Trust

Trust is the most important thing to me in the world. I want to let her in, it feels wrong not to, but please give me an answer, why does it also feel so wrong when I do?

“She will never be forgotten. The way she lived her life was extraordinary and special. She’s the hero of our time. Please Remember her.” I closed the book, and looked up at my teacher. “Thank you, Elena” he said, and the bell rang, people hurried out, and the only one left in the room, was me. I sighed and left quietly, no one needed to see where I was going. The same place, every break, every day. Just like I got up in the morning, going to the same high school, the same way, the same classes, everyday. Going to the toilet with my razor blade everyday was just part of the routine.

Home. I didn’t like home as I once had. Once home had been the safest place I knew, with the people in it who could keep me safe: My sister and my dad. Now my sister was gone, just like my mom, but I got to see them once in a while. My dad was still there, but things weren’t the same. I’d grown up, and he somehow knew that I could take care of myself, and that was fine, totally, but then he started to get his own friends. That was fine too, if it wasn’t the fact that he drank with them every single day. I came home as usual, the door was locked, as usual, I was alone in the house, as usual. Another part of the routine that was going on 200 days a year. The days I went to school. Maybe I’d grown up, but I was only 15 and my dad should have enough brain to figure out that I still needed him. Home had become a place unsafe, and hateful. It was like when I walked the step to our front door, the house said. “Oh, it’s you again. Why couldn’t you just stay away, you know we don’t want you here.” That was what made that day so special. My day had gone like every other day, the blood on my arm hadn’t dried yet, and I had thought, that five minutes after I’d got home, I would clean the razor blade again. The house spoke to me, but what it said almost knocked me of my feet. “Welcome home, Elena. You’ll find your way, just wait and see, and most important of all. Believe it, I do.” That day, and the next changed my life forever. I unlocked the door and walked inside. The house probably would look like itself to any other person, but me. What I saw when I walked inside was unbelievable. I saw warmth, and security, and for the first time in many years, I felt love. I felt like that this was my home, like I was welcome inside those normally so cold walls. It felt like I had nowhere else to be but there, and what I didn’t know at that time, was that the day after I would know why.
My dad was home at 4 pm, and he’d started to make dinner. I heard him come home, but I didn’t want to see him, I didn’t want him to destroy this perfect mood I was in. It’d been over six month since I’d been this happy. And that day, six month ago I remember clearly:
I was sitting on a bench in the park, watching all the happy families, when my dad had walked up beside me, looked me in the eye, and told me he loved me, and that he was proud of how I had been holding up. He’d said that he didn’t know why he didn’t tell it to me enough, but that he was sorry. Sorry for everything. He said he wanted to change. He had sat down for a little while, and then we had walked away from the park, down to the street, and we had ate dinner together. Something we hadn’t done, in what felt like a lifetime. That day had been the day before I was travelling to Europe with my aunt, uncle and sister. I wish it hadn’t been that day. Because when I came home from that holiday, everything was back to the same hell.

Those thoughts had nearly broken my mood, so I stopped instantly to think about, how happiness often was so easily killed by unhappiness and insecurity. “Dinner’s ready” my dads voice called from downstairs. I made my way down the stairs, for once without falling, and saw that he actually had made a good dinner, and that – I almost cried of just pure happiness – he was sober. “Have you been driving for John today?” I asked, curious of that was the reason, for his soberness. “No, actually I have been over at his house, ‘till I came home, didn’t you hear me come?” He asked, with a wondering look in his eyes. “of course I did, I always do, but I…” I’d cut myself of right there, no way I should by accident start a fight with him right now. “Never mind, are we eating in the kitchen today?” I asked, hopeful for his yes. I hadn’t meant to get my hopes up, I never mean to get my hopes up, but somehow that always happens anyway. That day it just didn’t matter. “Yes of course we are, I think we should stop eating apart everyday, I know next to nothing about your life these days. How are you?” I studied his eyes for a long time, before I actually answered him. He was starting to look worried, when I finally got my expression together, and blurted “Today I’m extraordinary fine, thank you.”
“what’s been going on with you, dad?” He was staring at the wall, “not much, some things are not… good. You know my aunt, she’s getting worse. I’m afraid she might die. Soon.” Oh, that was maybe the reason for his soberness. That was at least what I thought at that time, but when I later sat down with my diary, and had started to write about my perfect mood, at least it was ‘till dinner, it hit me. Normally he would’ve gotten all drunk, to try and forget about his aunt. Normally he wouldn’t sulk. He wouldn’t act sad around me. He would just be. Be as he always was. When that came to me I was pissed. Pissed at myself. I had ruined my evening, on something just because I didn’t think it through. God I was an idiot. The only one my dad had left, was his aunt. His uncles had died, his father and mother had died. I couldn’t remember his mother – my grandmother. My grandfather died when I was about 6 years old, so him I could remember a little. I remember when my dad told me he was dead. I don’t remember where I had been, but I remember walking into the living room, seeing my dad, sitting on the couch, and being all sad looking. “what’s wrong, daddy?” I had asked in my little girl voice. He’d slowly looked up at me, and my sister, who had walked into the living room just a little after I had, and said. “Your grandfather died tonight.” I didn’t cry. I think I maybe was to young to cry. I know if it had been now, I would have cried. Instead of breaking down and crying, I had walked over to my dad. I had sat beside him, holding his arm, and just sat there. I don’t know for how long. I just knew my dad needed the comfort.
- After the news about his aunt at the dinner table we hadn’t talked much. The good thing about living with my dad, was that there were never any dead silence, it was never awkward. I had finished eating, and then cleaned up after us. I had a lot to do in the house, being the only girl and all, and of course I often complained about that, hell I was just a teenager, right?.