Reaching For the Stars

01 | B E G I N N I N G

I couldn't have anticipated where my life would have ended up, maybe I could have made an educated guess a decade or so again, but a part of me always believed things would change - that they'd get better - but that kind of thing only happened in movies. The haze of the past 10 years were all seeming to blur together as I stood at the end of the cobbled steps looking up towards a perfect two-story home.

It felt almost laughable right now - of course she ended up here - why wouldn't my sister get the happy story, living in the perfect white picket fenced home whilst I was trapped in a dirt ridden shell of a house; calling it a home would be disrespectful to anywhere that had a roof over the top of it.

I don't like relying on people, it makes me feel weak - not like I'd admit that to anyone mind you - and I am anything but weak. The scars and burns either left open or covered by tattoos littering my body told many stories. Ones of pain. Heartbreak. Misery. And loss.

More loss that I'd like to think about. I just shake my head, willing herself not to go there right now.

I step up to the front door of my sister's place, hand hovering over the wooden frame - God, this is a bad idea. We'd lost contact over a decade ago, 10 years of no communication between people who where meant to be there for each other, through all their struggles, that was what family was for right? But my sister wasn't, and like any bitter 8-year-old feeling neglected by the person who's meant to be their role model, I didn't want anything to do with her after it.

Yet here I am, with nowhere else to go, turning to the one person I swore I'd never rely on again.

She let me down over 10 years ago. I refuse to let her do it again.

But then again, I don't have much choice, when do I ever these days, her so-called parents had finally snapped and I couldn't stay any longer. The only reason I did was that I wanted to finish school and be off to college, never needing to talk to them again. I almost laugh at how stupid I was thinking that, how naive I'd been.

My hand still hovered over the door, every childhood insecurity suddenly crashing to the for front of my mind like a tidal wave. 12 hours of travelling and only one backpack holding all my life possessions in hanging off my shoulder - and I can't even knock on a bloody door. Get a grip of yourself Carter, you're not that scared 6 year old anymore.

My hand shakes a little as I rap my knuckles against the frame - a large part of me contemplating turning around right now and legging it out of here as fast as my trembling legs would take me. But a sudden voice from the other side freezes me to the spot.

"Babe! Can you answer the door please, I'm just making dinner"

I thought I recognised that voice for a second. God I hope its her. The child in her wanted nothing more than to burst down the door and wrap the person behind the voice in a smothering hug - not letting her go - not again.

But I can't forget what happened all those years ago, it played like a record on repeat in my mind. I knew damn well that I hadn't forgotten, and I definitely hadn't forgiven either.

"Yeah I'll get it," Another person says, the reflection of their shoes shimmering in the glass of the door.

The door swings open and the person is somewhat recognisable - Kelley O'Hara - I mutter to myself as more of a question than statement. A famous soccer player that I know damn well l my friends are obsessed with. It's something I however avoids like the plague.

"Can I help you miss?" She asks me, small frown evident in her forehead.

"I was wondering if Hope was in?" I asks, the sweat accumulating on my palms being quickly wiped onto my jeans, looking up at the woman with a small bit of desperation in my eyes.