Don't Speak

Chapter four

Chapter four

His kiss makes me feel alive, and now I know I’ve found someone who will make my life better, make my life worth something; he is going to save me. We stroll hand in hand around the shopping center and I feel more comfortable with every minute that passes. He asks me questions; like what’s my favourite colour, what music and movies I’m into, simple things, and I get excited when he agrees with everything I say. So far, it seems we have a lot in common. We meet back up with Amanda and Chris, and before we leave, Shane asks me for my number, which I gladly give him.

I spend the night agonizing over when he will call, ignoring Amanda as she tells me she’s sure he will. But as Sunday comes around, he still hasn’t, and my mini high begins to sink. Bianca drops us back at Amanda’s house that afternoon, but I don’t hang around; I walk home, convinced I must have done or said something wrong for him not to phone me. I briefly say hello to Mum before going to my room, locking the door and getting into bed, where I lie for hours, letting my thoughts torture me.

In the end, he calls me that night, asking if he can drive down to see me the following day.

Monday morning, and when I wake, something is different. The light seeping through the blinds into my bedroom doesn’t remind me of another day to battle. Instead, I can’t wait to face it, which tells me today isn’t going to be one of those days. I never know how I’m going to be from one day to the next, so I pray I can hold onto the feeling before my brain decides to cloud everything. I’m up and dressed before Mum shouts me, sitting on my bed, knees knocking together as I wait for him to ring.

Then his name flashes on the screen. I’ve never answered a call so fast in my life.

“Hey, I’m here. Foundation Loop Park, yeah?” he says.

I tell him he’s in the right place and that I’ll be there in a few minutes. Shoving the phone into my bag, I walk into the kitchen. Mum is pouring boiling water into a mug, standing behind the breakfast bar.

She looks up at me. “Jesus Christ, I’m I seeing things?”

“What?”

“You’re ready for school,” she pauses and looks at her watch. “At a quarter to eight.”

Shrugging, I dump my bag on the side, taking a cigarette from my packet. She pops the kettle back into its place and I tell her I need some more cigarettes.

“Ella, I told you that pack was to last you two weeks.”

As I light the cig, she tells me not to smoke in the house.

“You do,” I say, inhaling and blowing smoke in her direction.

“I don’t like to see you smoking.”

I roll my eyes. “Whatever.” Throwing my bag over my shoulder, I head to the door. Like she really cares that I’m smoking. If she did, I’m sure she would stop buying them for me. But I can’t blame her; she only agreed to buy them for me because I kept stealing hers.

“You’re not leaving now, are you? It’s too early.”

I tell her I’m going to my friend Tasoula’s house and walking with her. I feel bad about using her as my alibi. She was the first friend I made when I moved to Australia, but I haven’t spent much time with her lately, only at school when I bother to show up. I make a mental note to call her this week.

Walking down my street, I see the park, and as I get closer my stomach knots. I feel more nervous now than I did meeting him at the shopping center.