It’s been an entire month since I left the family home and I’m still feeling uncomfortable with my new found freedom. My one bedroom flat feels too big for only me, and my lack of belongings make it look so bare. I’d been spending all of my free-time cooped up in the flat, alone and depressed; I hated that it had come to this. Ever since I was young I always thought of living alone as one the saddest things a person can do and I never wanted to be that.
After spending yet another weekend moping around the flat pondering about my newfound lonely life, my parents finally snapped. I had been avoiding them both ever since that night when I decided I couldn’t take it anymore. I’d stayed over at Jamie’s for the first few nights but with his girlfriend being around so often I felt increasing in the way. He’d insisted that I was welcome for as long as I needed and I knew that when he said it he was sincere, but I felt the intrusion all the same.
Jamie is, in a word, my best friend - my oldest friend for that matter. We’d known each other since primary school and since then we were inseparable. His family was like a second family to me as mine was to him; when my Grandmother died, Jamie hurt almost as much as I did.
I knew that my parents had been getting increasingly worried about me spending so much time on my own, locked away in my flat and I knew they wouldn’t let me get away with that for much longer. Even so, I found it impossible to muster the enthusiasm to do anything else; I was more comfortable doing this the easy way.
Sarah woke me up at eight this morning; this was the beginning of my intervention. I tried telling her that I wasn’t interested in going anywhere but she refused to take no for an answer. We planned to meet after work the following day, a whole bunch of us having drinks and catch-ups - joy. That was then, today I didn’t have to move. I wanted to just lie in bed all day. Ignoring the world, ignoring this day, ignoring everything.
When I heard a cluster of feet thudding up the stairs a sinking feeling in my gut told me that they were coming for me. Now I really regret giving my parents the spare key, I’d only done it to get them both off my back. I rolled over to face away from the door usually that would be enough for Mum to assume I was asleep but not today.
“Come on Soph. Get up!” She said.
“I’m asleep Mum.” I grumbled.
“No you’re not and I’m not going to pretend with you today. Just because you roll to face the other way doesn’t make me believe that you’re sleeping. I’m your mother Sophie; don’t you think I know what you’re like when you’re sleeping? How you lay, how you breathe? So come on, we’ve done this enough now. It’s time to stop this. So get up, and get out of bed. Dad’s cooking breakfast, we’re having a fry up. All of us.”
My stomach grumbled loudly. I hadn’t exactly been eating properly over the past few weeks. At first it was the depression that suppressed my appetite, then when I started wanting food it was the embarrassment that held me back. I remember the one and only time that I bought one of those micro-meals for one, I could see how everyone looked at me - the mother with her well-made children and husband, the shop-assistant, the cashier - they all looked at me with such pity. I couldn’t bring myself to do that again.
As I walked into the kitchen everyone kept to Mum’s word, they weren’t going to pretend with me anymore; my moping period was officially over, my intervention continued.
“So are you out straight from work tomorrow, Duck?” Dad asked.
“Sorry?” I never pieced it together; I honestly in a million years didn’t expect what came next.
“Sarah called, she mentioned that you’re off out. Sounds like there’s quite a few of you going.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, handing me some cash. “Here, this should be enough for the night and then a taxi home shouldn’t it?”
“Um, I guess,” I muttered, unable to think up any other excuse not to go out. “But really Dad, I don’t need any money…”
“My treat, okay.” He said
My day didn’t improve. Anytime I tried to sit alone, or have some time to think to myself, Mum or Jess would begin making conversation, offering to play games or try telling me about their week. I hated it.
At around 4 I decided that it’d be a good time to start getting things ready. I hadn’t come around to the idea; I still did not want to go but I figured that it was the only way they’d leave me alone. I picked myself up off the sofa and smiled.
“I’m going to go get my things ready for tomorrow. It’s probably going to take me all night to pick my outfit.” I laughed falsely, hoping this would offer their cue to leave.
“That’s great love, if you need any help deciding just gives us a shout.” Mum said, no intention of leaving anytime soon.
“Thanks.” I said.
“Wait,” Jess shouted, “I’ll come with you now if you like, we can choose an outfit for you together.”
“No.” I said a little too sternly, “I mean, I’m okay on my own for now but I’ll give you a shout in a bit to help me narrow down my choices yeah?”
She slumped back down on the sofa and pulled her face.
“Fine.” She said.
I had to contain myself from sprinting into my bedroom; by now I felt desperate to be on my own. In my room, I threw myself down on the bed. It was silent apart from the noise of the rain on my window. I closed my eyes and savoured the moment.
The longer I lay on my bed the more I realised that my room hadn’t been silent at all. The clock on my bedside table ticked loudly now, and in the distant I could hear the television in the living room. Now that I was listening closely enough, I began to hear the faint creaks of the flat. The wind whistled through the window, it really was a horrible night.
As I stirred I realised that I had fallen asleep. I flipped onto my side and reached for the clock, it was 6:45. I sprung to my feet with a little too much enthusiasm causing the blood to rush to my head; I had to grab hold of the headboard to steady myself.
When I opened up my wardrobe I couldn’t help but sigh. I hated getting ready for anything because I hated choosing outfits, nothing ever felt right. Instead decided to pull out my under bed drawers where I stored all of my shoes. I had always been much more comfortable choosing shoes because shoes were my favourite of all fashion items.
I pulled out my pair of chunky heeled loafers. They were mainly cream with blue and red detail. I stripped down to my underwear and stepped into my shoes. They did a great job of making my legs look long and sexy. I had a quick look from the front and then tilted my foot to the side - they really did look good from all angles.
I picked up and put on dress after dress, each one looking worst than the last. I hadn’t realised how fast the time had passed until my Mum knocked and poked her head around the door.
“That’s a nice dress,” she said, eyeing me up and down, “they match those shoes perfectly. Oh wait,” she said as she walked over to me grabbing hold of a section of the dress and lifting it so I could see, “it has a tear in it. How did you manage that?”
That was a question I didn’t want to answer. Partly because I didn’t want her feeling guilty about it but mainly because I really didn’t want to think about it.
“Oh, well, it’s easily mended - just a few quick stitches and it’s good as new,” she said, noticing my hesitation at answering her question. “Anyway, darling, we’re going to be making our way now, it’s past 9 and you know how you’re dad hates driving too late - that’s when all the idiots are out. We’ll see ourselves out.”
As soon as they left the flat was consumed in silence. The rain had stopped now and the television was off and without my parents and sister there everything felt so empty. I walked around the flat, noticing how my mother had tidied around and I felt ridiculous for not being with them while they were there. Now they were gone I felt so alone again and I hated feeling that way.
The fridge and freezer had both been filled to the brim with delicious foods, and not a single micro-meal in sight. The oven was on low with a large plate inside. I took it out and took away the tinfoil to reveal a roast dinner my mother had made for me. I wolfed it down greedily. I didn’t even bother with gravy or condiments - I was far too hungry to wait a second longer. My belly grumbled thanks when I finished; it had been a while since I’d eaten twice in one day and never a meal like this.
Back in my room I stripped out of my dress, took out a needle and some cotton and stitched up the tear. When I put it back on I eyed myself in the mirror and smiled, it would be perfect for tomorrow. It didn’t matter where the tear had come from, all that matters is that I can wear this dress without thinking of the past; I can wear it with confidence. This is a new me in my new dress.
Although some things confuse me of the storyline and the plot.
