The Art of Drowning

Chapter Two

Song for this chapter - Panic Room by Au/Ra

After making my way down the stairs, I said my goodbyes to the house and marched straight out of the front door. I couldn't take in the surroundings in too much detail because then I would get emotional again, which would leave me right back at square one: locked in the bathroom.

I had barricaded myself in there early this morning after my mother had tried forcing me to eat a particularly greasy portion of bacon and eggs, (rather unsuccessfully I might add). I have to keep up the facade that I'm fine in front of my family too, you see. To give myself credit I'm usually a pretty decent actor; I'll eat a slice or two of toast here, nibble on some chicken there - nothing too crazy. Today, however, my mother was testing me, by giving me one of the most wicked things she could. I tried to eat it. I really did. Yet, after one bite of bacon I could feel the oil slithering down my throat like a snake. The smell of burnt fat lingering in my nostrils, like a virus. I could feel my waist doubling in size and it was all suddenly too much for me. I sped off to the bathroom leaving no time for questions, needless to say I got rid of the bacon. I found it odd at the time that no one had attempted to follow me, to try and persuade me to come back to the table. They usually do. I guess they had nothing to say to me. I think they're exhausted. I imagine it could be difficult coming up with endless reasons for someone to fight, only for them to continue to listen to the voices in their head. Anyway, seemingly I had failed the test, hence the 'emergency bag' now packed neatly into the boot of my mum's shiny, white Volvo .

I don't know anything about cars, specifically shiny, white Volvos, but I know that my mum loves that car with her whole heart. She takes it for a wash every Saturday at 9am, like clockwork and she's always buying new gadgets and add ons for it. She probably has near thirty steering wheel covers in the backseat in case she's 'in the mood for a change'. I know for a fact that she's never used a single one of them. She gives that car more attention than me. It used to get on my nerves a lot but by now I'm quite used to my mother's pandering over material objects; she once bought two waffle makers, one pink, one blue , just because they were on sale in Debenhams.

She said the blue one was for rainy days.

So, when I clambered in to the back of the car for what could be the last time in a while, I wasn't surprised to be met with a snappy "Enya, shoes off." It seemed just slightly ridiculous that my mum demanded the entire family take off their shoes whenever they entered the car, but obviously we were all conditioned to obey my mother or suffer her wrath, (this was generally a temper tantrum that lasted 3-4 days and it made living in our house a nightmare).

"Yes, mum" I replied glumly, sliding off my converse. Sinking back into the leather seats, I turned to my sister, who had already plugged in her earphones so that she wouldn't have to engage in any awkward conversation that was most definitely going to take place during this hour-long car ride to the hospital. I reached for my own to do the same, however stopped when I remembered that dad had already packed them in the 'emergency bag', along with some pyjamas, a toothbrush, a change of clothes and just a basic assortment of items I would need If I was to be admitted. Obviously, these items wouldn't last me for my entire stay so my mum or dad would need to come with extra supplies at a later date.

Leaning my head against the window, I stared out at the passing cars and trees, watching the world pass by in the blink of an eye, leaving me in the dust. I often tried to count the trees in an attempt to take my mind off of where we going but obviously, counting the trees when you're driving past them at 40mph is near helpless, much like my current situation.