My mind keeps racing back into the past, flicking through memories briefly like photos in an album. Finally, it finds an image it likes and takes grasp. I see me, at thirteen, still alone at the home and certain my mother isn't coming back. My mind holds the filmy picture and keeps it there until it becomes more solid. I take another swig of my drink as once more I'm sucked into the past when all I want to do is forget it.

I was sat in the front room with the other children. There were all ages, sizes, and types of people there. The thing we all had in common? No parents. Whether orphaned or abandoned, we were without a parents love. You would think, with such a massive factor such as that in common, that we would all get along. To the adults eyes, we seemed to. There were no huge bust ups in front of them and so what if there was the odd black eye or bloody lip? It was easy to injure yourself walking into doors and falling down stairs. The adults never knew different, we children did though. We didn't get along. We were nothing alike. So what if we were all alone in the world? There was a reason for that, didn't mean that we would be nice to one another because of it.
I was sat in the corner, the television was on and I pretended like I was watching but I had the feeling that I was being watched too. They all thought I was the odd child, I didn't talk to anyone and instead just hid in my room until the time where we had to leave. We weren't allowed to stay in our rooms between the hours of 11:30 and 6:00 unless it was briefly to get something because it was meant to promote communication skills. They forgot that if you didn't like anyone and didn't want to have anything to do with them then you could do that whilst being sat as close as a millimeter away from one another. I could feel eyes burning into my back and I glanced into the mirror over the television discreetly so whoever was watching me wouldn't know I was watching them. It was a boy, Charlie.

I drank some more as I thought about Charlie. I wasn't sure the last time I thought about him, a few years back when I last saw him I think. I never understood why he hated me until then, I especially didn't understand when I was 13. I don't think anyone would have understood at that age.

Charlie Middleton was a few years older than me, 15 when I was 13. He was tall with a wide build, to be honest he scared me at times. Or rather, he would have if it wasn't for the fact that I was numb almost all the time now. His blue eyes didn't notice me as I noticed him, I was almost glad he didn't catch me watching. It was one thing for him to watch me, quite another for him to think I was keeping an eye on him which might lead to a confrontation. No, I wasn't going to provoke him by even catching his eye. It didn't work though, it wasn't even as if he needed to provoking.
One minute he was the other side of the room, behind the pool table, and then next he had dived over it and tackled me over the back of the sofa. I wasn't sure what was happening to begin with, it was all so sudden. Then my position on the ground registered and I began to hyperventilate. My face was pressed into the rug, and I could taste the smell of it as thick as it was with how close my face was to it. I scrunched my eyes up to stop getting stabbed in the eye by a piece of carpeting and tried not to focus too much on the pain in my shoulder where Charlie had pulled my arm up at an angle from my elbow. I felt a pop and heard the door being pushed open then Charlie got off me. I slowly staggered back to my feet and took a deep breath.
"Charles Middleton!" The sharp voice of Carrie Willoughby, our caretaker, broke through the now silent room. I shook my head behind Charlie, a warning for her not to go any further with it, and she caught my eye and gave me 'The Look.'
"We were play fighting, it was a game." I said and she shook her head.
"Fine, but remember not to do it again. It you wanted to play rough, take it outside where you can't hurt anyone else." She warned then left. Charlie waited until she left before turning to me with a foul look on his face. He scowled at me with a face like thunder and I tried not to wince as pain twinged in my popped shoulder as I moved my arm slightly.
"I don't need you to look after me, just shut up and get out of my view." He stormed.

I wish I'd said something then, asked why he'd done that to me. It would have saved me a fair bit of confusion. I mean, sure, later on in life everything was explained to me but it left me in utter confusion for a few years. I go to have more drink and realise my bottle is empty. I throw it over my shoulder carelessly, knowing that behind me is empty and then crack open the next between my teeth before taking a massive swig and setting the bottle down again. My mind keeps racing ahead of me and it doesn't pause for long.

Notes