[Re-written: 12th April 2014]
A/N - didn't know what to do with this chapter, I didn't know how I wanted it to pan out so just altered the details in here slightly.
If you're confused (if you've only just began reading this story) it's because I'm editing, so not everything matches.
Hope you enjoy x
**
As I stepped out onto the pavement of the train station, I thanked the bus driver and shrugged my bag back on.
I wondered what to do next; the thought was both exhilarating and fear instilling.
The wind nipped my cheeks, tinting them a pink colour, and small droplets of rain splashed across my cheeks, carried by the bitter wind.
I absent mindedly scuffed my black shoes against the concrete pavement and idly envisaged finding an apartment to live in.
Though I had a tendency to get carried away with my thoughts, I reminded myself that it was nearing 5pm and getting darker.
I shivered as I looked at the train station sign. I was on the cusp of my new future; and that decision would rest on where I decided to go to.
I rummaged round in my coat pocket for my purse and slowly counted the cash I had.
The board said that three trains were due to leave from the station in fifteen minutes; one to Birmingham, one to London and one to Manchester.
I checked my watch; London was a big place, right?
My mind worked quickly as I drew out an imaginary path from the train map to each different location.
London: that's where I wanted to be, I decided.
I went to the lady at the information desk.
"Um hello, please could I get a one way ticket to London for 4:40pm please?"
"Sure, are you with anyone?" She asked, pushing her askew glasses further up the bridge of her nose.
I shook my head 'no' and paid her, feeling self-conscious that she could see the red mark across my cheek that was still stinging from earlier.
"How long is the journey?" I asked her, cocking my head to one side as she printed a ticket.
"30-40 minutes usually."
It was strange how rapidly today had changed; my adrenaline made me forget the agony he'd put me through, for some time at least, and I felt my cheeks pink at the thought of how everything could change from now on.
She watched me as I zipped up my purse, almost like she knew I was running away.
"Have a safe journey, dear." She smiled warmly.
I smiled back and thanked her, briefly catching a glimpse of my smiling self in the glass screen.
Come to think of it, I rarely smiled; I can't remember the last time someone made me smile or laugh so much so that my cheeks tinted pink and stomach hurt. I resolved to showing no emotion when I was around dad, he'd scrape the remnants of it away somehow.
If I stored my emotions away, it would protect me from the harsh reality - if I allowed the grave reality of what he was doing to me sink in, I'd not be in such a light spirit.
I felt as though a shadow had been cloaked around me for so many years that the light which peeked through was startling, blinding even. I needed to be strong, for this was the one part of my life I truly had control over.
Mum, I thought, this is for you.
And with that new found hope, I followed a huddle of people onto the train.
***
I boarded the train in silence and sat down at the back of the carriage.
One arm was clutched around my bag as I bit my lip and channelled my thoughts on what lay ahead.
All of a sudden, fear struck me deep in my chest. I was now homeless...
Homeless: I tested the word on my tongue in a frightened whisper.
That's right. It finally sunk in - the results of my brash and sudden decision were being overturned like tarot cards.
I had nowhere to turn to. What if I couldn't find anywhere to stay at this time of the day? Where would I sleep?
Resting my head against the glass, wary of the old lady sitting on the seat to my left, I let silent tears flow; a cry for help, perhaps. I berated myself for being so mindless - what hotel would allow in a scruffy, thin looking 18 year old at this hour?
Trying to calm my frantic breathing, more like panting now, I decided it wasn't worth the worry. For now, or at least another 30 minutes, I could get a little rest.
Soon enough, my mind was away with the fairies.
***
5:10pm read the digital red clock at the front of the carriage.
My head was leaning against the cool window when I felt the train stop.
Following the dozen people flooding out of the train, I walked out into London.
I gazed around at my surroundings.
Strangely enough, the city was still relatively busy. Office workers carried briefcases in one hand and tapped away on high end phones as they rushed through the 5pm hustle and bustle of the city. This was nothing like Milton Keynes, but nonetheless, I began to like it.
Dad wouldn't find me yet, so I hoped.
Despite the colourful generations all in one place, my initial judgement was that it seemed a bit dated; as if it still held memories from the past.
My blue eyes watched on, frozen in place with awed surprise.
London was definitely a change from the council estate I lived on all these 18 years of my life.
***
A man passed me by as I tried to figure out where I could go. For a big city, I couldn't find many sign posts. "Excuse me?" I called. He turned around, "Yes?"
"Um, do you know which way the nearest café is?" I asked sheepishly, aware that some people were turning to look at me.
I didn't understand the fascination: maybe they could sense I didn't fit in here.
"Of course, love, you just follow the path straight down, turn right, you should come to a small town centre. In there you'll find a string of cafés." He explained, smiling at me warmly.
I returned the smile, getting used to the feeling, "Okay, straight ahead, right turn. Got it. Thank you very much, sir."
Cutting our interaction short, he saw a taxi pull up and dashed towards it.
I began my shaky descent deeper into London, wincing every so often from the strain on my back which made itself known once again.
My eyes pooled with water unintentionally; God, was I weak. Would I ever manage the troubles of my past and combat my demons, or was I a coward for turning away from it?
The vision of dad's eyes forced their way into my mind: cool, assessing, chilling, unreadable.
No, I whispered. No. I blinked hard and the image was gone, but my body was racked with shivers.
I entered the first cafe I came to and waited by the door to be seated: many had begun to shut down, but this one was open till eight pm.
"Is it just you eating?" A waitress asked me.
"Yes, thank you."
"Okay, follow me." She said, and directed me towards a table.
I hesitantly removed my bag and put it down by my feet before taking a seat. It was a quaint little cafe in the midst of the madness that was London, and I found myself feeling less tense than before.
Handing me a small, laminated menu, she said to me, "What would you like to drink?"
I racked my brains as I tried to recall a drink I liked. It felt to me as though I'd never drunk in my life, my throat dry in the instant she asked me.
"Just orange juice please." I responded politely.
"I'll be over in a few minutes to take your order." And with that, she scurried off to the kitchen.
I shifted in my seat as my eyes scanned the menu, everything sounding delicious to me.
The material of my clothes rubbed against my skin, agitating scratches and healing scars which had been inflicted upon me.
I tried to ignore the pain, but it felt hot and harsh against my sensitive skin. I winced.
I decided to go for tomato soup and a white chocolate muffin, and by now it became apparent to me that the last time I'd eaten was almost two days ago. I was starving.
Back in my house, the fridge seriously needed restocking but we hadn't the money - or if we did, dad spent it on alcohol.
Whilst I waited for my food to be ready, I wondered if alcohol was his coping mechanism.
Some people find solace in books, others in the sea, some in alcohol; maybe dad was just a troubled mind. He was always very closed off when I asked him what happened to his parents, who I'd never met...they died before I was born.
The over riding emotion I felt for dad should've been anger, hatred, but I couldn't bring myself to hate him. Sometimes the ones we love the most hurt us, perhaps dad was just spiralling out of control.
Taking a sip of my orange juice, I felt refreshed. It was cleansing in a sort of way, which I welcomed. The coolness of the juice distracted me from the overbearing agony my body was alerting me to.
After a good 10 minutes, Ava, the waitress, came over with my soup.
"Thank you. I'm new to the area, so do you know any good places to stay?" I asked her.
I'd never really been sociable, so felt awkward in asking her.
She was a beautiful girl with a notable love heart tattooed on her wrist.
"Well, you'd have to take the tube. But, I'm afraid, it's twenty to six and most hotels are booked over the course of the holidays. Tell you what; I'll fetch you a map of London Underground." She told me.
The leaflets by the cafe suddenly came into my view and I smiled at her in gratitude.
I liked this whole smiling thing, it made me feel...younger.
She returned a few moments later, handing me the map and then allowing me to eat.
And with that, I dug into my soup, allowing the rich, tangy substance to dowse my hunger.
Once I'd finished, I paid my bill and navigated my way outside.
The chilling wind had died down, for which I was grateful, but now the activity of everyone outside had died down, and numbers had dwindled. I felt less carefree now that my current situation dawned on me - I'd felt alone before, but now I truly was...alone.
Plucking up the courage to ask the nicest looking person I could, I asked for directions to the London Underground. My heartbeat had quickened considerably as the reality of my endeavours really kicked in.
I was lost, in a big city of lights.
As I got onto the first tube, I warmed my hands with my breath.
Fear I believed was what I felt when dad hit me, and it was. It was the feeling that all was lost and that you were on the verge of falling into a deep, dark place.
Fear was the threat of pain, being on the verge of something greater and harmful.
It was the prickling of hair on my skin as he neared me, closer, closer.
It was remembering the past and not knowing how everything had changed.
It was looking dad in the eyes and seeing his eyes change; captured by his own inner demons.
I'd been shut out for a fraction of my life and left to grow in the darkness. Like a flower without sunlight, I wasn't as strong or as pretty as the others.
And as the sky became darker and my tired eyes saw less clearly, I realised that my true fear all along was being alone.