Our Struggle

D is for Despair

Harper drove me to Noah's, and after fifteen minutes of convincing her to unlock the door, she let me out.

Part of me wished that she put her foot down, figuratively and literally, and drove us back to her place. But the bigger part of me wanted to see Noah, to see if he'd ask about my stay in hospital or just ask about me in general.

My mother always said that my expectations were too high - she said that on one breezy autumnal day when I had waited until 7pm at (outside) school. She had promised that she would pick me up. There were many '7pm days', and even more broken promises. 

But I guess it was an important lesson - people always let you down.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, my evening with Noah played out like an old record. A song that I knew all too well but couldn't press pause.

"Noah," I pleaded, glistening tears ran down my crumpled face, as I struggled to hold back even more. Once I started crying, I never stopped. And what was worse was that I was crying in front of Noah.

Again.

Noah glanced down, adjusting his silver plated watch, which glinted coldly in the dim chandelier light. "You heard me, Ella," he uttered, as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration - almost as if he was stressed.

Him.

I've lost my father, my inheritance and he's the one who's stressed, and now he's kicking me out too.

We stood in his, once our, foyer, only a few feet apart yet in reality we were on different planets.  Curved, intimating staircases surrounded us like snakes about to attack. The clinical, marble floor felt like ice beneath my shoes. The hanging, lucrative paintings bore their middle-aged eyes into me.

Noah looked down at me, my tear-drowning eyes met his - I searched frantically to see a glimmer of that kind boy, the one whom I was certain lingered behind his hurtful words, "poor isn't a good look on you." He offered nastily; his words yanked me back into the present.

"Poor?" I sniffed, my voice cracking like glass. Poor? "My father made you. You'd be nothing with me." I snarled, as sadness turned to anger, walking up to him and raising my hand to shove him. However, Noah's agility meant that he caught my wrist, twisting it around as he shoved me against the wall - his rigid front against my back.

"You're pathetic, baby." He smirked as he spun me around and forcefully grabbed my chin, anchoring me to look up at him. I clawed at his hands, however, he was much too strong for me. "You've lost everything." He sniggered as he looked me dead in the eyes. "You've got nothing left. Dead parents, no money, no real friends." He sneered in a quiet, shark like voice. I squirmed against his grip as I felt his minty breath against my face. His words like punches to my gut.

He released me roughly, shoving me back as he did. "You need to pack your shit and leave."

You know what the sad thing was, I didn't even have a proper home.

Half my things were with Noah, the other half were in my father's house. And that was the story of my life.

I sniffed, pulling my jacket around me tighter - hoping it would somehow protect me, that it would somehow undo this. What the hell do I do now?

I didn't have anywhere to live.

Was I homeless? The daughter of the richest man in the world, homeless? I felt sick.

Noah made me do things I would never do for anyone else. The last part of my dignity fled me as I turned around and blinked my tears away."I've been there for you through everything." I steadied my voice, "my father gave you a job." I gently touched Noah's arm, my own fingers burning under the contact, "I was there for you, every single step of the way." A few tears escaped as I stared through blurry eyes at the man who once understood me.