THE PAINFUL TRUTH

Chapter Twenty Two- The Loss Of Hope

Well done, Stella! Perfect timing! You just couldn't restrain yourself from saying it when she had something in her mouth!

I jog to the kitchen and pour water into a glass that I find from a grey cabinet. Returning to the living room, I place the glass into her hands and immediately Frida gulps it down while I pat her on her back. Eventually, she recovers and motions me to sit next to her; I do as she instructs, a bit more scared than before the choking incident.

"Stella, you're going to have to explain to me why you want new foster care parents," Frida looks and sounds incredibly serious.

What do you say, Stella?

"I just feel like it would be better for me since Kate and Harry aren't used to fostering teenagers and it would probably be better for them too," I lie.

I have to admit that even though it took me long, I've finally settled in so it would be such a disappointment when I will leave.

If Frida actually agrees and does find you new foster care parents.

No negative thoughts! Think positive!

Impatiently, I fidget while I wait for a response from Frida, who's deep in thought.

Come on...say something! Any-

"But you looked completely fine the last time I checked on you and Kate and Harry have done excellent jobs with Jake, Josh, Evie and Ellie!" Frida sounds like she believes more of what she's saying than my lie.

Well, that lie failed! Do something, Stella!

"Well, I guess that it's more of wanting a change of setting," I improvise another lie.

"But you seemed settled in Minehead. I mean you have your school here and you've probably made friends," Frida looks like she's trying to convince me to stay.

I don't have any friends anymore!

A wave of loneliness hits me and I must not do a good job of masking it because in the corner of my eye, I notice Frida looking at me with worry and concern.

She knows you're lying to her!

"Stella, what's going on?"

Told you!

"Nothing."

I look down at the patterned carpet; I can't lie to her. Unfortunately, during the very little time Frida has got to known me, she now knows so much about me she can read me like a book.

"Look at me, Stella."

It's not a question; I remember from the lessons we used to have in English on grammar at primary school that what Frida has just said is a command. It's non-negotiable. My eyeline is no longer on the floor while I look up to discover Frida staring at me straight in the eye.

"Stella, what's going on?" she repeats the question and I know from the tone of her voice that there's no point in lying because I would just be wasting my time.

I feel for my phone in my coat pocket and open Twitter and find Emma's tweet. While passing it to Frida, I don't even take a glance at it as if a sneak peek would permanently blind me. There's confusion on the woman's face when I hand her my phone as if she doesn't know what she's looking at but the more she reads, the more I can't read her facial expression. Her face is blank. Emotionless. It seems like a year has passed when Frida finally finishes reading it. No, more like a decade or a century.

"Do you now see why I need to leave this town?" I break the silence that has surrounded us for for five minutes.

"Stella, I don't know how I can help you," Frida's voice is as quiet as a mouse that I had to strain my ears to hear her but I doubt whether or not she had actually said it or I was imagining it.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what your parents allegedly did could be put in your files. It would be hard, you know, finding you new foster care parents when..."

She didn't need to finish her sentence because I knew exactly what she was talking about.

"So, what are you saying? I have to stay in a town where everyone thinks my parents are murderers!" I shout at the top of my lungs.

"It's not as bad as you think, Stella," Frida tries to console me but her words make no difference.

"You're right!" I take a look at Frida's face and for a moment relief passes over her face before I continue," It's completely worse!"

The way her face drops is comical and if I wasn't so angry, I would have burst out laughing.

"Stella!"

"Don't you 'Stella!' me!"

Frida is no longer looking like she's begging for my forgiveness but as if she wants me to do that.

Fat chance!

"Don't you dare use that tone on me, young lady!" her voice has risen in volume.

"You can't tell me what to do! You're my social worker not my mum!" my voice unwillingly breaks with emotion.

Remorse is now the emotion displayed on Frida's face.

"I'm sorry-"

"You're not sorry! You don't care about me or any of your other clients! You only care about your stupid job!"

That's the last I say to her before darting out the front door. I can hear my name being called from behind me but my pace doesn't slow down. In fact, it does the complete opposite and speeds up. My lungs are burning and tears are streaming down my face.

How is it possible that my body hasn't run of water to supply my tears with when I've been crying a waterfall lately?