Un Named Story.

Our Lady Mary’s Academy:  a Christian school known mostly for its strict rules and Religious Studies. A large stone building, built looking over a small British town. It is thought that it was once a manor house for a baron, whom was so lowly thought of he was put here, in the middle of nowhere. It’s here our story starts, in the hauntingly silent stone halls of Our Lady Mary’s Academy, with me, Lovisa Jiae, the rebellious, non-religious daughter of two Christians, forced into the Religious hands of Sister Jones.



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Chapter One.



I yawned again, staring out over the rolling hills of the daunting British countryside, a sight I was only too used to looking at. My foot tapped impatiently on the ice cold floor as I glanced at my watch for the third time in the last minute, waiting for the final bell to go. It was the last day of term. All I wanted to do was grab my suitcase, meet Tania and walk out into the sun. I wanted to go home. It had been three months since I had left the grounds of OLMA, and I was becoming stir-crazy.

‘Miss Jiay?’ Sister Jones pronounced my name incorrectly for the fifth time this lesson. ‘Can you tell us the names of Our Lord’s disciples?’

I didn’t have the energy to correct her again, so, glancing at my watch once more, I heaved myself out of my chair and said, as politely as I could manage when staring at a prune; ‘No.’

Smirking at the furious look on her face, I reached under my desk and pulled out my bag, lifting it over my shoulder just as the bell went. I was the first out of the door.

‘Bye now!’ I laughed, and as Sister Jones yelled something after me, my response was more chiming laughter in her general direction.



Tania was leaning against a block of lockers with a group of boys, which is usually punishable by detention or worse. Luckily, it was officially the end of term, and we were untouchable. Aggressively, I barged through the wall of testosterone and grabbed onto Tania’s arm, ignoring the multiple protests. As soon as we were round the corner I stopped, grinned and hugged her.

‘Wow. Someone’s keen to get home,’ Tania remarked, chuckling. ‘I never thought I’d see you so keen to see your family.’

‘I’m not. Someone’s just keen to get the Hell out of here.’

‘I see,’ she replied, hitting me lightly on the shoulder. ‘Let me just find Luca, then we’ll grab our bags and leave. It’s one hell of a walk.’

Luca was Tania’s twin brother. They did everything together, apart from when we were in school, because they kept boys and girls separate as often as possible. It was a distraction to have boys in the same building as girls, apparently. I wasn’t as close with Luca as I was with Tania, but I still knew him well. He was a medium height blonde boy with deep blue eyes who had an unhealthy obsession with video games and playing the guitar.

I was so lost in thought that I hadn’t realized that we were walking in the direction of Luca’s dorm, only briefly stopping outside the main girl’s room to pick up our suitcases (mine was black with white floral patterns, Tania’s was purple to match her hair). Then we were approached by an alarmingly tall girl, who asked us where the exit was. I knew immediately that she was a first year, inexperienced in the art of sneaking out of the surprisingly open gate. Tania pointed her towards the large oak door with multiple locks installed, and she left without a thank-you. Damn Christians.



We met Luca by the boy’s dorm, where he was leaning against the wall with his newly un-confiscated blue headphones buried deep within his ear holes. His face was obscured by his fluffy blond locks, and his suitcase was beside him; the same deep blue as his irises. He greeted us gleefully, and followed as Tania and I crept through the back entrance, to avoid the ‘heartfelt’ farewells of the Sisters.

‘So Luca, how was your final day of torture?’ Tania asked in a feeble attempt to get through to her brother, and failed miserably when he continued focusing intently on the path ahead of him. ‘We won’t be hearing from him in a hurry.’

‘Is that bad?’ I replied with a smirk. Luca never really had much to say in the form of a decent reply when he was anywhere near school. He was usually more talkative at home. ‘How was your last day of torture?’

‘Not too bad, to be perfectly honest with you,’ she shrugged, then creased up at my impression of Sister Joy’s shocked face, which most likely resembled that of a prune. ‘I’m being serious! I didn’t have Religious Studies today, which was good, I had my last detention, which allowed me to miss Maths, and the only lesson I had today was Music. I mean, yes, we’re singing hymns, but it’s singing.’

I nodded. Tania wanted to sing when she was older, and she often used it as a fundraising angle when she was raising money for her parent’s charity. I could tell when her eyes lit up whilst talking about music, vocal training during the holidays, or just singing at an embarrassing volume in the middle of the dorms. She once got detention for singing in English, but her ever-angelic face managed to convince Sister Jones otherwise.

‘Well. Religious Studies was ridiculous, as usual. Maths was just full of rubbish, in which I drew ‘scary’ things on my book, and the only decent lesson was English because I got a Pass card after I told Sister Rose that I was going to be sick,’ I sighed. Sister Rose was terrified of people being sick, although the reason has remained unknown since my brother had been at OLMA, which was around five years ago.

‘What sort of scary things?’ Tania’s question was falsely concerned, and extremely humorous.

‘You know. The usual.’

‘That usual?’

‘Yes, that usual.’

There was silence for five minutes. I stopped walking to take in the view, Tania halting beside me.

The sky was a clear turquoise, and the sun was just a huge ball of fire reflecting on the white shells hammered into the ground by horses. The last of the OLMA students were walking down the hill in front of us, small dots against the white of the path. The sky met the steep hills in the horizon, and they seemed to move as I shifted my school bag higher up on my shoulders.  Trees in the distance waved lazily, beckoning, leaves rippling brightly. It was a calm summer’s day, an ideal day to end the torture with. It was a perfect sight.

‘Freedom,’ Luca breathed my exact thought, his first word since we met him inside the horror-filled building towering behind us.

That one word set me off. I ran, suitcase flailing behind me. Tania giggled and followed me, Luca slowly catching us up before I leapt and landed in the knee length grass, which was dotted with vibrant poppies. It was probably a sight to see; three sixteen-year-olds rolling around in the grass, throwing poppy seeds at each other, and shouting so loud you could probably have heard it from the city. We didn’t care at all. This was true freedom.



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The door of my childhood home opened smoothly, revealing the ever-perfect living room in all of it’s brightly coloured glory. The pastel yellows and lilacs made me feel physically sick, as they always had. Curtains hung limply by the window that looked out into the poorly maintained garden, steamed and washed within an inch of their existence. The cheap air freshener my mother always sprayed into the air hung in a powdery effort to make me choke, and I coughed to rid my lungs of the ridiculous lavender smell. In fact, the whole house reminded me of a lavender bush, with its smells and the noises of bees buzzing around outside the windows.

My parents were the neatest Christians I’ve ever known. I had always been rebellious, ignoring the instructions to tidy my room or clean the bathroom. I sighed, shaking my head, and dumped my suitcase on the sofa, snatching the handwritten note off the coffee table. It was written on lilac paper, with floral patterns framing the familiar, slanted scrawl of my mother’s rushed penmanship.

                                       

Lovisa,

Your father and I will be at work until late this evening, as we have to work extra hours to help keep the money rolling in. It’s been a bit hard recently to make ends meet, hopefully we’ll be able to spend some time together whilst you’re out of school. I hope you enjoyed this term at school, and you finally discovered the right way to live life.

God bless you,

Mum.

I rejoiced silently inside, grinning as I skulked into the kitchen looking for something I could indulge, something luxurious that would make this day perfect. No parents, no more school, and no brother in sight. 

Well, to be fair, my brother hasn’t been at home for four years, since he left to go to university, majoring in Physics. He’d always wanted to be a scientist.

Obviously, there wasn’t anything in the fridge besides fruit, vegetables and a chicken breast, but I managed to find some low-fat cherry yoghurt, which was the next best thing. I left it on the kitchen side whilst I wandered around the house, towards my bedroom door.



The door still had stickers or giant white horses, an€d huge wooden capital letters spelling out my name:



Lovisa



I shook my head and tugged violently on the vibrantly coloured wooden shapes until they gave way, leaving clean marks that showed how dirty the door really was. I tossed them aside and shoved open the door, regretting it immediately. I hadn’t been in my bedroom since I’d left for OLMA six months before, where my character had changed dramatically. I wasn’t the little perfect daughter of two hardcore Christians anymore. I had changed since they had started shoving religious ideas down my throat. It was sickening to be taught, every single day, about how some man had risked his life to save us.



My room was small and messy. It suddenly occurred to me how my parents hadn’t thought to tidy it, for which I was extremely grateful. The single bed remained unmade, purple cover twisted in an awkward shape because I was such an active sleeper. There were posters pinned randomly across the pastel walls, singers and animals blu-tacked, dreadfully, in an immature attempt of a collage. The edges curled, frayed, and flapped noisily, and then I realised that there was a window open. As I moved over to close it, I tripped, and heard a crunch noise. Looking down, there was a small photo frame. If I squinted, I could see through the cracked glass. I recognized the outline of Tania and I, last year, a few weeks after we first met. It bought tears to my eyes as I remembered that day. It was the day that had turned my life around for the foreseeable future.









Chapter Two.



I had been friends with Tania for three months when I found out.



It was a fair evening, with clouds so crudely shaped that a child could have drawn them. The sun was just setting, leaving the sky with a golden glow that lit up the entire area. It was the final day of Summer, and we were giving it a proper “send-off”, as Tania’s parents put it. I was the only one from my family who was attending, as my parents didn’t exactly get on with Tania’s.

I was sat beneath a tree with her, throwing early acorns at Luca, who was hidden behind a bench a little way away. We could just see his blonde tufts of hair from behind the mahogany, and their parents were laughing. Everything seemed so calm and serene.

Suddenly Tania’s chocolate brown eyes seemed to darken, her eyebrows nearing each other in thought, as if she wanted to say something, but was hesitant. Then her mouth opened, and no noise came out. I cocked my head to one side and gave her a questioning look.

‘Tan?’I asked her, concerned.

‘Look, Vis, I need to tell you something, but I don’t exactly know how.’

I gave her an encouraging look, begging her silently to continue. Curiosity killed the cat.

‘I.. I.. I have Leukemia.’

Then my world began to fall apart. All I remember was her holding me as I choked out sobs softly, unsure what to feel. My best friend had blood cancer, and I had no idea what to think or feel.

Curiosity killed the cat, and satisfaction never brought him back.



That picture had been taken minutes after, the ghost of tears still visible on my cheeks. Tania had had chemotherapy, and her hair was slowly growing back. She had strong-coloured wigs to wear, which helped her always stand out from the crowd. Her positivity was always radiating from her, her smile infectious, and everyone around her never stopped smiling.

I learnt only one negative thing from finding out about Tania. Curiosity is never followed by satisfaction.





I used something extremely distracting to keep Tania off of my mind; looking for Lucky, my cat. She always hid in the most awkward places, waiting for me to walk past so she can pounce on my slippers and make me jump. Cautiously, I poked my head around the door into my parent’s bedroom (as clean as it was when I left), and saw Lucky sitting in front of their wardrobe, mewing softly and pawing at the oak.

I chuckled softly, only slightly concerned as to why she was trying to get into the wardrobe. I opened it slightly, and she shot into it, mewing louder and louder. She made her way towards the back of it, but then stopped to look back at me, as if she was beckoning me to follow her.



What is she doing? I thought. Is she taking me to Narnia? I laughed at my own slight idiocy, then stopped when I realised how ridiculous it was to laugh at oneself, especially when I was alone. I followed, shoving dully fragrant coats and cardboard-stiff shirts out of my way as I attempted to watch where she was going.

We came to the back of the wardrobe, my hand meeting to smooth oak with a thump. I heard a scratching noise again, and glanced down to see Lucky pawing at a small gap in the bottom, where the panels met. I crouched down beside her, and dug my fingers into the hole, pulling gently. A crack met my ears. The wood gave way, and a stream of light filtered through. As I made a gap large enough to crawl through, Lucky darted into the light, mewing impatiently for me to hurry up.

I crouched down and forced myself through the small gap, breathing inwards in a futile attempt to make myself smaller. The sharp spikes of broken wood caught my hair and grazed the back of my neck, and I hoped that I wouldn’t get any splinters there, as it would be a difficult task extracting them.

The light was blinding at first, and I began to worry that I was crawling through some hole into heaven, and that my parents had been right all along. But then I saw Lucky standing there, with her head cocked to one side, and realised that there being a heaven was a ridiculous thought.  She knocked her head against my cheek, before wandering off. It was only then did I get the chance to look upwards and gaze at my horrifying surroundings. 



The walls were all made from the same pale oak as the wardrobe, but you could barely see it for the shelves plastering them intricately. Opposite sides were symmetrical, the floor coated in a flurry of red fur and tools scattered perfectly across it like sick little flowers. The carpet was soft beneath my feet, cushioning my every step. In the corner were some books; dusty journals piled dangerously high towards the ceiling. Lucky was stood on a low shelf, nuzzling against a mahogany box with detailed with intricate carvings. As I stood up, I gasped. It was identical to the one that my grandmother had left me in her will, although her one was layered with secret compartments in to hide the instruments for hundreds of death rituals. The star carved on the top was exactly the same, with a ring around it and small 3D stars were dotted across with glitter streamed across it like dust. The box was the only object in my line of vision that wasn’t caked in dust, even the shelf space around it was covered. To me, it suggested that someone had been using it recently, but I couldn’t be sure.



I reached out hesitantly. When my hand came into contact with the wood, I felt a strange spark in my skin, and I pulled back instinctively. Lucky looked at me with her head tilting to the right side again, before pawing the box until it fell. I reacted instantly, catching the box inches above the ground, ignoring the instant searing pain in my hand. It calmed after a second, and some glitter fell to the floor. I sighed with relief, but gave a look of daggers at the black cat who was staring at me with such a bemused look that I abandoned my glare and chuckled.



Breathing in slowly, I opened the box. The hinges creaked, causing Lucky’s ears to twitch slightly as she watched me intently, mewing softly. I glanced up at her but quickly turned my attention back to the object in my hand, the cool wood warming beneath my fingertips.  There were no flowing strokes from the familiar stain they usually put on wood, suggesting to me that this box is older than the one that sat up in my room. I gasped as I saw the content, and another gust of fine, silver glitter scattered on the floor. Lucky pounced on the floor, causing glitter to rise up like small puffs of smoke that then fluttered downwards and covered her ebony fur. She looked like a disco ball.





The first thing I saw was a journal, then below it was some snow-white linen, two crimson candles and a box of matches. The journal was battered brown leather; scratches and rips in the worn, musty smelling covers. A broken lock held the covers together, rusty and scraped with age. I picked it up, feeling the battered leather beneath my fingertips, the cool material warming under every touch. I could smell the age of the paper, the musty scent mingling with the refreshing aroma of the pure linen. I slowly opened the journal, and on the front page was the name ‘Raye Jiae’ scrawled messily but beautifully in black ink on the stained parchment, the name of my rarely-spoken-of great-aunt. Ink was dotted across it messily. The next few pages were blank, like they were in my grandmother’s journal, but the writing continued three pages later, filling the book with words and life. Drawings, which looked at a first glance like doodles, were pasted intricately around the writing. Flowers coloured in with smudged pastels, open mouths painted delicately with blood-red watercolours. As I slowly focused on each picture, labelled with scrawls that could have only been my great-aunt’s writing, they seem to move, flowing across the page.



I gaped at one specific drawing that took up a whole page of parchment; a tall, pale woman with flowing black hair that was the exact same colour as Lucky’s fur. She wore a thick, puffed-out ball gown, which was the same vibrant red as her full, pouting lips. The details were extraordinary. Her hands were positioned gracefully, yet her stance suggested power and danger. Her nose was smooth, skin flawless, and her slim figure made her look physically fragile. The darkness of her fully-lashed eyes looked menacing, and the single ring of such a vibrant blue in her irises just added to her stature, contradicting the fragility of her frame. But it wasn’t just the blue in her eyes that astounded me. It was what lay just between her lips, which were just slightly parted. Two ivory fangs, each maybe two millimeters long in the picture, pierced the darkness of her mouth. It intrigued me, and allowed me to wonder massively about why my great-aunt Reye would draw such a thing. I remember my grandmother telling me that Reye had slowly descended into madness, but in her youth she was lively and enjoyed drawing. Apart from that, grandmother never spoke of her.



I flicked through the thick pages until I came to the middle, which consisted of several pictures; a box of matches, a piece of linen and two candles. I suddenly realised that the carefully painted pictures were identical to the other objects within the box, so I start to read.



“There are many customs when it comes to death rituals, and those customs must be perfected with years and years of practice before a person can be allowed to even help a body pass from this life happily. The spirit has to be respected, not ignored. Consequences of not respecting a spirit hanging between life and death could result in being punished by other, local spirits, and the punishment would only ever be thought of on the spot, and never planned. This is because spirits tend to be spontaneous, especially when it comes to contact with human-kind.

When it comes to death rituals, nothing must be skipped, and no corners must be cut. It has to be completed properly. A person must be sanitized by having their fingers burnt, and only then are they to be allowed to handle the special linen and candles.”



From there onwards, towards the end of the page, the writing became indiscernible. I guessed that this was both because she had begun to run out of space on the page, and because of her ‘decent into madness’. I placed a finger over her scrawls, feeling the etches on the parchment moving carefully across the page. They seemed delicate, but rushed.

Sighing, I closed the book slowly, placing it back in the box but dropping it slightly to avoid my fingers touching the linen. The box closed with a soft bang, to which Lucky pricked her ears forward. I knew that my parents would be home soon, which meant that I had to be acting as normal as possible, as if I didn’t have any clue that they had a secret room behind my mother’s walk-in wardrobe. I stood up slowly, turning on my heel. Lucky scampered ahead of me, leading the way as I crawled back through the hole, which I then patched up badly with splintered wood and covered with a rack of expensive, multi-coloured high-heels that were obviously for show. I picked up one, running my fingers over the smooth satin and the rough gemstones, and chuckled. My mother never wore anything less than her cheap black shoes, an array of worn suits and her usual ‘less is more’ make-up over the ever-increasing lines on her face. I was once surprised that a year ago she had decided to buy a new shirt for work. The shoe found its place back on the rack, and the room was then bathed in darkness as I switched the light off.



By the time my mother had returned from work, it was past eight o’clock. I had vacuumed, washed the dishes that had clearly been left from a rushed breakfast that morning, and a saucepan of pasta was boiling slowly on the cooker. The steam from the pan was quickly becoming condensation on the window. I was sat, tracing patterns on the window, at the mahogany table that I had sat at three years ago when we had had the extremely heated conversation about what school I was to go to, and a year before that when they broke the news to me that my grandmother had died. It was probably the worst day of my life. My heart had dropped down to my stomach, and a lump had formed in my throat, although I wasn’t ever sure if it was because of tears or because I was about to be sick. How could I not have been upset; it was my grandmother. She was the single member of my family who cared for how I felt and for what I did, instead of constantly attempting to change me into an ideal human. I had longed for some sort of comfort, a hug, a reassuring hand on my back, but they had no feelings towards her. They didn’t care. I remembered sobbing, leaning my head on the cool surface of the wood and watching the tears pool beneath my face.

By eight o’clock, I was restless. Thoughts of my grandmother shot through my head every so often, and my feet were shifting constantly, slippers tapping on the tiled floor in an unknown rhythm. The trails my finger had left on the window started dripping small droplets of water, resting only when they reached the window-sill of cracked and peeling paint. I didn’t hear the door creak open, then the click of the ancient lock that meant it had closed. Nor did I hear the strangely familiar footsteps on the linoleum floor of the front hallway. What I did hear, however, was a slight squeal that really didn’t watch the aged face that appeared in the steamy window of the kitchen.







Chapter Three.



‘Hello, darling!’

I rolled my eyes as my mother enveloped me in a suffocating hug. You wouldn’t think that a full-blown Christian would be as affectionate as her, especially towards her atheist daughter. But, she just pretended to herself that I still believed in the utter rubbish that is the Bible.

‘Hi, Mum. How was work?’ I questioned her with a fake inquisitive expression. It was the same boring routine. I would ask her how her work had been; she would ask me about school. Her answer always consisted of a fifteen minute account of her day, which usually included a small section of teenage-style moaning about someone in her office not doing the right thing, a lengthy account of how other people’s driving skills are obviously much worse than hers, and often she told me about her lunch. It certainly surprised me when she actually mentioned something positive for once.

‘Oh, it wasn’t too bad. The traffic was running very smoothly; I didn’t have to slow down once whilst traveling along the road. It was so peaceful. And the office was quiet, too! I suppose it was because everyone took the day off to meet their children on their last day, so I managed to get a lovely amount of work done, and I didn’t even have to stay any later than my normal work hours. The only person there was Cynthia, who doesn’t really talk anyway. She kept offering to get me a coffee, so in the end, instead of thinking that I was taking advantage of her, I gave her some money and asked her to go to the local baker’s and get me a lovely doughnut! She got herself one, too. I wouldn’t expect any less,’ she took a deep breath, although she didn’t even seem to have exerted much during her detailed explanation. Sniffing, she made a girlish squeak and said; ‘Ooh, what are you cooking, darling? It smells wonderful!’

‘Just some pasta, I might roast some vegetables to go with it in a while. Do you want some?’ I asked, glad that she wasn’t querying me about school. ‘I couldn’t find any cheese, though, so it’ll be plain…’

But she had stopped listening, and was interfering with my cooking. She added a various spices to the boiling water, stirring it so that it sloshed over the side of the saucepan. I watched painfully as she chopped up several types of vegetable and placed them straight onto a tray, wishing that she wasn’t over-sensitive so that I could point out that if she puts them in to the oven without boiling them first they would char. Instead, I stood up and made my way to the garden, which was dimly lit by the autumn twilight. I sat on the grass whilst looking up at they sky, awaiting the ‘beep beep beep’ of the smoke alarm.

The stars were slowly beginning to appear over the purple and orange hues of the sunset. I breathed in gently, reclining into the overgrown grass and feeling the roughness tickle behind my ears. There was a cool breeze that fluttered over me delicately, causing the trees to sway and the old swing several feet away to creak and groan. I heard the tinkling noise that alerted me of Lucky making her way around the perimeter of the garden, possibly stalking a poor bird or small creature that wouldn’t stand a chance against her hunting prowess. Almost against their will, my eyes closed, and I begun to steady my breathing until I felt at peace. I was so calm that I didn’t even realise that I was drifting into the cool world of slumber.

That is, I didn’t realise until I was woken by the familiar buzzing of a mobile phone in my back pocket. I struggled to withdraw it from its denim envelope, and when I did, the glaring light almost blinded me. As my eyes adjusted to the light from the tiny screen, I realised that I had received a message from Tania. I clicked the appropriate buttons and read the message;

‘Hello, Visa, I’m guessing your mum’s home now. How was the whole “how-was-school-even-though-I-don’t-care” speech?’

I smiled, and pressed reply.

‘Well, surprisingly, it was more like she told me about her day then ruined dinner. What about your parents?’

Right on cue, I heard the beeping and the shrieking that alerted me that dinner was officially ruined. Then a male voice met my ears, and I shrugged. Dad was finally home.

My father was even more religious than my mother, which is surprising. He was a tall man with graying black hair and straight white teeth, and was apparently attractive as a young man, although I never believed mother when she told me. He didn’t like music, art or anything creative, so when I was five and had asked to start ballet, he had scoffed and told me to ‘stop being so silly’. It was at the age of eleven that I had realised where I had got my charming attitude and charisma.



I knew that if I didn’t go and check on them dad would begin to slip into his impatient mood, so I straightened up and clicked my fingers softly, waiting for Lucky to respond. After thirty seconds or so, I heard the gentle tinkling of her bell, and she appeared beneath the fir tree in the corner of the garden and mewed.

‘Hey, girl,’ I muttered lovingly. ‘Come on, let’s get this over with.’

And, full of dread, I went into the house to face my father.



My father wasn’t smiling, as usual. His wrinkled eyes met mine as I sat at the table, waiting for mum to dish up the pasta and the vegetables that were salvageable. I knew that he knew something just from the steely gaze I received from his hazel eyes. I began to wonder if those eyes had ever held any warmth in them, and if he had ever given anyone a loving glance in his life. We sat in silence as mother placed the plates before us, and instinctively I resisted the urge to grab my knife and fork and shovel the food down, purely because I wanted to know what my father had to say.

It was a painful moment hung in the air before they started to pray, with me muttering the words inaudibly to make it seem as if I was accepting the religion. I wasn’t, though. The torture of their droning voices was short-lived, though, and soon enough I was eating the soft mush that was the over-cooked pasta. It had a disgusting texture, but it was food and I was hungry, which is always the perfect combination. I distracted myself from the food to listen to the conversation between my parents.

‘The school called me earlier,’ my father said, his tone rising slightly towards the end of his sentence. ‘They wanted to discuss Lovisa’s behavior this year.’

‘Really?’ mother seemed surprised. ‘Has it improved?’

‘Not exactly. Sister Jones’ exact words were “she is an ignorant, selfish child and doesn’t understand the simple terms of Christianity and when she is being punished.” To be honest with you, I’m not surprised.’ I realised he was speaking as if I wasn’t there. ‘She’s always been a trouble.’

‘She hasn’t always,’ mum seemed to have begun to defend me, but then it took a turn for the worst. ‘It was after Rosa had met her she started to be an ignorant atheist. She doesn’t understand the pleasures religion can offer.’

That was the last straw for me. 

I stood up, fuming with anger, and slammed my knife and fork on the table, startling them both.

‘No.’

Dad looked at me confusedly, so I repeated myself. ‘No.’

‘What do you mean, no?’ he asked me, his steely eyes darkening.

‘I mean I haven’t started this since I met Rosa. I’ve always, always hated your stupid religion. It’s ridiculous. Praising a supposed being that none of you have seen or spoken to in your lives. It’s all rubbish, every single little part of it, including both of you!’

Mother started to speak, but I interrupted her.

‘No. Don’t try to convince me that confessing my sins will stop this, that God will still accept me if I accept that he’s real, because he’s not. He never was, and never will be.’

With that, I pushed my chair backwards, and walked away. I ignored the scraping of the other two chairs, the hurried footsteps that came towards me. My heart was pumping in my chest, making my ears ring. As I heard them both near me, I turned around. I couldn’t focus on their faces for a second, instead staring at the metallic name tag on dad’s chest that read ‘Howard Jiae’. It was scratched and dirty, unlike the gleam of my mother’s. Hers read ‘Lynne, Head of Finance’, which was her new job.

‘Get away from me,’ I started calmly, moving my gaze up to meet theirs. ‘And stay away from me. By tomorrow, Lucky and I will be gone. My things will have gone, my room almost empty, and you can rent the room out to students and earn some extra money. If you can accept one tiny little thing about me, let it be that I’m leaving tonight, and hopefully never returning.’

Their faces were stunned, and even my father was speechless. A trick of the eye may have taught me that a single tear had formed in the corner of my mum’s eye, but I shook the thought away.  She would never be capable of that much affection, I told myself as I turned away from them and walked into my bedroom, closing the door behind me. It was five minutes before I heard them shuffle away.



I sat on my bed, sighing, hands shaking. I always shake after and during an argument, but there was never a rational explanation for it. The phone clasped between my palms was covered in sweat, and I took in a deep, ragged breath and let out the anger and emotions held within me in one single flow of tears. I punched the pillow behind me, letting out short burst of air before lobbing the phone across the room and burying my head in my hands. What have I done? I thought desperately. I can’t go back on it now, not when I spoke to them like that. They would never forgive me. Why have I done that, I’ve ruined everything. My whole childhood. I should be happy that I’m leaving, and that I’ll never see those horrible people again. They’ve forced me into a whole world when I was unwilling; Christianity was never something I wanted to participate in. I’ve had so many nightmares and scares in this bed that have been unanswered. So why don’t I want to leave? I know the answer, but I just don’t want to believe it. I won’t believe it. I won’t, I won’t I won’t. Not now, not ever. These thoughts need to get out of my head. It’s decided; I’m leaving, and I’m never coming back.



My thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the vibrating of my phone, slightly muted by the purple carpet. I didn’t feel like texting anyone, but when it vibrated for a second time, and then a third time, I stood up and knelt on the floor, looking for the annoying mass of technology. After several more buzzes, I groped under my shelves and clasped the vibrating object, and looked at the screen. Tania’s name and contact picture was flashing, signaling that she was calling. Just as I was about to press the ‘accept’ button, the screen went black, then it flashed up again. She never can leave me alone for two minutes, I thought with a smile, despite my mood. It was Tania’s kind, caring and accepting nature that made her so likeable. I answered the call, attempting to brighten up my voice slightly.

‘Hey, Tan.’

‘Don’t “Hey, Tan” me. You’ve been ignoring your texts and calls. What’s wrong?’ her voice was urgent and panicked, which was to be expected. I was never one to ignore my phone, and the only times I did was during the rare occasions I had been either ill or upset.

‘Nothing, I think. Apart from the fact that I had a massive argument with mum and dad…,’ I mumbled, faltering slightly when I felt a lump in my throat.

‘And what happened?’ she asked. ‘Come on, Lovisa, I’m not stupid. You have to tell me what happened.’

‘I told them that I was leaving.’

‘What?’

‘I told them that I was leaving with Lucky, and hopefully never coming back.’

‘I don’t believe you. Tell me you’re joking,’ I could tell that she was having difficulty coming to terms with what I was telling her. 

‘I would, but I can’t. I’m going to leave, because I can’t go back on it now. They’d hate me, just as much as I hate them,’ I took a deep breath. ‘They insulted Rosa, what else could I do?’

I heard her sigh; she was silent for a few seconds. ‘So what do you want me to do?’

‘I don’t want you to do anything. I would like for you to try and see if I could stay with you for a few days, until I manage to sort everything out,’ I explained. ‘But only if you want to.’

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ she reassured me, and then the line went dead.



I told myself that I didn’t have any more time to reflect on what I had done. I needed to pack up, and quickly. I didn’t want to spend any more time than I had to in that house, especially after what I had done. Lucky had nestled herself on my pillow, so I set about opening my suitcase, a lot earlier than I had hoped.



It didn’t take me long to shove my many pairs of jeans, skirts and shirts into the case, along with my necessary toiletries and makeup. I decided against taking my hair straighteners, because I knew Tania had some that were probably much better than my own. I suddenly realized how petty I sounded; I was actually taking my time to contemplate whether I should take my hair products with me. I shook my head and turned my attention to how I was going to go about taking Lucky and her belongings with me, finally agreeing with myself that the Browns will probably have a spare cat bed, so I just packed her spare collar and bowls. At the sound of the bell on her spare collar, Lucky lifted her head, giving me a confused look as she mewed softly. I found myself talking to her.



‘I know, girl. It won’t be long, then we’ll be out of here,’ I muttered, scratching behind her ears. At that moment, my phone buzzed again, reminding me of the charger plugged into the wall beside my bed. The bed that I hadn’t even gotten to sleep in. The bed in which I had cried myself to sleep in for so many nights, the same bed that had been there during my first sleep over with Tania. It held so many memories, just the same as the rest of my room. Before I started tearing up, I grabbed the charger and answered the phone as I thrust it in my bag, because I couldn’t be bothered to open my suitcase again.



‘Hey, Tan,’ I answered the phone, not even bothering to look at the caller ID.

‘Hi, Lovisa,’ a male voice greeted me, surprising me for a second, before I realized it was Luca. ‘Tania’s on her way.’

‘Oh, okay,’ I sighed, hoping that she was going to be quick. ‘How long ago did she leave?’

‘Just now, but she told me to call you because she’s running, I think she knows how much you want to get out of there.’

‘Thanks, Luca,’ I thanked him, and wandered over to the window, opening it. ‘How’s your first evening back been?’

‘Not too interesting. I’ve been learning how to play guitar,’ his voice was layered with pride. He’d wanted to start learning for a while. ‘I’m not going to ask you about yours, it seems quite self explanatory. Although we have some pizza waiting for you here, so you might want to be quick!’

‘That sounds good. Make sure you save me a slice,’ I laughed. Then, I heard the sound of footsteps on the gravel and the distinct panting that belonged to Tania. She appeared at my window a second later, her face flushed red and her wig slightly askew. ‘I’ve got to go, Luca. I’ll be there soon.’

I hung up and grabbed Tania’s arms, pulling her up and over the window sill. She stumbled to the bed, collapsing on it, much to the displeasure of Lucky. I chuckled, before heaving Lucky’s carrier onto the bed and opened it. She mewed in protest when I picked her up and put her in it, but other than that, she didn’t put up much of a fight.



Tania stood up, smoothing her shirt down before grabbing the handle of my case. I was tempted to help her, but she didn’t like people thinking that she was weak just because of her cancer. On the contrary, she was the strongest person I knew. She lifted it and threw it over the window sill, beckoning for me to follow her. I hesitated, and then shook my head.



‘I’m going to leave them a note,’ was all I said to her, and she nodded.



I walked over to my desk, and pulled out my note pad and a black pen. Leaning over, I stared at the page, willing for some words to form in my head instead of the tears that were beginning to form in my eyes.



Mum and Dad.

I’m sorry it had to go like that. I’d always pictured my leaving to be much less hostile and aggressive. But the way you insulted Rosa like that, the way you always insult her, even when you know she was the only person I actually liked in our twisted, messed up family. I can’t stand that anymore.

I just feel like I don’t belong here. I don’t care if you suss out where I’m going; I know you’re not going to bother to come and find me. You must be smart enough to know that I don’t want to be here anymore.

I’m sorry nothing worked out the way you wanted.

Give my love to Jamie, although I’ll probably visit him soon.

Goodbye.



The mentioning of my brother towards the end of the letter started a new wave of tears that I sniffed back, folding the note and leaving it on the pillow. It wasn’t my pillow anymore, it was theirs. I was struggling to accept that, so I turned away so that I didn’t have to think about it. I passed the carrier to Tania, and clambered out of the window. She pulled the window closed, sighing and adjusting her wig slightly.



Muttering a final goodbye to my childhood, I walked away slowly, alongside my best friend. She rested a comforting hand on my shoulder, and I sighed. It was all over. I had a new life ahead of me, with Tania and Luca and who knows what else.