On my wandering, I discovered there was a train station across town, not that it looked much like one. Part of the roof was missing, the plants that inhabited the garden had gone wildly out of control and graffiti covered a portion of the wall. I wondered if any trains stopped here anymore. After all who would want to catch a train at a place like this, on this side of town? The place would still be creepy without the darkness.
I felt branches and leaves scratching me as I moved through the doorway towards the platform. Probably safer where you can't be seen, I mused. I pushed my way through the jungle and broke through onto the platform. The area was deserted; you could tell no train had come along here in a while. Although the area was run down with fading paint and chipped concrete it was a nice hiding spot, cut off from everything.
I made my way to the edge of the platform pulling the stray leaves from my hair and sweater. The sound of a crunch under my foot drew my attention to the ground where cigarette butts and empty booze bottles littered the ground. The objects said it all – this was the popular hangout area for the young and rebellious. Maybe it wasn't even safe on the platform. I turned to return home but a rustling of leaves stopped me in my tracks. Had this been a normal train station and on the other side of town, I may have just kept walking; but this train station was broken, run down and on the 'wrong side' of town, and probably dangerous.
I took the leap, literally. Landing on my ankle awkwardly after jumping off the platform, I ducked behind it. Oh Lord, please let me be right about there being no trains, I silently prayed, even though I wasn't Christian. But at the moment, I just needed someone looking out for me. My imagination began to run wild with what the people might do to me if they caught me in their hangout spot. I had heard the rumours of people around here, rough and… well to me they sound bloody scary. Would they bash me? What if they were all men? I suppressed the bile in my throat. Would this be my death? I realised I could easily be killed, after all no one would hear and who would look for me here. I wonder if this was how mum felt, not knowing if the threads of your life were coming to an end… Stop it! I told myself. I was overreacting, being dramatic, but that bubble of fear I tried to throw away was still there.
A set of uneven footsteps made their way to the side of the platform then stopped, probably at the bench I saw earlier. Oh thank god, there is only one person. Then I heard the crying. Not crying, more like something between a sob and a scream.
Standing on my tip toes, I quietly peered over the edge of the platform, though I probably could've taken off running and the person wouldn't have heard me over their tears. It was a girl. Had I passed her down the street in the clothes she was wearing, I would've most definitely turned in the other direction. She looked as rough as guts but obviously didn't act that way, it was clearly a façade. I studied her closer. Spots of blood covered her messed clothes, bruises covered her exposed arms. If my gut was right, I knew exactly what had happened to her, I had experienced it firsthand although probably not to the same degree.
I turned and sat below the platform with conflicting emotions. I wanted so desperately to console the girl, but on the other hand I didn't want to look like an idiot if I was wrong. She probably didn't even want my company. I'm sure there are times in life when you've needed someone, but hadn't had anyone. Edward's words echoed in my mind.
I hesitated before silently lifting myself up onto the platform. The girl's cries had died into sniffles. I stood on the edge on the platform awkwardly, waiting for her to notice me. Oh Edward, you better be right otherwise I'll track you down and cause you unbearable pain.
"Excuse me?" I stuttered. I didn't have a clue as to what I was meant to say.
Two blood shot eyes rimmed with thick smudged mascara met mine. Her faced paled considerably, but she composed herself and threw up her scary rough-as-guts mask. I stood firm trying to look confident, but silently swearing in my head.
"What? What do you want? Who the hell do you think you are? Get out of here, get lost!" She yelled at me. She was on her feet by now, but I was smart enough to notice the panic in her voice and the quick glances at the entrance.
"Wait, please. I just want to help."
The girl rolled her glassy eyes. "What on earth could you possibly do to help? You don't even know what's wrong! Now piss off!" She immediately turned her back on me and walked down to the end of the platform, looking out into the distance. She must have thought her last words would have scared me off.
I took a deep breath. "Every night he comes home. You try not to act scared, try not to show fear. It's like he feeds off it. The alcohol, every night, it fuels him. At first it was just a few drinks with some friends, but then it grew. His problems grew, so the drinking did too. All too soon, he is replaced by a stranger. The alcohol, his problems, they fuel him. And he takes it out on you." My voice was not shaky, but calm and strong. The girl had begun to face me. I was right. I met her eyes, trying to show her that I understood.
"Your mother," I continued, "can't… won't do anything. She tries so hard to accept who he is, tries so hard to fight for the man she loves. It is verbal and a few physical threats, every single time." I was trying to hold back my own tears by now. "Then one night, he hits that point, the point where those threats just aren't enough anymore. He lashes out, on you, your mother, your siblings. You cry, you all do, from shock, from pain, from a broken heart. He can't face you again when he is sober. He knows he has gone too far. He'll only return if he is drunk, or he just may not return at all. Your mother, your siblings, they're all to ready to give him a second chance. They can't hold a grudge, they love him. They may accept him, or they may believe it's all normal as they've never experienced anything else. But you, you know it isn't normal, but you're too ashamed to speak out. You won't forgive him. You want him to feel your pain, their pain. But he won't, because in the end you're just one person, so weak against him and your family who in the end support him."
"You leave or he leaves." This was no longer about relating to her. I was continuing my story. "You try to forget, but he has destroyed you. He broke you trust, took your love. He made you fear him. You go through life as best you can. You struggle to trust people. You stay away from them or put up a façade out of fear, to protect yourself. But then…" I could feel the wet trails down my cheeks. "But then one day he shows up. He wants a second chance, he thinks he has change. Everyone believes him, everyone but you. You don't give him a chance to explain. You run from him hoping to avoid him forever, avoid his explanation, avoid looking into his eyes and seeing his regret and forgiving the stupid bastard. But you can't run forever. One day he finds you. You walk into your home and realise it's him sitting at the kitchen table, in your home."
The girl had moved back to her seat and looked at me wide eyed.
"You walk into your home, and realise 'daddy' has returned."