Page 108 of Sad Girl Hours
“Oh, this is a beautiful house, yes. And I’m aware of the privilege I have in a lot of ways. It makes me feel even more guilty sometimes, even though I know that guilt is worth absolutely nothing to anyone. But the feeding, clothing, letting me sleep inside … they’re what all kids should have. That’s not love.”
I suddenly remember what Nell said once – how if I’d never felt loved by my parents then they did neglect me, even if I neverwent hungry. I put that away that day because I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to hate what I have even more. But I do. I do hate it. I hate the fact that I’ve never, not once, made them proud.
But I think I’m starting to realise something.
I never will.
I can’t make someone be something they’re so determined not to be.
The tears come back in full force. “Just leave me alone,” I say.
To her credit, she waits a few seconds before she turns round and shuts the door behind her.
I can’t do it. I can’t make people love me. I’ve been trying for years and it’s never once worked.I can’t do it.
I type a message into my phone:
And then I turn round, face the wall and cry harder than I’ve ever cried before, until my head is aching so much that it feels as though it’s been split open. My entire body feels leaden and bruised, and my pillow is soaked right the way through.
I wake up at about eleven the next day, vaguely aware of how empty I feel. I can’t tell if it’s the not eating or everything that happened yesterday.
My curtains are still open, the way Mum left them. The light, while jarring, does make things feel moderately less intense. I know that getting vitamin D is important for me. Just like how I know eating well, being out in the fresh air, drinking enough water – all of the basic things – are important too. It’s frustrating that the pressure to do these things often feelsinsurmountable, even though if I could do them, I’d probably feel a whole lot better.
A few more hours pass. I don’t know what I do in them really, besides lie here, stuck in a loop. I keep thinking about how I should be going back to Lancaster. I need to be there to go to the meeting on Monday so I don’t get kicked out, and I need to be there to support Vivvie at her showcase. She’s been working so hard, and I’d been planning to film bits of it so I could promote her work online and help her get the attention she deserves.
But I don’t know how I can leave this room. I haven’t packed anything. I haven’t thought about what to say to my tutor. I can’t tell the truth because then what if the university think I’m too much of a liability to stay on? What if they think – possibly rightly – that this same thing will happen again next year, in myfinalyear, and I won’t be able to write my dissertation or pass my exams?
The two biggest blocks in my head are the idea of being in the same room as Nell and seeing how much she must hate me now, and the thought of having to face another five hours trapped in the car with my parents. Even the idea of it makes panic rise like bile in my throat. It’s an oxymoron, I know, because if I don’t go in the car with them, then I’m stuck here with them maybe forever. It’s an objectively much worse scenario but my brain’s not being particularly great at latching on to objectivity and rationality right now.
I’m ruminating on this thought in particular when I hear someone calling my name.
At first, I think I’m hearing things. My dad’s out and it doesn’t sound like my mum’s voice. Or not at first anyway. Then it is her voice, very raised, yelling something about trespassing and breaking and entering.
I sit up, noticing something new on the driveway through the window. I turn slowly to look at it.
I blink at what I’m seeing for a good few seconds.
I’d recognise that ancient Mini anywhere.
Chapter Fifty-one
Saffron
Surely this can’t be real? Casper can’t be at my house. Maybe I’m hallucinating. I’ve never heard that people with seasonal affective disorder can experience psychosis, but maybe it’s possible. Or maybe it’s gone beyond that now, and it’s an entirely new thing.
My mother’s voice comes in spiky lilts up the stairs, her voice still raised in fury. “I don’t care why you’re here. You need to get out of my house before I call the fucking police.”
“We’ll leave as soon as we’ve seen her and we know you’re not Mother Gothel-ing her or anything.”
In a daze, I drift up and out of bed towards the door, pulling it open further. That wasn’t Casper’s voice, that was…
There are a great many thundering footsteps coming up the stairs. When they get to the landing, I step back in shock. I really must be breaking down.
“Saffron! There you are, thank God,” Jenna’s saying, rushing to my side.
I allow her to hug me, mostly so I can lean on her body to stay standing.
“We were so worried,” Casper says, piling in on the hug, Kenneth leaping up at them all. “We thought they might have locked you up in a tower or something.”
