Everyone can believe in the idea of being innocent until proven guilty but when someone holds the evidence to prove your guilt, how long can you continue to run from your inevitable fate?
After moving to America in an attempt to escape her troubled...
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Chapter 16:
Those Three Words
The title theme from Friends starts to play from the TV as I lay across my bed.
Most of my days consist of the same thing: wake up, watch friends, eat and sleep. My version of the perfect summer.
When you think about it, some of my own group can be compared to the characters in Friends. I'd be Rachel; the girl who runs away from her past, Zac as Ross (minus the dorkiness), George as Joey, Sophie would be a mixture of Phoebe and Monica and Blake would be Chandler. Not forgetting Steven as Gunther- I laugh as the thought crosses my mind.
I think the thing that makes us comparable to Friends, is how close we are as a group. But for me I also see it as a dream, I'd love to have them all as my best friends at the age of 30.
Propping a pillow behind my head, I shuffle, trying to get comfortable.
Something doesn't feel right.
Sitting up I frown, searching around myself. Am I too hot? No. Do I need a bathroom break? No. Have I already watched this episode? Yes but that doesn't matter.
My frown deepens as I internally search for my problem.
Then I find what's bothering me.
Of course the problem is related to my stomach. I need cookies.
Greedily, I bounce off my bed, slipping my feet into my flip-flops, making a beeline for the cookie jar downstairs.
The house is silent; my mum and Lily have made the most of the warm, sunny day by having a picnic in the park. They'd asked me if I wanted to join them but sometimes an afternoon of indulging in my guilty pleasures is exactly what I need. Plus, I find it great for my mum and Lily to spend some time together to bond, considering they didn't for the first couple of years of her life.
Turning into the kitchen, my attention is drawn to the table.
A single rose sits beside a folded envelope labelled "1".
Perhaps it is from my mum, sometimes she gives me random displays of her love.
As I sniff the flower to get a sense of its elegant fragrance, my hands carefully unfold the note inside of the envelope.
"Come outside." It reads.
It is certainly not my mother's handwriting.
With hesitation, I look around the kitchen, concerned as to how this note got in here. Who placed it here? Who is outside waiting for me? Is someone in the house?
I slowly back towards the kitchen draw, opening it and taking a knife. I need protection just in case. I'm not planning on using it unless it's for my own survival.
