Silence is a scary sound

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He asked for help but no one ever listened. You don't need to say 'I need help' for someone to realize how bad everything looks in your head.

I knew Elias needed someone to show him the right way, but I was only twelve at the time. Anyone would think my mum and dad could've helped him, but no. Mum and dad are experts when it comes to dealing with problems, they can get you on a plane to the other side of the world in a matter of seconds, or they can pretend you don't exist. Their main concern is to hide their unperfect bits of life from anyone who could judge them.

My brother's death at 19 years of age, had nothing to do with depression or the amount of drugs he'd consumed that night, oh no. Apparently, Elias had been diagnosed with a very weak heart when he was born so it ended his life with a heart attack.

Bullshit.

I wish he'd been younger than me, even now, only being twenty myself I would've been able to help him. He needed someone to talk to and there was no one there. Just me, a silly twelve year old.

When he left everything went down the drain. My parents divorced and I was basically going from one to the other, depending on which of them wanted to have me for the week. I didn't mind. Nothing mattered. Elias was gone and nothing would bring him back.

When I finished my A-levels I wanted to become a social worker and help neglected kids that we're going to end in trouble. It somehow made me feel like I would help Elias. It didn't really matter what I wanted because my Nan had other plans.

Nan is the reason why my mum married my dad, also known as money. Don't get me wrong though, Nan is as lovely as a rich powerful woman from her time can get. I do love her and that was the only reason I left aside my dreams of being a social worker.

She inherited some money when she was eighteen, her dad and uncles had died in the war; Nan's mum died from an illness soon after the war was over, leaving her alone. She had had a little job at a chemist for a while but she also started working as a rich family's gardener. She befriended this family and they used to buy her all sorts of flowers and plant books, I think anyone would have chucked them on a shelf and forgotten about them, but Nan studied every page of those books.

Combining her jobs and her mastermind she created a perfume. It was the first perfume made without a bit of alcohol or any strong chemicals in it, that smelt like something someone would actually wear, or that's what they say.

Anyway, at that time a woman could have made a same size replica of the moon, but she wouldn't have had any recognition for it. Gutted, obviously, she had a word with the family she worked for and the man did her a massive favour. MASSIVE. I mean, Nan always gets what she wants but this was too much. He basically lended her his name, so she dealed her own perfume company but under his name, until the business was big enough that no one could stop her. When she revealed she was the bright mind behind it all the business got bigger and bigger, making 'Claudia Wyatt' the most famous perfume in the world.

Nan married a couple men before marrying my grandad, although he died when my dad was a teenager so I never met him. My grandmother's life was at some point in every magazine until she managed to disguise again. Her perfume is still one of the biggest in the bussines but there is obviously more competition.

Nan's plans for me were to manage part of the business, only a tiny bit, I just had to make sure everything went on well in England. Taking into acount there's offices and labs from Australia to the US, mine wasn't a big role.

It's been two years since I became in charge of this place. People didn't really like the idea of being bossed around by an eighteen year old, as time passed they kind of stuck up with it and they knew I was staying there for long.

The granddaughter of a CEO who works for her obviously earns enough, and I do, but this job didn't complete me. I maybe can't train myself to be a social worker but I can still help.

I got in touch with a police officer who told me about how certain people volunteer to look after troubled kids, or lonely, or just any teenager with an issue that can't count with their parents. There's a programme where they take tests every so often to make sure they can and are helped with anything they need to attend their "protected" kid.
Five years ago I met a, now fourteen year old, girl called Pearl. When I first met her she had anxiety problems and preffered to stay quiet, she's so sweet. She lived with me for four months and gave me the pleasure to get to know her. All her anxiety was dued to being bullied at school, abused when she was a little girl and dragged from one foster house to another. I took her under my wing and now she's studying in boarding school, I pay for everything in her life and nothing makes me happier.

I tried to apply for another kid to protect but they said it was too soon, so when I got a ring from my secretary about a call from the people who organise it I thought something terrible might have happened to Pearl.

"Miss Wyatt," I answer.

"Good morning Miss Wyatt, we wanted to know if you would be available to help one of the boys for some time?" A man's voice asked through the line.

"Uh, yes. Yes of course!" I answer him confused, while clicking on my agenda for this week. I don't know where I will fit all this though.

"Would it be okay if you met him today over lunch?" He asks sounding careful with his words.

"Today? Isn't it a bit short notice?" I asked confused, staring at the screen. I have a meeting just after lunch, a kid shouldn't be dragged around like that.

"Uh, well, it's kind of urgent, it's a special case, and we knew how good everything was going with Pearl," he says with an obvious fake smile.

Why is he talking to me like I would actually believe him? Who is this poor child they're trying to get rid of? Pearl's big grey eyes the first time I saw her immediately came to my mind and her big smile the last time I drove her to school.

Whoever that kid is he just needs someone and that would be me.

"Good, could I please have a file or document sent before lunch?" I ask, making it a demand.

"Uh, I'm terribly sorry but he only came last night so there is no documents about him," he says trying to excuse himself.

What kind of joke is this? I hope they're taking the piss because there's no way they haven't even archived this poor kid's life and are already trying to throw him out.

"Well, could I at least have a name?" I spit into the phone digging my heels into the ground.

"Oh, yes madame, he's called Zayn Malik," he says in a quiet voice. "I'll send the details of the meeting to your secretary, thank you for everything," he rushes and quickly cuts the line.

What is the rush for? There's something not right, I'm sure they don't do this often. It seemed like they didn't care about the kid.

Zayn. It's a nice name. I'm pleased I get to look after him and not those useless social people.

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I decided to give this a go...
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V, xxx

(You can honestly picture Clara however you want but I kinda picture her like that)