Together again ✔

22I Manic

The car pulled to a stop as I stared up at the flat, taking in the building which I'd hoped to have never seen again. Those dirty windows, peeling paint, cigarette marks and cracked tarmac filled me with memories I had tried to bury.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Mrs Adam's face contort into that of disgust, probably taking in the building which looked as though it was lived in by a drug dealer. Which it was to be fair.

"This is where your stepdad lives?" the social worker asked, seemingly disbelieving about the living conditions.

I just gave a silent nod, my mouth so dry and throat so sore that I couldn't find the energy to respond verbally.

Mrs Adams seemed to stare up at he building for a few more moments before tearing her gaze away from it, instead glancing over at my stiff figure sat next to her. "Right, well. Your bags are in the back. Why don't we go get them?"

Once again, I just gave a silent nod, hesitating for a moment and taking a deep breath before I slowly pushed open the door, instantly regretting it as my stomach turned, nauseau sweeping through me. This was the place of my nightmares. The memories of everything I had experienced inside and outside this building burnt at my conscious.

"Gabby?" Mrs Adams called from round the back of the car, before there was the sound of what I assumed to be suitcase wheels scraping across the concrete. I quickly snapped out of my thoughts and hurried to scramble to my feet, pushing away my dark thoughts.

"Yeah, I'm here," I quickly replied, slamming the car door behind me, quickly making my way over to where Mrs Adams was hauling my suitcases out of the boot.

The social worker sent me a quick smile as she wheeled the other suitcases over to the pile, containing about six of my bags. "There we go, darling. Now, why don't you go and ring the doorbell while I bring these over to the porch," Mrs Adams smiled.

Instantly, I couldn't help but tense, my stomach twisting at the thought of ringing the doorbell and being greeted by the sight of David. I couldn't deal with that. I couldn't deal with my nightmare.

"S- sure," I stuttered, forcing myself to push back the bile rising in my throat.

"Thanks, darling," Mrs Adams grinned brightly at me, only causing my face to twist slightly more at the prospect of what was about to come.

I slowly began to take dreaded steps towards the door, feeling my throat once again close up, that familiar wave of nausea settling over my stomach. Each step I began to take towards the door seemed to weigh down on me, emotions of anxiety and nervousness clouding any rationality in my mind.

All I knew was fear. Devastating, overpowering fear that ate away at my mind, bursting the balloon of hope and happiness that had been swelling in my heart for the last month or so.

However, I had to pretend nothing was wrong. I couldn't risk Mrs Adams knowing my secret. I had to keep myself from breaking down- keep my head held high.

Fully aware of the social worker's gaze on me, I took slow steps towards the door, full of dread upon the sight of that familiar rusty handle and cracked wood. De ja vu filled me from the first time I had ever arrived at this place, although now I knew just exactly what it was that was awaiting me.

And I was petrified.

I stepped up onto the small step in front of the door, fully aware of how badly my hand was shaking as I reached up to ring the doorbell, bile rising in my throat and heart pumping painfully against my chest.

Now was my last chance to leave. Now was my last chance to escape. Now was my last chance to tell someone- anyone- of the devil this man really was.