Seven Days
Authors: Eve Ainsworth
For Dad. Always.
Contents
If you’re reading this I’ve succeeded. Good. I’ve done something right at last.
I’ve been thinking about it for ages, so don’t go thinking it was a sudden decision. The only thing holding me back was the fact that I’m a pathetic coward. But, in the end I knew I could do it really. It’s not so hard, not when you’re at the end of the line. And I am now, believe me.
There’s not much else I can write. Not to you anyway. Will you even read it?
You’ll know why I did this. Everyone will know.
Sometimes in the darkness you begin to see so clearly. Because of this I now know that:
a) Bullies are scum.
b) Families should be there when you need them.
c) I am weak. I deserve this.
I hope this will end quickly . I hope it’s like sleeping, only without the rubbish dreams .
I hope you’ll find her and tell her what I’ve done .
X
Kez Walker: Jesus, some people just don’t care what they look like. Even outta school…
5 hours ago.
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Lois: ??
Kez: LOL. Aw yeah – saw the STIG today … poor us. She actually hurt my eyes
Marnie: Who? Oh. I see – LOL. Yeah, we saw
Kez: Her hair! God. Does she wash?
Lois: ;o)
Marnie: Kez ur a legend mate!
Kez: Honestly tho, shes such a stig – and her shoes? Charity shop?
Marnie: Charity shop – def! She dresses like such a freak
Kez: Needs a lesson in style
Kez: Needs a lesson in sumthin anyway
Hannah: Not fair. Jess is all right.
Marnie: How did you know she was talking bout Jess?
Kez: Lol! How many other stigs do you know?
Hannah: I’m just saying, shes OK
Kez: Yeah well – u would say that. Ur her little pal
Marnie: So funny
Kez: Don’t matter - Stig will get it. She’s doing my head in. She offends my eyes
Lois: 4 real? When
Kez: Soon…
I don’t need an alarm clock any more. Good job really, because Hollie spilt juice on my old glitter fairy one. Now the digital screen has a permanent blurry black mark on it, like a bruise. No matter how many times I rub it with wet wipes, it still feels sticky under my fingers. I won’t throw it away though. Dad bought it for me four years ago. His fingerprints must still be on the plastic, so that’s part of him that’s with me – damaged or not. It sits beside my bed, next to my glass of water, flashing its broken time like a lighthouse in the fog.
I don’t need an alarm clock any more, because I have my own way of waking up – a crippling, unbearable feeling of sickness. It’s the same every morning. My eyelids open and then my body registers where I am. My stomach twists and turns, my legs feel like jelly and my throat begins to tighten. Every part of me, every fibre, nerve and muscle is fighting the feeling of dread, the realization that I have to face another day.
Today is no different.
I swing my legs out of the bed, large lumps of meat that wobble as I move. I hate the way they dimple. I hate their look – chicken flesh, pumped fat ready to burst. I pull my T-shirt down, trying to hide the roll of skin that skims over my knickers, and ease myself up.
The room is a mess, which annoys me. Hollie is useless at tidying; leaving trails of destruction everywhere – dolls, books, funny plastic monsters with strange faces. I have to tread carefully to make sure I don’t step on something. I kick one troll-like figure across the room and watch as it bounces against my bookcase. It lands on its head with its weird beady eyes glaring at me.
“You can get lost,” I tell it. It just stares back, grinning.
Hollie sleeps on the small bed under the window and, as usual, her body is sprawled in the weirdest position – her legs hanging off the mattress and her arms bent up behind her head. She looks odd. Her mouth hangs open and strands of hair are stuck to her face in damp stripes. One eye is half open. I wonder what she’s dreaming about.
“Hollie.” I shake her gently, waiting as she groans and then rolls into a ball. “Come on, sleepy. School.”
“Nooooo. Ten more minutes,” she says, pulling the duvet blindly, kicking me at the same time.
“Sorry. No time. Come on, wash and uniform.”
I look around the room but Mum’s not left anything out. I pick up the puddle of clothes beside Hollie’s bed, left from last night. I inspect them for dirt, but they look OK apart from a splodge of paint on her jumper which I pick off with my fingernail. Her tights are getting a bit small, so I pull on them to stretch them out. It feels like a weird exercise.
“My top’s got a hole in it,” Hollie says, getting up slowly. “Jack said it looked stupid yesterday.”
“Tell him he’s stupid.”
Hollie grins at me, gappy toothed, her blonde hair still stuck against her face. “You’re funny.”
I take her hand and lead her into the bathroom, trying to ignore the reflection in the mirror as I walk past.
“Yeah, I’m funny,” I say.
But not in the way she thinks.
I am pouring the last of the Rice Krispies into our bowls when Mum walks through the front door. It’s raining and her hair is pressed against her face in a matted lump. Her face is red and shiny and droplets of water are still dripping off the end of her nose. She needs a new umbrella. I remember the last one blew inside-out on the way to the shops. She battled with it for ages, before swearing and dumping it in a nearby hedge.
I wonder if it’s still there.
“Is there milk left for me?” she says, shaking her mac and dumping her bag in the corner of the kitchen. Her eyes are dark and hooded, like she could just sleep right there, standing up. I can’t look at her for long; the worry claws at me too much. I can’t even remember the last time she smiled.
“There’s some,” I say. I was hoping to have a small glass myself but it doesn’t matter, she obviously needs it more. I flick on the kettle and look around for a clean mug. The sink is piled high with dirty dishes. I really don’t want to put my hand in the slimy cold water that is pooling in the plates from last night. Instead I find a chipped “I love England” cup by the breadbin and throw a teabag in. I see the packet of biscuits still rolled up behind the old bread. I twist the packet open and shove two chocolate digestives into my mouth. They are stale and sweet between my teeth. I see Mum staring at me, her eyes narrowed in disappointment.
“That was a full packet yesterday,” she says.
I turn away, my face burning.
“Are you very tired, Mummy?” asks Hollie, eating her bowl of cereal while staring at Mum, wide-eyed.