Saved by a Dress

Chapter 5: is all hope lost?

It was a difficult three years, but finally I turned eighteen - a couple of months before my final high school exams. I received some nice gifts and revised my trust account estimate up to around ten thousand.

My parents made no mention of my trust account, so a week before my finals started, I fronted them.

I tried to remain calm, "Could you give me access to my trust account now, please?"

Mum: "Darling, we've been thinking about it. And we've decided that if we put our birthday present together with the money in the account, we can get you something really worthwhile."

Dad: "Yes, we think a nice small car would be best."

Me (still calm): "Please give me access to my money."

Dad: "Son, be sensible. What we're suggesting is the best way to go."

A cold chill went through me.

Me (barely calm): "No. I want my money."

Mum: "Listen to your father, dear . . ."

Fury.

"Listen to your father, dear," I mocked. "That's always been it, hasn't it. Never, never, never, not once did you think to listen to me. Not once, not fucking once did you listen."

"Dale," (shock).

"You've crushed me; ignored my feelings, ignored my wishes. You turned my life into a nightmare.

I swung towards my mother, "You have no idea how close I was to killing myself a few years ago, how close I came to drowning myself in the pool."

"Dale, no," (anguish from her).

"Do you know what saved me? A dress. A cheap little second-hand dress I bought for a dollar from a charity shop. I bought it to die in."

"No, no. Dale, stop it. Say it's not true."

"Oh, it's true alright, mother dear. I was all ready, then I put the dress on. It felt so wonderful that I wanted to do it again and again and again. That dress, which my dear father (sneer) would have burnt if he had found it, saved me and gave me a glimmer of hope."

"But it was false hope, wasn't it. I really shouldn't be surprised that the two dreadful people who have made my life hell, would baulk at stealing my money."

Dad angry: "Dale, we're not stealing your money. If you'd just listen."

"Give me my money."

"Dale, listen please."

"Give me my money."

"Dale. Listen."

A contemptuous laugh, shaking my head. "You two aren't parents, you're two evil sick monsters. There's nothing you won't sink to, is there, to hurt your child."

"Dale, darling, no, no. What are you saying?" (Mum's tears were flowing).

"You've snuffed out that last glimmer of hope. I'm leaving and I certainly won't be seeing you pair of evil fucking pieces of shit again."

"Hey, watch your language, boy."

"Dale, no, no, no. Let's talk, please let's talk."

I turned back briefly, "There is one thing I should do before I go."

I strode up the stairs.

Mum followed, pleading, my father not far behind.