Status: active :)

Echoes

III

Although I knew what Alex was going to say, hearing it is a different matter altogether. A violent and unmistakable trembling has taken residence in my arms, my legs, my bottom lip. Nausea overtakes me and for a terrifying second I think I’m going to throw up right here in front of him but somehow I manage to keep it under control. To give myself something to do to stop myself from panicking or crying or screaming or all three I get up and slowly make my way over to the sink. I pour water into a pint glass up to the brim, and take small steady sips as I try and get my emotions under control.

A few minutes pass in silence before I can trust myself to speak in a way that will not make me seem like the frightened little girl I am.

“No,” I say, my voice still upsettingly small and quiet.

“No?”

“I left for a reason and that reason as far as I’m aware is still valid. I’m not going back there, I refuse and I think you of all people really don’t have any right to tell me what to do.” At this I expect him to act sorry again but his face remains impassive, his voice flat.

“Do you not miss them? You running away has killed them, Carrie.” I snort. Miss what? The cold, quiet demeanour of my Mother who looked the other way at the angry outbursts of my Father? No I don't miss them... But there is a small part of me who longs for them as a child does for her parents, I can't help it. Even so I can’t go back there. Every cell in my body feels repulsed by the idea, it feels as if I would be denying a natural instinct, running into danger instead of away from it. And as for me running away ‘killing them’, the idea is laughable.

“No I don’t miss them, and I really doubt they miss me either. Look, I’d appreciate it if you’d leave now,” I state, trying to make my voice sound as commanding as possible and walking towards the doorway in the hopes he will follow. He doesn’t and instead runs a hand through his hair, glancing at his watch tiredly.

“I’m really sorry Carrie, but you don’t have much of a choice. You’re under eighteen and unless you want me to get the authorities involved here, you’re going to come back home with me tonight and you will stay there, at least until you turn eighteen.”

Tonight?
Tonight??

Panic rises up in me like vomit and this time I don’t think I can get it under control.

“No no no no… You don’t understand, I can’t go back there, I just can’t!” I press my fingers to my eyes and take a deep breath but I still feel hysterical.

“Why? Why can’t you go back there?” He questions, not a trace of sympathy in his voice. I don’t answer this. The only person who knows the reason I left is my roommate and it took a year before I was brave enough to tell him, my best friend. There’s no way I’m telling this bastard the reason. He sighs. “Anyway, its not really up to me. Your parents know where you are now, if I don’t get you to come back here, they sure as hell will one way or another.”

I can see no way out of this, and it terrifies the hell out of me. Desperately, knowing I’m clutching at straws, I go for delaying tactics.

“Why do I have to go tonight? I have a life here y’know. A job and- and a roommate and friends and I have to get all my stuff together. I can’t just leave it all at a seconds notice! Can’t you come back tomorrow and give my some time to sort everything out?” I hate myself for how whiny I sound. Any second now I will be on my knees, clutching his leg and begging.

“What, and give you time to run away again? I wasn’t born yesterday,” he states.

“So you just expect me to leave everything just like that?” I snap. “I have a roommate who is depending on me to give him my half of the rent to keep a roof over his head as well as a ton of other bills, I have shifts at work no one’s going to want to cover, I can’t go!”

“You can, and you will. You work at a crappy minimum wage supermarket job, I’m sure you wont be missed that much and as for the rent-“

“-Excuse me but I love that crappy minimum wage job, I have some really good friends there and I don’t even want to know how you knew where I work-“ I trail off into silence as I watch him reach into his back pocket and grab his wallet. “What are you doing…?”

“How much is your half of the rent and bills and stuff?” I’m reluctant to answer because this is my strongest argument for staying and if he can get rid of it as easily as handing over a sum of money then I know I’ve lost. But he’s staring at me expectantly and so I tell him around £650, a little more than it actually is in the hopes that he won’t have enough.

Wordlessly, he empties his wallet of the notes inside of it and fishes inside his coat pocket for a larger bundle of notes. I’ve never seen so much money together in my life.

“There’s about £1400 there, just over two month’s worth. After that he’s on his own,” he states matter-of-factly whilst tucking his wallet back into my pocket. All I can do for a few seconds is stare at the money on the table, my throat tight. Finally I manage to repeat weakly my other arguments, my job, my friends.

“You can ring up and explain the situation to your job and your friends tomorrow, when we’re back home.”

“That place is not my home and never will be again.”

“Yeah well it’s the place you’re going to be living for the next six months, until you turn eighteen at least.” Again he sounds calm and unaffected by my words or my tone, and it’s becoming increasingly irritating. “Look, Carrie, my hands are tied here. I promised I’d bring you home, and I’m going to. Now you can either go pack your bags and leave with me here in an hour or I’ll ring the police and inform them about your underage runaway status. Your choice.”

There is absolutely no choice here and he knows it. Fuming, I soundlessly storm out of the room into the one bedroom in the flat. Finn and I alternate between sleeping in here and on the Sofa so the room contains a mix of both of our belongings, the majority of his on the floor. I grab Finn’s suitcase from under the bed and hoping he won’t mind, I unzip it and dump his ‘secret’ magazine collection hidden in it, that I’ve known about since about a week living with him, back under the bed. I replace them with my meagre collection of clothes and books as slowly as possible in an attempt to drag out the inevitable. Alex watches from the doorway but I do my best to ignore him, especially as looking at him still causes my stomach to drop and a layer of sweat to coat my palms.

Into a rucksack, the one I brought from home, I put everything else: all the photos and letters and notes from friends, my sketchpad and watercolours, the small collection of jewelry I've gathered. I grab my handbag swinging on the back of my door and shove that in there as well before pushing past Alex to the bathroom, almost emptying it of its contents. I grab the bottle of vodka and my cigarettes on the kitchen table, a couple of bottles of water from the fridge and the book I’m currently reading –Wuthering Heights- from my chair in the living room and pack those as well.

By this time, though my heart is still pounding and I feel sick, my hands have stopped shaking so my handwriting is legible as I scrawl a note to Finn on the front of an old envelope I found in the kitchen. In it I tell him briefly what’s happened and apologise for stealing his suitcase, explain the money that I then place into the envelope and tell him to ring me as soon as he reads it. I place the envelope on the centre of the kitchen table and as an afterthought leave a cigarette next to it, a goodbye gift.
“You ready?” Alex asks, the suitcase at his knee.

Not looking at him, I pick up my bag and walk out of the apartment. I linger a second at the door frame, running my hand along the peeling wood before stepping out into the hall.

I don't look back.
♠ ♠ ♠
This is going to be my main project for a while so frequent updates should be expected.
Feedback would be adored :D