Dare to Dream

I woke slumped against the ice cold radiator; I shot up in an instant to get away from the frozen metal, shivering as I stumbled on the rug in the centre of my room. Frowning, I sluggishly made my way across the creaky floorboard and bent down to my drawers, I was already wearing my grey cotton shorts, thick hiking socks and white cami from yesterday.

I grabbed my baggy yellow inkwell and ivy hoodie, the only expensive item of clothing I owned, and shoved it over my head. I wasn’t in the mood to get changed, or do any sanitary acts what so ever, I flung open my bedroom door and stepped onto the landing causing the flooring to groan under foot. I ran down the stairs, daring myself that if I got there in less than ten seconds some nice family would come and adopt a gangly, odd, sixteen year old girl like myself.

As always I didn’t make it in time, cracking my neck and swinging my arms, I waltzed into the kitchen to the soft jazz floating out of the ancient radio; courtesy of Georgia. I lifted my lips briefly as I saw her, the closest I ever came to a smile.

I pulled up a chair and sat down next to Georgia, busy eating those weird shreddie things. I frowned when I saw her wrist, gingerly picking it up between my thumb and forefinger; I examined the scars and new deep pink scratches along its pale surface. Georgia’s head lifted briefly, guilt marring her pretty face before she dropped it back down, her head hanging like a dying leaf on a branch.

“Why?” was all I said to her, I knew why she had scars and why she was here, her parents had died in some kind of accident; I don’t know what kind and truthfully didn’t give a fuck. But we’d all thought she’d gotten over her dreadful cutting addiction.

“I’m sorry,” was all she said to me, I raised one of my finely trimmed brows; another habit of mine, asking her to elaborate. I heard her sigh and waited patiently, it wasn’t rewarded.

“Well, we all have skeletons in our closet” I said simply, digging into my shorts pocket and pulling out a half empty cigarette packet, I held it out to her, she took one out and placed it between her lips; waiting for me to light her up.

“Maybe we should go outside, I’m not in the mood to hear Sam bitch about the smell,” I said smirking, Georgia let out a snort of laughter before slowly shaking her head from side to side. “I really don’t care, so either give me a light or take you fucking cigarette back, I don’t even know why I want this piece of shit, it doesn’t help!” she yelled across the room, her eyes on the French windows overlooking the garden.

I pursed my lips after a few seconds of awkward silence, “So, do you want the cigarette or not?” I asked in a quiet voice, not a hint of rudeness entering my tone. I knew Georgia was mad and angry at herself and not at me; she nodded and leaned across the table for me to light her cigarette. I did just this before lighting my own, watching with a perverse fascination as her shoulders lifted with the first intake of smoke and then sagged as she exhaled, I let a smile play across my lips before coughing and taking a drag of my own. I stood up and coughed into my palm, Georgia looked at me quizzically, and I shrugged in defeat.

“Slept against the cold radiator last night” I mumbled, stubbing my cigarette out on the stained coffee table, Georgia smiled lightly up at me “Now, Sam will bitch to you about that” she said quietly, but then I was neither a funny nor social person.

“I don’t actually give a fuck” I sang loudly, turning and leaving the kitchen as quickly as I’d entered the place, and for the first time in ever I smiled sincerely as Georgia’s laughter echoed through the house, warming the dreary atmosphere.

I tapped my bare feet back and forth as I walked over the wooden floor and into the cold living room, sitting on one of the frosty sofa’s, hoping to warm it up with my body temperature; but failing miserably as I would never warm myself up in the first place.

“Hello,” a quiet yet bubbly voice announced as I tried in vain to make myself comfy on the lumpy sofa, I yelped and jumped in surprise, I hadn’t noticed the girl sitting to the left of me on the old lone chair in the corner.

She had a small frame, like that of a fine boned bird, but her short blonde hair didn’t resemble that at all. Her pixie face and bright blue eye’s weren’t the most stunning features around, but her bubbly personality radiated through her odd, yet pain features; Giving her an air of attractiveness.

“Oh, I didn’t see you there” I said, frowning at the smiling girl, if she’s in a place like this then she has no reason to be smiling.

“What are you smiling at?” I asked rudely, wrapping my arms around my waist and gazing out the big windows and into the garden, the only nice thing about the orphanage. She didn’t seem fazed and smiled wider.

“I just got here from my parents house, I ran away so much that they disowned me!” she laughs at her own words and continues to talk to me like I actually give a fuck about what she has to say, “My name’s Marianne, but you can call me Mary if you’d prefer” she finishes talking and holds out her hand for me to shake, I cringed back, not from the fact that she wanted to shake hands but at how she would look at me with such sincerity and regard with such personal truth after knowing me for only two minutes. Those types of people wanted the same kind of commitment back, and I wasn’t willing to give it, which is why I would have to avoid this girl like the plague; starting now.

Without looking back, I wordlessly left and walked back into the kitchen to be greeted by the soft jazz I always associated with Georgia, she smiled at me as I sat back down next to her, her bowl of cereal now in the small mountain of unwashed dishes. This is why I valued my friendship with her; we both knew when to stop and how far to go. So for now I was content to sit in the cold kitchen, in the silence, with my only friend.