Free Saving Amy by Nicola Haken Page B

tell you the half of it.
    “Yeah, things are picking up. I’m looking for a job and hoping to get my own place pretty soon.” I tried my utmost to sound upbeat. I didn’t want to send her away on a downer.
    “That’s great!”
    “Don’t get me wrong, I know I’ve blown my chances of a decent career just now. But hopefully if I can find a job that pays me enough to get set up somewhere I can concentrate on re-taking my finals later or something. We’ll see…” I was trying desperately to sound hopeful about my future but I wasn’t sure how convincing I sounded.
    “I’m sure you’ll do just great. I’m going to miss you so much.” My eyes fought with every breath against the urge to cry as she squeezed my hand.
    “I’ll miss you too. We’ve had some fun together haven’t we?” The thought, and the memories, were heart-warming and mournful at the same time. It felt almost like I was grieving for her.

    We spent the afternoon ordering coffees, laughing and reminiscing about our high school years together. We promised to keep in touch but I knew in reality that would eventually fade. She had a life bursting with new experiences and opportunities ahead of her and I knew I would soon become a distant memory.
    Julie was my very best friend. My only friend. My only distraction from the fucked-up world in which I lived. Now she was leaving and I’d have nobody.
    I’d have nothing…

    **********

    Life was bleak. It was my birthday yesterday. I celebrated another year of this miserable existence tucked under my quilt, using the light from my cell to read The Only Way Is Up – a true story about a boy who was locked in his grandfather’s basement for the first fifteen years of his life – and listening to the arguments radiating up the stairs.
    I sat on the edge of the bed staring myself up and down in the arched mirror on my dresser. I looked so old. So tired. Why was I here? What was my purpose? I could see no viable reason for my existence other than to suffer. Maybe I was a murderer in a previous life. Maybe I was being tested by some higher being.
    Maybe I was just bad…
    I remained completely unsuccessful in my search for work so decided to change direction. Instead of walking in and asking for vacancies I now had a tidy pile of written applications stacked up on my bedside table waiting to be mailed. I planned to post them today but first I needed money for postage. As usual, I waited for the sound of the power shower so I could head downstairs and find my dad’s wallet.
    I didn’t have to wait long before I heard the jet of water and my dad’s morning coughing ritual so I knew it was him . I quickly threw on my baby-blue sweats and tiptoed over the loose floorboard and down the stairs. His wallet was resting in its customary spot on the kitchen counter and I slipped my fingers in and grabbed three notes without checking what they were.
    “What the fuck are you doing? YOU THIEVING LITTLE BITCH!”
    I screamed out as I was spun around and my back slammed into the stove behind me. I refused to feel afraid. Fear had been slowly killing me for eighteen years and I’d had enough.
    “Get your hands off me,” I said firmly, sending waves of hot, rage-fuelled blood into his cheeks. His breathing accelerated and I watched his hand as he balled it into a fist. “Get it over with already,” I snapped, utterly emotionless, trying not to retch as the stench of Old Spice flooded my nose. I was pushing him and I didn’t care. In fact, I think I wanted him to lose it.
    “Go on… DO IT!” I yelled and within half a second the first punch momentarily blinded me.
    He lost all control and I took blow after blow to my face. He was usually so clever but he’d lost himself completely. I smelt a hint of whiskey coming from his sickening breath and I wondered if that was why he’d become so careless.
    A couple of strikes later and I couldn’t feel it anymore. I threw my head back to steady my neck and prevent