They say that the smallest things can be enough to push someone over the edge. I believe that the opposite is true too, that the smallest thing can be enough to pull someone back from the edge. It was Jason that first showed me this, standing on this very bridge. It seems like a lifetime ago now, but it was only 18 months. I can still see us on that clear August night, standing out here on the edge.

It was one of those nights when everything is still, and your breath lingers in the air. I was sitting on the dewy metal railing, my sweaty hands clinging to it and feet dangling high above the surging river. Images flashed through my mind; dad passed out on the couch, mum limping in the kitchen, her swollen black eye. Her voice replays in my mind, haunting me, "does it hurt? It's your own fault" Even now the words were like a knife twisting in my chest. "Don't come back again". I had taken his beatings, tolerated his drinking, cleaned up his mess, all for her. But even my own mother didn't want me. Her voice had been cold, face empty as she told me to leave. "Now, before he wakes up. Go! I don't want you here."

Nobody did. All I had to do was push and… I looked up at the sky. The stars seemed to shine brighter than ever despite my blurred vision. When I was younger I used to dream I was a star, just floating peacefully, high above it all. My mother had once told me that they were souls floating up to heaven. They always looked so powerful, so free. They would never know what it was to feel the air escape your body as your back suddenly collided with the ground, to be looked at with so much hatred and disgusted that you wished to couldn't be seen at all. They wouldn't feel their stomach drop as they are griped by fear or have to be constantly on guard and ready to run, with nowhere to run too. No, the stars would nothing of humanity. Steering up at them I had felt a sudden pang of jealously.

I just wanted to forget, but the weeks events kept flashing in my head. It had snowed the last few days. Other kids loved the snow; they ran and jumped in it, squashed it into balls and threw it at each other. For them it meant days off school and snowmen competitions, but for me it meant stealing wood to stay warm and being stuck at home with him. The snow had melted enough that we had to go to school yesterday. Not wanting to go home, I had hidden in the school library. There was a 'reading pit' filled with pillows which were perfect for hiding under, and made a fantastic bed. It was in the same building as the staff room, where I could usually steal a few crackers without raising suspicion. This morning there had a box of fundraiser chocolate on the coffee table. I hadn't been able to resist taking two blocks, making it the perfect morning. In fact, the morning had been pretty good, it wasn't until I go home that things went bad.

He had been drinking in the kitchen and heard me come in. Mum was right, it really was my fault. I should have known to be quieter, to use the back door. I had realised my mistake as soon as I hear his chair scrapping across the floor. But I was too late. I froze as he approached me in the hall. "Weelll, look whose home" he snarled. I didn't say anything, just slowly backed into my room. "And where do you think you're going? Huh?" Ok, bad move. "Nowhere", I whispered resist the urge to look down at my feet. "That's right, you'll never make it anywhere. Finally realised that have ya? You seemed to think this place an't good enough for ya." Next thing I knew he had me by the collar, pushed up against the wall. "You ungrateful little brat!", he spat at me, "I'll show you." I thought I heard mum in the back ground crying "Garry stop, Garry no, please no, only me", but I must have been dreaming. Mum would never stay no to him.

I woke up in the hall with mum kneeling over me, a cold facecloth in her hand. Her swollen eyes were fall of tears. "Mum?" I asked. "Ssh" said told me, glancing toward the lounge. I followed her gazes, spotting a limp arm dangling of the couch above an empty bottle through the door frame.

"I was hoping that you wouldn't come back this time", she whispered, "you need to go".

"Go?", I asked. She just nodded. "Go where?"

"Anywhere."

"Let's both go"

"You know I can't go"

"Mum please. I won't leave you."

Then it was like something it her snapped, her face suddenly void of emotion, eyes piecing me. "You must. I don't want you here."

"Mum please."

She put her hand on my ribs, making me winces. "Does it hurt? It's your own fault. You shouldn't be here"

"What?" I was disoriented and couldn't make sense of what she was saying. She had never blamed me for something he did, not once. Even when I was little and got in his way. She would hold me later and whisper stories of the stars in my ear, promising that it would all be okay.

"You heard me, it's all your fault, I don't want you here. All you do is make him angry. If you left, we could be happy. Leave."

"No", I sob, "You don't mean it, mum please"

"Leave! Now, before he wakes up. Go! I don't want you here."

She pushes me toward the door with a bag. "Aunty Vicky's in Auckland. This is her number," she says handing me a wad of cash and a folded piece of paper. "She will give you what I can't."

"Aunty Vicky?" I asking steering blankly at the money, to confused to even consider how she got it. I've heard of mum mention her a few times, always with sadness and regret, she even showed me a photo once, but I've never met her.

"Go! Now," sh snapped me out of my thoughts, squeezing my hand one last time before pushing me out the door. I stand there for a moment, stunned as I hear mum lock the door. Slowly I turn and head down the road alone. She doesn't want me.