Torn

Chapter Three

I’ve always been the one that needed looking after. I’d spent most of my teenage years looking for some form of pseudo-mother, anyone to tell me that things will get better and that I will be okay. Consequently, I’ve always tried too hard to please everybody and want to help as many people as I can. I always tell myself that I never want anyone to feel as alone as I have and therefore I have to be there for them. If that means sleepless nights then so be it, if that means cancelling plans then oh well. Whatever it takes, I will always try. Until a few months ago, I stopped trying and started focusing on helping myself instead. And you know what, I got better. I started getting through the days without feeling down, I started getting through the nights without waking up in tears. I started to live again and was ready to fight for the future and the new life I would have once I left for university. But through all of that, I’d forgotten how to care. I didn’t know how to help anyone anymore. I knew I wasn’t in a position to do anything for Hope, but I couldn’t just leave her here. I knew my best bet was to persuade her to go back home. She would have a roof over her head and a bed to sleep in at the very least then. That’s more than I could offer her.

I’ve always been stubborn. I refused to let Hope leave without knowing she would be safe or where she was going. The nights were getting longer and colder, there was no way she would be safe in the flimsy little tent and sleeping bag she had with her. She could get mugged, or worse. I’d never forgive myself if anything happened and I knew full well that if I let her slip away then I would never hear from or see Hope again. I knew there wasn’t a chance in hell that my Mum would let her stay. She would get rid of me if she could so she is hardly going to want another head to look after. Not that either me or Hope need looking after, we’re grown adults now. Then again, it’s hardly like Mum looked after me even when I did need it. So many times I needed her to be there for me, even just to hold me, and she failed. She failed me just like I’ve always failed her. There was only one solution for it.

We walked around for over an hour that evening. I found places that I never even knew existed even though some were pretty much on my doorstep. It’s funny how little we notice really, or how much we block out just because we think it’s irrelevant. Sometimes, the smallest details can make the biggest difference, yet most of the time we take them for granted. Eventually we emerged out at the top of King’s Field: a popular destination in winter for anyone wanting a speculative sledging experience. The entire field overlooks one of the main roads in town but it is completely closed off by dense forestry and hedges. I took Hope’s hand in mine and led her across the top of the field, keeping my eyes peeled for anywhere that may be suitable to pitch a tent. I hadn’t done this for over 8 years but it couldn’t be that difficult surely.

How wrong I was. Within ten minutes we were a tangled mess of poles, hooks and ground sheets. The ground was no match for the unstable pegs we’d been provided with and most of them now lay strewn aside broken or bent. The main pole was refusing to thread through the indicated slot. I was aching all over and just wanted to lie down and sleep. Something told me this was going to be a long night. I’d somehow managed to scrape the skin off of the palm of my hand and it was now stinging more with every move. This had to be worth it right? Somehow this must be worth it, she must be worth it. Somehow. But how I did not know.

When tent had finally been assembled, me and Hope stood back to admire the shambles that was to be our home for the night. It didn’t look stable. I was afraid to touch it in case it collapsed around us. I prayed for a dry night because I knew there was no way that this crappy little piece of material could withstand rain. Cautiously I tucked my bag just inside the tent, keeping only my phone with me. Hope clipped her bag to the tent. It was a large hiking rucksack, almost bigger than Hope herself and right now it contained pretty much all of Hope’s worldly possessions. I felt shallow knowing how much I valued my feather pillows and extensive wardrobe at home. I had pairs of shoes that were probably worth more than everything contained in Hope’s rucksack, and that’s including the cost of the bag too. I know people say material possessions can’t make you happy, but they’ve never made me unhappy. Hope has nothing and she wasn’t happy.