My Will To Live

Chapter 19-Social Services

Taylor finds me in my room, long after the nightmare. What I don't understand is why she's awake-it's probably around 5 in the morning.

"Couldn't sleep?" She asks.

"No."

"Neither could I."

"I heard you screaming."

"Oh."

"Care to tell me why?" She asks, though this time a little more gently.

"Just some nightmares. It... It isn't really a big deal." I say. There is a long pause after that. A part of me wants to ask why Taylor couldn't sleep either-did I wake her up? I hope not.

I know I can't stay with Taylor forever. She's not ready to house a kid, at least not yet. She's got such a great career, why would she want to house a low life like me? I will only take up space and time that could be better used elsewhere. No, Taylor wouldn't want to house me. Then why in the world did she bother to take me in?

"Um, can I you a question?" I began nervously.

"Sure."

"Why did you... You know, take me in? And let me live with you?"

"Well, you looked like you could use some love and a safe place, even if it was for one night. Makes sense?"

"Yeah, I guess it does."

Except it doesn't, not really. I still don't understand why she wanted to take me, of all people, in. It baffles me. I do not deserve this. I do not deserve someone as good as Taylor helping me. If anything, I deserve to die. I deserve to die out on the streets. That is what my parents have told me.

My parents...

I feel a hand on my shoulder.

"I'm going to go prepare breakfast now, alright? I don't think either of us want to go back to sleep." Taylor says, standing up and walking away.

Great. Now I'm left with my thoughts. My putrid, repulsive, disgusting thoughts.

Where am I going to go from here? To social services? To live on the streets? Back to my parents? I shuddered at the thought. I'd much rather starve on the street than go back to live with the people that considered themselves my parents. But if I went to social services, would my parents come after me? I hated this stupid niggling fear, like I had to constantly check over my shoulder to make sure they weren't following me. Social services would protect me, right? What if they didn't? What if they threw me into a foster family that abused me as badly as my parents? What if they were worse?

Then what would I do? Run away? How was I going to survive? Beg Taylor to take me in again? She was already doing me a huge favor by letting me stay in her house one night. There was no way she'd let me into her home a second time. What could I do? Work at McDonald's? At a cafe? Beg on the streets?

At breakfast, Taylor says something that has my heart stopping for a minute.

"Margie, I think what would be best right now is if you went to social services."

I drop my fork and it clatters against my plate. My hands are shaking. My heart is racing. But my mind? It's blank.

I can't go to social services.

I can't risk my parents-especially Father-finding me.

I can't be abused again.

The only thing I know is to run. Except I can't, because I'm trapped in Taylor's home, which doesn't seem so big anymore. In fact, the room seems to be shrinking, little by little. As if the walls were slowly but surely closing in on me, threatening to suffocate and crush me. For a second Father has me cornered again, and this time instead of a glass bottle he's holding a knife, coming closer and closer and closer, and oh gosh, I have no room to run, I have no space to escape and my heart is drumming drumming against my rib cage, my brain is screaming run run run and my breaths are going in and out and in and out very fast-

I bolt from my chair and sprint into the guest room I used last night. I don't know what I'm doing but I pack, even though my hands are shaking.

I have to get out of here.

There's nothing much left for me to pack.

Then Taylor appears in the doorway, concern lining her features. Everything seems to melt away. My brain recalls that this isn't my house, it isn't a source of danger. I'm in Taylor's house. I'm safe. I'm away from my parents. I'm safe.

I drop my box. And then, of course, I burst into tears. This whole leaving my parents thing is seriously making me grow soft.

Taylor pulls me into a hug and I let her. Maybe she's right. I ought to go to social services. Get this mess that is me fixed up. I mean, they're social services, right? They'd take care of me, of a 13 year old girl right?

They wouldn't let my parents find me?

"Margie, they'll take care of you. Don't worry." Taylor soothes.

"Alright, then I guess we'll go to social services."