The Raven

Chapter Six

I haven't posted for ages cos I was on holiday, not that anyone reads this ahsgahhaha IM NOT BITTER. Anyways, enjoy.

"Estella?"

"Yeah - I think that's my name."

"What about your surname?"

"No idea." Mark looks at me for some time, surveying my face.

"Alright," he finally says with raised eyebrows. "We'll put that down in the book."

"Thank you, sir," I say, bowing my head, even though it seems a little too formal.

"Call me Mark," Mark says, smiling gently.

"Thank you, Mark." He nods, then turns, gesturing that his audience with me has come to an end.

<<<<<<<>>>>>>>

"How did it go?" Conner asks me, as we lay side-by-side on our backs in my darkly lighted 'room'.

"He agreed," I reply, running a hand through my frizzy, dark hair. Conner turns his head towards me, we are so close that I can see the light freckles that are splashed abundantly on his deep tan.

"That's what I was expecting," he said, looking away from me once again. We lay in silence for a while, none of us looking at each other. "Do you want to hear some quotes?" He asks out of the blue. I'm surprised by this question, raising a questioning eyebrow, but nod and close my eyes to show him that I agree. He coughs twice. "It is easier to forgive an enemy than to forgive a friend," he said, his voice cracked, obviously from emotion. And when I don't reply, he says, "It's from William Blake," he says softly. "It's about betraying your friends." I open an eye and look at him.

"Why are you telling me this?" I question. Conner looked away from me, lowering his long lashes.

"Loving someone who doesn't love you is like waiting for a ship at the airport," he says, his voice sounding bitter.

"Where do you get that from?" I ask, raising an eyebrow at him.

"From the internet. But-but... it's about a friend," he sighs, looking at me with large, sad eyes.

"A friend?" I challenge, turning to stare him in the eye.

"I-" he started, but stopped, looking down. "A friend who I lost." I blink, processing this new information.

Conner is silent for some time. I think his time of reciting quotes has come to a finish.

"Are you going to stay here, or are you going to go out to try and find your family?" he finally says, completely changing the subject. I think for a moment.

"I'm going to leave in a couple of days," I reply, nodding.

I think that this is the right choice; I can't live here forever. I must travel, now that I have learnt the basic skills of survival out in the city. I cannot be another load for Mark and Tracy; they already have too much on their minds. Conner looks at me for a while. "Then I'm going to come with you," he says without a hesitation.

I bolt up, so that I am sitting, my hands behind me as a support. I look down at Conner, who calmly lies on the ground, not looking at me, a few inches away.

"No." It is a simple answer, but of course he isn't going to come with me! He already has a life here. A pretty happy life; I can't imagine what leading him away might do to him. He'll get hurt - and I'll know that it would have been my fault. I couldn't put up with myself if that ever happened.

"Are you afraid I'll ruin you're trip?" he asked, laughing gently. "I swear I'll behave and be sensible, if that's what you're worried for, then-"

"No," I butt in, not caring if I sound rude. "It's too dangerous. You've got a family here - haven't you? You can't just leave them to come with me."

"I don't have a family," he said coldly, narrowing his eyes at me. "I'm an orphan."

"Oh," I say, blinking. "I'm-I'm sorry," I'm not quite sure what to say.

"It's not your fault," he says, as though he'd been trained to say that for all his life. "I never knew them." He smirks.

"What's so funny?" I ask, surprised.

"I'm sorry," he says, meeting my eyes.

"For what?" I say, befuddled as he's not done anything wrong.

"No," he shakes his head." When people say 'I'm sorry'. It's hardly their fault. I think that they should say something else."

"Like what?" I ask, moving a strand of hair out of my face.

"Like," he pauses to think; as he does so, I drift back onto my back, lying next to him. "Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal."

"That was a quote, wasn't it?" I ask.

"Yeah," he nods. "From a gravestone in Ireland."

"Did you use to live to there?" I questioned.

"Yeah, I'm Irish."

"Didn't notice." But as I think about it, his voice does have a slight hint of Irishness to it.

"You wouldn't. I was only born there - then spent three years living with my aunt."

"Cliché much?" I grin at him.

"I suppose everyone's life is a cliché," he says with a small shrug.

"What about Mark?" I challenge.

"Yeah, sure it is," Conner answers back. "A man with a rich family who abandoned him - then fell in love with a poor girl and lived happily ever after," he pauses. "Well, happy enough."

"You seem to know a lot about him."

"Yeah," Conner smiles. "He's like a father to me."

"And that explains exactly why you can't run away with me!" I say, sitting up again. Conner's disappointment clearly shows on his as the edges of his smile pulls down, causing a heart wrenching frown.

"When are you leaving?" he demands, giving me a steely look. I kneel beside him. He cannot come with me. And that is that.

"If you even try-" I try to begin.

"No. Answer me," his voice has turned cold, clear that he wants a straight answer.

"Tomorrow night." Yes. The sooner I leave, the better.

"Alright. I'll gather food - you gather clothes and anything else we might need," he sounds so prepared, as though he's known about this for a long time.

"But you're not coming," I protest. He sits up, his face calm - like the sea before a storm.

"Estella - I can do anything I want, you can't stop me." And with a deep growl, he crawls out of the room. I guess he can, do whatever he wants. If he dies - I cannot blame myself. If he gets injured - I shall remind him of his words. I guess I have to go out too. Get busy with the cooking; that's the woman's job. I find it dead sexist - but than found out that the boys have to work all night selling fish. I still think it's sexist though.

I crawl out of the entrance, smiling at the smell of soup that drifts through he foggy air.

I follow the smell - which leads me to an outside kitchen (lucky it's not raining). Tracy seems to be the leader of a small group of girls who all sit - crossed legged - with a pot in-between their legs. There are a couple of other girls around a fire and some more working on a limp fish. Tracy gives me a smile when she sees me. I'm not sure what to do, but Tracy seems to not need my assistance as she waves a hand at me and turns. I find this strange. It's probably because I'm ill.

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