Talk to strangers

I didn’t know if it was the black eyes of the people watching me or the way everything looked dark and overused in the city not at all how I imagined it. I was ill at ease, as if restlessness could be defined by a leg that wouldn’t stop bouncing under the table and an imagination that predicted I would be mugged.

I always knew I was different never really fitted in, not like joey did. Father always gives him fond happy smiles and soft replies which in comparison to my cold glares and harsh responses were all my body ached for. My sweet sixteen, I think I favoured it more than any other girl in the world, the day of my freedom had finally come!

I know dad cared for me I’m sure he does it’s just you think me a total invalid not a sixteen year old girl. He doesn’t seem to get that I’m the healthiest I’ve been in years, as long as I take my medication and don’t skip treatments I am fine.

I sit in a fifties style diner and wait. I wait for half an hour, forty five minutes, an hour. I feel like I’ve been waiting for people all day. But then he shows up, his dark hair cut short, cropped out of his eyes. He is wearing his work suit and had sounded irritated over the phone. He sits down opposite me “sorry for the delay…sweetie” he smiled tightly his lips becoming a thin line. I nod wincing at the harshness of the word ‘sweetie’ coming from his mouth.

He shows me my medication, the heinous thing I dreaded every day, the thing I couldn’t live without. “You left these on the counter this morning” he hisses meeting my guilty eyes I nod again if I had ever learnt anything from this man it was to keep my mouth shut. I stretch my hand across the small coffee stained table willing the repulsive things to fall from his tight grip and spill out freeing me from them. As my fingertips graze the bottle it shoots across the floor leaving me and father gaping at his hand, he looks up at me and growls “you did this you awful thing”.

I bite my lip and hang my head ashamed he’s right I did it this wasn’t the first time it happened whenever I conveniently didn’t take my medication something awful like this would happen. Just as I open my mouth to apologise a man saunters in, his dark hair in dreads, loose bound behind his head. He bought something from his pocket and the last thing I remember is the glint of the metallic as it hit the sunlight and a head splitting squeal.

My mind is fuzzy, the last remnants of darkness being chased away by the realisation that I am awake again. With a mental sigh I allow my brain to focus and cautiously open one eye. The bright spring sunlight cuts the room in half and I see dust motes dance in the wall of light. Scanning the room carefully I lock my gaze with a boy not much older than me. Dark, tousled hair partly covers a chiselled, handsome face. Deep copper eyes, set concealed within their sockets, watch me intently. A subtle scar reaching the lobe of his ear, running down his jawline leaves a mysterious trace of trouble.

“Morning” he smiles brightly I shoot him an angry, perplexed glare “I’m Morgan” he responds a smile still etched across his face “Tilly” I mutter and then mentally face palm myself father always said never talk to strangers and here I was giving one personal information. He smirks at me “cute name” I roll my eyes willing something to hit the smug look of his face the coat stand in the corner would do a pretty good job. I giggle to myself as something shoots past me and hits Morgan square in the face laughter erupts inside of me “at least you have accuracy” he mumbles.

I bolt upwards and stare intently at him as he gives me a worried look “what does that mean?” I ask quickly more questions flooding into my mind he cuts me off waving his hand in the air as he held the bridge of his nose.

He smiles pointing down at the coat stand I nod slowly understanding what he meant. I did this again. I’m a freak no wonder father treats me so distantly he’s ashamed to call me his daughter “you know I would’ve thought you had figured out he’s not your dad by now” Morgan whispers knowingly and I widen my eyes “your just money to him” he adds studying my face.

My heart thuds in my ears my pulse quickening, adrenalin pumps like ice through my veins. All colour drains from my face and the whole world sways sideways so this was why I never fitted in, why he was so cruel to me, I wasn’t his and I never would be not like Joey. Something tells me to trust in what Morgan had said it all makes sense like a puzzle at the back of my mind finally clicking into place.


I take my stance and direct furniture into different directions I had been warned that my ‘father’ would try to come for me again but I would be stronger better even. I had long since stopped taking my medication they were just blocking my telekinetic abilities and I would be ready for him when he came. Morgan will help me I trust him wholeheartedly and that’s not easy for me to do with my past. I guess sometimes it is just better to talk to strangers.

By Mollie Leahy