Everybody always told me that I was the victim, but all I felt was guilt. After every panic attack when I found myself on the ground, whenever I saw the panic on their faces, I was guilty. Everything bad that had happened to us was my fault. And I was the reason our family had to move away.
The three of us had to abandon our lifelong home because of me. We had to sacrifice everything because I was too weak. Because I couldn’t life with the whispers, the questions, the pitiful stares. When the police had told us the news, that it was only going to get worse, we had no other choice.
So we ran.
It hadn't been a clean escape. It was hard to break the bonds from the town we'd lived in all our lives. Mum kept her old job. Lucas promised he'd visit as often as possible. But it was different, and somehow, so were we.
I'd been deteriorating since the news. I’d trapped myself in my room, unable to move or talk, barely able to breathe. Mum and Lucas had been freaking out; they’d tried everything to get me back. But the only person I could speak to was Ella, when she'd come into the room to play a game.
In the end, it had been my psychiatrist, Dr Mulligan, who had said I needed to get away from the bad environments. That I should find a new home, make new memories – happy memories. “This isn’t about running from your problems,” she’d told me repeatedly. “It’s about moving on.”
Mum, as always, had agreed with her.
She hung onto Mulligan's words, craved them. Over the years, whatever Mulligan said became her latest mantra. That last one, she’d repeated over and over since the moment she'd told me we were moving. And I almost believed her, because other than the Reyes', I’d lost all love for the little town I'd grown up in. It had become the setting for a nightmare; a place to hold the constant presence of fear and pain.
Here, I wouldn’t be the damaged girl, the broken girl, the haunted girl.
No. Here, I would just be the new girl.
Our bathroom was small, old, and extremely cold. My eyes were squinted with the effort as I tried to turn the stiff shower handle. It gave away with an ear-piercing shriek, and I hopped into the tub the moment water began to fall from the rusty showerhead. The cold water chilled me to the bone and numbed my skin, but it didn’t numb the sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach.
All my fault.
The water hit my skin like icicles, but I braced it because I deserved to hurt. I’d felt worse pain before. I dug my nails in deep as I scrubbed my scalp, hissing at the feeling. Finished, my body collapsed against the grimy bathroom tiles and gave in to the watery onslaught. My eyes closed as each drop slapped my skin. I couldn’t hear my own thoughts, my head hammering too hard, as I took a jerky step out of the tub.
With a dull squeak, my hand wiped at the condensation on the small round mirror above the sink. My fingers twitched, tapping out an unbalanced beat against the cheap metal frame. The bathroom was cold, but it was my reflection that froze my blood.
I forced my thin lips to stretch upwards into a curve, but the happened didn’t reach my pale eyes. The murky blue held a certain melancholy tone that I could never quite disguise. “I smile like I have a gun pressed against my back,” I summarised. Giving up, I puffed out my hollowed cheeks and blew the gush of air out towards a wet blonde-ish strand that hung over my right eye.
“No going back now.” The reaction was delayed, but as the mirror shifted and began to blur, I was left reeling against the sink. My hands came down to hold onto it for dear life, but as my eyes grew heavy, I knew it wasn’t enough. I was powerless, my body a dead weight from those simple words.
In the mirror, I caught glimpses of another little girl. Her features weren’t as harsh and her skin wasn’t as pale. She stared right back at me, a similar look of fear on her face.
She was stood on her own, a patched-up bag hanging over her shoulder. The edge of a book stuck through the material and dug into the back of her thigh, but I knew it would only darken the bruise that was already there.
Her fists were clenched, her knuckles white, and as I saw this I realised I couldn’t feel my own fingertips. She unclenched her fist until I could hear the crisp snap of her knuckles. And then she repeated the motion; again and again until I lost sight of the crescent-shaped indents along her palm.
Cold sweat rand down her brow, a small, salted bead that dripped past her eye and down the side of her face. Both eyes, wide and scared, were focused on the space behind me. I didn’t have to turn around to see what she was looking at – I already knew.
It was a door, and it made her terrified. Terrified of what was on the other side, on what would happen once she stepped inside. She took a cautious step forward, and I could feel my own lungs burn as I held my breath. I wanted to scream at her to turn around and leave, to walk away and never step foot near that door. But I couldn’t. and instead I had to watch as she took a second step and blinked back the tears in her eyes.
“Well,” I heard her say to herself. She took in a huge lungful of air, and I felt myself mimic her movement. Her next words tumbled from her mouth with a mixture of trepidation and resignation. “No going back now.”
With each step forward my dread increased. No, I thought in my head. No, no, no – over and over until I was talking out loud. The word was a desperate plea as I saw her hand reach for the door. My own hand reached out, fingers pressing against the mirror as I begged her not to do it. Her hand pressed down on the handle, and I knew that there was nothing I could do.
The door opened, and I fell back with a cry, eyes shut tight so I no longer had to watch. My back hit the bathroom wall, the coldness sending shockwaves through my system. I was snapped back to reality in a blur of chaos and nausea.
I snapped back to reality in a blur of chaos and nausea. My eyes were revolving in the back of my head until my eyelids eventually peeled themselves open. I couldn’t breathe, could barely see, and my body was weak as it slid to the ground. I lay on the cold towels, a dripping mess, shivering as I cried. He can’t hurt me anymore. Can’t hurt me anymore. Can’t hurt me.
But those words could never erase the past.
My hair was still damp, skin still cold, as a plate of charcoal was placed on the table before me. Our kitchen smelt of dust and burnt toast, the pale yellow walls filled with the sound of Ella’s humming and mum’s swearing.
“Crap.” Mum was scowling at the ancient toaster, her finger pressing on the button. “I can’t stand this bloody thing.”
Mum’s relationship with kitchens was complicated: she loved to sit in them, but she didn’t necessarily love to cook. My nose scrunched up at the burnt toast in front of me, and I discretely pushed it away. But not discrete enough apparently, as Ella, who watched from the seat next to me giggle behind her hand.
A third plate of burnt toast landed opposite me, as mum scraped back the chair with her spare hand. “I’m sorry for saying those naughty words, Ella-Bella.”
“You always say naughty words.”
“Please don’t repeat that to the lady at playgroup.”
Elizabeth Austin, with her worn, rounded features and tangled blonde hair, fell into the chair with the grace of an ox. As she looked over at my untouched plate, I caught the flicker of concern pass through her gaze. “Not hungry, love?”
“Nervous,” I lied.
Her head fell to the side and she tutted in sympathy. “I’m sure you are. But you know what my father used to say to me?”
“Oh course I do, because you tell us all the time.”
Mum reached over and held open her hand, her fingers waving in expectation. I obliged with an eye roll, before putting my hand in hers and letting her wrap her fingers around mine. As she spoke, her thumb rubbed the side of my wrist. “He used to tell me that although the moment before the jump is scary, it’s the sensation of falling that lets you know it was worth it.”
“Mum, every time you tell me that all I can think about is how you’ve essentially killed me off.
“You win some, you lose some. And I know that college isn’t the most exciting adventure, but really, love, a smile wouldn’t be asking for too much, would it?”
Ella looked up from her bowl of Coco pops – the only thing mum had managed to cook successfully this morning – an expectant smile on her own face. “Smile!”
The corners of my mouth stretched, my teeth bared in what I suspected was the most cringe-worthy grimace of all time. Ella pulled a face and looked back down at her cereal, her eyes wide. Mum shrugged and patted my arm. “Close enough.”
As we said goodbye at the door that morning, there was a tinge of gloom in the air. It had taken ten minutes to unlatch Ella from my neck, as she’d clung to me like a monkey to a tree. Mum had to hold Ella back as I’d walked out the door.
I turned around every few steps to wave at her. Ella would return the wave in excitement, blowing the occasional kiss. As I neared the corner, my waves were more desperate as I turned around, determined to hold onto the memory to help me through the day. After the final wave, my sigh was lost to the wind as I took a step back, only to collide with something.
No – someone.
I heard the curse before I was even aware my lips had moved. Something burned my skin through the fabric of my hoodie as I stumbled backwards. When I looked up, a dark gaze was already awaiting mine; eyes that burned with a blaze hotter than the coffee that had stained her shirt. Her body trembled with either pain or annoyance. And whilst I couldn't see her face, I could still feel her glare through the long dark strands that covered it.
"I am-" I began as I stared at the mess.
Her hand was tight around the brown-cardboard cup she held, and it tightened as I started to apologise. I reached out to help her, and she jerked away in anger. Her eyes shot down to my outstretched hand, lips pursed. When I looked down to see what had disgusted her so much, I noticed my jacket had shifted and the tip of a jagged scar was visible above the sleeve.
Sometimes, I forgot they weren't natural to everybody else. That nobody else truly knew what significance those crude marks meant. Instead, they made me look weak, pathetic. But while the scars on my wrists were horrible, they were no comparison to the scars I held inside.
I choked. "-sorry." The word was strained in the space between us.
Her scoff was a sledgehammer to the remnants of my confidence. “Whatever, freak.” She shoved me out of her way as she walked on, and I took a few steps back in surprise. As I watched her walk away, I couldn’t help but think that she was right. I was a freak.
And I was nowhere near ready for what was to come.Ca
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