I Dont Do Too Well On My Own

The Fourty-Eighth Chapter

The next day they go and do their interview.

I wake up and its midday. They left at 9.

I walk over slowly to the front door where there is mail. I go to place them on the table, then I see something odd.

One of them is addressed to my old name.

"Jessica Lanceworth"

Its the only one with my name on it. Nobody knows that name...

I drop the other letters and tear mine open.

Theres only one person it could be from.

Dear Jessica,

You need to come home to momma. You wont survive without us.

And when you do get home you well get a whipping for leaving and then being a nasty child!

But we love you and its for the best.

If you do not return we will find you again and stop you from polluting the air.

Because if you cant be with your parents who raised you from birth, then you cannot be with anyone!

I know it sounds harsh, but after what we have taught you, you should be the best person. Yet, you havent managed to be the best person yet.

Your mother.

I drop the letter. I drop to the floor.

I dont even know what that means? So many mixed messages?

I lie on the sheer wooden floor and hold the letter out in my hand. I probably look as if I fainted or something, but I dont move.

What does she want from me except for my return? Why is she being so violent about it?

My head spins as I try to work out why.

She wont take me back, my friends are here to stop her. Andy can pour another bucket of water on her.

My hand quivers with the letter making flimsy sounds.

I need to forget this, its not like its actually going to happen.

Instead I continue thinking about it, face down on the floor.

Thats what you would do, right?

It helps me work out what to do.

So far I have nothing.

I rarely ever have these moments of not knowing what to do. Honestly most of the time its a 'dont think. Just jump' situation.

Most of the time its 'make that mistake to see where it takes you'.

But then again, the right answer to this situation is to go home to my parents and give up.

The wrong answer? There is no wrong answer.

Theres never a wrong answer.

Theres a more interesting answer, definitely, but no wrong answer.

Taking the long route would lead to me spending longer with my friends and enjoying life.

Taking the right answer would lead to definite imprisonment a lot quicker than the wrong route.

But. The wrong route could get someone hurt.

Am I willing to risk that?

Probably not.

But am I willing to risk my happiness?

Probably not.

I try to get as close to the floor to slow the spinning but it isnt working.

I just need a second opinion.

Talking of second opinions I hear the door open and a shout.

"Im fine." I stop them.

There are feet rushing over and I roll my eyes, they never listen, do they?

"Im just getting close to the floor because everything is spinning." I attempt to clarify.

Someones hand is on my back and then rolls me over. I lie on my back and clutch onto my paper.

"See, Im great. You know its not to do with my health."

Patrick stares wide eyes at me, slowly looking down to the letter clutched to my chest.

"Why do you look so worried?" I ask.

"Oh man, what happened?" Andy is behind him, walking through the door.

Im sure I look great. Nothing is wrong. Although, Im still in a big tee and short shorts, so I probably look slightly provocative.

But dont I always?

"What is on that letter?" Joe is the next person to be leaning over me lying on the floor.

"The reason Im on the floor." I clarify.

"Jesus Christ not again." Petes mumbling, he sounds worried.

Now all four of them are just staring down at me lying like a mummy on the floor.

"Im great. The floor just has less motion that up there. I mean, it was mostly just for fashion. This is the number one craze."

They all stare silently as I ramble sarcastically.

"Now, are you going to tell my why youre staring?"

"Firstly you are lying on the floor, rocking slightly." Pete starts.

"Secondly you were lying on your face so there is a red mark down your face." Patrick continues.

"And youre clutching your letter there... No offence but-" I cut Joe off.

"Its going to be offensive, isnt it?" I stare directly at him.

He shrugs "Why are you getting mail?"

"Urm..." I look around them. "Its from my old mum?"

Patrick slowly plucks it from my arms.

"Wait, can I read it?" He questions.

"To be honest youre holding it so-" I start.

"Thanks."

His eyes scan it quickly and Im still lying on the floor with the others around me.

"Well. What a bitch."

"Exactly!" I sit up.

"This is... Unprofessional to say the least. Can we talk about that properly... At the table?" Andy suggests.

"If thats how you want it to be." I stand up in a strop. "Then we will be adults about it."