The Whole Town Is Sleeping,
Becca Connelly
The cold winter wind whipped around my face and my long auburn hair span wildly in the bitter air, clinging to my face and shoulders like the tendrils of a wild plant. For a November night, all was deadly quiet in the west London suburb. Even the usual shrieking serenade of emergency service sirens was unusually absent from the frozen air. Thinking back to the previous day, I thought myself lucky that the terrible snowstorm had stopped, you could barely tell that it had happened, were it not for the icy cold and the dirty grey slush that was seeping into my, now ruined, plimsoles.
It was 1am, and I was frozen to my very core, the tips of my fingers had gone a weird blue-ish-purple colour and from the view in my compact, my lips were an unhealthy shade of blue. In my head, I wondered if I should just go home, but my body was saying no, I had no idea how I had ended up in Chelsea, Chelsea is far too posh for me, my cheap clothes and my Essex up-bringing. But I was there, on Lincoln Street, just off King's Road in Chelsea. I'd been here many a time, with David. David. David. David. When I thought of David my heart gave a painful tinge and it felt as though, were it not insanely cold, my eyes would have filled up with tears. I guess David was the reason I was in Chelsea in the first place, I only came here because I didn't want to go home, home to David, home to the man that had left me broken and dying. I didn't want to go home to the man I loved and always had, home to the man whose pride I'd dinted when he found out our beautiful baby wasn't his.
Shaking myself from thoughts of David, I wearily bent down and sat on the damp, cold pavement outside of a shop, closed for the night. Mannequins in the window were staring at me with their emotionless eyes and slightly parted lips. They looked as though they were calling out for help, begging for me to rescue them from their worthless positions in the double glazed window of a small department store. Their empty glares scared me, so I looked away and dove into my bag for a cigarette. I pulled out the silver box of Lambert and butler and took a lone cigarette from the box. Fumbling in my deep pockets with numb shaking hands, I pulled out a simple pink lighter. It took me a few seconds to get the lighter to work due to the numbness that was gradually becoming painful in my icy cold hands. When the small orange flame finally flickered into life I eagerly drew on the cigarette, the warmth of its burning core was spreading a mild, but nether the less pleasing heat through my quivering body.
Sitting on the pavement there, I allowed myself to think about David, about my beautiful baby girl and about my life. David is one of those men, those men that control, those men that hurt, those men that drink. Only two months ago, when he'd done... stuff. I'd still loved him, and I know that I still do in my soul. He's a part of my life and at 18, I'm under his seductive, empowering influence at all times of the day. Even thinking about that day hurts, I remember the blood, the screaming, the begging for mercy, the yelling and the pain in such vivid detail that even the memories of the day cause me to shake with fear. To be honest, some days I think he deserved what he got, arrested, but others I thought that a baby shouldn't grow up without a daddy. At least I thought that until he was released and hurt me again, then, I was glad that he has no access to Annabella.
Wiping David from my mind I stood up and shook my hair from my face. It was a pointless gesture to be honest, as the frightful wind whipped it straight back to where it had just been. I looked around me into the illuminated street, the dull orange luminescence of the street lamps that punctuated the streets every few feet was the only light, and the dull artificial hum they emitted was almost scary, like the buzzing of a million small bugs. I peered up into the dark night sky; the beautiful moon was hidden by menacing clouds that hung low over the London skyline. The few lonesome cars that drove down the streets seemed to all be dark and silent, stalker-ish creatures skulking up the dimly lit streets, waiting to pounce upon an unexpecting man or woman. To be honest with you, my imagination was at an all time high, and everything seemed creepier and more disturbing than it should have.
Standing there had made me even colder, so I decided to walk; I walked down the streets, weaving in and out of back alleys, treading through the melted snow into unknown areas. In one street, I tripped on the rough cobbles that made up the road surface, and fell, I fell hard on my hands and they began to bleed, deep crimson gashes had opened up in my palms and ruby red blood was flowing from them. Lying there on the street, I sobbed. I sobbed because of the pain, I sobbed because of David, I sobbed because I missed my baby and I sobbed because I was cold. Lying there, with rough stone cobbles digging into my body and with my stinging palms raised, I realised just how weak I am. I'm weak, scared and really pathetic, but I don't care.
I don't know how long i lay there for, weeping and sobbing, but after some amount of time, i stood up and pulled my old Sony Ericsson mobile phone out of my pocket, 32 missed calls and 12 text messages, i cautiously flicked through, breathing heavily and still crying a little, all from David, i clicked delete all and checked the time, two thirty two am, Sunday the 12th November. The sodden street where i had been lying was derelict and bleak, and the absence of street lamps only made the place scarier than it would have seemed with them in place. Letting my eyes adjust to the gloom, i raked the street with my damp bloodshot eyes looking for somewhere to go. The street seemed to have a dead end at one end, and a sleazy looking all night cafe at the other, the little cut that I'd walked through to get into the street seemed menacing and dangerous and the dead end was filled with smashed larger bottles and mouldy, rotting mattresses, infested with thousands of lice and fleas.
Wondering where to go, i quickly made my decision, it was either back through to small winding path, or up, towards the rough cafe, I walked slowly up the cobbled street, careful not to fall again, my freezing body was shivering, and I decided to go for a cup of tea in the cafe, no matter how rough it was. When I reached it, i curiously peered in through the dirty glass windows into the small area within; therewere three small tables, made from tea stained wood, each surrounded by four matching chairs, worn down and dusty-looking. There was also a small red leather sofa with an end table made from the same cheap wood as the tables and a large, old-fashioned bookcase, stuffed full with a ton of old books. The whole cafe seemed to be empty, except from a middle aged man, sitting at the counter reading a porno rag with his feet on the counter. To be honest, i didn't expect there to be anyone in the cafe, it was after two thirty in the morning, and anyone who was drinking in London at this time of night wouldn't be drinking tea in a Chelsea all night cafe, they would be boozing with the stars in central London bachelor pads, taking drugs and having sex.
Looking up at the flashing sign beneath the faded 'earl's cafe' and above the door that said open all day, I decided to just go in, I cautiously walked into the brightly lit building and a small chime tinkled in the breeze that i let in. The place was warm and the refreshing heat spread through my numb body. I walked further into the welcoming heat and smiled. The man at the counter didn't even blink an eye, and as i walked up to the counter my reflection glinted off his small round glasses and he peered up at me, quickly shoving his porno under the desk. "How can i help you?" He asked in a bored tone.
"How much would it be for a cup of Earl Grey?" I asked him, my voice shaking, all the time looking at the dusty kettles and coffee makers that were behind him.
"One pound twenty." he replied shortly, glancing down at my breasts,
I hastily pulled my coat tighter and rummaged in my soaking bag, pulling out my old hello kitty purse; I produced a two pound coin. "Keep the change." I said as i handed over the slightly damp coin.
Then, sneaking my chest one more look, the weird looking waiter turned, slowly sauntered over to the manky looking sink and turned on the rusty tap, thankfully the water looked clean and drinkable, he filled one of the many kettles with water, put a teabag into a white china mug and stood for what seemed like eternity, waiting for the kettle to boil. When it did, he picked up the kettle and filled the mug with water. He silently handed me the cup and pointed towards a small box, filled with tiny cartons of milk. I picked out a few and walked over to the nearest table. I sat with my back to him, and carefully stirred my tea; I took a sip of the burning hot liquid and let the pleasurable heat spread throughout my body.
Sitting there, i took out my phone and quickly wrote a text to my mother, she would get it in the morning, thinking hard i typed in a short paragraph, of the things i needed my mum to know.
"Mum, i hope that you and Annabella are ok, thank you for letting her stay tonight, you know how much she loves her granny. Tell her that i love her, and always will. Thanks. Also mum, i love you. "
Then, i switched off my phone and closed my eyes. Annabella is my beautiful baby girl, at two years old she is the sweetest thing, and the most important thing i have. That's why i can't leave her with David. My biggest worry is that he'll hurt her. I just can't let my amazing girl get hurt. It would kill me; i wouldn't be able to deal with it. So i left her with my mum, my mum is my hero, she loves Annabella perhaps as much as i love her, and she's the best person in the world to look after my baby, my world.
Downing my tea, I stood up and walked out of the cafe, leaving my half drunk cup steaming on the table. Shivering instantly as the bitter air hit my face i pulled my damp coat tighter and swept my hair out of my eyes, the street lamps that stood just down the road illuminated a sign, which read hospital road. I was just behind the royal Chelsea hospital, merely a kilometre from my final destination, i was getting closer, and yet, i wasn't at all scared. I walked a few meters down the icy street and glanced at my wristwatch, it said two fifty-four and i knew it was slow, but now, my phone was off for good, and the idea of switching it on for a trivial thing like the time was almost laughable.
When i reached the front of the hospital car park i sat down beneath a street lamp and rummaged in my bag for my diary and my pen. I ripped a page from my diary and wrote a letter to my mother and Annabella. Then i took the crumpled envelope that I'd already addressed the day previously from my bag and put in my letter. I sealed the envelope and put the smudged letter back into my bag. I hadn't realised until then, but my eyes were pouring with tears and my shoulders were shaking with huge racking sobs that were causing my whole body to shake with not just cold, but now, utter grief. I was sick of it, sick of being beaten by my boyfriend, sick of hiding my feelings, sick of sitting alone at night, watching my baby girl sleep, waiting for him to come home and hurt me, i was sick of hiding bruises with foundation and wearing long sleeved tops to hide the slashes that zigzagged up and down my arms.
Walking to the front of the bright, airy, calm hospital, i dropped my letter into the patient mailbox, my mother would receive it soon, it would explain everything, and I just hoped that one day Annabella might forgive me. It seemed that the hospital was deadly quiet, for once there was no ambulances roaring into the emergency zone and there were no wailing family members outside, sobbing for the ones that they had lost within the bare white walls and false friendliness of the hospital. The whole of Chelsea seemed to be in an absolute silence, seemingly in some sort of tribute to the fact that i was alone, tired and scared.
As I set off again in the direction of the Thames River, i pulled another cigarette out of its box and lit it with shaking hands, my sobs had subsided gradually and the warm feeling of nicotine spreading throughout my cold body was steadying and left me calmer, ready, and set to go. I quickened my pace from a slow walk to a faster one; i was almost jogging down the streets, weaving expertly through the darkness, speeding towards where i was headed. Five minutes later, i reached the Thames, and Chelsea Bridge. The bridge was empty apart from the odd car that sped off the bridge and into the darkness behind me. Not one driver even glanced at me, standing on the path at the side of the bridge; they probably didn't even see me, an 18 year old woman, barely still a girl; wearing all dark clothing, standing peering into the unknown depths of the water beneath.
Standing beside the bridge, i told my feet to continue walking, further onto the bridge, closer, to where i was going, where i wanted to be, but they wouldn't. It took a few steadying breaths and a handful of tears, before my body would allow me to move. When i reached the exact centre of the bridge, i placed my bag down beside one of the massive pillars that ran down the side of the bridge, and leaned forwards. I looked down, into the deep black swirling waters of the river, the water looked menacing and dirty, but i wasn't scared. I took off my shoes and my coat and placed them on the roadside along with my bag. The road had become eerily quiet, and the cars that had been speeding down the road had disappeared. My watch said three thirty seven am, and in the centre of London, Big Ben would be striking four am in less than five minutes. Placing my bare foot onto the railing down the edge of the strong safe bridge, i grabbed onto one of the fat pillars and hoisted my quivering, numb body up onto the railing. I was only a metre or so above the road but the raw fear that was coursing through my body was amplified a thousand times more than it had been when i was standing on the frozen road, perhaps because the surface i was standing on was only inches thick, or maybe because i knew that inevitably, i was going to die that night.
Releasing my grip on the pillar, i unhooked my watch, and flung it down, towards the twisting tornado of water that was revolving beneath me. I grabbed back onto the steady pillar, holding myself still as I watched the tiny item spiral downwards, it took what felt like forever to reach the surface of the water, and then it disappeared, with a soundless splash, down into the depths of the Thames.
Then, I let go. I let go of the pillar that i had clung onto. I let myself wobble and loose my balance; I let myself follow the watch. Down. Down. Down. I was flailing, screaming, crying. I fell for eternity. My life flashing before my eyes, i realised what i had done. I killed myself. I jumped off a bridge. I was about to die. The pain when I hit the water was unbelievable; it felt as though every bone in my body shattered into a thousand pieces. Now, I'm under water, black swirls are running past my eyes. I can't see anything other than black. The cold is almost unbearable. My lungs are stinging. My eyes are closing. I don't feel the blinding pain anymore. There's no dark anymore. All i can see is a blinding white light, and my father's calling for me. I'm gone. Forever. Don't miss me, i chose for it to end like this. It doesn't hurt anymore...