Fighting to Be Free (Fighting to Be Free 1)

I slammed my hands down on the roof of my car and after calling myself a pu**y a couple of times in my head, I turned and stalked to the door, a fierce determination settling over me. I’d get this done, sort her out and then leave and that would be it.

I knocked while I still had the nerve and stood there waiting for her to come to the door. I couldn’t help but wonder what her reaction to me would be, hell, maybe she wouldn’t even recognise me after all this time. She hadn’t seen me since I got sent down, she didn’t once visit me in juvie. The last time I saw her I was in court where I pleaded guilty for murder and was led off in a pair of handcuffs while she watched from the stand, not even crying for me.

The door opened within a minute and my heart was in my throat at the sight of her. She looked older than I remembered, the five years hadn’t been kind to her, she looked a lot older than her thirty-eight years. Ray was right about one thing, she was in a bad way. Her cheek was bruised, her lip split and there was a little cut in her eyebrow. Fell down the stairs my ass, you could practically see the fist print on the side of her face.

Her brown eyes that were the exact shade of mine, settled on me and were curious for a split second before recognition washed over her face and her mouth dropped open in shock. Her whole posture changed, instead of the relaxed woman that opened the door, leaning against the door frame in her slutty skirt and low cut top, she seemed to stiffen all over, her shoulders squaring off as her eyes turned hard.

So much for, I wonder if she’ll recognise me….

“What the f**k do you want?” she growled. Her eyes flicked up and down the street, obviously checking to see if anyone saw me standing here.

I sighed, the way she was looking at me made me both angry and sad at the same time, I didn’t know which emotion to feel first they were both so strong. She really didn’t deserve my help at all, I should just turn around, get in my car and go back to the life that I was building for myself. But I couldn’t, damn my stupid morals!

“I heard through the grapevine that you fell down the stairs. I came to see if you wanted anything.

You know, bread, milk….. wayward son to beat the shit out of the abusive pimp you obviously have?” I offered sarcastically.

She sneered at me, “I have no son!” she shouted.

I flinched internally at her words but didn’t let anything show on my face as I put my hand on her shoulder and pushed her out of the way so I could step into the house. I slammed the door shut behind me and turned to her, she was glaring at me with so much hate that I’m surprised I hadn’t burst into flames from the intensity of it.

“So you may think. Let’s try this again, shall we? I’m here to sort out whatever shit you’ve gotten yourself into this time. You may not want my help, but you’re getting it. Now tell me who this guy is and I’ll go and sort it out!” I said sternly, looking her right into the eyes, ignoring how her good hand clenched into a fist at my words.

“You can’t just come in here! Get the hell out and don’t come back! You stupid little shit, Jamie. I don’t need you and the way you ‘ sort things out’, I never needed you to sort anything for me. You did everything off of your own back and look where it got us! You go to jail and I lose everything!

Just get the f**k out!” she cried, grabbing the door handle and yanking the door open angrily, and gesturing for me to leave.

I smirked at her as I turned around and walked off down the short hallway. I tried not to look at anything on my way through to the lounge, I tried not to notice that the peeling wallpaper was the same one as when I lived here and the drawing that I had done on the wall by the stairs. I tried not to notice that the threadbare carpet still hadn’t been changed or the little burn where I had dropped a lit cigarette after being made to smoke a whole pack at once, apparently to teach me not to steal my mother’s from her purse. I tried not to notice these things but I just couldn’t help it.

She was screaming at me, telling me what a useless waste of space I was, how I ruined her life, how I screwed her over and left her with nothing. I ignored it all and stepped up to the last door on the left, my hand hesitated, hovering over the handle, scared to touch it and open the door. This room was where my worst nightmare happened. I was scared that I would walk in there and see Sophie laying on the floor, blood seeping from her head, her eyes open and vacant. I was scared I would see me crouched over her body, crying and sobbing like I had never done before or after that moment.

I bit the inside of my mouth and grabbed the cold brass handle, pushing the door open in one quick movement. My eyes automatically flicked to the right, looking at the wall that last time I had seen it had been covered in blood, the plaster cracked from the force that her head had been smashed against it. I really was expecting it to be the same, for it to still be there, but it wasn’t. The room had been painted a pale yellow, the carpet had been changed to a dark brown, obviously they couldn’t salvage it with the massive amounts of blood that had seeped into it that day.

Thankfully, I didn’t have a long time to dwell on my memories though, because before I knew it, my mom was in the room behind me, screaming profanities at me at the top of her lungs, slapping her hands against my back.

I closed my eyes and tried to force everything else away, I needed to focus on what I came here for, I couldn’t keep thinking about Sophie. I turned around and grabbed the top of her arms to stop her hitting me, shaking her a little to get her to shut up and listen to what I had to say.