Thirteen: Sinking

I buy the magazine and hurry out of the arcade; I climb into my car and drive as fast as I can without breaking any laws back to my house.

In my kitchen, I open the magazine to read the only article inside it I’m interested in.

“Recently, Gothic supermodel Layla Goss hit the headlines when she attempted to commit suicide. Since then she has faded out of the limelight as she recuperates, but her younger sister Francesca has stepped forward to point out some facts about her famous sister...”

The article went on, and it sickened me. It was all...I don’t know. I didn’t expect any of it.

There were some facts that made me frown, the way she said whenever my family tried to call me no one ever picked up, the email address they’d been given was fake, and they’d gone to America many times in the past three years but whenever they tried to contact me they were told I didn’t want to see them.

My sister was either lying (not likely) or something very funny was going on (more likely).

What hurts the most is how my sister ends it.

“My sister has always been incredibly selfish. I’ve never thought that she cared about her family, and me and the past three years just goes to show that she doesn’t. My parents and other siblings still seem to think that she’s going to come back into our lives but I seriously, seriously doubt it now...She doesn’t love us, she’s moved on with her life. Her job is obviously more know people don’t care when they attempt suicide and the only way you find out is through the glossy magazines. Do I love my sister? I find it very hard to.”

I feel sick to the bottom of my stomach, and I throw aside the magazine and leap up, running to the phone. I hurriedly dial Gerard’s number.

“Hi...if I haven’t answered, I’m just busy, so leave me a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can...”

I bite my lip and leave a hurried message.

“Gerard, please, phone me back.”

Then I race upstairs and find my mobile phone, and punch out a frantic text message of: “Gerard, I need to talk to you now.

Then I put the phone in my pocket and slam upstairs to my computer, turn it on and open up the Internet. I go onto my email website and send him an email.

Gerard, please, call me, text me, email me, whatever you can.

I don’t know what I’m going to do.

My sister did an interview with a magazine about me and she thinks I don’t love her. I thought they were the one’s not contacting me, not the other way round! They think I don’t love them and that I don’t want to know them and that my job is more important!

Gerard, I need to talk to you.

I’ve only just managed to feel better, and I’m feeling like that all over again.

Lots of love,
Layla xx

I sit back and anxiously wait for some contact from him.