FORTY-SEVEN

                                    

                                          
I made my way through the top of town. I passed the cinema where Poppy and I went to see a film, and she kissed my hand. I remembered the trail we took on our walks, and I could faintly see the gate to her 'Heaven on Earth'. 
Everything was reminding me of her. Like the world was giving me stupid hints, stupid reasons to stay. It was unbearable. Her face reminded me of my mother, although I was the one running away this time. I sighed deeply and continued.
I passed the same playground that I had seen a few weeks earlier. The one that Josh and I used to hang around in as children. 
Josh.
I hadn't told him I had left. I hadn't even seen him in days. Poppy would probably say something to him, but she would most likely twist my words, and make me out to be the bad guy when I'm not. Or am I? Did I overreact in the situation, and destroy another relationship? Was I in the wrong? I hope Poppy and Josh can understand why I left. Again.
I'm constantly doing this. I'm constantly leaving people. Instead of staying and fixing the problem, I'll just run. Exactly like my mother. Agatha never told me why my mother left, but I could tell that she knew. Every time I'd ask her as a child she would bite her lip, sigh and then act like she didn't know. Every. Single. Time. But I knew she did it to keep me safe. No matter how hard the truth was.
But that's the thing about living in care; you eat and breath secrets. There is never a simple answer, and sometimes you'd just wish to know anything. Even if it meant that your entire life was a lie. Even if it meant that your mother left you because she didn't want you anymore. Because something is better than nothing. 
And yet, here I am. Returning to the place that I'd always dreamed of leaving. 
As I approached the front gates, I noticed some differences. To begin, they started to paint the house itself from a dull, grey colour to a more inviting coral. They had removed most of the bars on the windows, and the old swing in the front garden had been repaired and painted chalk-white. It looked pretty nice. I opened the gate, and it squeaked loudly (at least that hadn't changed) and I began walking up the gravel driveway. I looked up and spotted my bedroom. I saw Ton in the window, but he was facing the other direction. I smiled. I had missed him.
I arrived at the door. I felt my heart pound. The butterflies in my stomach wouldn't settle. And I felt sick. I went to knock on the door, but I hesitated. My hand froze. I didn't know what to expect, or if I should even expect anything at all. What would I even say to Agatha? Would she ever forgive me? I hope she never blames herself.
I paced around the door for a few minutes, trying to figure out what to do. I couldn't just walk in, and expect her to take me back. That wouldn't be fair at all. For any of us. When I worked up an inch of courage, I knocked on the door. I fixed my hair quickly, and patted my face, hoping that the tears had dried away by now, and my face was at least decent. 
A wave of nostalgia hit me as I remembered myself in the same situation almost six years ago. Pacing around the porch and waiting patiently for the door to open felt like deja vu. To add to it, I slammed my foot against the door to get the full experience. 
The door then opened, and I braced myself for either a welcoming hug or a slap in the face from Agatha.