Lost at Sea

"You want to sue them?! Dad I really don't think you should be suing them! I don't want that!"

"Honey I don't think you understand the severity of it. You have a badly broken leg and you could have been paralysed!"

"Yes but I wasn't! And my leg will heal! This would ruin them. They can't afford this and you know it." I stormed out of te kitchen, well as fast as I could on crutches. I'd had enough. I was fed up of dad thinking he's knows everything an he's 'doing what's best'. I mean I wasn't nine! I can think for myself.

"Emma don't walk away from me. I'm only trying-"

"No! Don't you dare! Don't you dare say you're doing this for me. You are only doing this because it makes you feel better." I was practically screaming at him now. Everybody kept saying a needed to move on. And here it was.

It had been seven months since mum had died in that crash. The crash which, as my dad keeps reminding me, could have left me paralysed. But dad only seemed interested in suing people because of my broken leg rather than because it killed mum. Maybe that was his way of dealing with things. My way seemed to be getting angry at everything.

The other family involved in the boat crash was the O'Conners. I like to pretend it was an incident on both parts. Who was I kidding. I try really hard not to think about the accident, but when I do I know it was their fault. Which sucks because I really don't want dad doing anything so drastic as suing them. I wasn't fair. I just wanted to forget about it but he just kept pulling me back down.

the dad, mr o'conner, was drunk. we were in cornwall on holiday and had hired a power boat so we could have a bit of fun. we were doing figures of eight just outside the harbour where there are no speed limits. we were going fast. i mean, my mum kept telling dad to slow down. but he's a professional so he ignored her, of course, thinking he knows best. again. then there was another boat. a smaller one but it had a bigger engine on the back then ours had. dad saw the boat and tried to slow down but the boat kinda went out of control and it got faster. the other boat, the o'conners boat, was heading straight for us alarmingly fast,  as fast as we were spinning in circles. to cut a stroy short, we crashed. the went strainght into us even though they saw we were having trouble, and carried on going. we found out afterwards that they had never been on a baot like that before and they had all be drinking. they didnt see us, or so they said. there was more damage done to our boat then theirs. our little Yoko- the marinas name not ours- flipped and my mum went underneath. suddenly the Yoko went upright again and mum was still under. the propeller.... we saw blood.... lots of it....my mum. she died instantly. they still havent found her body. ever since, dad, he just doesnt seem to know what to do with himself. which is odd, because he's always been the busy kind. not in the way that i would never see him, just that he always had something he could do, you know? i dont know, it's like, he's just a shell. unlike other parents, my mum and dad never fought. not once all the time they've had me. they were so loved up and genuinely happy. but two years after i was born, they decided they wanted to have another baby. but they soon found out that they couldnt. my mum had some sort of diesease that effected her ovaries. something like that anyway. it put a bit of strain on them, but still, not once did they shout at each other, or stop talking and laughing. they got on with their lives. there was nothing they could do so what would be the point of being misrable? that was the moral i've been brought up on. my mum would always be positive and i thanked her for teaching me that as well. i wanted to be like my mother. she was beautiful. i missed her.

later that evening, dad came up to apoligise.                                                                                           " baby im sorry. please dont be mad. you know i love you, right? are you hungry? do you want me to make you something?" he sounded so sad. i was pretending to be asleep but i knew he wasnt falling for it. i felt bad. and i was hungry. but i had to stand my ground. he needed to learn that i wasnt a child and i could take care of my self. his voice was soft and muffeled, almost like he'd been crying. prehaps he had. its a scary thing, seeing your dad cry. seeing him break down when he had always been so strong. see, everyone thinks that dads dont cry, that they are there to protect you, and they are. but they have feelings too. sometimes they have to be left alone, to let those emotions come to the surface. i loved my dad. sometmes i didnt show it though, and for that, im sorry.

HEYA! TXT ME! MIS U BZ XX

Liz, my best friend, had been texing me praticlly non stop since i came out of the hospital, trying to get me to met her or at least let her through the front door, which i had instructed for my dad not to do. i wasn't ready to talk about it like that. like it was nothing, that its over and i can just move on. because i cant. i deleted her text and turned my phone off. i really wasnt in the mood for a constent beeping, reminding me that the world was still out there. deperessing right? apparently, acording to my dad, i was still in shock and had depression. no. my mum just died. i had always had a cold view on the world and never liked to be a part of it. just to get this straight, i am not an emo. which i have been called many times before. i had just seen too much too young i guess. that thought made me tiered, so i plugged in my headphones, turned up the music, and quickly fell asleep.

"Emma! Dinner is ready!" i woke up to my dad shouting up the stairs. it was only then that i realised how hungry i was. i was suprised i hadnt woken up from my rummbling stomach. i picked up my cruches and swang myself off the bed in one move. i had perfected that over the weeks. i made it to the door in one long stride. my room was like a box. nothing more needs to be said really. now the stairs, that was a different matter. i wasnt very good at that yet. somehow it always ended in my dad carrying my down the twelve steps we have in our little house. but i was determind to do this myself. i held both cruches in one hand and held the banaster in a death grip with the other.