Bonus Content
Concrete Angel (unedited)
Winter came early this year, bringing harsh winds that rattled loose gutters and pushed brittle leaves along the pavement. The sky stayed a dull, stubborn grey most days, and the air smelled faintly of frost and chimney smoke. So, when the sun appeared in early December, it felt like a rare gift. I sat on the cracked concrete steps outside the apartment building, letting the pale sunlight warm my face as much as it could. The cold still seeped through the denim of my jeans, through the soles of my shoes, but I didn’t move. I lived with the family who took me in at the age of eight, it was supposed to be short term a few weeks, but weeks turned to months, which turned to years, the fact that I’d aged out of the system six months ago and I was still here hadn’t gone unnoticed by the man I called Dad, despite, it not being a biological connection. Eighteen and expected to leave everything I’d ever know, fend for myself. His voice echoed through the thin apartment walls, sharp and angry, bouncing down the stairwell and into the cold afternoon air. My mum, again, not the one I was born to, but the one who raised me, answered him. Her voice wasn’t as loud, but it carried a weight to it. A tired sort of strength. She was the reason I stayed. The arguments had started over silly things, Mum not getting the milk, or getting the wrong jam because the store was out of the one without the seeds. He was a grown man after all; he could cope with seeded Jam for once in his life. But it hadn't just been that, lately the arguments had got bigger, louder, meaner and now I was the sole reason. I stared down at the pavement, tracing the cracks in the concrete with the toe of my shoe, trying not to hear the words drifting through the door behind me.
“Where exactly do you expect her to go?”
“We can’t keep doing this! We have Hattie to think of”
My chest tightened. I already knew the answer to the question he kept asking. Nowhere. The apartment door clicked softly behind me. The small round face of Hattie came into view, her mop of curly red hair tangled in a hairbrush.
“Mills, would you help me?” she whispered.
“Sure Hattie, come sit.”
She shuffled onto the step below mine, turning her back so I could reach the brush. Her hair was thick and wild, curls springing in every direction like they had a mind of their own.
“You really fought with this brush, didn’t you?” I said gently.
“Maybe,” she mumbled.
Carefully, I worked through the knots. Slow pulls. Patient fingers. A few quiet apologies when the brush caught too hard. Eventually the tangled mess loosened, curls falling back into soft spirals around her shoulders.
“Done.”
“Thanks,” Hattie mumbled, twisting to face me, rubbing the back of her head. For a moment she didn't say anything, then her eyes shifted to the apartment door. “You know Mills. They’re shouting about you again.” She said quietly,
“I figured.” I sighed softly, Hattie was ten and biologically theirs, the child they never expected to have after years of trying, she had her mum’s unruly hair and her dad’s piercing green eyes. She had the kindest heart of anyone I knew.
“It's always about you.” She said sadly.
“I know, Hat. I’m sorry.” I hesitated, before forcing out the words “I’ll leave. Find somewhere else, it’ll be better.”
Her face twisted immediately, “Will it, Milly?” She asked, “You have nowhere to go. That’s why Mum wants you to stay.” I looked away, out into the quiet street, “It's not worth it.” I said softly. “I’ll find somewhere.”
“Mills…” Hattie paused for a moment, like she was finding the right words, “I don’t want to lose you.” Before I could answer, she threw her arms around me. Her small frame pressed tight against mine, like she thought I might disappear if she let go.Inside the shouting had stopped.Hattie pulled back, glancing between the door and me, “I should probably go back inside.” she lingering for just a moment, before bolting back inside.The silence that came was heavy, like unspoken words hung in the air. I sat there for a minute staring at the closed door.Then I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out a small piece of chalk. Standing up, I stepped down onto the pavement, crouching on the street in front of the house.For a moment, I stared at the blank concrete.Then I started drawing.At first it was just soft lines, but then the design took on a life of its own, spreading wider across the pavement as the afternoon sun disappeared, replaced by the amber glow of the streetlights.
An angel.
Large wings spread wide across the pavement. A silent guardian carved in chalk. A concrete angel.I leaned back on my heels, studying it. “To protect Hattie,” I whispered softly. “Always.”
The wind stirred the loose chalk dust across the pavement. After a moment, I stood. I opened the apartment door quietly. The house inside had fallen silent, the kind of silence that meant everyone had retreated to separate rooms. I packed a small bag. Not much. Just enough. Then I slipped back out into the cold December night. Where I was going, I had no idea. And whether I’d ever come back… I didn’t know that either. But out on the pavement, beneath the dim glow of the streetlight, the concrete angel remained—wings wide, watching over the apartment steps.
I Hate You All (unedited)
Trigger Warning - Self Harm, Suicide
The familiar smell of the incense burnt from last night lingered in the air, where the house had been closed up all day, warmed by the summer sun. It enveloped me, like a warm hug as I dropped my bag in the hallway and headed towards the kitchen, shedding another layer of clothes as I went. By the time I reached the fridge, I was down to my underwear. Grabbing the bottle of wine, I'd put in the door to chill for the day, I popped the cork taking a long glug before the stress of the day, finally, began to ebb away. Replacing the cork and the bottle into the fridge I gathered my clothes and placed them in the laundry basket, dashing upstairs as I heard the crunch of tyres on the gravel. Pulling on yoga pants and a vest top - I noticed how loosely they hung on my body, grabbing a hoodie I pulled it on in an effort to hide myself. I scraped back my hair into a low ponytail, before descending the stairs to greet him.
“Evening Tim.” I smiled, dropping a kiss to his lips as I passed.
“Hey Baby.” His eyes twinkled in greeting as he grabbed my waist, pulling me back to him. Assaulting my lips with his as he angled our heads to get deeper, his want for more evident against my thigh. “You taste good.” he mumbled as he allowed me up for air. I pushed away slightly. Not enough to arouse suspicion, just enough to, hell, I wasn't even sure I knew what I was distancing myself from, but my body tingled at the points of our connection, and it wasn't in a good way. I tapped his hand, “I’ll make a start on dinner?” I asked,
“I thought we could go out? My treat.” his sentence hung in the air, another night where I was expected to act as if nothing was wrong.
“I’ve got a headache, work was difficult. I was hoping to soak in the bath and get an early night.”
“Oh,” I felt the dejection in his tone, “We hardly ever go out anymore.” he grumbled.
“I know, I just…” I took a step away from him. “Works crazy and I'm not sleeping well. Let’s pencil it in for next week? Tuesday?”
“Sure.” Tim mumbled, finally releasing my body from his hold. “I’m just gonna jump in the shower real quick. How about you order a takeaway?”
Tim took the stairs two at a time, I stood in the hallway waiting for the distinct hum of the water pump, before I went back into the kitchen, taking another slug of wine. Ok, takeaway. Pulling up an app on my phone, I pressed some buttons and ordered what he liked. It didn't matter that I didn't, I’d no plans to eat it. Ten minutes later, Tim returned, grabbing a beer from the fridge he sat next to me on the sofa, tapping my foot, indicating he wanted me to let him massage it. A gentle sigh escaped my lips as I twisted slightly to give him the access he wanted. Thankfully the feeling of his hands didn't last long as the doorbell chimed, I went to accept the food. Returning to the living room, I offered the pizza box to him and lingered behind the sofa.
“You know what Tim, I might go have that bath now.”
“But dinner’s just arrived.”
“I’m not hungry. I had a large lunch at the office.” I lied. I hadn't eaten since the egg white omelette; he’d cooked me at breakfast and even then, I hadn't eaten all of it.
“I’ll save you some pizza.”
“Sure.” to keep up pretences I dropped a kiss on the top of his head before leaving the room. Upstairs, my bedroom felt smaller than usual. Tim’s pile of dirty clothes sat in the corner, unable to make it to the laundry basket. My phone buzzed with notifications I ignored. I sat on the bed and tried to breathe through the tightness in my chest. Inhale four counts. Hold. Exhale. With unsteady feet I shuffled into the bathroom, twisting the tap, but not putting the plug in. I reached for the cupboard, taking out a new razor from the packet I'd bought the day before. Sitting, with my back against the wrought iron bath with its gold claw feet, it was the focal point of the room and somewhere I’d once found solace, but it didn't do it anymore. I needed something different. I focused on the bright, controlled sting, on the thin red line that surfaced and beaded. It wasn't deep. It wasn't catastrophic. It was, in some unsettling way, calming. A way to turn the volume down inside her head.
“I hate you all” I mumbled as I repeated my action. I wasn’t even sure who ‘you all’ were, Tim, my family, myself. Maybe just the world for being too loud.
Days turned into patterns, pressure built, the release followed, under the guise of a hard day and needing to unwind. I wasn’t out of control. I was still showing up for work, I was still smiling when required, I was still being a girlfriend to Tim. Until one day, I looked into the mirror that hung on the door of the cabinet as I reached for another clean razor, tonight as I sat on the floor, back against the bath once more, I hesitated.
The bathroom door handle rattled.
“Baby, Are you in there?” Tim’s voice called.
“Yeah” Panic flooded my thoughts, we hate them all, whispered her brain.
“Can, Can I come in?” His voice soft, a hint of worry tinged the edges.
I looked at my arm, at the white lines that glistened in the light. The urge was still there, coiled, threatening. But beneath everything, was something else - exhaustion. I was tired of hiding. I was tired of fading away.
“Sure.” I whispered, my voice barely audible above the sound of the running water.
Tim stepped in slowly, as if approaching a skittish animal. His eyes fell to my arm, and the razor in my other hand. Whatever he took in made him pause and inhale sharply.
“Oh baby.”
Those words broke inside me, as he closed the gap, gently removing the razor from my hand. Tears arrived without permission, hot, unstoppable. “I don’t know how to make it stop. Everything is so loud.” I mumbled into his shirt. “We’ll work it out,” He said as he held me, and for the first time in a long time I felt seen.