Atlantic

"Dreaming of a white Christmas" #2

"Dreaming of a white Christmas" #2

I had been noticing it for a while, so had Nessa and even Sam. i think it started when Nessa and I were about 12; when the happiness faded from our lives. The flesh and healthy skin began to drain from our father: His cheek bonds began to spike through his thin, paper like skin on his cheeks. Bruises began to appear on his arms and neck. There was one time, just after our 14th birthday, when Mum rounded on us Nessa stood in front of Sam holding both of our hands, squeezing like there was no tomorrow. But that pain didn't even reach my fingertips as she lunged forward and slapped Nessa across the cheek. Nessa didn't let go of our hands, a single tear drop slide down her face as we glared at our mother. I was then we realised how much dad loved us- how much he was giving up for us- he had to go through this but worse and for no reason at all just like how Nessa had to take that slap.

We held each other together: protected each other, but when Dad went missing it was like she'd stolen the left side of my heart. She was never suspected of his Murder, "she was his wife! For goodness sake!" she quoted so many times too us. The police didn't even think it was a murder- they thought he'd ditched us, that he was the bad parent. We knew he hadn't just gone missing that night after our 17th birthday, he'd been killed, murdered by our mother.

The day after, exactly 2 years ago now, Nessa left with Sam. I remember her fleeting words and small backpacks "I have to go... I just can't stay here" she had left me a note: a riddle maybe, i still don't get it but I kept it with me, all through my a-levels. I never thought i would say this but their faces are fading from my memory: Dad's, Sam's and Nessa's. I sometimes think that when I look into the mirror I see Nessa in her other life, Dark straight hair and tanned skin smiling at me while touching her necklace. But then I remind myself that's just me...

I got my a-level results 2 months ago, now I'm stuck... stuck for what to do... mum still gets cross, she slaps me sometimes but it's nothing compared to when they left. I still have the scars.

It's snowing, it's only September, as I step out onto the street a small bag packed and a suitcase clutched in my freezing fingers.

God knows what made me do it.

Mum was out again, surprise.

I kissed goodbye my Piano and Saxophone. My flute had one last dreamy blow before it landed in my suitcase. I collected my pocket money: £300 and strapped my cello to my back. I had some clothes but most of the stuff I was holding was dad: His favourite books; the instruments I could carry; my ballet kit; even scraps of paper with his hand writing.

I had told her I had I life: things to do her, things to finish off. But now I had nothing, not even her.

I stood, teeth chattering, standing in the freezing cold as I wondered what to do: I knew some people but I could never trust them. Shrugging I stepped out the crisp snow cracking under foot. I went to the busy part of town to cover my foot prints even though I knew by the rate it was falling the snow would cover them soon. And anyway, mum would be so drunk out of her mind to even care.

A single tear slides down must dace and the drifting snow gets caught up in my hair and my nose turns red from the cold. I wish she was here. I wish they were here. I knocked on so many doors that nights, doors of people that I once called friends. They all stared at me sympathetically before declining me: I was, truly, alone.

"Dad" I whispered "dad, please" I sniffed and my whole body shuddered and I crumpled to the ground.

"Hello?" a sharp voice cuts through the cold air and a pointed finger taps me on the shoulder. "Are you okay?" I turn and stare into the eyes of a blond haired blue eyed girl.

"I...I..." I sniffled wiping the tears from my eyes.

"You don't have tell me, it's okay. You look cold, come with me" she grabs my hand and I pull myself up brushing my mittened hand under my eye once again.

Sniffing I followed the girl across the street to a worn down block of flats, not caring where or what lay within. Inside she boiled the kettle and passed me a warm mug filled you and honey coloured liquid. "It's mint tea" she confirms, pouring a cup of her own. I snuggle into her comfy sofa wrapping her fluffy blanket around me. "I...uh...I" I mumbled as I took a sip of the scalding tea. "let me start" she suggests, taking a sip of her own "Hi I am Isobel, I am over in this British country for my vacation" I glance up at her, The way she said 'British', I sounded foreign but not like French or German or anything. "You're Australian?" I ask clutching my mug tightly. "No weirdo I am American, from New York" she laughed as she said it, it brightened up the room just like how it did with dad. Suddenly I felt as if I could trust her, as if... as If she was there for me, just like, Nessa and Sam and Dad.

"I'm Veronica"