Swimming was my only escape really. I have power at swimming, I feel like I'm worth something. I feel as if I'm loved. I pay for it with my part time job, it's fairly cheap so I don't mind.
I returned on Saturday on the bus, it was maybe 9:00am. I knew mum wouldn't be awake, or at least she wouldn't be out of bed. But as I walked through the door I saw it.
The water, the water running down the stairs. I shouted Poppy's name, where was she. I sprinted up the stairs, there was no carpet down- another simple luxury we can't afford.
There she was, she lying in the bath. Face down. Her little bun floating above the surface. Screaming, I pulled her out the bath. She wasn't breathing, I instinctively pulled my phone out of my pocket and dialled 999; I've done it millions of time before for mum. It's different this time though, with mum I knew she was always going to get better, but poppy, my little 4 year old sister...
A certain drunken mother of mine stumbled in with an empty wine bottle in her hand. "Poppy?" She slurred.
I stood up slowly and turned towards her. "Ouch" she giggled. I didn't mean to slap her so hard, but she wasn't sober enough to feel it anyway...
