Numb - Chapter 1

Now everyone knows that keeping a relationship going is hard, we were never told it would be easy. Compromising who we are to please our partner. It was hardly written in the contract was it? No. A relationship is more like the tedious small-print that seems to appear everywhere these days, an inconvenient and often-times horrible experience. Being tied down by a partner you appear to love, compromising yourself, trying to keep the other happy... but I wasn't happy. It didn't keep me happy.

You see, my partner. He is sweet. Yes. Don't get me wrong I love him to pieces, or at least I think I do... he is my life, everything that I have ever known I owe to him. Klint. He keeps me sane in this world, but he doesn't keep me happy.

I haven't been in too many relationships, I was never the girl the guys fawned over as though possessed, I was a shy, bookish girl. I think that was when it began, my inability to show or feel happiness. Yes, that was when it started. Back when I was a little girl.

Sometimes it would happen when I was sitting on the floor, playing with the precious little amount of toys that I had. The heavy shortfalls of breath and the sound of ominous footsteps would echo behind me, it didn't take a genius to work out who it was. Though, sometimes I wished that it would be someone different.

This is my mother. She would approach me with a glint in her eye and a malicious, frightening smile that still haunts me to this day. Her name is Lorraine. I don't know what has happened to her now, I refused to keep in touch. Every night when I was little, she would force on some horrible red earrings and shoes and leave the house. I wouldn't know what time she got back, I was always asleep.

And that night was no exception. "My dear Ellen." For that was and is my name. "You will be good for me tonight won't you? You know I have to work..." She would explain it to me with a sickly, patronising voice, but after that she would straighten up, clear her throat, and continue in her more brisk-like business tone. "I don't know what time I will be home. You know where the fridge is, grab a bite to eat and I will see you in the morning. I want you in bed by the time I get home." I never dared to disobey her, and I never stayed up to wait for her return. I was scared of her and I appreciated all the time that I had away from her.

I would sit on my bed most evenings. Yes I cried, but not because I missed my mother... but because I was frightened, the usual fears of a child: Darkness, intrusion, monsters. The list goes on, but I feared these the most. I was frightened of intrusion the most and monsters the least; a human is much more scary than a flesh-eating monster... emotions can make people do things out of the ordinary. I had seen. I knew what love could do. And that was why I became Numb.

It wasn't until I was a little bit older that I began to contemplate the meaning of my loneliness and I blame it all on my mother now. I began to understand my mother, I was growing up, experiencing changes. I knew what she did when she went out every night, I wasn't afraid to stay up anymore. But I was horrified by the sounds that echoed through the thin walls as she "entertained" her many visitors.

But still. Every night she would leave and every night I would lounge around watching TV. Relishing in my mother-free moments. I would dread her return home, and often dreamed of running away. But something made me stay in that house, perhaps it was my inability to make friends... I certainly didn't have any. Or perhaps the lack of funds, I certainly didn't have any money either. Anyway it doesn't matter what it was; I refrained from running away.

I would sit on that mouldy couch oftentimes staring blankly at the TV as it blurted out meaningless statements and "news." Well it wasn't news to me, I wasn't the slightest bit interested. Our family barely got by paying the electric bill, I wasn't interested in news unless it meant that my mother was going to get a payrise. My mind would stray and my eyes would focus on the safe in the corner of the living room. I had always wondered what was in there, did mother have a secret stash of money hidden away? Or just a bunch of secrets?

I didn't find out right then, I would make myself something to eat and sit in silence listening to my spoon clattering around the bottom of the bowl as I ate. I would sit in the dining room until dusk fell and then I would carter back up to my bedroom and out of the way, waiting for my mothers imminent arrival.

Still, I was used to it. I had put up with it my whole life, I wasn't going to start caring now. A few weeks later and I was just rummaging through the fridge as usual, looking for something that would satisfy my hunger. You would have thought wouldn't you, that after all my time looking after myself I would have learned how to cook? Well, I can't. Probably the only thing that I haven't been able to teach myself.

So as per usual, it was just a bag of cookies for me. Every time I so much as looked at a bag of cookies, I would remember those cold, lonely nights I spent as a child. Toddling around at four years old, rummaging for a bite to eat. Sometimes I didn't eat anything and would have to feel the anger of my mother when she got home with another of her many boyfriends.

As usual I was sat in front of the Tv watching some old lady talking about knitting patterns. There was nothing else on and it wasn't like I was actually watching the programme, I enjoy sitting in the dark now, staring as the shadows dance across the walls. My mother wouldn't be home for a while yet. Dusk had been and gone, but still I was sitting there. I wasn't worried, my mother usually walked in at about one in the morning.

So it came as a surprise then, when my mother suddenly wrenched open the door against the fierce wind. I felt a shiver run up my spine as she entered and the wind managed to whip my face before she forced the door back into its frame.

She was leaving the room and was acting as if she hadn't seen me. So feeling a sudden daring I called out to her."What are you doing home so early? I was planning to be in bed by the time you got home." She didn't say anything right away, but revolved slowly on the spot to face me.

"I was fired!" She blurted out, her face was blank, but I heard in her voice that she was angry and upset. "You should be in bed! I have told you I don't want to see your annoying, bratty little face when I come home! You're an ungrateful insolent child and you should keep your extraordinarily large nose out of my business and get to your bed when you are told!" She teetered slightly and I could tell she had been drinking.

I would have retorted with a truly hurtful comment, but I was suddenly fearful, my mother was welling up with emotion and I didn't want to give her an excuse to take it out on me. I wasn't bothered too much by her insults; I had heard them all before. Useless, worthless, irritating... you know, the usual. I also would have loved to watch her break down, it would have made me feel powerful. But I also knew that if I watched it, it would haunt me for the rest of my life.

So I ran up to my room, and clambered onto my bed, where I stayed a while, just listening to the sounds downstairs: the clinking of bottles, the quiet, muffled sobs, the slow switching off of the lights and my mothers footsteps on the stairs. She stumbled into her room that night, and it was then that I began to feel it, the numbness that managed to flow freely around my body. Emotion was an ugly thing, and I never wanted to show any sign of it.

I don't feel numb anymore though, and I realise that I am not happy. I'm not happy at all, not the remotest bit. I try for my marriage's sake, but it seems to slip through my fingers, just as water manages to escape from a cupped hand. Yes Klint is my husband, my rock. But I am not happy.