The Beginning Of The End - Natalie Holmes (free ebooks for android .TXT) 📗

rusty hinges let out a sharp creaking noise that cut through the silence. She froze to the spot and waited; listening for any signs of life in the darkened house, after a few moments she let out her breath, relieved, and entered. She shut the door and leaned back against it, letting her head thud back onto the wood, she closed her eyes and just stood there, listening to the sound of the clock ticking away loudly. Now she was home and back to normality, it was so easy to disassociate herself with the strange things that had been happening to her all day, to pass them off as nothing more than her wild imagination.

She walked through to the hallway, not bothering to turn on any lights; she just needed to be in her room -her sanctuary- and forget about the entire day. Just as she put her foot on the first step of the staircase, something moving in the living room caught her eye. She turned to see the television was turned on and muted; a black and white movie flickered across the screen, a beautiful woman with wide teary eyes stared imploringly at a man with dark hair slicked back, he had a hat in one hand and a long coat in the other -he was leaving her, Harlow guessed. It took her a moment to realise she that the TV hadn't been on when she left, she then noticed the smoke that hung thickly in the air and the half empty glass of whiskey stained with red lipstick that stood on the small glass table next to the grey sofa.

Harlow's heart sunk, she turned away from the open living room door and continued up the stairs. She tried to be as quiet as she could, but as she put her weight onto the fourth step she heard the sound she hated more than anything, one that made her feel nervous, scared and a horrible revulsion, always followed quickly by overwhelming shame. Her mother's voice. She knew it was an awful, tragic thing, to hate the sound of her mother's voice - it was something she should love, something that should fill her with joy, but Harlow couldn't make herself feel that way. And even though her feelings were justified and all her mothers' doing, she still felt the sharp stab of guilt for feeling such dreadful things about the woman.

"What're you doing home?" Her slightly slurred words held venom that came with no effort at all; after so many years it was just naturally how Lisa spoke to her. She tried to reply, but the words lodged in her throat and stuck to her tongue, so she just stood motionless on the stairs, staring at her feet and wishing she was anywhere but in that house right then. Lisa sat up slowly with her back to Harlow; her dark auburn hair was matted and tied back at the nape of her neck. When her mother turned around to see why she hadn't answered, Harlow drew in a sharp breath. Even now, after she had so long to get used to it, Lisa's appearance still shocked her; her brown eyes were flat, lifeless and blood shot, her lips dry and cracked, and her skin a tired grey that aged her way beyond her years.

It was such a stark contrast to the woman in the photos that hung on the nicotine stained walls around them. That woman was always smiling, full of life and love, Harlow didn't know that woman, but she liked to imagine she did. The woman in the photos would have made a perfect mother, loving and caring and happy. But that was not the Lisa who sat before her now, no; this was a cold hard shell left behind after her father broke her heart and ran away, no emotions save for hate and resentment. Lisa had been an angry and bitter woman when he left and things deteriorated so quickly when the drinking took hold of her. Lisa had never loved Harlow, but before she started drinking she was just impassive and distant, but now she had a burning hate for her daughter, she was just a constant reminder of what she had cost her. The love of her life. And Harlow paid for it dearly, she often mourned the loss of the doting mother she never had.

Harlow had known from a very young age that her mother held her responsible for her father leaving. And she had to agree, after all, it couldn't just be a coincidence that almost immediately after Lisa told him he was to be a father, he disappeared off the face of the planet, never to be seen or heard from again. She knew nothing about him, and she had learnt not to ask, the reaction from Lisa had been terrifying to a seven year old Harlow. She had only asked what his name was and her face shone with unbridled heartbreak so raw that even as a little girl she understood she had asked the wrong question, then came the rage. That was the first time Lisa hit her, she had snarled "That's none of your business, you stupid little brat. Don't ever think you have the right to talk about him" and slapped her across the face. An angry red mark blossomed across her porcelain skin and tears filled her eyes but she didn't cry; she didn't want to make it any worse, so she just stood, transfixed, while Lisa turned her back on her and locked herself in her bedroom for the rest of the day.

Bringing herself back to the present moment she looked up to see Lisa's lip curled at her in disgust, showing off her teeth tarnished by nicotine and alcohol. She rose unsteadily and walked round the sofa gripping her half empty glass of whiskey on the way past, spilling drops of it on the floor as she stumbled towards the stairs where Harlow stood. She pressed back against the wall and braced herself, Lisa drunk the remaining amber liquid in the glass down in one gulp as she stood at the bottom of the stairs, holding on to the banister for support. "I said" Lisa struggled to focus, pointing her empty glass at Harlow "what're you doing home? School hasn't finished yet" Harlow hid her surprise at Lisa; it was unusual for her to know the current time and even more so for her to remember what time school finished.

She swallowed thickly and thought desperately of an answer that would placate her mother and allow her to escape to her room. "I...err...I...We...And...Um...I-I-I-", "Spit it out you stupid girl, and don't you dare lie to me!" Lisa shouted cutting off Harlow's stuttering, she took a steadying breath and opted for a simple lie, while fiercely hoping she didn't get caught out, if Lisa found out she was lying, she would be in a lot of trouble "I didn't feel well so they let me come home early" she half whispered, eyes to the ground, silently begging her mother to let her leave. Harlow peered up to see Lisa eyeing her "You don't look sick," she curled her lip again and then put her whiskey glass to her lips, finding it empty she looked at it, confused, as though she hadn't remembered finishing it off, she turned and went to refill it, seemingly forgetting all about Harlow.

She took this as her dismissal and hurriedly scrambled up the stairs and into her room shutting the door behind her as quietly as she could. Now that Lisa was drinking herself into oblivion she would hopefully forget the conversation she just had with Harlow and wouldn't look into it anymore. If not then she would have some horrible consequences to deal with. Breathing a heavy sigh she moved away from the door and fell back onto her bed, she stared up at the bare ceiling clearing away all the events and thoughts she had been plagued with throughout day and tried her best to relax.

Her small rectangular room was completely void of everything but the essentials; her bed was to the left of the door along the wall with a small bedside table next to it with a lamp and an alarm clock on top. In the corner adjacent to the bed was a chest of drawers which had only school work on top of it and the was filled with more work, stationary, bits of junk and some clothes, next to the drawers was a bay window, she often sat on the window seat wrapped in her blanket and looking out longingly to the woods, if she could she would have spent all her time in those woods, it felt like an escape, she could lose herself in there and pretend she was far away from here, from her mother and from her life altogether. But she was hardly ever allowed to leave the house and so Harlow had built her sanctuary inside instead.

Her little hideout was out of site from her mother's prying eyes and destructive temper, hidden where no one else knew or thought to look. Hidden in plain sight, Harlow smiled placidly to herself as she got up off the bed and made her way across the room to the only other thing in her blank room that took up most of the wall to the left of the door - the built in wardrobes - it consisted of two panels, the static panel was made of wood and painted white, the other was a full length mirror that slid over the wood to open the wardrobe. She took off her socks and shoes and let her toes curl into the beige carpet, then she reached out to slide open the wardrobe door. Harlow gazed at the clothes tightly packed into the wardrobe, ran her hand fondly over them, after the strain of today she was comforted so much by this sight, exactly the same as always, she was immensely glad to have one familiar thing to cling to.

In school she stuck to jeans, t-shirts, and hoodies that she had saved endlessly for, she did this mostly so she didn't stick out - to blend in with the crowd, to go unnoticed- but also because it was what she felt most comfortable in around others. When she was on her own, however, she preferred to be a little more adventurous. On her own, in the comfort of her room she could pretend to be someone else, she had spent countless hours in charity shops and other second hand stores trawling through clothes to find pretty silk dresses and vintage blouses. The beautiful girly clothes she kept stashed to one end of her wardrobe were an escape for Harlow, an escape from herself, and from her life, she could wear them on her own, out of sight and pretend for a while, that she had the life she had always dreamed of.

She often imagined she was the person who had previously owned the item of clothing she wore; usually she liked to think of some carefree music student in university, independent, happy, surrounded by friends. It was a reverie that Harlow greatly valued when she couldn't stand to be herself anymore, which was increasingly more frequent. Harlow stripped to her underwear in a rush, tangling herself up in a splay of limbs and dark clothing. Today was definitely a day where she needed to be someone else for a while; reaching behind the wooden panel she slid a stack of plain cardboard boxes off the top shelf towards the open wardrobe door. Carefully she pulled them down and set them on the floor, she sat crossed legged in front of the boxes and lifted