The Last of the Vitas

A - not so good - surprise

As I got off the bus, a chilling gust of wind blew my hair wildly around me. I shivered and hugged my blazer even closer to me, wishing that I could have stayed on that warm, cosy bus I just got off.

The sun had gone down and darkness had befallen the streets of London yet again- even thought it was only 5:30pm. So, with only my source of light being the street lamps and the full moon, I made my way up my street.

For some reason I felt alert, with I shouldn’t be.

 I mean, I had hardly slept last night, for I had dreamt my- every recurring- nightmare again. It had been about me running for my life, as always, and waking up screaming and panting. This always scared the hell out of my parents, that’s why they had me go to therapy, with Dr. Benash.

A grey headed man with huge grey eyes (that gave me the creeps) and a thick, gray beard that just combine together to make him look like a wise owl...well to my parents he does. To me he looked like a creepy weirdo...well to the little 5 year old me, he did.

Yes I was only five years old when my parents thought I need ‘help’. Unfortunately, they thought that help could only come from a psychotic, deranged man that called himself a therapist. Don’t get me wrong, the man as all the qualifications and all (well he as certificates hanged up around his room which he could easily had printed off the computer, but who am I to judge, however I get this uncomfortable feeling when I’m around him. Guessing it’s called ‘gut instincts’ or something. While whatever it is, I just don’t trust Dr. Benash and I don’t tell him the truth.

Well there I go day dreaming again.

So back to the present and the fact that I was still feeling agitated and on the edge. The street I was walking up was silent and almost deserted. I felt quite unsettled walking down, alone.

Suddenly, the feeling that I was being followed over shadowed me. Instantly, I turned around, examining my surroundings. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, I resumed my lonely walk up my street and toward my save heaven – home- quickening my pace.

Upon reaching the yellow door to the house, I was flat out running. Panting and out of breath, I searched through my school bag, desperately looking around for my keys.

Slotting the keys though the key hole with trembling hands, I escaped into the house. Slamming the door shut behind me and leaned against it as it tried to level my breathing.

The house was quite...too quite.

I felt like I was in one of those horror movies, where the girl –alone in a silent house- is hunted down by a figure that emerged out of nowhere with an axe, wearing a black cape.

Realistically, I was expecting to be bombarded with questions from my parents, asking:

“Where have you being young lady? Your detention ended 30mins ago and how the heck did you get 2 hours of detention?”

Or...

“Do you know how worried we were? And why did you run out on us like that, you know we have to talk things out?”

However, my parents were nowhere to be found.

“I home!” I cried, hoping that one of my parents would at least be bothered to come out into the hallway and ask: “Oh how was your day sweetie?” like the always did.

Silent was my only reply.

Sluggishly, I made my way to the kitchen, where I had left my parents this morning. I rounded the corner, only to find my mum sitting at the table, exactly where I had left her this morning.

She was staring off into space, focusing on nothing in peculiar.

“Mum?” I whispered, worriedly walking towards my mother, in an incredible slow pace.

  Her head instantly snapped towards mine. I gasped, utterly shocked at the appearance of my mum.

The life that was once in her bright, clear blue eyes where now extinguished. They were lifeless and full of sorrow. Her once radiant skin, hanged dully around her now fragile frame.  She was like a piece of china, which at any moment might crumble and fall apart.

She looked awful.

“Mum what’s wrong?” I asked with my voice full of concern.

“He’s gone,” was all she whispered, before she broke out into outright mental breakdown.

“Who’s gone?” was all I could utter out, even though I knew the answer already.

“Your dad, he left me for that slut and her bastard son!” Anger and hurt were thick in her voice.

She sobbed hard and I just stood there. I wanted to walk up to her and comfort her.  Tell her that everything was going to be alright, and that dad was coming back, but I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

However, I did do what I knew best. What I had always does.

I ran away from my problems. Again.