustain myself for a while. I check my watch; 1:10, he'll be here soon. I should hurry but I can't help hugging my arms around myself and falling face-first in the case, savoring the clean, flowery smell of my newly washed clothes nd letting the tears spill out.
I riffled through frilly thongs and lacy bras till I found it, the key to my window. I close my mums draw, sniggering menacingly at the fact I knew so many more secret than my parents were aware I do. I'm shaking as I sit at my desk and grab a pen. I scribble something down on paper. I screw it up and toss it into the trash. I repeat this at least fifth teen times. I check my watch again; 2:15, what? How long have I been sat here? I write quickly, not bothering to watch my handwriting.
'Dear mum,' I whisper, my tongue held between my teeth. I write down a jigsaw made up of pieces of each of the drafts filling my bin. I only notice I've started crying when a tear falls next to my pen, blotching my writing. I hold the heart pendant that hangs on my necklace in my hand for a minute while I consider what more I can write when there's a tap on the window. I turn to see him, stunning, half his face highlighted beautifully in the moonlight. He smiles widely. I wipe my eyes, sign the paper and run to the window. I kiss the cold glass, getting a chill down my spine. He kisses too, on the opposite spot of the glass. I scramble in my pocket for the key and struggle to fit it into the padlock for my body shaking uncontrollably.
I pull the window open and pull him forcibly into my embrace, kissing him and giving him no other option. I push my lips against his desperately.
'Woah!' He topples a little on the slanted roof.
'Sorry!' I tug his shirt in reaction.
'It's alright,' He strokes my face gently.
'You're early,' I smile contented.
'I wanted to see if I could catch you asleep, you set your alarm, didn't you?'
'Yeah, but I haven't really had the chance to sleep,' I indicated my open suitcase laying messily on the floor. He nodded.
The cold, harsh wind slaps against my burning skin, alerting me slightly.
'Come in, it must be freezing out there!' He scrambled into my attic bedroom what he's been in so many times, much to my unaware parents' knowledge. We stand, hugging for moment. I hold his strong, warm body in my arms. I look up and he strokes my hair, looking into my eyes lovingly. I let go and tend to my packing with the feeling of being watched, but not a cold, paranoid feeling and warm, fuzzy feeling. I route through my wardrobe snatching my favorite dress I've never gotten the chance to wear. I hold it for a moment traces every delicate white lace, every baby-pink ruffle with my eyes, savoring it's beauty. I place it light into my case. Right at the back of the wardrobe I grab my special box filled with memories, encrusted with fake grey jewels that had fallen of a cardigan, now colorless and stuck on without skill, just as they were they day I'd done it, on my eighth birthday attempting to make the most of my special day as my mum used it as an excuse to drink. I stroked them fondly. I opened it with care as if it was going to crumble in my hands. As always, the very first thing you could see is a photograph. Me, my mum smiling and my Dad. Not Stephen, the man who lies lazily on the couch all day, demanding beers from my mum and spending his time beating me any chance he got; no, not that man I'm forced to call Dad, my real Dad. I look at him in this photograph, young, healthy, happy. Dad. I'm only 5 in the photograph, he's got his arms around me. Mum hasn't got them horrible bags under her eyes like she always does nowadays due to forever having a hangover. I hug the photo. I almost forgot Chris was standing behind me. He comes now, and hugs me from behind, his chin on my shoulder. He kisses my neck. I snap my fingers, remembering something. In the wardrobe I retrieve a canvas with the photograph enlarged in paint. I'd done it at six years old, around the time my dad died and Stephen had arrived. I can't remember it that clearly, I just recall being very, understandably sad. I stroke marks on the paint where it had mixed with tears and run a little down the board. I place it next to my letter; though I dearly want to keep it, I want more for my Mum to really know how I had felt back then, and give her a clue as to how I feel now. I grab my paints, my colors and special art pens, stuffing them into the case.
I sat on my bed, exhausted and still a little dizzy from the alcohol. Chris puts his arm around me.
'I've got something special planned' He whispers in my ear, stroking my hair. A world full of possibilities fly past my eyes as I look, mystified, into thin air, imagining. 'You nearly ready to go?' I gulp and take a long, withdrawn breath. This is it, this is really it. No more having to see mum in a such a poor state, no more abuse from Stephen, no more pressure from the girls at school, no more despair of Dad's death hanging over me every time I feel low...
'Nearly... well yes. Yes, I'm ready.' I reply to him, trying to convince myself I'm doing the right thing. I go to my desk and pick my note quickly scribbling, "I'm so sorry, Mum. I'm sorry I'm leaving,, and I'm sorry you're going to have to cope with him on your own. I can only hope you see sense some day and leave him, but until you make that decision, good luck. I love you always.'
'Mum!' I call down the stairs, my voice quivering.
'Yeah?'
'Good bye,' I whisper. I take Chris's hand, catching Stephen shouting 'She's trollied! I'll show her not to behave like that.' I know what that means; it only confirms my decision that, yes, this is for the best.
We clamber out of the window together, the harsh wind howling. We slide down the small attic roof and reach for the tree, Chris clutching a tight hold of me until I'm safe on the biggest branch, though he's carrying my suit case. We climb down the huge trunk, with the aid of branches and scurry skillfully in the shadows when we hit the ground, making our way to Chris's moonlit blue car. My teeth chatter in reaction to the bitter cold, Chris hands me his jacket.
'No, no,' I say quietly, but he wraps it around me and I don't protest.
I close my eyes when I'm in the passenger seat and review the whole situation. I intake the dusty smell that lingers from the time me and Chris tried smoking together, coughing and spluttering reckless teenagers. We stubbed them out after the first one accepting it wasn't a habit we'd actually like to get into. Chris gets into the drivers seat and looks at me wearily in an almost questioning way. I nodded quickly before I change my mind. He turns the engine on and I see the curtains of my living room twitch. My mum's face appears and, after a moment, turns a sickly white. She's shouting something, frantically, pointing at the car. She knows. I cast her one last, glassy teary-eyed luck before saying, 'Go!'.
I hold myself as we drive. It's a lot to take in. I can't believe how reckless I've been lately.
'Where do you want to go, then, sweetie?' Chris asks gently and he enters a motorway.
'London,' I say without thinking. 'It's where all the performing arts is real. I'll be an actress.' I say, eyes glazed with hope.
'Ok. But first, I'd like somewhere a little different.'
'Where?' I ask sleepily.
'Well, you know how I mentioned a little surprise I have for you?' I nodded, eyes heavy. He cocked his head, indicating the back seat. There lay a basket, woven and pretty, little Goldie Locks', and a few blankets.
'A picnic!?' I ask excitedly, waking a little.
'Not only that; you'll see. Rest for a little while, I'll wake you when we're there. You look tired,' He grabbed a blanket from the back seat, his eyes still on the road and passed it to me. I took it appreciatively and embraced the new warmth but I didn't sleep, not for a while. Travelling often makes me feel sick and dizzy, but not at night. At night I can see the dark world whiz past, I can watch each little star travel with me, I can relax. But, though I didn't realize it, I couldn't help but drift off into mindless nonsense that made more sense than reality.
'Hey, honey, wake up,' I'm being shook gently. I shake my head restlessly, forcing my eyes open. I see Chris's face a centimeter away from my own, 'morning, gorgeous'. Suddenly all the memories from last night flood back into my mind. I beam with relief to be away from everything, but can't seem to get that horror struck expression my mother wore when she saw me driving off, no matter how hard I push it away. I look out the icy window to see the rolling see in the midst of pale dawn. I turn to Chris who's smiling hopefully. I pounce on him with a tight hug.
'Thank you for everything'.
'It's alright, I did this for us. For you,'
'I love you!'
'I love you too'.
We sit up on some high, sandy dunes, away from the tide.
'I had this, weird, wonderful idea. I imagined us, together, eating a luxurious breakfast picnic as the sun rose. I thought it was incredulous and a bit too..poetic, but then this whole running away thing happened, and I couldn't resist. I'd do anything to see you happy, and I'm so glad you like it!' Chris says dreamily, and he sets out two blankets for the floor.
'Like it? I love it! Oh, Chris, this is perfect!'
'So.. you don't regret it? This running away thing.. you don't want to go back?'
'No.' I said, without thinking. 'I, I could never..' He nods understanding. We sit down together, huddling under a blanket, leaning again one another.
'How long was I asleep for?' I yawn, still exhausted.
'Only about two hours, maybe even less...I like watching you sleep,' He opens the basket softly and takes out all it contains.
'I got pancakes.. I know they're your favorite,' He reaches in again, bringing out a squeezy bottle filled with gloopy, sweet gold, 'and treacle, of course.'
There's a lovely array of breakfast foods with fruits and waffles and muffins, all the things he knows I like.
'So,' I say, taking my last bite of a chocolate-dipped strawberry as the last of the suns rays appear, beautifully lighting the sky. 'What was the next part of your vision?'
He considers for a moment.
'We fall asleep together, on the beach, in each others arms,' I smile. He wraps his arms around me and we drift off together, watching the waves roll and the sea gulls scour the beach greedily for food along the shore. When we wake we will play for hours in the sea, and build sand castles like children. Then we can travel to London, where he can be a famous musician and artist, and I can fulfill my dream and act. One day, I vow to myself to go back, to see my mum. I'll pick her up and take her to London, where her life can change, just like mine will. There'll be no Stephen, just me, mum and Chris, and we'll be happy. We'll all be happy again.
_________________________________________________________
This has to be the cutest thing I have written!
Aw, I'm so soppy.
Hope you liked it!
-Jenny <3
