released ± [ luke hemmings ]

± t w o

±

The next day, I had a well-needed lay in until around 12am. My work shift started at 12:30 and to be honest, I didn't particularly feel like going downstairs to my awaiting parents. I had nothing to say to them, and I'm almost certain that they had more than a heck lot to say to me, a heck lot of crap that I didn't want to hear.

Last night, after I got home, I think world war 3 nearly broke out. I'd walked in through the front door and literally got bombarded by Mum shouting at me for storming out of the house earlier.

She's the one who made me go to the stupid therapy sessions, it's not like I was willingly leaving the house and going to it.

But, after being reprimanded on my lack of 'repect', they sent me to my room, like the 11 year old they think I am, and I'd been there since.

Technically I am old enough to move out, and I have been thinking very seriously about doing so recently, the relationship between my parents and I is really not in a very good place right now and I certainly don't feel very comfortable at home.

It never used to be like this. In fact, I used to be quite close to my parents, especially my dad.

When I was 15, he used to take me out on the back of his motorbike, and we'd drive down to the beach for the day. I used to love that.

I even used to be close to my Mum, but since the incident I guess we've just fallen apart, blaming each other I guess. I know they blame me more than anything, and I know they have a good reason for doing so.

I got up, pulling my hair out of the messy bun I'd put it in before sleeping. It was a bit messy, but loose curls had formed so I decided to just leave it. I changed into my work uniform and grabbed a bag, leaving the house as quickly as possible.

Luckily, no-one heard me leave quickly enough to stop me.

I didn't particularly feel like having another run in with my parents, especially when I can literally quote what they would say, word for word.

"Where do you think you're going?",
"Get back here and apologise.",
"Everything's going to be okay."
It really does make me feel ill, knowing that I can't even talk to my parents about my problems, because they're the main cause of them.

I walked along the road outside my house, luckily I had put my usual coat on, as it was a very cold afternoon.

The place I worked out was just around the corner. About a 10 minute walk away. It was a small, homely café, run by an elderly lady, Molly Sayer, who could no longer do all the work by herself. She had me, and one more older female worker to help her out with shifts. Obviously she paid us, but I did love the job. It was relaxing, and all I had to do is make coffee and put slabs of cakes onto plates.

Plus, I needed the money. I was saving up, so that if things get really bad with my parents, they were heading in that way, I could look for houses to rent, or maybe a small apartment. I had been saving up for my whole life, so if worse comes to worse then I would be able to take action.

I reached the café, stepping through the door to the familiar smell of fresh bread and pastries. Molly had been baking again in the kitchen room, so I quickly turned the rectangular sign on the door from closed to open and went around, behind the counter.

I didn't say hello to Molly, only because she would have heard me come in from the little tinkling of the door bell that rings when the door opens, and because she was baking; I didn't want to disturb her.

I put my bag down and went to the till, sitting down at the counter and waiting for the first customer.

If only I had known what was about to walk through the kitchen, I may have had time to prepare myself, or make a quick getaway.