Homebound –Chapter One by @Hazzer123

Hi everyone! For those of you who don't know me, I'm Hayley, otherwise known as Hazzer123. I write a lot of teen fiction, and this happens to be the first chapter of my new novel, Homebound. I hope you guys like it! There's plenty of other things happening over on my profile today, including LOTS of new content and a Q&A, so do make sure to pop over and get involved!

There's a lot resting on a birthday wish. You only get them once a year, and you don't want to waste them. Sure, you get other opportunities in the year to make a wish. A turkey bone at Christmas, four leaf clovers, dandelion puffs and shooting stars. But birthday wishes are the best. They actually work sometimes.

'Make a wish, Lori!' Marigold tells me as I sit in front of my cake, seventeen candles stuck haphazardly into the icing. The whole kitchen smells of burning sugar as the wax melts onto the cake. Marigold and Rita wait, expectant, with their hands entwined. Rowena sits with her clunky boots up on the chair next to her, eyeing up the cake from the corner of her eye. Honey's bent over her homework, but she's smiling, humming Happy Birthday. I close my eyes.

'I've not thought of one yet.'

'Birthday wishes are for babies,' Rowena mutters, chipping at her black nail varnish. Since she turned thirteen last month, she's become the model example of why old people hate teenagers.

'Don't listen. Take your time,' Honey murmurs so only I can hear, but she doesn't look up from her homework. I squeeze my eyes shut again. I don't care what Ro says anyway. A birthday wish got me here – here with a family.

What can I wish for when I have everything? Over the years, my wishes have come true – get fostered, then adopted, be loved. But now I have all of those things. I could wish for my anxiety to disappear, but wishes aren't miracles. So what do I want? I take a deep breath and blow out the candles.

I wish for everything to stay the same.

Marigold cheers and rests her blushed cheek against Rita's as I blow out my candles. I hang my head to hide my smile. Rita and Marigold both bend to put their arms around me from behind. I can feel Rita's curls and Marigold's long, beaded necklaces tickling my face. Rita pecks my cheek.

'Our little girl. Seventeen...'

I'm practically glowing. It always makes me feel good when they call me their daughter, or their little girl. Rowena would die if she received the same treatment, but then again, she was never as desperate to leave the care system as I was. Rita straightens up, her arms re-twining around her wife.

'Right then. Birthday presents? Check. Birthday cake? Check. What else?'

'Birthday pizza?' Marigold interjects.

'I knew we'd forgotten something. What does everyone want?'

'Pepperoni!' Honey and I cry in unison. She finally glances up from her work to smile at me.

Rowena folds her pale, skinny arms. 'I'm not eating pizza. I'm on a diet.'

'Darling, we're a family that believes in getting your seven a day, and we think that Coke was brewed by the Devil. Half a pizza on your sister's birthday is not going to make you put on six pounds. Not that it matters,' Rita says, poking Rowena in her bony ribs. 'Veggie supreme to share, my dear?'

A ghost of a smile flickers on Ro's sullen face for a moment, before it's replaced with a sour expression. 'Sure. Whatever.'

Rita grins, ruffling Rowena's black bobbed hair. Ro's hands immediately rush to smooth it back down. Rita grins crosses to the other side of our circle dinner table and closes Honey's textbook. Honey looks up, panic-stricken.

'Enough studying.'

'But-'

'No buts. You've been working all day, a couple of hours off won't kill you. Go and pick a film out. Lori and I are going to get the pizzas, so have a DVD ready when we get back.'

Honey bites her lip, her face half hidden behind her pale hair. 'Sorry. I didn't mean to be a buzzkill. I just have so much work to do...'

I nod, but I'm not really concentrating. All I can think is about what Rita just said. That we're going to get pizza. I swallow back the lump in my throat.

'Can't I stay here and help choose the film? Please?' I blurt, interrupting Honey. Rita and Marigold exchange a glance. Marigold makes herself busy setting the table, refusing to look at me. Rita raises an eyebrow at me.

'Come on. Get your coat.'

'Pretty birthday please?' I joke, but I'm hoping she'll change her mind. My palms are clammy with sweat. My heart tries to find rhythm but can't find it's beat. Rita shakes her head, knowing my ploy.

'Lori, we're going. Now.'

A familiar nausea starts to bubble inside me. The last thing I want to do is go out. Our family doesn't even have a car which means we'll have to get the bus. It's rush hour, we'll be stuck between dozens of strangers. They'll crowd my space. Suffocate me. I don't want to. I can't. But I don't say no to Rita. Not now, not ever.

Mari pecks Rita on the lips as we head for the door, and plants a kiss on my cheek, filling me with warmth. It makes me forget my nerves for a moment. Marigold fiddles with her long hair, smiling as she weaves the dark strands into tiny plaits.

'Don't forget garlic bread,' she says. Rita rolls her eyes affectionately.

'As if you'd let us forget. We'll be back in an hour, tops.'

This is the moment that stops me in my tracks. The moment where we have to step out of the warmth and comfort of the house. We have to go down the driveway and out into the street and then cross the road to the bus stop. Away from the safety of home. I stare out at the dark road. Anything can happen out there, at night. It's worse at night, out there. In town, there will be drunks darting in and out of the pubs, and taxis weaving through traffic, and crowds of people laughing as they bustle past. People will be staring at me, wondering what my problem is and why I can't just have fun like the rest of them. Seventeen is meant to be the age where people go out drinking and kissing strangers at parties. Or as far as I know. Things I will never do, anyway.

Every opportunity, though, Rita insists on dragging me out of the house with her. We could have ordered in tonight. Mari prepared afternoon tea at the house earlier so we wouldn't have to go out. But Rita is intent on pushing me to my limits.

My foot hovers in the space between our hallway and the stone step outside. My whole body trembles. My foot dips onto the step for a moment before I retract it, as though I plunged my toes in freezing water. I stumble back into the hall, breathing hard. Marigold sighs in sympathy, but steps away to allow Rita to handle me.

Rita edges around me to stand on the step outside. Her face isn't sympathetic, but it's kind. In some ways, it's inviting. She's not worried about me. She believes I can do this.

'Remember what I told you?' she asks. Her gruff voice has raised an octave.

I nod. We created a mantra together to help me push through my anxiety attacks. I am loved. I am supported. I will not be left alone. The next part I add myself.

I can do this.

But my body disagrees. As I step outside, I can feel my pulse raising. Blood thumps in my head. Constant, a metronome. My fingers numb. I stagger forwards, dazed. Rita takes my elbow and marches me away. My lungs stutter as we walk. I try and focus. What's the situation? Where are we going?

Goal number one. Bus stop. It can't be more than twenty metres away. I can do it. No, I can't. I pause and Rita's hand slips from my elbow. I'm alone. I gasp in the time it takes Rita to retake my arm. She taps under my chin, making me raise my head.

'Deep breath. Keep going.'

I carry on, breathless like an out of practise runner. But I concentrate on my lungs, forcing them to do their job. After an eternity, my eyes refocus and my hand brushes the cold, yellow metal of the bus stop. I drum my fingers on the glass of the stand. I can hear Rita saying something to me, but I can't make sense of her words. My breathing comes in sharp, shallow gasps. My stomach churns. But I can feel Rita's hand, soft and gentle, on my shoulder. I focus on her touch and the warmth of her palm. The boniness of her metal rings on my skin. And suddenly, it's a little easier to breathe again.

As I calm down, I'm able to refocus on the world around me. Sometimes my panic attacks take me so far out of this world, that it takes a few minutes to re-familiarise myself with it all. The street is quiet – we're the only two people at the bus stop. I sigh in relief. No one has witnessed my moment of panic, and there's no one crowding my space. I try to swallow the lump in my throat, desperate to focus on other things. I watch a street light flicker into life, emitting a low buzzing noise as it spills amber light onto the pavement. If I look at it for long enough, I can pretend I'm back in my bedroom, where my orange lampshade casts a glow over everything. I'm not stood out in the cold, out in the street. I'm home. Until Rita pulls me from my thoughts by wrapping her arms around me. Still, I feel safer knowing she's beside me. I bury my face into her. She smells of lavender, and lavender smells of home.

'You know I'm doing this for your own good, don't you, Lori?'

I sigh, nodding into her chest. 'I know.'

'You don't have to talk. I know it's not easy for you being out in public. You're doing great.'

As I pull away, I try for a smile. Rita has done a lot to help me over the past few years. When my anxiety is at its worst, she helps me through it. But when I'm doing okay, she tries to help me work past it.

'A temporary solution is not a solution at all,' she told me once. 'It's like putting a plaster on a gun-shot wound. That's why we have to get through this and put it behind you. Not just wade through the mud all the time.'

I try to hold on to that thought. Rita's hand returns to my shoulder, her grip firm, but not in a bad way. It makes me feel like she'll hold me up even if my legs fail me. Then the bus comes into view and I seize. Rita's hand feels ghostly, distant. But I can still hear her voice. I cling to it with all my might.

'Remember what I taught you?'

I am loved. I am supported. I will not be left alone. I repeat, over and over and over. My legs shake as we step onto the bus, but I repeat the mantra as we take the last empty seats on the bus. Rita fishes her iPod out of her pocket and hands me a headphone. I repeat it again as Rita lets me pick the music. I select her old band, listening to the husk of her voice singing in my ear as we ride the bus. My pulse steadies. I rest my head against her shoulder, shutting the world out. If I close my eyes, I don't notice if people stare at me. I can disappear.

I am loved. I am supported. I will not be left alone.

It's a relief when the bus stops again and Rita nudges me to stand up. We step off the bus, and I take a deep breath of fresh air. We're close enough to the centre of town that I can hear the bustle of people, but far enough away that we're safe from it. In the distance, a police siren wails, but it's far away. We're okay here. Rita loops her arm through mine. She smiles at me.

'Okay?'

I nod. I feel okay. Rita squeezes my arm and we carry on walking towards our favourite pizza takeaway. I'm alert and scanning the street for possible obstacles. People, mainly. But I can hear Rita talking about a reunion with her band friends, and I manage to respond appropriately to her and ask all the right questions. Soon enough, I can see the takeout sign across the road, glowing neon in the dark.

Goal three.

There's a group of young boys hanging outside, their hoods pulled over their head. They laugh and I'm sure it's at me. I know it is. I take a step back, stiff. Rita pulls me a little closer. I can hear the distant police siren getting closer. I feel like it's in my head. Screaming, danger, danger. My legs are trembling so much that I know if I move, I'll fall. No. That's not true. Rita wouldn't let me. Her arm acts as my spine, holding me up.

'They won't bother you. They're just a group of friends hanging out together. They don't care about what we're doing. Are you ready to go?'

I nod. It embarrasses me, the way she has to talk me through every step of our journey. Without her guidance, I would never have made it this far. I would barely have made it off the doorstep. But everything feels wrong.

Rita tugs me and I shuffle after her, reluctant. I stare at the shop ahead – the goal. I swallow the lump in my throat. You're almost there. You can do this.

Rita turns her attention back to me, smiling. 'I'm starving. I bet I'll eat it all before we get-'

Tyres skid around the corner. A siren wails. There's a car headed for us. Too fast. Rita's head whips round. Her face falls. Her eyes lock mine as she shoves me hard. I fall backwards, reaching for her to catch me. My back hits the floor. There's a sound like a football hitting a window. I sit up as the car hits the lamppost. It crumples to half its size. On impact, it sounds like knives and forks clashing in a crockery drawer.

For a few seconds, there's silence. I blink. Once. Twice. The world comes into focus. Rita is limp in the middle of the road. I stumble to my feet, backing away. Someone grabs my arms, too hard. Trying to tug me away. I resist. I need to get closer. All I can see is Rita, her curls covering her face. Her legs at strange angles.

Someone is saying something to me, but their voice is just a buzz. The boys in hoods rush into the road. Crowding Rita, hiding her from me. I try to get to her, but someone holds me back. My lungs are on the verge of collapse.

The siren is loud now. It screams in my head. More people crowd me and I shrink away. Nowhere is safe. I know that now. Black stars haze my eye, so I close them. Close the world out and repeat my mantra. I am loved. I am supported. I will not be left alone. I am loved. I am supported. I will not be left alone.

I can't be left alone.

***********

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