1 Chapter One

The life of an adolescent isn't one you follow for kicks and giggles. You want to see yourself, a memory which faded too quickly. What happens when you uncover a secret, a gem in a sea of brass who is so close you could almost touch it.

A young adult walks through a local park with his hands in his hoodie and earphones in his ear. His eyes were puffy, his lips slightly capped and body language distant. He didn't look upset but he was a shell of the boy he used to be. The reason for his sadness was the past, a time in which he lost the most important person in his life, his mother. She was the glue of the family and when she died; everything changed.

The male contemplated attending therapy, he used to go every Thursday, a man in his thirties called Mark, who had a wife and a hectic marriage. He helped him heal the wounds of his past. Their sessions weren't too helpful. Chase, the patient, preferred his last therapist. A lovely woman called Alex who shared coffee with him and actually cared about his progress.

She tragically committed suicide. Chase couldn't understand why, she always spoke highly about her day and didn't convey any worrisome thoughts or feelings; she was a professional.

When therapists commit because of their own mental health issues, it makes people worry they'll never get better, this was the case for Chase.

He stopped attending school, lost a shit tonne of weight, and ended up neglecting all fields of self-care for a year. His dad forced him to shower and would put him into a bath in his clothes if he didn't shower for two to three days. This was the only fatherly thing Ronnie did for his son after his wife, Chase's mother, died.

His mum died in a car accident during Chase's fourth year of high school, (15 to 16). Her whole world was being a mother, she was extremely proud of her son and often went on walks with him; they were thick as thieves. After she passed away, they weren't able to recover the bond as father and son, understandably they drifted and ended up fighting daily.

Chase's life changed when someone new stepped into his life, a stranger.

"What was that?" I turned on the spot and removed my left earbud.

Listening carefully, I could only hear the light whistle of the afternoon breeze. I thought I heard something, but couldn't say for certain because of my music. I attempted to get back to what I was doing when there was a flicker of light, it lasted two seconds or less. It was a camera.

"What the fuck." I muttered.

The flash unnerving me. It was broad daylight and some weirdo was taking pictures of people without their consent in a fucking park. I pondered searching the bushes, I knew if the man was shamelessly hiding in plain sight, he'd probably retaliate confrontation with violence. Therefore, I carried on walking, hoping he'd leave me alone.

I slid the rusted gate open with ease and heard the click of a camera.

'Is he taking pictures of me?' I questioned the nature of his photography and turned to see if someone was following me. They weren't.

Pulling my hood over my head and stepping onto the road. I got a meter off the pavement when something yanked me backwards, the warmth of someone's chest cushioning my stumble. A black-SUV speeded past the stranger and I with zero regard for me and my recklessness.

"Are you fucking crazy?" the man's voice shook me from my daze.

I turned to look at the stranger. His hair was dark and his eyes greenish-brown.

"I'm sorry." I mumbled. His gaze going to and from the road.

"Jesus, you kids don't look where you're going, the road is the pavement these days." he grumbled. His mini rant about youths being reckless and stupid, tickling me the wrong way.

I shrugged him off, fixing my ruffled hoodie before heading across the street. The road was clear, and the person was none of my concern. He was weird and the park had made me uncomfortable. I just wanted to go home and regain a sense of normality. It felt oddly convenient, him being there to pull me to safety despite checking my surroundings a few minutes before. Something about that man didn't sit right with me.

I wasn't worried about bumps or bruises. I stumbled into the man's front, and the car didn't even graze me. It was my dad I was worried about. We had a fight this morning because Casey, his girlfriend, wasn't wearing clothes; by that I mean, she had skimpy clothing covering her breasts and privates. He wanted me to turn a blind eye but I was uncomfortable, and the suggestion was revolting.

"Spare key… Where could you be?" I sang a song. Lifting the 'welcome home' door mat, finding nothing but bugs and dirt.

Knocking on the door, I sighed when my dad cracked open with a grumpy look on his face. Leaving it agape and walking into the living room. His unamused sighs indicating a bad mood; Casey was nowhere to be seen.

I pulled off my hoodie and walked upstairs. My bedroom door closed and strange noises coming from inside.

"Hello?" I asked. The door sliding open to Casey fucking someone in my room. "No! Get the fuck out?" my cussing of disapproval triggered a physical response from my father.

He slammed the TV remote, I presume, on the coffee table and ran upstairs. Shoving me into the wall and grabbing me by the jaw. His face contorted with frustration and rage.

"Casey, go downstairs and clean up." he waited for her to evacuate my bedroom and pointed at the man struggling to get his pants on. "Hurry the fuck-up, this ain't a motel!" he grumbled. Shoving the man as he headed for the stairs.

Before I could defend myself, he thumped my head into the wall and crushed his hand around my mandible. I winced, squeezing his wrist to communicate my pain and discomfort.

"Yeah, yeah. It hurts, blah, blah." he loosened his grip. "No cussing, shouting or tantrums. I didn't know they were in there, I asked her to use the bathroom, not your room. I'll take care of this, so clean up and shut up." he wiped my mouth. Giving a disappointed look, I assumed he wasn't angry at me, his girlfriend was the problem.

If he hadn't fucked around with alcohol and went to bars after mum died. Casey would've never met him and we could've been in a better place. He was an asshole, a tremendous one, however, he did keep his business out of mine.

I washed the sheets, pillow covers and freshened up the place. Ventilating the room sucked because it was freezing, and the neighbours were having a family gathering. I could hear every laugh, shout and tipsy conversation. Changed clothes and threw my dirty clothes in the laundry basket, I realized my letter from the hospital was missing.

I flipped my room inside out for that goddamn letter. It was pushed under the dresser because of Casey. Every eight months I have to get a jag for my kidney's; it sounds worse than it is because I won't die without it. I just urinate more often and spew occasionally. My mum used to take me to and from the hospital. I'm afraid of needles and always wanted someone there to hold my hand.

When she died, my dad made me go alone because, "toughening up will do you good" and "you're not a little girl," which was true, but it wouldn't kill him to accompany me.

My appointment was the morning after Casey's birthday. Everyone invited to the party would be black out drunk, meaning, I wouldn't have an argument with my dad.

I spent the rest of the day in my room, ordering a pizza and giving my dad half. I couldn't be bothered with Casey's antics, and pizza never failed to even the playing field. I ate dinner while watching a movie and went about my week as usual.

Dad and I hadn't fought in three days; which was a surprising but abnormal development.

I initially assumed Casey's actions were the reason for our cease fire. She overstepped and violated my personal space. Which was something that had never happened until that afternoon. Dad had a serious conversion with Casey regarding her selling herself and they agreed to be done with it. To say I was delighted was an understatement.

I locked my door with my bed the night of the party. If anyone wanted to sneak into my room, they'd have better luck code breaking a safe. I had to climb out of my window with the neighbour's ladder to buy dinner because the kitchen was a sea of alcohol, drugs, and people.

The morning after was disgusting, no surprise, every other year since Casey started living here, the house has been a wildlife centre for her, "friends".

I tried to shrug off the disgusting state of my home and cleaned the bathroom before showering. Beer bottles in the shower with god knows what floating at the bottom turned my stomach. If someone could wash themselves with said filth in and around their toes, I'd spew.

The train station had never been so appealing. I never liked the smell of cigarettes, my dad started smoking when mum died, a habit she would've despised and nipped in the bud pronto. She was the best, and I miss telling her that every day.

"Ticket please?" the ticket man approached me with his ticket machine in hand.

"One return ticket from Larkhall Hospital please?" I pulled out my wallet.

His machine beeped. "Three-eighty, mate?" we shared a smile as I handed him the money.

"Thank you!" I slid the tickets into my wallet and leaned my head against the seat.

I closed my eyes for the thirty-minute journey. The atmosphere somewhat drowned out by my headphones, I always found it weird that people were comfortable talking about private or uncomfortable topics on public transport for everyone to hear. It wasn't common for strangers to interrupt, they'd have to say some horrendous shit for that to transpire.

The smell of hospitals made me feel unclean. They were probably the furthest thing from dirty, I just loathed the smell; the smell of illness and hand sanitizer.

My mum was held in Larkhall's morgue before my family organized the funeral. She'd never liked hospitals and often told me about her nightmare hypotheticals where someone might be locked in the morgue, alone at night, and the dead would come to take their soul. It was terrifying at the time, now it's just funny.

"Next!" the receptionist named Carol shouted.

"I think I'm five minutes late, sorry or the inconvenience." I handed her my letter and apologized for the last time under my breath.

"That's you, Honey. Head upstairs and you'll be called when the doctor is ready." she smiled and handed back the letter. The floor and room number noted at the top of the paper.

I thanked her before sliding the paper into my pocket. There was an elevator for the elderly and disabled patients, visitors, and staff.

I counted the sets of stairs before entering the waiting area and letting the nurse at the front desk know I was here. She smiled and gestured to the seats, turning to her computer. I decided to stand because the doctor's knew me by name and always had me in and out of the building within ten minutes.

The assisting nurses were delightful. They would never make me feel embarrassed about my fear of needles (Trypanophobia); it was supposedly common from what the doctor and nurses had said in conversation.

I always wanted to have a friend with the same phobia to relate to because my dad made me feel like a little bitch for it. When mum died, I avoided my appointments like the plague and ended up mildly ill. A decision made from fear and grief.

I thanked the staff for their time and adjusted my t-shirt. The doctor giving me the infamous speech regarding physical activity and kept the plaster on for one to two hours.

"Have a nice day!" I exited the room with a smile.

My feet walking themselves swiftly through the hall and down the stairs.

My attention shifted when an old woman asked for my help with her rollator walker, a cool word for her walking support. I held her walking aid as she climbed the stairs one step at a time, her hands colder than mine as she gently cupped my hand.

"Thank you for helping an old grandma, dear." she harmlessly joked. Her hand gently packing me on the shoulder as I set her walker on the ground.

"There's no need to thank me, I hope you enjoy the rest of your day." she wished me well in return before we parted ways.

I watched her for a few seconds just to make sure she'd be alright. I did a half-turn, my eyes not deceiving as I started at the faces spotted throughout the waiting area. The stranger who literally saved my life was reading a newspaper, alone.

Honestly, I debated leaving him alone and going home. I knew there was no way he could know I had an appointment here, stalker from the park or not. Nobody knew about my jags, it was just my mum, dad and me.

Curiosity killed the cat.

I silently made my way into the waiting room and sat two seats across from him. The waiting room somewhat quiet compared to the previous floor.

"There's no way!" I gained sarcasm. "You're here for the waiting-room-fetish-club too?" I joked. My humour getting the better of as I cracked a smile and held back my laughter.

"Ha ha, you really know how to liven up a room." he replied. His sarcasm genuine and my smile fading. "Are you here to get checked because of the other day?" he asked. His tone serious enough for my amusement to stop.

"And you obviously don't?" I retaliated mid-slouch. My back nipping. "Agh. Why do jabs have to hurt so much?" I muttered.

"It won't hurt forever, just relax." he paused. "What was the jag for?" he folded his paper and leaned back in the chair.

It felt strange to tell a stranger about my situation although he did save me from being roadkill which kind of forced me into a box.

"Kidney stuff. No big deal, i won't die without it!" I zipped up my jumper and sprung to my feet., The hospital and conversation uncomfortable.

"Leaving so soon?" he asked, sounding genuinely sad I was leaving.

I nodded and said goodbye and good luck with whatever he was doing. My gut suddenly telling me to run for the hills. I couldn't understand why he made me so uncomfortable; he didn't give off a certain vibe, it was just his tone and how his eyes pierced holes right through me.