"I want ... " I stopped, and got to my feet, wiping away the tears that were beginning to spill and roll down my cheeks. "Never mind what I want," I mumbled.
Rasmus grabbed my arm. "No. What do you want?"
I looked right into his eyes. "You." Always...
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{ Ida } 4 t h o f M a y, 2 0 1 8
I would always remember that day. The day the rain came. The day my mum never came home.
Golden, late morning sun filtered through my dusty open bedroom window, the ragged nets framing its edge stirring in a soft breeze. Car engines whirred. Dust particles swam through the air, ducking in and out of dry oak boards, resting on my dark lashes as I silently ducked in and out of sleep, tossing and turning on our tatty mattress. I dreaded having to get up, but I knew I'd have to eventually, even if I was ditching school. I didn't even know what day it was. Tuesday, maybe?
Reaching out to the left side of the bed I felt for my mum. Only a flat sheet greeted me. Of course. No wonder I'd slept in so late. Sighing loudly, I pulled the covers over my head. Would I be left here for two weeks this time, or two hours? She didn't even say goodbye. Not that she usually did. Even as a nine year old, though, I understood she was trying her best. She told me last night that we might even be able to move to Copenhagen by my birthday, a city I had always dreamt of.
I heard a few drops of rain splatter the window pane. Weird. It had been sunny only a few minutes ago. Eventually, I got up, curiosity getting the better of me. I peered out into the street below. A massacre was all I saw. Bodies, pedestrians, neighbours, people; glinting, contorting in the rain, mouths frothing, then laying still ... my heart felt as if it had stopped. I backed away from the window slowly, bare feet stumbling. This couldn't be happening. Bile burnt in my throat and it took all I had to hold it down. This couldn't be happening ...
I scrambled for the old cream cord phone in the dank hallway, smashing in my mum's cellphone number.
"Please pick up, please please please ... " I whispered under my breath.
It just rang and rang.
I dialled again and again and with each 'bringgggg' I became more distraught. My mum always picked up her cellphone no matter what. If she was driving, she'd pull over. If she was in the middle of a conversation, she'd excuse herself. If she was literally on the verge of death I knew that as soon as she saw it was me she'd ... she'd ...... my legs gave way and I crumpled, muscles turning to liquid.
I laid there on the hard panelling of our apartment floor in my too-big Hello Kitty pyjamas, straggly black hair splayed out around me for what seemed like forever without the strength to get up again. I had been staying home alone since the age of four. Probably even younger. Life went on. I went to school, or I didn't. No one cared. But this was a different kind of alone. I truly was all by myself. No one came to help and my mum never returned to get me. A part of me knew she was gone because there was a strange emptiness inside my chest that hadn't been there before.
Darkness had long ago crept into the bedroom before I finally managed to haul myself up to go to the bathroom. Crying was something I never did, but that night I sobbed like I never had before. As I sat there in the bathroom my eyes drifted to the small medicine cabinet beside the mirror. Drugs was one thing I didn't know much about, but my mum had always made sure I stayed away from the pills she sometimes took.
No. Someone would come, I told myself.
Someone.
But in the end, no one ever did.
I quickly realised that I would have to save myself.
