Chapter 3 (A whole new beginning)

I must have slept for a long time, for when I woke, the sky visible from inside of the cave was nothing but a choking mass of black, specked with twitching, restless, stars.
Chris sat opposite me.
It’s odd, but I half expected him to be there.
He was looking at me, silently, with those deep, thoughtful eyes.
A pile of discarded tissues, smeared with make-up, were scattered around him.
I smiled slightly.
My head hurt.
A lot.
And I had a horrible feeling in my stomach which seemed to be weighing me down.
Misery.
Depression.
Hurt.
Dread.
I’d been an idiot.
Poor Tree.
I lifted myself up and looked at Chris with apologetic eyes.
“I’m so sorry.” I whispered.
Chris remained silent.
He was gazing blankly at a small grey pebble.
I had only been friends with Chris since I’d moved up to the secondary.
Up until then, it had been strictly me and Gina.
Me.
Quiet and sulky.
Easily persuaded.
Gina.
Bossy and loud.
I always did what she said.
Come to think of it, I was always following someone’s orders.
Chris was different though.
The first year at St. Johns had heavily featured seating plans. The teachers seemed to think that boys and girls didn’t talk to each other, for every seating plan went (alphabetically) boy-girl-boy-girl.
Lisa Marshall followed soon after Christopher Kettle.
And so it was in maths that I was forcibly sat down next to him, and I found that I had nothing better to do other than tease him about his surname.
He had grimaced.
“They always used t’ call me “teapot” at the little school.” He had confided quietly.
I remember grinning at this.
He had looked at me in alarm.
He’d pleaded with me not to tell anyone.
“Ah, no worries!” I’d giggled in reply, before spending the rest of maths teasing him.
He was easy to wind up.
It wasn’t long before we started to become really good friends.
He ditched his gang of boys he didn’t really talk to, and sat with me at dinner.
With me and Gina.
Gina didn’t like it one bit.
She used to fall out with him all the time, but he just shrugged off the insults, and carried on calmly as before.
You can’t stay angry with people like that.
She learned to get on with him eventually, but I couldn’t help thinking that she’d never really got over the fact that she wasn’t my sole best friend anymore.
Chris brought me out of my nostalgic daydream.
“Gina thinks you’ve changed.” He stated simply.
“Do you?” I quietly asked back.
He didn’t answer.
“You do.” I continued. “ And I have.”
He still made no reply.
I could hear the spray-flecked, ominous, dark waves of the North Sea hiss threateningly in the background.
My lips moved of their own accord.
I spoke carefully, not wanting my lazy accent to disguise what I was saying.
“I have changed.” I said again. “Somehow. Inside. I don’t think I’ll ever be the same Lisa again. But then maybe I was never her in the first place. Maybe I’ve always been me.”
That didn’t make sense.
But in a way it did.
I hoped that Chris understood.
It felt important that he understood.
My lips refused to stop moving.
“I really am sorry. That isn’t an empty sorry. I really, truly, mean it. I’d like to say that I didn’t mean to hurt you, or Tree, or Gina. But I did. I did mean it. I wanted you to hurt so much you were screaming inside. I wanted you away from me. Your too good for me.”
He looked interested.
“Is that how you feel??” He asked. “Do you hurt so much your screaming inside?”
“Sometimes.”
Sometimes??
Was that the best I could come up with?
I was really good with words, usually.
I used to write all the time.
Poems mainly.
It was soothing.
So why couldn’t I think of anything better than “sometimes”?
I was surprised at myself.
But then, I was surprised at myself so often, that maybe I’d only really be surprised if I wasn’t surprised at all.
That didn’t make sense.
Again.
I was babbling.
Again.
I needed air.
There wasn’t enough room in Rachel’s cave to stand up, so I squeezed myself out of the tiny entrance in the rocks, and stumbled outside.
The wind was calmer now.
It swept up my hair with its icy touch, and twirled it behind me.
The sand was numbingly cold beneath my feet.
Where were my shoes??
The sea shimmered ethereally in the silver, delicate light of the moon, which hung, suspended in the black unknown.
I spoke again, unsure this time whether it was to myself or Chris.
“Sometimes,” I started. “Sometimes it’s like I’m trapped between two lives. I want to be with you but I have to be with them. I’m not really here at all. I’m just acting. I don’t feel it. I don’t feel as if I’m here, speaking to you. I just am. How can I really be sure that I actually am?? I don’t want to be like this. I really don’t. I think. But I’ve done so many bad things…terrible things…I don’t want you near me. I want to hurt you like I hurt inside, so that you won’t want me anymore. You don’t deserve to want me. Your too good. But I want to be wanted by you. Does that make sense?”
This time I was pretty sure that it did.
I felt tears trickle down my cheeks.
I didn’t like tears.
They came unbidden when I didn’t want them.
They made my words seem fake.
Chris strode towards me and slid his arm around my waist and I leant my head on his shoulder.
It was a while before he spoke, and then it wasn’t to ask what terrible things I’d done, or tell me I was a horrid person, or to tell me that my tears seemed fake.
He spoke to say this :-
“Lisa. You need help. I’ll help you. You can’t go on like this. I’m afraid of where you’ll end up. You’re going back to school, and your taking your exams. Your gonna get yourself on the straight again. And I’ll help you. You don’t have to go on like this, you know.”
He wanted to help me.
After everything I’d done.
He still wanted to help me.
He was unbelievable.
“I love you Chris.” I whispered softly.
He threw me a wry smile.
“No you don’t.”
He linked his arm with mine and led me home.