The Sun In Our Hearts (Re-Written)

Chapter 1

Why hadn't they just left me where they found me?

I think as I stare out of the window at the fields blurring past in a never ending stream of green as we drive home. Mum's sat in the front; her knuckles are white as she grips the steering wheel of our old Ford Fiesta and in the mirror, I can see her lips pursed into a thin line. She stares straight ahead at the road in front of us. I slump down in the back seat and play with a loose thread on my ill fitting hoody. All my clothes are too big now despite the fact they are already small.

"Do you know what you've done to me?" Mum's voice fills the car, her first words in at least 10 miles. My head slumps forward even more. I didn't want to talk about it. Of course, I knew what I'd done but did she really think that by keep constantly reminding me of my actions, the situation was going to improve?

"Matthew! I am talking to you!" She snaps but I don't answer. I hadn't spoken to anyone but my counsellor since the incident and even then, only very few words had passed my lips in a monotone dialect. Mum sighs and leaves the conversation, knowing that she won't get a response from me.

We pull up outside our house 20 minutes later. I open my car door and catch a breath of the briny, ocean air. It's nauseating and I fight the urge to throw up on the curb. Mum makes no attempt to hurry while she's fishing about in her bag for the house keys. When they are finally retrieved, she opens the door and disappears into the house, leaving me to close the door and amuse myself. I shut out the smell of the seaside and drag my feet along the carpeted stairs as I walk up to my room.

My room is tidier. There are no blood stained razors on the carpet and the wall next to my bed has been repainted to cover up the words of self hatred scrawled in red Sharpie marker. Whoever had cleaned up must have had a hard time or have had a strong stomach. I hadn't left the room in an exactly pretty state.

I step into the room, memories of the last night I'd spent here flooding back to me. I freeze in the doorway, the door behind me now closed. The walls seem to collapse in on me and my lungs struggle to keep up with my erratic breathing. I look to my bed and see a boy hunched over his arm, angrily slashing the skin with the razor. Blood trickles down onto the white bedsheets but this doesn't stop him. He keeps slashing and the vision soon becomes too much. I start to cry but the boy on the bed doesn't disappear.

"Stop!" I scream at the empty room, hands flying up to cover my eyes. I peek through my fingers to see the boy suddenly stop cutting, his body limp as he falls back on his bed, the razor dropping from his hand.

"Please!" I beg, falling to my knees and curling into a tight ball, sobbing and whimpering into my hoody.

The door creaks open and my mother bends down to sit beside me. Her face is full of concern, a total change to the disappointment that had earlier scarred her features.

"Matthew, sweetheart, what's wrong?" She strokes my hair and I flinch away. She tries again and this time, I let her caress my scalp, her fingers softly kneading the skin. I carry on crying, not trusting myself to speak.

"Are you having flashbacks?" She asks softy and I nod once, curling into a tighter ball. A warm splash of water falls onto my cheek and I see that my mother is crying as I turn my head to find the source of the wetness.

"Matthew honey, please talk to me. I'm sorry I was mad earlier. I was upset and didn't know how to react. I lashed out. I've been so scared this past fortnight and just wanted you to be OK. You could never understand the pain I've been through. As a parent it hurts because you think you've failed your child. You think you're the one that caused this." She whispers. I slowly uncoil myself and draw my distraught mother into a weak hug, my arms still sore from blood loss.