The sleeping tablets must have knocked me out good because when I wake up and look at my alarm clock, it’s almost ten a.m. I don’t remember the drive home from the funeral or going to bed. I look down to check what I’m wearing. Mum must have put my pyjamas on me. I don’t even care that she undressed me and saw me semi-naked. My glass jewellery box is on the floor, broken. I get a vague memory of waking up in the night. Maybe I’ve started sleepwalking again. I feel sick and hungry at the same time and my mouth is so dry that my lips are cracked. I get out of bed and slowly walk downstairs. Mum’s left a note on the fridge saying she’s had to go back to work but she’ll come home at lunch time to check on me. Now that she works in an office she has to work longer hours and her boss is a right bitch. I’m glad to be alone though. It gives me breathing space. I feel so much better for the sleep I got after taking those sleeping tablets that I decide to look for the bottle.
I find it in one of the kitchen drawers. There are quite a few left so I’ll take those back to my bedroom after I’ve eaten. I sit at the dining table and try to decide what to do next. The table is made up like normal; with our two red place mats, knives and forks laid out and a bunch of droopy dying carnations in the centre of the table. I know how the flowers feel. How can things continue like normal? I need to eat. I open all the kitchen cupboards to try to find something I want. But I can’t decide. Eventually I make myself some toast but that doesn’t satisfy me so I take eggs, bacon and sausages out of the fridge. I attempt to make a fry up, but the sausages look a bit dodgy. I don’t care. I eat all of it, as fast as I can, before I change my mind. After that I feel a bit sick but still hungry. I look in the freezer. There’s half a tub of triple chocolate ice-cream in there. Perfect. I take it upstairs to my room with a spoon, the sleeping tablets and a two-litre bottle of full-fat coke.
I used to love eating ice cream in bed when I was younger. It was an occasional treat for mum to allow it. She’d get in bed with me and we’d watch cartoons on my TV. I hate thinking about how I used to be, so I push that thought out of my head. I manage to finish off the tub. I feel really sick now but I can’t stop. I wash it all down with the warm coke, straight from the bottle. It only takes about five minutes before it all comes up again, on my duvet. It looks disgusting and my mouth tastes rancid. Why did I do that? I bundle up my duvet and throw it into the corner of my room. Then I take two sleeping tablets and swallow them dry. I hide the rest of the bottle under my bed, lie down and, without my duvet, put my dressing gown over the top of me so that only my feet are exposed. It blocks out the daylight.
I’m crying as I lay waiting for them to work. This is my life now. My stomach cramps up a bit but eventually I feel tired. The last thing I think of is Katie’s bedroom. I wonder how her mum and dad will redecorate it.
‘Hannah? Wake up love.’
Mum’s shaking my arm and it hurts. She’s really digging her bony fingers in. ‘What? I’m sleeping.’
‘Hannah, come on, let’s sit you up. You’ve been asleep for long enough.’
She opens my curtains and switches my radio on. For some reason, she turns the volume up really loud. ‘Mum, I need to sleep. I don’t feel well.’
‘Why’s your duvet on the floor? Are you hot?’
I should have put the duvet cover in the washing machine. ‘I was sick after breakfast.’
Mum looks shocked. ‘Why were you sick?’
‘How do I know?! I just want to sleep.’
‘Right, that’s it. Get your backside out of bed. I want you washed and dressed by the time I go back to work. You need to pull yourself together, Hannah! It’s not good for you to stay in bed all day. You need some fresh air.’
Jesus Christ, why can’t she just leave me alone? She’s let me get on with it until now. I suppose Katie’s death is a distant memory to her now that she’s been buried. She’s over it already, the evil bitch.
‘I’m not getting up.’
‘You either get yourself up or I’ll get your dad around here to get you up and then you can stay at his house where his lovely wife can watch you all day while I’m at work. It’s your choice.’
Well, there’s no way I’m going around their house so I suppose it would be easier to get up until mum leaves for work and then go back to bed after. I get off my bed and push passed her to the bathroom. I put the shower on but I’m not getting in it. I am going to brush my teeth though because my mouth still tastes disgusting. For the first time ever, my gums bleed while I brush. The last blood I saw was Katie’s. I stop thinking and turn the shower off. I can hear mum downstairs now so I shuffle into my room and get changed into some clothes I find on the floor. I’m sure I’ve worn these twice already but who cares. I brush my hair, tie it back and spray deodorant over my clothes to fool mum. As I walk down the stairs she looks annoyingly delighted.
‘That was a quick shower. But don’t you feel better now? Oh, why didn’t you wash your hair?’
I ignore her and walk into the living room. I melt into the sofa, switch the TV on and look at the screen without really seeing what’s on. Mum comes in.
‘Okay, I’ve got to go back to work. I need you to wash your duvet cover and clean the dishes you left out this morning. Then, why don’t you go for a walk? You can meet me at work at five if you like and I’ll drive us somewhere for dinner?’
‘Okay.’ Anything to get her out of here. Oh God, now she wants a kiss.
‘Things will get better love. It doesn’t feel like it now but they will. I’ll see you at five. Ring me if you need me.’
I do need her but I don’t want to need her. I have to figure this out for myself. I feel like I’m being dragged down into the ground by some kind of force that’s trying to make me suffer. I feel like I’m on the tip of something and that, depending on what I do next, I could go either way. But the problem is, I don’t feel in control of what I’ll do next.
After sitting and staring at the TV for God knows how long, something makes me want to check Facebook. I go up to my bedroom and switch on my laptop. I want to delete all the messages and friend invites I saw yesterday and close down my account. What’s the point of having it if Katie’s never going to email me or tag me in a photo? How can I ever use Facebook properly again? It’s not like I can update my status with ‘Trying hard not to kill myself today. Can’t stop seeing Katie’s blood seep from her head whilst the life in her eyes fades.’
No. I want to cut off all ties with who I was and start afresh. It occurs to me then that I don’t want to return to school to finish my GCSE’s. How can I? Everyone will stare at me and talk about me for the whole final year. School would never be the same as before. I’ll look for a job instead. It’s not like I can go to College or Uni without her, so I don’t need my GCSE’s. How can I do things she can’t do? I just know that every step of the way I would remember that Katie won’t get to do any of it because of me. I would get no enjoyment out of any of it. I’ll never get any enjoyment out of anything again I expect. Everyone in our year at school will always remember what happened and never let me forget it. I’d probably get tormented by the likes of Ashley White and Sarah Horton. They always hated us anyway so they’re probably loving the fact that they now get Patrick and Justin to themselves.
I wonder how Patrick is feeling and how long it will take him to forget Katie. He is a bit of an idiot but he definitely had feelings for her. Justin got stuck with me by default, but he was the more intelligent of the two anyway. He used to do my maths homework for me. But I never fancied him. He was too short. I bet I’ll never see any of them again. In a way that’s comforting but it’s also depressing. Their lives at school are going to go on as normal. They’ll start the new term in September with new bags and new haircuts, and after a while they won’t even notice the two empty seats at registration. I wonder if my teachers will stick up for me when they hear the likes of Ashley slagging me off. I wonder if my teachers will miss me. No, I definitely need to move away and change my name.
&
nbsp; For now, all I can do is start with closing down my Facebook account. My message count has gone up loads since the funeral yesterday. I bet everyone saw me by the graveside acting mental. People have been posting comments on my wall. Someone’s posted a video. I feel compelled to watch it. My fingers act before my brain stops them. They click ‘play’. Oh shit, it’s of me acting crazy. I can’t believe someone filmed me, that’s so sick! Is that really me? I look totally different to how I think I do. Worse, if that’s even possible. I quickly skim the comments underneath.
‘Guilty conscience?’
‘How come the only time they’re not together is the day one of them dies?’
‘Psycho!’
‘How many days before she commits suicide? Winner gets a Toblerone!’
‘This is hilarious!’
‘You lot are sick, leave her alone.’
I can’t believe I’m the subject of so much gossip. I check my messages but only so I can see if that person has emailed me again. His Facebook name was Jonny96. There are so many messages from people I don’t know. I click on a few from people I do know. There are some nice ones asking if I’m okay and whether I need company. I don’t reply, what’s the point? Hopefully I’ll never see any of them again. Then I see his username. My heart misses at least three beats and my stomach starts dancing. I really don’t want to open it but I have to.
‘I saw you push her and then watch her die.’
‘Shit!’
What can I do? Should I reply? No. I collapse back in my chair, numb. There’s a witness. Oh my God. I need to cancel my account. I start searching through the never-ending list of options. It takes me ages to figure out how to do it, especially as my hands are shaking and I’m going too fast. I click on all the wrong options and then have to wait forever to get back to where I need to go. Facebook wants to know why I’m leaving them. But, not surprisingly, my reason – because I’m being tormented – isn’t given in their list of options. I click on a random reason, just to get this over with. Finally, I’m deleted from Facebook, well unless I log back in within the next fourteen days, which I won’t. It’s such a relief to know that none of them can contact me again. Although, there’s still my Hotmail, Instagram and my phone. I log-in to Hotmail and Instagram and quickly skim the unopened messages. There’s none that I want to read so I cancel my accounts.
When I finish that, I shut down my laptop and pick up my mobile. Instead of turning it off, I start a text to Patrick. He’s the only person I know who can buy booze without getting I.D’d. He replies almost immediately and agrees to meet me outside Best Booze down the road in twenty minutes. I find a bag to put my phone, purse and sleeping tablets in. Then I raid mum’s spare handbag for money. I promised Katie I’d visit her every day. I don’t want to go there, not today. But I have to, so I need a drink first.
When I get to the shop I’m still ten minutes early. It’s so embarrassing standing outside an offy on my own. It’s obvious what I’m there for. Then, a bloke, who looks about nineteen, offers to buy me some cider. There’s no sign of Patrick so I agree. I give him a fiver. He comes out with two massive bottles of white lightening. As I go to take them from him he pulls them back.
‘Now, what do you say?’
‘Thanks.’
‘Don’t I get some?’
‘No, it was my money.’
‘But I know where we can drink without being disturbed.’
That’s quite tempting actually. I hadn’t thought about where I’d drink it. I don’t want to go home with it and I can’t sit in the park because it’ll be packed with kids. ‘Where?’
‘My mate’s flat. He’s on holiday so I’m house sitting for him.’
He doesn’t look dodgy. He’s dressed in Jack Wills and is actually quite nice looking. I’m sure I’ve seen him around before.
‘Is it far?’
‘No, it’s two streets down.’
So not far to walk home after. ‘Okay then.’
We walk silently towards his mate’s flat. The fact that he doesn’t speak makes me a bit nervous. I hope he doesn’t think I’m a prostitute. But he’s got my cider and I need to think about something other than what people are saying about me on Facebook. Part of me knows I shouldn’t be going home with a stranger, but the rest of me doesn’t care. If I get murdered it’ll be almost instant karma, plus it will solve all my problems. It’s certainly easier than suicide. Depending on how he does it that is. Shit, what if he keeps me tied up as a hostage for months? Or tries to sell me as a sex slave? Well I have no choice now as it looks like we’re here.
I slowly follow him in to the flat. It’s tidy, clean and nicely decorated, so he must be okay. It’s not a council flat or a drug barren. Although it’s a typical bachelor pad with games consoles and DVD’s everywhere. Then, out of nowhere comes a Jack Russell dog who jumps up at me. He’s so cute!
‘What’s your name?’
‘Hannah. What’s yours?’
‘Steve. That’s Barney. He’s the reason I have to house sit. He’s mental.’
Not as mental as me I bet. Steve pours us both pint glasses full of cider. I’ve had it loads before but have never liked the taste. I down the first glass quickly to get rid of it. From experience, I know it’ll kick in pretty soon, especially as I have an empty stomach.
‘So why do you want to get drunk on a Wednesday afternoon then?’
He sits next to me on the sofa. I pull my skirt down a bit, to try to hide my legs. ‘I’m having a bad day.’
‘That’s good enough reason for me. Cheers!’
‘Anyway, I’m on school holidays, what’s your excuse for being home?’
‘I’m on college holidays. But I need to start looking for work soon.’
He’s nice actually. He’s probably invited me round because he’s bored. ‘Not going to Uni?’
‘Nah, it’s a waste of money. I need my own place, like this, so I want to start earning some money. Anyway, do you have a boyfriend?’
I blush. I don’t know why. I think about Paul the surfer. ‘No.’
‘I’m surprised.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you’re well fit.’
My head starts spinning from the cider but not in a bad way. It’s starting to work. I relax back into the sofa and down the second pint as quick as I can, before I don’t want it anymore. Steve moves closer to me and puts his arm around my shoulders.
‘Can I have a kiss?’
Why not? I let him kiss me. It’s nice. But then he’s like an octopus and his hands are all over me. My eyelids are getting heavy and my eyes are taking ages to focus. He pulls me off the sofa and leads me to a bedroom. Oh God, I don’t want to be doing this. I just want to drink. I need to leave but my legs and arms are heavy and I’m slurring my words. I fall onto the bed he leads me to and the room spins over and over again. It won’t stop. I can’t focus on anything with my eyes and I can’t hear Steve near me for a while, so I assume he’s left the room. I feel like I’m going to spin off the bed. Then I can feel his weight get on top of me. I have no energy left to move and I can’t lift my arms to push him away. It feels so good to close my eyes.
I force myself out of my body. I try to think of something else. I wonder whether the person who says they saw me push Katie is telling the truth or not. Surely the police would have arrested me by now if there was a witness? I need to leave this flat. I drift away, over to Katie’s house. There’s Josh, sat at his computer. I wonder if I’ll see him again. What else can I think about? I tune in and out of reality a couple of times, until trying to leave my body stops working. My head’s spinning too much. I can feel my new constant companions on my face, warm and salty. This is what happens when you kill someone. It’s a different kind of justice. I don’t care what’s happening to me. I just need to sleep.
It feels like I’ve only just drifted off but already I’m being woken up by Steve.
‘I’ve got things to do so we better get you home.’
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sp; I try to sit up but my head is heavier than usual and wants to roll into my lap. He stands me up and pulls my skirt down, back to where it should be. That’s not a good sign. I try to hold back the tears which are burning behind my eyelids.
‘Come on, you can’t sleep here. Drink this.’
He hands me a pint glass of water this time and I drink a few sips. I need the loo really bad but I’m not quite sure whether I’m awake or not so I let him lead me to the front door. He puts my bag around my shoulders and locks up. Then I’m in a car.
‘I’ll drop you at that shop. Will you be able to get home from there?’
I nod yes but I’m still not sure what’s going on. I must be so drunk. When we get there, I get out the car and don’t look back. Without really knowing where I am or how to walk straight, I stagger home like one of those cats who subconsciously remembers where it lived before its owners moved them all hundreds of miles away. I fall into a bed.
The Girl Who Died: A Young Adult Novel Page 3
