‹TWO›

‹Part 1›

It's 7:30 am. I should be up and getting ready. But no, today I really cannot get up from this sofa.

With my head resting against a flat pillow covering one armrest of the three-seater couch, and my legs crossed over the armrest on the other side, I outstretch my arms and tense my leg muscles, releasing a long yawn. Ever since last weeks encounter with Jake at the hospital, I haven't been bothered to do anything. Every single day – including the weekends – I've had to drag myself out of bed at around this time and go to the hospital with Becca.

I glance at the clock again - 7:35 am.

I swear it was only 7:30 am three seconds ago.

Rebecca will be here any minute now, expecting me to fully dressed and fed. She hates being late, and the first day I opted to go along with her to the hospital for my work experience, she was fuming because I made her 5 minutes behind schedule.

She's a workaholic, who also happens to like toy boys.

The images of Jake and Becca flirting resurface in my mind, and it takes everything within me not to throw up on my mother's fancy rug. Careful to keep my lips sealed shut, just in case I do actually vomit, I push myself upwards to sit upright on the sofa.

"Ah," I wince once the shooting pain bursts on every inch of my back. My hand instantly moves to massage the small of my back, where the pain is more prominent.

Sleeping on a sofa for the past three weeks (ever since I arrived here) has not been good for my back. And every day when I wake up, I sense the pain seems to be getting worse and more unendurable.

You would think I'd have my old bedroom back, the one I used to inhabit when I lived here two years ago. However, since my parents' divorce, a lot of things have changed. Seeing as it was my mother who broke the family apart, I decided to part with my father and go to live with him in Australia. And now that my mother is remarried with a child on the way, my old bedroom has been converted to a nursery.

Of course my parents' divorce was not the only reason I decided to pack my bags and disappear, my reasons are much more in depth than that. However it was a major factor, I'll admit that.

Yet, even when my mother found out that I'll be returning to this town to finish my last year of 6th form*, she didn't seem too happy about it. I don't think she's fully forgiven me for what I did two years ago - the moving away part, on top of sharing her little secret with my father, which resulted in their divorce.

So, I don't think she could care less about the state of my back.

I guess I don't blame her though, I wouldn't be too happy with me either.

            Taking a deep breath and prying my tired eyes wide open to wake them up; I push the blanket from the lower part of my body  and stand up from the sofa. As soon as I step into the hallway, the smell of burnt toast intoxicates the air and suffocates my airway.

After choking and struggling to breath in, I cover my mouth and nose with my hand, pacing through the hallway and towards the kitchen.

            Pushing the door open, I see my mother busily preparing breakfast at the countertop. A red and white striped apron drapes over her six month pregnant stomach, and she's carefully spreading butter over some toast.

            "You know, I don't think burnt toast is too good for your health." I state, walking further into the heart of the kitchen.

            "This isn't the burnt toast, I threw the burnt ones away." She replies. "You want some?"

            "Nah thanks." I respond, keeping my voice steady.

I try not to look too bothered that she's forgotten about my condition. "I'm gluten intolerant." I add quietly, loud enough for her to hear though. I head towards the fridge and open its door to reveal the variety of foods available to eat.

            That's all right; she hasn't seen you for two years, so of course she'll forget.

            But she's also your mum.

            I hear her place the butter knife on the plate piled with pieces of wholegrain bread. Then, she twists her body in my direction. I continue to search through the fridge and reach for a lovely-looking red apple. Closing the fridge door with my foot, I turn back around to face my mother.

            "That's why you never eat with us at dinner." She recalls back to the several weeks I've had to live here, and realize my true reasonings for always skipping dinner.

            "What, did you think I was starving myself?" I ask, biting into my apple.

            My question came off a little rougher than I intended.

            "No, I just...I just forgot, I guess." She says, her eyes distant and staring out of the kitchen window above the sink, behind me. Her right hand is rubbing in a circular motion around her round stomach, which looks a little like a beach ball.

            "Oh, okay, cool." I nod, as if I really don't mind about the fact that she doesn't care to remember that if I eat anything with gluten in it, I will probably be in severe pain for several days.

            "I didn't mean it like that," she tries to defend herself, but I honestly don't give a shit.

            Yes, you do give a shit.

            "Yeah, don't worry, I know." I lie, forcing a fake smile onto my lips. I take a second bite from my apple, making a crunching noise as I chew on the pieces.

            My oh-so-lovely mother turns back to her butter spreading, obviously unsure of how to carry on the conversation with her own daughter.

            "Right then," I murmur, too low for her to hear.

            I pace out of the awkwardness that overwhelms the kitchen, and head back into the living room. Once I step into the room, and I can actually breathe properly again, I head over to my suitcase that has been squished up in the far corner.

            Since I agreed with my dad that I would stay here until my final year finishes, I brought most of my belongings back with me. However, when I was informed that I could no longer have my own room - unless I'm small enough to sleep inside a cot bed - most of my possessions got transported to storage, located on the other side of town.

            So for now, I only have this suitcase, filled with a few outfits, toiletries, and other necessities. Grabbing a pair of black skinny jeans, white converses and a baggy grey t-shirt, I climb upstairs to the bathroom with my toiletry bag and unwillingly get ready for the day ahead.

            ‹Part 2›

It's Becca's old car; a vintage Volkswagen, which takes ten minutes to start up, and makes monstrous noises as I press on the gas. Driving at fifty miles per hour on a main road a few blocks away from mum's house, I try and ignore the irritated passersby and fellow drivers who are as affected as I am by the dreadful noise that this piece of crap is making.

However, with the money that I had, it was the best thing I could afford. I refused to take any cash from my father when he offered, and left Australia as a broke, with just enough money to buy this from Becca, and some food from duty free.

             Thankfully, I managed to leave the house quickly, avoiding Becca who usually comes to pick me up and take me to the hospital. Like I said this morning, today I really cannot be bothered.

            Instead, I'm going some place much more beneficial for me.

            Glancing down at the phone within my lap, which is instructing me on directions, I take a swift left, causing someone to honk their horn at me. I stick my hand out the window as to apologise; yet I'm more interested in finding where the hell this place is.

            "You have reached your destination," sounds the patronizing and cringe-worthy female voice from the speakers on my phone.

            "And where the hell is this destination?" I ask the voice; she obviously doesn't reply.

            I look left and right at the buildings either side of me until I see the big blue sign growing from the pavement a few yards up the road. Each of the letters printed on the turquoise-coloured background prominently shine in this summer morning sunshine.

            Colston Counseling and Therapy Centre.

Switching on my indication lights, I steer my car right into the driveway that winds its way into a car lot. Ahead of the car park is a modern cream-coloured building with large tinted windows and solar panels on its roof. The car lot itself is not very big, and can only fit around fifteen vehicles. Large expensive cars already take up ten spaces, so I search for a suitable slot for this piece of junk.

Finding a space near the entrance of the building, I park my car in-between two others and I turn the keys in the ignition, resultantly making the car scream to its death – quite literally.

            Taking a deep breath, I pull the keys out of the ignition and squeeze them in my palms. Looking ahead at the building before me, I take a chance to clear my head.

            Just talk, that's all you need to do. She's a complete stranger, so you can tell her about everything.

            I don't know why, but I'm nervous.

            Suddenly, vibrations on my legs make me jump in my seat, unnerving me even more. My eyes dart down to my lap, in which nestles my vibrating phone. The caller ID reads Becca.

            Deciding to ignore the call, I glance at the time on the display above the caller ID. 8:18 am.

            Let's go, Flo.

            Climbing out of the car and locking it after myself, I pace towards the building that holds the same blindingly bright sign before its automated sliding doors. Inside, everything is so God damn vivid. The walls are white, the titled flooring is white, the one seater couches are white, and even the reception desk is white.

            It all looks so clean that I'm too afraid my converses have dragged in some unwanted mud with them, and destroyed the creepy cleanliness.

Bowing my head at my shoes to see whether they are actually leaving dirty marks of my footprints where they step, I don't realise until I actually crash into another person, that I've made it to the reception desk.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I look up, instantly stepping backwards to give the stranger some of his personal space back.

 "That's alright," he smiles.

Hold on, I don't think he's that much of a stranger. He has those light brown eyes, the perfectly curved nose, plump lips, defined cheekbones and typically blond hair. In fact, he's an exact replica of my old best friend, only the male version and a little bit older.

Not yet making the connection that only took me a few seconds to make, this familiar boy eyes me curiously. His eyes narrow in concentration as he studies me further. As more moments pass, that sweet smile on his lips starts to cease slowly the more he delves into my eyes. There you go, he's realised.

"Do I know you?" He questions.

Am I that different? I know I've taken out all my piercings, and my hair is back to its natural brown colour, unlike the burgundy that it used to be, but surely I don't look that different.

You've lost weight, too - and not in a good way.

            "Nope," I blatantly lie, popping my 'p'. "Don't think so." I say, giving the blonde haired boy named Aiden - who I used to see most probably, everyday, two years ago - a small smile, before dodging around his body and facing the receptionist.

            "Hello, I'm here to see Dr. Seymour."

            I sense Aiden walking away from behind me, and make his way to the white couches to my right. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him taking a seat.

            "Name, please," she grins up at me through her rectangular glasses, her teeth awfully white for a woman in her early fifties.

            Great, now Aiden's definitely going to know that it really is me.

            "Florence Brine," I try to say in the quietest tone possible, making sure it's loud enough for the receptionist to hear, but conscious of Aiden's presence a few meters away.

            She types away my information into the computer and concentrates on the screen.

            "Your appointment is in a few minutes, please take a seat over there and the doctor will call you when she's ready." She explains, all the while showing of her (definitely bleached) pearly teeth.

            I nod, understandingly. "Thank you."

            Now dreading the walk to the white semi-circle of sofas, I try to look anywhere but at Aiden. Yet, I can feel his eyes on me, burning through the skin on my face. Taking the furthest seat from him, I turn to my phone in hand, and unlock it, busying myself by 'checking' my already read messages. I need to do anything that doesn't require interaction with this boy.

            Aiden Blakeman – brother of Georgia Blakeman, my ex-best friend, whose last words to me were: 'I hope you rot in hell'.

            "Flo," he says.

            Crap, I say, but in my head instead of aloud.

            I peak up at him.

            "Yup," there goes the popping 'p'.

            I look back down at my phone within my hand, pretending to look very interested in a text from my carrier company, telling me about the contract offers available this summer.

            "Don't act like you don't know who I am," He says sternly.

            My eyes reluctantly meet his again, and I give in.

            "Hey Aiden, I hope you're well, how's your sister, I hope she's well too," I speak sarcastically, staring him straight in the eyes.

            "Yeah, you definitely are Flo." He reassures himself.

            "What gave it away? My bitchy personality?" I ask, an element of sharpness in my tone.

            He nods, "yeah, the bitchy personality definitely." He says, smirking.

            "Ah, thought so," I fake smile at him, and refocus my attention on the phone clenched between my fingers.

            "What are you doing back in town?"

            "I missed this place too much, the judgmental people, the annoying girls, the man-whore boys, you know." I respond, not bothering to look at him as the words ooze from my tongue.

            "Yeah, I get you," he chuckles.

            I try not to smile, but the stretching of my lips upwards is unavoidable.

            "What are you doing in therapy?" He questions after a moments silence.

            "Is that really your business?" I retort, tilting my head at him.

            "No, I guess not." He shrugs.

            "Precisely," I nod, and my eyes follow a figure rounding a corner and approaching us from behind Aiden. He's a doctor, I'm guessing.

            "Aiden?" He calls, glancing from myself to Aiden.

            "Coming Doc," Aiden states, standing up. As a result of the casual greeting between the two, I'm assuming this isn't the first time Aiden has come to have therapy here.

            What is he doing in therapy?

            The doctor turns on his heels, and heads back in the direction he walked out from, meanwhile Aiden walks over to me.

            He stands only a few inches from my seat, his long frame towering over me. I'm not that short, my height standing at 5'6, but being sat down compared to a respectively 6'1 guy isn't great. Without warning, Aiden pulls my phone from my own grip, and I fail at my attempt to snatch it back.

            "Hey! Give that back!" I hiss at him, trying not to raise my voice too loud. I attempt to reach up and grab it again, but he dodges my hand.

            "Florence Brine?" Calls a feminine voice, but I can't see her face as Aiden is blocking my view.

            Allowing me room to stand up, Aiden steps back a little, still typing away at my phone.

            "Yes," I say, finally setting my eyes on Dr. Seymour.

            She's a middle-aged woman with dark circles under her eyes and a sweet smile shaping her lips. She's wearing a green and brown-checkered shirt, tucked into a waste high shirt that ends just above her kneecaps. She looks like a very typical therapist.

            "If you'd like to follow me," she gestures to the windowed corridor behind her.

            "Yes," I smile, turning back to Aiden.

            He's now finished with my phone, and hands it back to me willingly, a smirk rearranging his lips.

            "I'll text you later." He speaks, digging his hands in his pockets and heading down the corridor that his doctor walked down only a few minutes ago.

            I check my phone, and there on the screen, at the top of my callers list, is Aiden's number. The idiot even miss-called himself, so now he has my number on his phone. Taking a deep breath to calm my annoyance, I pull my lips into the best smile I have, and follow Dr. Seymour to her office.

            ‹Part 3›

            "Are you angry at your mother?" She asks, her fingers intertwined together, nestled within her lap. Her gaze on me is intense as I shake my head.

            "No,"

            It's been over forty-five minutes already in this medium-cream coloured room, and all we've managed to talk about is my work experience, and how much it sucks. Plus, since I mentioned my mother and I's bleak conversation this morning, Dr. Seymour has been pushing on the topic more than I feel comfortable with.

            "Would you like her to show more affection towards you?"

            I shake my head again, "No,"

            "What is it that you want from her?"

            I shrug; I came here to get better, but it seems like this is only making me more irritated.

            "Go on, mention something off the tip of your tongue that you would want from your mum." The doctor urges me to continue in this conversation.

            After a moments silence, I reply "for her to be normal to me."

            "For her to be more of a mother figure?"

            For the third time, I shake my head. "No, I don't care about the motherly thing, I just want her to be normal."

            "Expand on what you mean by 'normal'?" Dr. Seymour's says, and I resist with all the will inside of me the urge to roll my eyes.

            "To act like a normal person around me, and not make things so awkward every time I speak to her." For a few seconds too long, Dr. Seymour studies my eyes for emotion, however when she realises that my eyes show nothing but boredom, she glances down at the thin brown watch wrapped around her wrist.

            "Right, Florence, I'm-"

            "Flo, please call me Flo." I cut her off, making her eyes dart up to meet mine.

            "Yes of course, Flo." She corrects herself, examining my eyes once again - she's sneakily searching for something, I can tell by her curious expression. "It was lovely meeting you today, and I expect you'll be visiting again next week?"

            Clearing my throat and standing up from my seat, I nod. "Yeah," not allowing the doubt to shine through my voice, I don't think I'll ever set foot in this shithole again.

            I thought this was therapy, you know, a way to get rid of all your worries and problems. This session has only added to list of things that really, really annoy me in life.

            "Okay, great!" Dr. Seymour smiles, a little too happy. The 40-ish year old women also stands from her one-seater arm chair, placing the notepad that was previously on her lap down onto the oak coffee table in-between us.

            "Uh, how do I pay for this? Shall I go to reception?" I inquire, rounding the coffee table and leading the way to the exit door.

            In response, the doctor opens her mouth, only to hesitate for a moment and then seal her lips closed again. I wait for her to reply with an answer, but instead she says something completely unexpected.

            "Don't worry about the payment for now, darling. You have a nice day." She smiles widely, opening and holding the door for me.

            Confused, I frown, causing my eyebrows to crease.

            "On the website, it said-"

            "I don't charge anything for my first session." She explains further, softening my curiosity. "And Flo, try having a lighthearted conversation with your mother tonight. Ask her how her day was, or something." She finishes as I step out of her office and into the sunlit corridor.

            Forcing a small smile and nodding my head, I reassure her that I will.

            But we all know that I won't.

            After her door closes, I make my way back to the reception area to get as far away from her office as possible.

            At least you saved £30, not bad eh?

            Giving a polite head bob to the receptionist, I head out of the main entrance and head towards my battered car. Digging into my jeans pocket, I retrieve the keys, and round the car to the drivers seat.

            "Hey!" Someone calls from behind me. Since there is car parked next to mine, blocking whoever is calling out, I have to stand on my tiptoes to see who it is. "Hey Flo!"

            Well that's just great.

            "Why are you still here?" I shout back to Aiden, who is making his way towards me from the other end of the parking lot. With a click of his remote car key, a sporty BMW flashes its headlights twice, indicating that it's been securely locked.

             This town is half populated with rich families, and the Blakeman's happen to be one of the richest, along with the Parker's, the Banks' and the Lloyds' – all of whom were my old best friends. That's another reason why I hate this town; it's overruled by the higher class.

            But I can't talk, because I used to be a part of those wealthy families; until my household broke apart.

            When he's close enough to talk normally, and not have to shout over the roaring of cars on the main road outside this car park, he stops in his tracks.

            "Need a ride?" He asks, a grin playing on his lips.

            "I'm good thanks," I reply, reaching for the handle of my driver's door.

            "No, wait!" He stops me from opening my door, and makes me turn my head to face him.

            "What?"

            "Why in such a hurry?" He asks.

            "Why so annoying?" I respond.

            "I wanted to ask you something." He admits, ignoring my rude comment, and I wait with blank face for him to continue.

            But he doesn't speak.

            "What?" I urge, shaking my head at him in frustration.

            "Well, there's this party tonight, and I was-"

            "No, thank you." I answer before he can even finish his sentence, and this time no matter how many times he pleads for me to wait; I open my car door and sit comfortably inside. When I reach for the handle to close to door behind me, he quickly reaches for the doors edge and holds it open.

            To look me straight in the eye, he bends his tall figure until his face is directly in front of mine.

            "You don't have to run away, you know. Georgia's not in town." He says, and I laugh humorlessly.

            "I'm not running away from her, if that's what you mean."

            "Then why in such a hurry?" He questions once again.

            Placing both my hands on the steering wheel of this piece of junk of a car, and squeezing the material between my fingers, I sigh. "Because I have places to go, and people to see, so if you'll excuse me."

            "There's a party tonight, you should come," He says straight after I speak. "With me." He adds, his eyes hopeful.

            Turning away from him, I glance ahead at the building I've just exited. The entrance doors open to allow a middle-aged man to exit as well.

            "Like I said the first time, no thank you."

            I feel like I'm repeating myself.

            "You love parties!" He argues, and he's right, but he also sounds like a little kid begging his mum for sweets.

            "You sound like you're twelve." I input my thoughts aloud.

            "And you're being a bitch," He huffs. "Look, I know you were always a bitch, but back then you were a nice bitch. Now you're just...vile." He tells me.

            Well, ouch.

            "Thanks, that's really good for my self-esteem." I reply sarcastically, sharing the least amused facial expression with him.

            "You're the one saying that I'm annoying!" He defends himself.

            "Because it's true."

            "See, exactly what I mean...Vile." He pronounces each letter in the word 'vile' slowly.

            "Then why do you want to go to a party with me?" I point out, my eyes catching his in a stare.

            His shoulders jump up and fall back down in a shrug. "Flo, just come. It'll be fun."

            For a moment, I consider it. A party – I've always enjoyed parties; the loud music, the alcohol, the dancing bodies, the boys getting lucky and the sluts getting what they want. I don't know what it is about parties, but I do really enjoy them.

            Well, at least I think I still do. I haven't been to a proper party for almost two years. The last time I went to a house party was a few weeks before I caught a flight to Australia two year ago, and things went far too downhill, so I promised myself that I wouldn't go back to being that party girl anymore. I needed – need – to mature.

            That party girl version of myself made a huge mistake that I still need to pay for.

            "Whose party is it?" I say, focusing on the dark chocolate flecks within his eyes.

            Aiden's grin returns to his lips at the thought that I may go to this party after all. "Jake's, he has a party every time he wins a boxing match." He informs me, causing my heart to suddenly jolt within my chest without warning.

            Jake.

            "Jake, as in Jake Lloyd?" I double check.

            "Yep, I swear you two had a thing in Year 11*?"

            "No, we didn't."

            Yes, we kind of did.

            "Have you spoken to him, or any of your other friends recently?"

            Friends? I don't think they would like to be associated as my 'friends' anymore.

            "Uh, no." I say, partially lying – I did in fact have quite an unfortunate conversation with Jake at the hospital, only a week ago. Busying myself, I drag the seatbelt across my chest and plug it in on the other side of the seat. "Now go away, I really need to go." I fib, I'll probably spend the rest of the day eating and sleeping.

            "Wait, are you coming then, or what?" Aiden asks for the hundredth time. Although he's older than me by two years, him maturity level is way lower than mine.

            I twist my head from left to right, stretching my tensed neck.

            "Maybe, I don't know,"

            "You know you want to," Aiden smirks at me, and I really cant help but return the grin.

            Closing my eyes, I nod.

            "Fine," I my eyelids flutter open. "What time?"

            And just when you don't think someone can smile any wider, Aiden does. "I'll pick you up at nine thirty." His voice is joyful.

             "Uh, no. I'm gonna drive."

            "You don't know the way, Jake has his own place now."

            How the hell can Jake afford his own place? His family is minted, but I've known his dad for years; he wouldn't have given Jake that sort of money.

            "Fine, you can be my navigator, but I'm still gonna drive." I declare, injecting the car keys into the ignition, and twisting them. The car chokes awake.

            Aiden looks horrified as the car makes more unhealthy noises.

            "Um, I don't think you should be driving this thing..." He peaks around the interior of the old Volkswagen.

            "Yes, mum." I retort, and he rolls his eyes.

            "Where do you live now, anyway?" He inquires after several moments of listening to the grisly sounds coming from the engine.

            "Same house as before,"

            "Cool." He nods, "I'll see you then." He gives me one last enthusiastic smile, which I return (only, my smile is evidently much weaker than his).

            Finally, he straightens his back and moves away from the driver's door. Gently, he closes is it on me, and since the driver's window is stuck halfway winded up and won't budge, I hear him say 'goodbye', before tapping the side of the car, as if to send me off.

            I breathe a small laugh and reverse out of my parking space, speeding away from the parking lot. However, I can feel Aiden's eyes rest on the back of my head as I disappear onto the main road.  

◊◊◊◊

Hi there, Indie here,

Thank you so much for reading, please comment below if you liked it/hated it, ways I can improve and so on.

*6th Form - In the UK,  students do two years of higher education (either studying an A-level course, or an IB course) before university. Students in 6th form are usually between the ages of 16-18. 

*Year 11 - The very last year of secondary school in the UK. This is the final year of the GCSE course that all students in the UK must take. Students in year 11 are usually 16 years old.

I just wanted to address the way I've split the chapters into three halves. Since I'm new to this whole writing thing (because MPAI was my very first book that I've almost completed), I've been experimenting with different writing techniques. I found that if I split my chapter in three parts, I was able to complete the chapter more efficiently. I just feel like I know exactly where I'm going during the chapter, which then makes it easier to write.

So yeah, bear with me, because this is still a learning process for me.

And since Jake isn't heavily involved in this chapter, do not worry, he'll make another appearance soon! 

Have a lovely day!

Stay beautiful,

Indie xoxo