The Unknown

Chapter 2

21st January 1984. My 17th Birthday. My 17th Birthday that has been and gone, yet again, un-noticed. Just another day in the Metcalf family. Another day of battling against the poisonous words that were spat out by my step-mother. The same rows as yesterday, the week before, the week before that and so on. Even though I have heard these words before I still find I can’t help the flow of tears over spilling my eyes, as I stare into my beautiful step-mothers eyes: Karen.

                “ This is the reason I never wanted children. Why did I let your father convince me this was a good idea? Son-of-a-bitch!” she screamed whilst I fled for the stairs.

                “Feelings rather mutual ‘Mother’”, I hissed back, quoting with my fingers above my head as I knew she was watching my body retreat up the stairs.

                “You spiteful little cow! After everything I’ve done for you, for your precious Daddy. The things I’ve put up with. How…”

Here we go again. St Mary on her high stool. I tuned out her rants, crossed the new decorated landing into my room, slamming the door shut. A force that shook the entire door frame and surrounding walls. I slid down the wall into a crouch and held on with my might not to let the monstrous sob that wanted to be released. Silent tears streamed from my eyes as I looked up at the canvas above my bed. A canvas that represented life and love, family meaning and devotion. A canvas that held everything that isn’t now. I stared at the happy scene and remembered the exact events that happened that day. I was a 4year old chubby cheeked daddies little girl, well little muffin! My father was kissing my cheek whilst I grinned back at him. On the left hand side of my father was Karen. My father’s partner. She had her arm linked through his, Peter, with what can only be described as a Botox gone wrong smile.

I adored Karen then. Karen was my mum, no doubt about it. With not knowing my birth mother, Karen filled that spot. She was every girls dream of a mother, caring, compassionate, fun and stunning with her golden hair always perfectly styled. The sort that made your heart swell with love every time she smiled her breath taking smile. This smile wasn’t in the picture and I remember her complaints towards it:

                “It’s horrid Peter!” Karen whined, “Can’t we do another one babe?”

“No, I’m sorry sweetheart but I just love this one of Georgia and I’m not risking not being able to catch it again”, my father replied as he took his card out of his wallet to pay.

                “No, no your right. She’s a lil’beauty this one. She’s going to be a heart stopper, just like her father”.

Karen played with my hair whilst she sucked up to my father. She hated the fact his ‘lil muffin’ had him rapped round her finger however did whatever in her power to make sure she stayed close to him. I beamed up at my step-mother. I was content and wanted nothing to change at all. I was loved and spoilt, I was daddies lil ’muffin. I was every little girls envy.

I came out of my silent reminisce and wiped my face on my ‘Lipsy’ hoodie. I didn’t hate Karen now, I knew things were said through the pain and hurt, nothing was meant personally. The saying of ‘You hurt the ones closest to you’ is true to the point that when there’s no-one else around who do you turn to? We knew we hurt each other, and we did every single day – since my daddy’s death.

There was times like this I wished my best friend hadn’t moved away. Beth was the one person I could turn to. I swear we were sisters genetically as we knew each other inside out, what food we hated or loved, which boy band member we had a crush on, what clothes we would wear for certain occasions. We knew each other because we were each other.

Beth was my next door neighbour for 16years and it was only a year ago today that she left. Yeah my 16th Birthday and my best mate moved out. Seem to enjoy having crappy birthdays. What was weird though was that I haven’t heard from her. It was like she just vanished into air vapour. Gone. No trace of her. Well, there is. I still wear the bracelet that she got me as a Birthday/ Leaving present.

There was a quite knock on the door. Still sat on the floor staring at the canvas I mumbled for whoever it was to go away. Clearly that didn’t work seeing as the door started to open. I held my breath and waited for whatever was going to be unleashed upon me. I turned my head to find the door fully open however no-one stood there. There was no sound. No sign of anyone being upstairs. After wiping the rest of my tears on my sleeve, I hauled myself up from the floor and stood facing the empty doorway. Walking out into the hallway, eyes swept over Karen’s bedroom to which I found it strange that it was open. She never left her door open. I was forbidden to enter without permission.

                “Mum. Mummm. MUM!!” I shouted from the top of the stairs. No reply. Strange! I sauntered down stairs and walked into the battle field. Well the kitchen. However it only is ever used for slanging matches. Never for sitting round the breakfast bar having a cuppa or something to eat. No sign of Karen. I never called her Karen to her face. Made her feel more distant from me. Apparently.  Getting the feeling she had beggared off out I went to make myself a brew. Putting the kettle on and grabbing a kitkat, I made my way to the sitting room as I knew my weekly episode of ‘The Tudors’ was about to begin.

Walking round the door way, I tripped up over the rug. Damn flaming rug! Gets me every time! I dropped my kitkat. Bending down to pick it up I noticed a pool of blood and blood dripping slowly into it. Slowly I lifted my eyes forgetting the kitkat, forgetting to breath, forgetting everything that had happened that day, as I looked upon my step-mother dangling down from the ceiling, blood seeping out from her neck and wrists. My eyes fixed on the rust coloured rope around her neck before I dared to look at her once so radiant face. Doing this I found her eyes staring directly, accusingly at me. I threw up there and then. And that was when hysterics started. As I backed out of the room, I tripped over the edge of the sofa and fell in a heap causing pain to shoot up my left ankle.  That pain was my realisation that this was real. This was my life. I ruined everything and anything good in my life. I knew I was to blame.