D: Don't own TLM.
A/N: Yes, this is rather choppy... it's meant to be. I think. :D
Chapter 8
"Abby, they're saying the most horrible things about you!" Christine runs up to me the next day. I freeze.
"What… are they saying?" I mumble.
"That your father is a drunk alcoholic and that he's going to beat Jeremy up!" Christine pauses to take a breath. "It's not true, is it, Abby?"
"Who… did you hear this from?" I ask through gritted teeth.
"Jeremy himself!" Christine replies. "Abby, are you alright?"
But I am gone. I run down the hallway to Jeremy's locker. A large crowd is gathered there. They part for me until I am standing right in front of Jeremy.
"May I speak to you in private, Jeremy?" I ask, trying to repress my feelings. The crowd gives a loud and immature ooh, but Jeremy shrugs, avoiding my accusing gaze.
"Sure, I guess."
He follows me outside.
"Jeremy, what on earth is this about?" I demand to know. Jeremy pushes his hair from his eyes and continues to avoid my gaze.
"Yesterday after I'd dropped you home a man came up to me. Said he was your father and that he would beat me up if I ever went near you again."
My jaw drops. I cannot believe Father would stoop so low – for it was almost certainly Father. Jeremy grabs my arm.
"I'm sorry, Abby, but I really don't think this'll work out." He leaves and I'm left there standing.
The day passes in a haze of jeers and whispers. I am alone in the crowd – only Christine stands by me, and even then, she avoids my gaze. I cannot stand it. I just cannot stand it. I go home early. Lucy picks me up, her gaze probing and questioning, but I do not speak to her.
Three days.
I stay in my room and snap at my nieces when they poke their heads in to visit. I'm sorry for that now. I always will be – til the end of time. I go to bed.
Three days.
The next morning is hardly any better. I go to school this time and last the whole day. Everyone – including Chris – edges nervously around me. I have my own space wherever I go. That's supposed to be a good thing, right? It isn't. And on top of that, sometime during the day – for the hours all merge into one - I see Jeremy walking with a short, blonde girl. At least he's moved on.
Three days.
Father was right. I don't have a life here. But I don't want to go back to him either. I want to stay, frozen in time forever. There's only one way to do it.
It's so cold.
I'm so scared.
Lucy's worried about me. I hear her talking to Chris at night. They are considering sending me to a hospital. But then Chris always moans about the cost and that question is left unanswered.
I'm a burden.
Nothing more; a lot less. I don't want to be a burden anymore. Now that I close my eyes to think, I realise that I've never belonged anywhere. Not with Father; not with Lucy.
Not with Jeremy.
So I sit down and I write. I write of the events that have brought me to this moment. I know I could go so much deeper – I could speak of Mother, of her pain. But Lucy can do that. She knew Mother better than I did. She doesn't know what has happened since she left. She hardly knows what has happened since I came to live with her.
Perhaps if I were older this might be different. Perhaps I wouldn't be like this. I would be independent; I would be free. But the fact remains that I am a teenager – a child. I have nothing and no one in the world. I cannot support myself and I cannot live by myself. It's either this way or the other.
I don't want to choose.
Three days.
I put down my pen and sigh. There's so much about life that I don't know about. There's so much about life I do. I don't want to know any longer. I can't take it in. I can't cope.
Three days.
I fiddle with the corner of my skirt. Through the window and the rain I can see the river. It winds neatly in and out of the town glistening and sparkling. I turn my face away and re-read my paper.
I lie back in bed and wait for the third day to come.
