Entangled Page 0,3

It meant smoking and drinking stupidly strong cider and doing things with inappropriate boys. And other stuff too.

A lot of memories in that park. Good and bad. (Mostly bad.) It seemed as good a place as any for my date with death. I’d decided on the den at the top of the climbing frame. I tried not to think about the possibility that some random kid might find my body. Hopefully it’ll be the park warden – the one that looks a bit like a paedophile. Urgh. He’d better not touch me. Even if I am too dead to care.

I wandered past the duck pond. It had been drained years ago. It looked sort of sad at not being able to fulfil its one purpose in life. Christ – already getting sentimental and I haven’t even started the serious drinking yet. Next thing you know I’ll be on about melancholy trees or despondent rubbish bins.

I went straight to the den, climbed up into it and sat down. The floor wasn’t too filthy, and I was glad. Not that it really mattered.

Took the knife out of my bag.

Stared at the blade and remembered.

Every detail of that night knifed my heart.

And every reason not to live twisted that knife – twisted it hard.

I opened the bottle and drank.

Drank some more.

Closed my eyes.

Took a deep breath.

I was ready.

Cut.

And then I heard something. A creaking, squeaking sound. Too loud. Shit. Someone’s out there.

I peeked out of the den’s window and saw him. On the swings. Back and forth, back and forth, going as high as he possibly could, just like I used to do.

Damn. Can’t very well do it now, can I? Got to make him go away. Leave me in peace. So I put the knife back in the bag, grabbed the bottle and clambered out of the den.

If only I’d just stayed put and waited till he went away.

He saw me coming and watched my somewhat unsteady progress towards him. As soon as I got close enough for a proper look … well, I don’t need to go into that again. Reckon there are worse ways to spend your last few minutes. Just talk to him for a bit. He’ll go away eventually. As I approached, he slowed the swing to a stop. He watched me and I watched him. I sat down on the swing next to him and said hello. There was something about the way he looked at me that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Now I think I know what it was – I think he recognized me.

And even more weirdly, I think I recognized him.

But that’s not possible.

day 6

Day 6? How did that happen? Yesterday I stayed in bed, mostly alternating between crying and shouting (and sometimes both at the same time). It was awful. The first time Ethan came in I stayed under the duvet. I couldn’t bear to look at him. And when he came to take away my food tray, I tried pleading with him. It’s just too embarrassing – what I said, how I tried to bargain with him, what I offered him. Most of all though, I just kept asking him why. He stood with his back against the door, saying nothing for the longest time. I wanted to grab his stupid ears and smash his stupid head against the door until his stupid brains leaked out. Instead, I did nothing.

Oh, I’ve thought about attacking him. I’ve thought about it plenty. Even hatched some half-arsed schemes: the classic hiding-behind-the-door-with-a-vase trick being a particular favourite. Only one problem though: I don’t have a vase. And somehow I don’t think a pillow would be quite so effective. Still, I could at least try. Kick him in the balls, gouge out an eye, bust some Bruce Lee-style moves (not that I know any Bruce Leestyle moves, but a girl could improvise). I can’t quite work out why I’ve done nothing of the sort. Maybe he’s put some kind of voodoo magic mind-spell on me. Yeah, that must be it.

Now where was I? Ah yes, the totally undignified pleading and snivelling and asking him why. He listened and watched me with those stormysexysmoky eyes. I seemed to be troubling him. He looked like he actually felt sorry for me. Like he genuinely cares. I don’t get it. How can he look at me like that and yet STILL be putting me through this? If he wants me to be less pleady/snivelly he should FUCKING