Broken

As I pad down the stairs to grab myself some breakfast I try to gear myself up. I do this every morning at the moment, I’m trying to brave the moment when I’ll actually tell Mom that I’m leaving. I want to do it, I want her to know that she’s driven me away, but I keep stopping myself at the last moment. The second I say those words it all becomes real and I guess I don’t want that to happen until I’m sure of where my next move will be. I keep thinking that maybe I should move near Diana, Helen, or Alexa, just so I have someone I know around me, but I’m not too sure. I don’t know what I want.

“Morning,” Mom calls out brightly, as if she can’t see the inner turmoil snaking through me. “You look tired today.”

“Yeah, thanks,” I grumble back while taking a seat at the dining table. My head shakes in shock as her greeting words. “Good morning to you, too.”

She places the newspaper on the table, one I’m sure she’s only pretending to read, and she examines me more closely. Her eyes rake over my body as if she’s picking up all of my insecurities one by one. I almost want to fold my arms across my chest to hide myself but I know there’s no point. That’ll only make her worse.

“You know, you could always come to a spa with me today,” she muses thoughtfully, probably assuming that she’s being helpful. “My masseuse is a very nice man. Handsome too.” She sends me a wink as if we’re girlfriends rather than mother and daughter. It makes me feel sick that she can just act so normally when she knows that I know the truth about her and Dad. Isn’t she embarrassed at all? “I’m sure he’ll be able to fix you up and put a smile on your face.”

I roll my eyes and push myself into a standing position. Then I move my way over to the coffee pot. I need some caffeine if I’m going to get through this without losing my freaking mind. “Yeah, we’ll see, Mom. I don’t know much about that.”

The liquid pours into the mug and I focus on that sound rather than the drivel coming out of Mom’s mouth. If she honestly thinks I’m going to go on a girly day out with her then she’s got another thing coming. Once it’s full, I press the mug to my lip and allow the delicious heat to sear through my throat. Then I move back to my seat, grabbing the newspaper as I go. Maybe if I put it up in front of my face, she’ll take the hint that I really don’t want to talk to her.

“…so I think i

t’ll be good for the both of us to spend some time together, don’t you?”

“Hmmm,” I murmur while flicking open the pages. She continues to talk but I pay no attention. My eyes simply scan the words as if I’m drinking them in. I’m not really reading anything, until…

“Oh my God.” My heart stops dead in my chest, sickness rises up into my throat, I have to gulp to keep it all inside. “Holy fuck.”

“Tia!” Mom has the indecency to sound shocked by my curse word, as if that’s the worse thing that happens in this house. “What was that for?”

“Oh, my God.” I ignore her, pushing back my chair and moving away from my coffee mug as I forget all about it. The words in front of my eyes swim and dance, grabbing my attention much more fiercely than anything else. “I have to go.”

I bolt back up the stairs before Mom can say anything else, taking them two at a time as my heart pounds boiling hot blood right through my body. My brain buzzes as if I have a large bee inside there, clouding up my thoughts, I don’t know what the hell to do anymore. This is… it’s just too much.

Once I’ve flopped back onto my bed and I stretch my body out, I pull the paper back out and I find the article once more. It’s still there, it hasn’t vanished into thin air as if I’ve imagined it, which I half expected it to do. But nope, it’s still there.

‘Stephen Jones, small time musician, found dead in local bar.’

No, it just can’t be. This can’t be possible. I reach across to the night stand and I grab Stephen’s pick which I roll between my fingers as I read. Maybe we only spent one night together and maybe he ditched me at the end of it, but I still feel like we shared something special. I still feel like we had some sort of connection that I really enjoyed. Now he’s just… gone. Dead. Vanished.

‘Barmaid of the Crown, Katie Miller, found the beaten body of Stephen Jones and was the one to contact the police. “I don’t know what happened,” she told us. “I locked up the night before and no one was in the bar, then the following morning I unlocked it to find him.”. She did not know Jones, but had seen him play at the Crown a few weeks before. “He seemed troubled, like he knew that he was in trouble.”’

I scrunch the paper between my fingers, growing angry with each passing word. Stephen certainly didn’t seem troubled to me. When we met, he seemed happy as anything, and that gig he played was absolutely amazing. There was no way he knew that he was in trouble. The only strange thing to happen was that he vanished in the middle of the night after we had sex and I didn’t seem him for the rest of the time that I was aboard, but that doesn’t mean anything… does it?

Not able to solely believe the words written in the paper, I click onto the Internet to try and find out more. Everyone knows that online journalists are much quicker than traditional ones, so I’m sure that if there’s any more information to be found, it will be online.

Nope, nothing. Absolutely nothing. This is madness!

After fifteen very frustrated minutes, the only info I can find is what I already know. I guess Stephen Jones just wasn’t an important enough person to warrant more news than that which is sad. He had a whole life, and he was murdered, and no one seems to care. Except me… and his family in New Zealand of course.

With a deep and sorrowful sigh, I fold the paper up and I tuck it away. I can’t look at the words anymore, they’re crushing me, making me feel ill. I didn’t have much with Stephen Jones, but with the shitty way that my life has been going recently this is just another thing that brings my mood even lower. It crushes me and makes me want to weep pathetically.

I can’t stay here, I think with a hot determination. Even more than before. I have to get away. There cannot be any more excuses. No tears, no sadness, just action.

I push myself off the bed and glance around my room. I don’t have much packed up because I didn’t want it to be obvious what I was doing, but I have the essentials. I have all I need even if I don’t have all that I want. I can just take all of that and leave right now. I can go and never look back. I can say goodbye to my murderous father, my pathetic mother and I can just become me… whoever the hell I am.

With that one thought in mind I stand up and move over to my wardrobe. I ignore all of my fancier clothes and go for some comfortable sweat pants instead. I don’t know how I know it with such clarity, but I just know that I need to get out the country if I want to really escape this… at least for the time being. Moving to another state won’t be far enough I need to be somewhere so far away that all of this is a distant memory.

Once I’m dressed I flick my laptop back open and I head towards the airline website. I figure I’ll pick somewhere on a whim, whatever flight is leaving today. I just need to get out before I succumb to the sobs and I spend another week on my bed crying. If I let the sadness of Stephen’s death to get the better of me then I don’t know how long it’ll be before I can escape. Maybe I didn’t know Stephen well, but I don’t think he’d want me to cave to depression.

I grip tightly to the pick as I run my eyes over the available flights, waiting for inspiration to hit, and soon it does. There’s one flight that stands out, that grabs my attention without me even trying. The only seat available is in economy class which isn’t what I’m used to and won’t be pleasant, but there’s something about it that still feels right. It’s a country that’s calling out to me, drawing me in.

New Zealand.

Maybe I can’t have the guy, but maybe that isn’t the reason he came into my life in the first place. Maybe I was always supposed to go to New Zealand. Without dwelling too much on the decision, I hit book and allow a flurry of excitement to wash over me. Then I grab my bag and I race down the stairs with the hint of a smile on my face. Everything still sucks I know that, but I feel good to be taking action. It’s pretty much the first time in my life that I’ve ever done something so productive.