Phoenix: The Beauty in Between (A Beautiful Series Companion Novel) Read online

  The heaving of my own sobs are what wake me up. I sit upright, breathing heavily as I look around the room to get my bearings. Maddison is still sleeping soundly. She’s always been hard to wake up once she was out.

  Sitting in the dark and the quiet of the room, I can’t escape my thoughts. I lay back down with my pillow over my head and just cry. What am I supposed to do now? I can’t sleep over with friends forever.

  One question keeps playing through my mind, over and over – what did I do wrong?

  At 6am, my tears have dried up, and I’m tired of feeling sorry for myself. Throwing my covers back, I get up and move over to the desk, writing a note to tell Maddison that I’m going home to get ready for school.

  As I slip quietly out of the house, I retrieve my bag from the bushes and really do head home. I figure my parents would still be home at this hour, and I want to try to talk to them. Surely, they can’t be serious.

  When I arrive, the lights are all out, and it looks like no one is there. I walk around the perimeter of the house and try all the windows and once again; I try my keys. I start hunting around the garden, looking for a fake rock and search under mats and pot plants, hoping to happen upon a key that I didn’t know existed. But there’s nothing.

  Eventually, the frustration gets too much for me. I pick up a rock from the garden and throw it through the window. The loud smash of the glass echoes through the quiet of the morning, and even louder still is the sound of the alarm. An alarm we didn’t have 24 hours ago.

  Do they really want me gone that much? I think disbelievingly, as I hitch my bag on my shoulder and get out of there. Soon after, a car from the security company is driving up our street. I keep walking and keep my head down. I don’t want to risk being arrested right now. I’m pretty sure my parents wouldn’t bother coming to get me if I was.

  For the rest of the day, I walk. There is nowhere else I know of to go. I can’t visit a friend, because they’re all at school, and I certainly can’t go home. I end up sitting in a park, rocking back and forth on a swing.

  It’s here that it finally hits me.

  I’m homeless.

  Chapter Four

  Six months earlier

  “What do you mean you can’t trust me?!” my mother yells in the other room. “Haven’t I proven myself enough for you?”

  My parents are fighting again.

  “You ruined that trust years ago Susan!” my father bellows back.

  I tuck my knees into my chest and try to keep very quiet. If I move and they see me, I’ll get dragged into this fight too. I don’t know why she does it. But when she’s angry at Dad, she’s angry at me too.

  Adam and Sophie look over at me. “I don’t think they can see you,” my brother whispers. They know this happens, but no one saves me. No one stops her. I guess they’re scared of going against her and becoming me. I don’t really blame them.

  Trying to shut out the sounds of their yelling, I focus on the television. I can see the characters on the screen moving and talking. However, I can’t hear anything besides the angry raised voices in the next room and the thumping of my heart.

  When the door bursts open, I suck in my breath. Adam and Sophie glance at me, but keep their focus on the television.

  “You’re an arsehole Oliver! I’m sick and tired of this,” my mother yells before coming to a stop beside me. I think she actually came looking for me. “And you!” she says, pointing her finger in my face. “You’re no better!”

  “I swear mum. I haven’t done anything. I’ve just been sitting here. I wasn’t even listening,” I ramble. When my mother gets into these moods, her tirades can go on for hours. Please don’t do this, I beg her internally.

  When her hand draws back, my brother and sister take their cue and leave the room quietly, just before the loud slap fills the room when her hand connects with my face.

  Tears sting my eyes as heat radiates off my face, but I refuse to cry. For a while, I actually fight back, trying to convince her that I haven’t done anything. That she doesn’t need to keep yelling at me.

  But she doesn’t listen, and I run out of fight.

  Eventually, I have nothing left to do but cry and listen, as she tells me every single thing that she finds wrong, or insulting about me.

  As I look at her twisted, angry face, I can only imagine that she hates me. I don’t know why. Although I wish I did. I could fix it if I knew. I could be a better daughter.

  Hours later, she’s repeated herself at least ten times, and she’s run out of steam. I’ve been grounded – again. For the life of me, I can’t tell you why…

  Chapter Five

  “Where were you at school today?” Maddison asks me over the phone. “Your note said you were going home to get ready. What happened?”

  I’m sitting on the front step of my house, waiting to see if a member of my family is going to come home. They must be here somewhere. The window I broke earlier is already fixed, so they can’t be far.

  I figure that if I can just make them talk to me, then they’ll have to let me back in. I don’t care if they ignore me. I just want somewhere to live until I’m old enough to go to university. I know that if they let me, then I can stay out of their way. I can make it work.

  The thought of having to survive on my own scares the living shit out of me. I don’t want to be a homeless teen. I don’t know how to be a homeless teen.

  “I wasn’t feeling well,” I lie as I keep my eyes focused on the street and watch for some sign of their return.

  She tries to move on with the conversation and starts telling me about how one of our friends was trying to get the attention of a boy two years ahead of us. I’m only half listening. I’ve got bigger things to worry about.

  “Listen Mads?” I interrupt. “Do you think your mum would let me stay over again tonight?”

  “Um… I doubt it. Not after last night. But I can ask. Why? What’s going on?”

  “Nothing really. I’m just locked out again.”

  “Pay. Something’s wrong. I can hear it in your voice.”

  My phone signals that it has a low battery. “I’m fine. Don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll be back soon,” I say, and end the call.

  Diligently, I wait until the sky grows dark over my head, and the street lights turn on. I decide to make another phone call, this time to Ramona. I use the same story I used last night – I forgot my keys, can I stay over because my parents won’t be home until late. Yes, they know I’m here. No, it won’t happen again.

  I use this as the excuse until I run out of friends. Then I go back to the beginning and make up a new one. Each night, I’m afraid they won’t believe me. I don’t know how long I can do this before they start saying ‘no’.

  Chapter Six

  As time moves on, I spend a lot of it reflecting on my life so far. Looking back, I can’t really think of a time when my parents actually seemed happy to have me around.

  I have a vague memory of my mother hugging me when I was very small, but I don’t know if it’s real, or if I created it after witnessing her care for my siblings.

  Interactions between myself and my father were practically non-existent. He spoke to me only when it was absolutely necessary, and then it was mainly grunts and barked orders.

  My mother, on the other hand – well she made sure to keep tabs on me.

  I find it strange, because she wasn’t as strict with my older brother, Aaron, and my younger sister, Sophie. They seemed to have a lot of leeway and were allowed to stay out late and go out more than I was.

  When I questioned this, I was told it was because I didn’t do as well at school as they did. Or that they were allowed out because their sporting team had done well. I suck at school, and I suck at sports.

  The truth is, I’m the black sheep of my family – literally. I mean, I don’t even look like them. I’ve often thought that perhaps I was adopted, but I have seen photos of when my mum gave birth to me. In the photo, she and dad are both lo
oking down at a tiny baby with masses of dark hair.

  They were smiling in that photo. So they must have loved me once…

  I think I must be some sort of genetic throwback. My entire family are fair haired, blue eyed, and fair skinned. My looks are more Mediterranean. I have olive skin, hazel eyes and dark curly hair. I don’t fit in at all.

  Perhaps that’s why it all started. Perhaps they treated me differently because I look so unalike them. I suppose it was embarrassing for them when people actually questioned my parentage… I really don’t know. However, I do know that I’ve never felt wanted, and I’ve never felt included.

  My brother and sister used me as their scapegoat. It was always so easy for them to point their fingers and claim that I was the one who broke the vase, or dropped the mobile phone in the sink full of water.

  Often, I would get home to find the house empty, and they’d all gone out to some dinner or family event without me. While it did upset me, I eventually got used to it.

  I did try though. I did everything I could to be a part of the family. Once, I even had my hair bleached to try to fit in more. But all that did was earn me a month’s grounding, another trip to the hair dresser and a very short haircut that caused my already curly hair to look like a frizzy ball of darkness surrounding my head.

  I followed the rules of the house, worked hard at school, hoping that somehow, it would make my parents notice me. That it would make them decide to love me.

  Eventually, I did do well in one of my classes. I placed first in my art class. I remember the day I was to receive my award. I felt so proud and actually thought my parents would attend the special assembly, put on to honour the best students in my grade. But when I looked out into the sea of delighted smiling faces, no one was there smiling for me. No one cared enough to be proud along with me.

  After that, I stopped trying. I stopped caring. It didn’t matter if I came first or last. I wasn’t going to get a smile. I wasn’t going to get a kind word. I’d just get… nothing.

  Chapter Seven

  Three months has passed since I went home and found that note. I spent the first two weeks walking past my family home, waiting on the doorstep, hoping to find them there and have them tell me it was all a mistake. Some ridiculous joke gone awry. But it’s not a joke. They were never there, and on the last day I visited, a ‘For Sale’ sign had been erected.

  They had moved, and I had lost my last shred of hope. It meant that I needed to move on too. So, I stopped visiting and focused on what I needed most – a bed.

  To get by, I’ve slept on every spare bed, couch, rug and open garage belonging to my friends that I could talk or sneak my way into.

  Although, when word started to get around that my parents had kicked me out; it made staying with school friends a lot more difficult. Their parents wanted to turn me in to social services. It was as if they thought a fifteen-year-old girl would find a loving foster home. I don’t think so.

  Slowly, I’ve moved further away from Miranda, which is the suburb I’ve known my entire life. I’ve done my best to meet new people, to make new friends. But those who don’t know you, aren’t always sympathetic to your cause.

  The first night I slept outside, was the worst night of my life. Winter was just around the corner and while Sydney isn’t the coldest place in the world, night time is still fairly chilly. I ended up sleeping in the tunnel section of children’s play equipment in a park near Jamisontown.

  Every sound I heard sent my heart racing. I felt that any moment, the wrong kind of person would come along, and do unspeakable things to me. I cursed myself for heading out west. Everyone knew Western Sydney was a dangerous place. But I had travelled there, hoping to, somehow, make my own way – something I wasn’t able to do in the Sutherland Shire.

  When I woke from what little sleep I had managed to get, I thanked my lucky stars. But I was hungry. A feeling that was becoming all too familiar to me. The two hundred dollars my mother gave me, stopped paying for my food weeks ago. My choices had become severely limited.

  With no money in my pocket, I had to resort to taking what I needed. Although sometimes, I could order food during a busy period and claim that I’d lost my wallet. If I became visibly upset, then most of the time, someone would either pay for me, or the clerk would tell me not to worry.

  I bathed in public washrooms, and reduced my clothing to what would fit into a small backpack, so I didn’t look quite so conspicuous walking around with a large sports bag.

  I was getting by. I was surviving. I spent an entire week sleeping in different children’s parks, undisturbed, until one night a group of people turned up where I was huddled.

  At first, I was really frightened. I held my breath as I listened to them all talking and laughing. Having no idea who they were and what they were like, I prayed that they wouldn’t find me. But when I heard the sound of a shoe hit the metal step of the play equipment, I yelped and alerted them to my presence.

  “What the hell?” a guy’s voice said from just outside the tunnel’s entrance. I could hear the shifting of his feet as he crouched down to peer inside.

  “Is someone in there?” a female voice asked.

  “I think so, it’s dark though. Chuck us your phone,” he said.

  The phone made a slapping sound as it landed in his hands, and I scrunched my body up tighter, squeezing my eyes shut tightly – it was as if I thought it would make me disappear.

  “Hello?” he called out quietly.

  “What if it’s an axe murderer?” the girl asked in a hushed tone.

  “Why would an axe murderer be hiding in a playground? I might be a lost kid or something,” another voice responded.

  I felt trapped and started to make my way out the other side, hoping that I could make a run for it. The only way I could go was toward an area that was a makeshift lookout point, with one of those pretend telescopes and metal steering wheels. It led to a yellow plastic side, which would be my sole chance of escape.

  Moving as quietly as I could, I crab walked toward the slide and placed my hands on the safety bars beside it. Feeling slightly panicked, I leapt off the side, with the plan to run until my legs gave out.

  My plans were short lived however, because my first step led into the chest of another person. Arms grabbed hold of me, and I started screaming, thrashing my body to try to make them let me go.

  A hand clamped over my mouth, my eyes opened wide, suddenly terrified that all my worst nightmares were about to come true.

  “Calm down. We’re not going to hurt you,” he told me. It was too dark to properly make out his features, but his voice was calm and kind.

  As my eyes darted from side to side, the others gathered around to see what was going on.

  “Were you sleeping in there?” the girl asked.

  My eyes moved from her to the guy covering my mouth, and I nodded. “Are you going to scream if I take my hand away?”

  I shook my head ‘no’. I was starting to calm down. They all seemed to be around the same age as me, and I didn’t feel as though I was in danger anymore.

  Slowly, he took his hand away. “No one’s going to hurt you,” he repeated. “We were just here to hang out for a bit.”

  Nodding, I scanned the faces of the group huddled around me. One guy took a drag from what smelled like a joint, and passed it to the person next to him. As he blew out the smoke, he asked, “Did you take a bad trip or something?”

  “No. I just don’t have anywhere else to go.”

  “Well that sucks,” he commented.

  I was still a little concerned by them. But, they were more inquisitive than anything. We sat around the play equipment, passing the joint around, while they asked me a lot of questions about who I was, and what I was doing curled up in a tunnel.

  With nothing left to lose, I told them all about my situation. The girl who had been speaking earlier, named Tahlia, ended up offering me the couch in her garage.

  “You can crash there
as long as you like. My parents won’t give a shit,” she told me. I don’t know if it was the wisest thing I’ve ever done in my life, but I found myself nodding and thanking her.

  So that’s where I am now - living in a garage that smells like oil and car fumes, sleeping on an old couch with scratchy material and broken springs. I, at least, have a comfortable pillow and blanket to keep me warm. So, I can’t really complain. It’s better than the park. Anything is better than the park.

  Chapter Eight

  Tahlia is probably the most outlandish person I’ve ever met. She’s a little older than me at seventeen, with long straight blonde hair that ends in the middle of her back. She’s taller than me, has blue eyes and is as curvaceous as a cartoon character.

  She has this great confidence about her that I can’t imagine I’ll ever have. Her hips sway from side to side when she walks, and everything she says seems bold and untethered.

  Her dad used to be a biker, and still wanders around looking like he’s in a gang – black leather jacket, old band shirt and a bandana covering his long straight and slightly greying hair that is always secured into a pony tail by a rubber band – not the hair ties, those thick rubber ones that they wrap your newspaper in.

  He fascinates me when I watch him talk as he constantly has a cigarette hanging from his lips that bounces around as he speaks in his gravelly voice. Somehow, it never falls, and never seems to burn out.

  Her mum looks like a hippy. She always wears long flowing dresses with no shoes. She has long dark, dead straight hair and speaks very softly, like she is always in a state of bliss. She probably is, because hidden in their laundry is a row of well-tended cannabis plants.

  No one seems to notice that I’m staying in the garage, or else they don’t really care. Tahlia left school in year ten, and hasn’t decided what she wants to do with her life yet. I don’t have a school to go to, so I tag along with her wherever she goes.