Okay guys, here's me doing my bit for the world of literature, for better or for worse! Elise, a confused, love struck typical teen has plenty to deal with when her world has been turned upside down, inside out and round in circles. Will she be abel to pull through at the end? Or will it all fall helplessly through? If it does, how will she be left?
8. Back at home
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“Elise? Elise?” There was a persistent rapping sound. At my bedroom door. How did I get here? Would it be Marcus back? No, he wouldn’t knock. And he didn’t sound like that. This voice was too raspy. It didn’t sound like silk. It wasn’t smooth enough.
“Elise?!” The voice was sounding more panicked now, more urgent than before.
“Dad?” I croaked out.
“Err… Yeah. It’s me. Phillip. Can I come in?”
“Sure.” I replied. This small, trivial conversation was draining everything out of me already. He peaked out from behind the door, a sheepish smile on his face.
“You want me to do breakfast?”
I was surprised. Even after my hospital visit (which I found out was because apparently I’d had ‘a hard knock to the head’. Honestly, I wasn’t three.) I didn’t expect him to make breakfast. Since I had been here, Phillip had never offered to do breakfast. He musty have read the expression on my face.
“I know, I’m not much of a cook, but I can try.” He was squirming, obviously feeling uncomfortable but I was too stunned to speak. So he started babbling. “And I’ll try not to give you food poisoning.”
“Err… thanks. I’ll come and help though.” His face fell, and instantly I felt bad. “Unless you want to try and do it yourself? I am feeling really tired so I could stay here.” His smile returned, less sheepish than before. He turned and bounced down the stairs calling:
“It’s okay Honey, I’ll do it!” I sighed, falling back on my bed. Everything seemed a
huge effort. That tiny conversation had drained my energy. Nevertheless, I pulled
myself up, pulled on some clothes and trudged downstairs. I walked into the kitchen to the smells of burnt beans, burnt bacon and burnt toast. I smiled, these where the smells I remembered from my childhood. Dad always done the cooking-mum would be at work.
“Thanks Phillip.” I smiled as I sat down at the table, my plate in front of me, steaming. As the smell wafted up my nose, my mouth moist, I realised how hungry I was. I gulped it down, the beans scalding my throat, warming my raw stomach. Once my plate was empty, I sat back, feeling almost Human again. But only almost. I still had that hole, the empty part of me no-one but he could fill. Absentmindedly I collected Phillip’s plate, put it in the sink, turning on the taps before reaching for Phillips mug, dumping that in the sink as well.
“Are you feeling all right Elise?” I continued to wash in the scalding water.
“Yes, I’m fine.” I didn’t sound fine. I sounded sour, I sounded dead.
“Yeah, just a bit tired.” I didn’t mean to seem so dismissive towards Phillip, I just didn’t have the energy. The hole was eating me.
“It’s just that my mug was full, and you put it in the sink. And my breakfast was hardly touched.”
Ah. I hadn’t noticed. I shook my head, trying to arouse myself.
“Sorry. I’ll make you some more.”
“It’s okay. You go get ready for school. I’ll do it.”
“Thanks Dad.” I muttered, as I heaved my heavy bones and unwilling self up the stairs.
- Happy Hippy
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