"It's been two years," Freya said, a tear dribbling down her cheek. She raised her hand and caught the tear before it reached her chin with a ferocious tenderness. Her blue eyes were bloodshot from her tears, her cheeks flushed from breathing shakily. Her chest shook from the lack of oxygen. "Mum I miss him; I miss him so much. I miss his smile, his eyes, his hugs, his smell, everything. I hate being away from him Mum, I hate it! Why did he have to go? Why did God have to take him? He wasn't ready to go yet, we had so many more adventures."
"I know that it's hard sweetie, but we have to cope." Her mum wrapped her arm around Freya's shoulders and gave her her own to cry on. Martha had coped with her husbands death like washing dishes-she took a sponge and wiped away the grief like scraping food into a bowl. Freya hadn't seen her mother cry over this at all, and she despised her for it.
She hated life without her father.
It was like someone had sucked the paint off of the canvas of her life. As if someone had taken the sky out of her life and just left her with rainclouds. It was like Freya's DNA had been altered by scientists, she'd changed so dramatically from a young, happy girl to a pressured, quiet teenager. She'd always been a baby in her parents' eyes, but after her father's passing Freya's perception in life had changed. She saw life as an unavoidable disease, the only cure being death.
"Freya let's get you home, we agreed that no more tears would be shed over your father's grave, but here we are-the two of us-crying over his passing yet again." Martha wiped a tear away from her eye before it reached her skin.
Her mother hadn't changed one bit. She was still the kind, gentle woman she had been before. She'd stopped mourning after five months, but that was because she knew Freya needed a firm hand to hold. Martha had been her shoulder to cry on, just like Freya had been hers. But nobody in her family or friend group could bring back the colour in her life.
The drive back was silent, but that was how it needed to be. Freya sat in the front, watching the world pass by in the window of the car. Martha was focused on driving, there was no radio playing as a distraction.
Freya's mother was the first to talk, "Do you know Mr and Mrs Nicolson from across the road? Well, they're fostering a new girl for a while-a year I think. I'm not entirely sure what she's like, but I suppose they don't know what she's like either at the moment. Anyway, I hear that she's around your age-a year older in fact."
"I'm not that good at making friends that quickly Mum, you know that." Freya interrupted, twisting her chastity ring around her finger.
"Hang on a second, I wasn't finished, anyway, I've invited them over for dinner tonight. How does that sound?"
"It sounds great Mum, really great." Freya replied nonchalantly.
Freya helped her mother clean the house top to bottom when they got home. Martha had told Freya to get dressed and to look respectable. Freya had no idea what to wear. She rummaged through her wardrobe for at least an hour, just to pull out a light pink shirt which had white, short laced sleeves and a pair of white jeans. She slipped into her clothes and checked herself in the mirror. She didn't have much of a fashion sense, but she looked okay for a home meeting. She brushed her blonde locks and let them fall over her back. She didn't put any make up on, purely because she didn't have any. She caught the sight of her golden cross over her shirt and tried to swallow the lump forming in her throat.
She heard the door open and close, the sound of welcoming laughter filled the air.
Freya took a deep breath and went downstairs.
Mr and Mrs Nicholson were stood, smiling, in the hallway.
"Ah, Freya, this is Rosie." Mr Nicholson smiled over at her. "Rosie, this is Freya-the girl we talked to you about."
"Yeah, kinda guessed considering that you said we'd be eating dinner with her." She commented sarcastically. Rosie was a tall girl; her hair was dark brown and fell short by her ears in a scruffy pixie cut. She had a black beanie hat on her head and dark red lipstick on her lips. She was wearing black, ripped jeans and a big black jumper that had I PREFER THE DRUMMER printed on it in white acrylic. Her eyes were brown, the type of dark brown that made you count how many seconds of life you had left. Her cheek bones were extremely defined on her slim face. Her skin was pale and didn't have a single flaw. There was a piece of metal in her septum, a hoop that hung over the bottom of her nose-but it suited her.
Freya continued down the stairs and held her hand out towards Rosie, a friendly gesture that she often showed to everyone.
Rosie raised her eyebrow, "The hell do you expect me to do with that?"
"You shake it," Freya said uneasily, feeling quite intimidated by the girl stood infront of her.
"Right, m'kay." Rosie took Freya's hand and shook it intently. "Better?"
"Much." Freya nodded and pulled her hand away.
They didn't talk much during dinner, but every now and then Freya looked up and found Rosie's deadly gaze trained on her. Whenever this happened, she would quickly look down at her meal and pick at it intently. Rosie smirked at Freya's shy, embarrassed behaviour.
Rosie stretched out, "Bloody hell I'm knackered."
"Rosie!" Mrs Nicholson exclaimed in a hushed voice. "You can't say things like that in other people's homes, it's disrespectful."
"How is it?" Rosie replied, her eyes scanned the room and trained on the cross over Freya's shirt. "Ah, I understand, well I don't care anyway-my place in hell has been reserved ever since I was conceived."
Martha flinched at the carelessness in her voice.
"I'm so sorry." Both Mr and Mrs Nicholson's said before they took Rosie back to their home.
Freya silently helped her mother pack away.
"Freya, dear, I don't want you around that girl, she'll influence you in bad ways. Okay darling? You look exhausted, go and get some rest, you're lucky that your schools breaking up for Halloween soon. It's a testing time for the two of us today. Now go on, up to bed, that's my girl." Martha kissed her daughter's head and finished cleaning.
Freya took herself to bed, but she didn't sleep.
Thoughts of her father occupied her mind all night long.
YOU ARE READING
Pipsqueak (BEING EDITED)
Romance|ORIGINALLY TITLED THE BAD GIRL CALLS ME PIPSQUEAK| Rosie was a tall girl; her hair was dark brown and fell short by her ears in a scruffy pixie cut. She had a black beanie hat on her head and dark red lipstick on her lips. She was wearing black, r...
