Help Me
Chapter six - Phone calls
Caitlin’s POV:
10:52, the screen on my phone glares at me.
She left like, four hours ago. Shouldn’t she be back by now? I mean, not that I was too worried at first. Brooke can look after herself. But… what if something has happened?
Nah, come on Cat. Stop worrying, it isn’t good for you and you know it. Go have a shower or something, she’ll text you. She said she would.
I open messenger for the four-millionth time to check if there are any messages - which, of course, there are none - before heading to have a well deserved shower.
I scavenge round the neatly folded towels in the small linen cupboard right at the end of the hallway, finally locating the softest, fluffiest one right at the back, and take literally two steps to find myself standing in our bathroom.
Our bathroom isn’t very big - a shower-tub with a tattered, mouldy, and clear shower curtain, a small toilet right next to it, and a tiny built-in cupboard and sink so close, you could wash your hands sitting down on the toilet. The lock on the door doesn’t work, and the light flickers when it’s on. Mind you, there’s only two of us living here - it suits us just fine. I leave my phone on the side of the basin and turn on the shower and step inside.
Forty minutes later (okay, please do not judge me. House to myself, unlimited hot water - how could I not?!), I step out to see my phone has three missed calls from Brooke. Shit. Shit shit shit. Shakily I pick up my phone and punch in her number. God, I hope she picks up.
It rings.
And rings.
And rings.
“Hello?” A male voice answers.
“Yes, hi… have I got the right number? I’m calling for Brooke?”
“Caitlin, right?” the voice sounds foreign. Familiar, even.
“Uh, yes... Wait, who’s speaking? Where’s Brooke? Is she okay?”
“Love, calm down. She’s at the hospital. She’s in good hands. We’ll tell you more when you get here.”
Wait… the voice... Irish?
Hold on a minute.
Male. Foreign. Familiar. Irish.
“Niall?!!!”
“Caitlin, love, come to the hospital. We will explain everything there. We’re on the second floor, Ward 27. The nurse is expecting you.” The call ends.
Was I seriously just speaking with Niall Horan? No, surely not - the chances are one in a million. Wait, hospital? Why is Brooke in the hospital?
Oh god, I hope she’s okay.
I race downstairs to get to Brooke’s car. It’s a beauty alright - but she’s such a grump when it comes to her car. Every time we get in, I’m not joking, she babbles on about making sure I “Keep the hands off the leather seats”. And every time, I roll my eyes and grin wildly, tempted to piss her off. But I don’t. I know how hard she worked for to get that car. So whenever I drive it, I take extra care with it.
However, this time, I’m just concerned about one thing, and one thing only: Getting to the damn hospital to see Brooke.
And so I jump in the driver’s seat, swiftly turn the ignition on, and slam on the acceleration as fast as I can. I can only imagine what happened to her.
Brooke is my very best friend, and I love her very much. Living with her is amazing - we’re polar opposites, but at the same time we’re sisters at the hip. We get along like a house on fire.
Brooke and I have known each other since high school. We started together at Melrose High when we were thirteen - I was loud and immature as hell, whereas she was as quiet as a mouse. I don’t know how or why, but one of us mentioned One Direction in bio one day, and we just clicked. Soon, study dates after school were a thing - we were with each other pretty much every day after school, either actually studying (of course, Brooke being the one enforcing the study - I get soooo distracted), laughing about some girl’s eyebrows at school, gossiping about the cute new boy in our year group, or making food. Safe to say, we became best friends in only a short matter of time.
The next year, my parents divorced. Both my parents had cheated on the other, and my dad decided to move out of Canberra to Queensland, planning to take me with him. I didn’t want to go with him, and after a lot of meetings with social workers, child support agencies, and hearing argument after argument each night while I lay in bed, I was able to stay in Canberra with my mum. Brooke was my source of comfort to help me through it all, and I am so grateful. I don’t know what I would have done without her.
Three years later we were seniors in our last year of high school. We moved out just after graduation and started flatting together. I found myself in a relationship with one of the “jocks”, if you’d like - but it really didn’t work out. He was nice enough, but we didn’t really go anywhere. Likewise, he found that he didn’t feel anything either and we decided to just remain friends (to this day, we’re still really good mates). Brooke also found herself a guy - Jake Carson. He was a nice guy - always buying her flowers, constantly taking her out on dates. They fell in love, went to senior prom together, vowed to live life together and grow old. I was so happy for her.
They were together for just under two years. But six months ago, Brooke slammed on the breaks and dumped him, coming clean to me about every little detail about their relationship.
It was a nice relationship on the surface - but he was a monster to her. He had a possessive-like nature about him; his goodnight calls were not ones of making sure she was safe but that she wasn’t sneaking out to see another guy. He called her princess; not because he treated her like royalty, but because he believed she was a stuck-up snob and needed dealing with properly. He forced her to lose her virginity for him, telling her how much he loved her. And she believed him for so long. Until the abuse started. He physically abused her, leaving her in blood and bruises. He verbally abused her, too - telling her she was pathetic, worthless and weak for not fighting back. He told her she was stupid, that she was ugly, that she was a pain to deal with. And yet, when she tried to leave, he would threaten her, telling her that he would shoot himself if she did. It took her so long to muster up the courage to stand her ground and tell him no.
She thinks I didn’t know - and I’m not lying when I say that I didn’t - but I knew there was something up with the way she wore three layers, a turtleneck, and a scarf in the middle of summer. I knew there was something up with the four extra bottles of concealer stored away in her makeup drawer in the bathroom. I knew that even though she said she loved him, there was something in her eyes that told me different.
One morning, on the way to work, I went into the bathroom to grab some hair ties and caught a glimpse of purple, black and blue; all over her. Her whole middle was covered in bruises, her upper legs had cuts, and there was a big, violet bruise on her left cheek. She broke down in tears, telling me everything, while I held her, saying to myself: Jake Carson is a dirty bastard. You touch my Brooke ever again, and you’ll mess with me.
He was taken away by the cops in the early hours of the morning about a month later after we hatched a plan which lead him to believe Brooke was the only one home, whilst myself and three local officers camped round the back until he arrived. He never made it behind bars as Brooke had hardly seen him in that month since I found out; so most of the bruises were gone, and she never took any pictures. After his arrest we found that the radius bone in one of Brooke’s arms been completely shattered and would take months of being in a cast to heal.
We moved to Brisbane shortly afterwards; as an escape away from him for Brooke and a way to start a new page together as besties.
We’ve been through a lot, Brookie and I. And as I drive to the hospital, heart pounding and breathing heavily, I know we’ve got many more rocky times to come.
10:52, the screen on my phone glares at me.
She left like, four hours ago. Shouldn’t she be back by now? I mean, not that I was too worried at first. Brooke can look after herself. But… what if something has happened?
Nah, come on Cat. Stop worrying, it isn’t good for you and you know it. Go have a shower or something, she’ll text you. She said she would.
I open messenger for the four-millionth time to check if there are any messages - which, of course, there are none - before heading to have a well deserved shower.
I scavenge round the neatly folded towels in the small linen cupboard right at the end of the hallway, finally locating the softest, fluffiest one right at the back, and take literally two steps to find myself standing in our bathroom.
Our bathroom isn’t very big - a shower-tub with a tattered, mouldy, and clear shower curtain, a small toilet right next to it, and a tiny built-in cupboard and sink so close, you could wash your hands sitting down on the toilet. The lock on the door doesn’t work, and the light flickers when it’s on. Mind you, there’s only two of us living here - it suits us just fine. I leave my phone on the side of the basin and turn on the shower and step inside.
Forty minutes later (okay, please do not judge me. House to myself, unlimited hot water - how could I not?!), I step out to see my phone has three missed calls from Brooke. Shit. Shit shit shit. Shakily I pick up my phone and punch in her number. God, I hope she picks up.
It rings.
And rings.
And rings.
“Hello?” A male voice answers.
“Yes, hi… have I got the right number? I’m calling for Brooke?”
“Caitlin, right?” the voice sounds foreign. Familiar, even.
“Uh, yes... Wait, who’s speaking? Where’s Brooke? Is she okay?”
“Love, calm down. She’s at the hospital. She’s in good hands. We’ll tell you more when you get here.”
Wait… the voice... Irish?
Hold on a minute.
Male. Foreign. Familiar. Irish.
“Niall?!!!”
“Caitlin, love, come to the hospital. We will explain everything there. We’re on the second floor, Ward 27. The nurse is expecting you.” The call ends.
Was I seriously just speaking with Niall Horan? No, surely not - the chances are one in a million. Wait, hospital? Why is Brooke in the hospital?
Oh god, I hope she’s okay.
I race downstairs to get to Brooke’s car. It’s a beauty alright - but she’s such a grump when it comes to her car. Every time we get in, I’m not joking, she babbles on about making sure I “Keep the hands off the leather seats”. And every time, I roll my eyes and grin wildly, tempted to piss her off. But I don’t. I know how hard she worked for to get that car. So whenever I drive it, I take extra care with it.
However, this time, I’m just concerned about one thing, and one thing only: Getting to the damn hospital to see Brooke.
And so I jump in the driver’s seat, swiftly turn the ignition on, and slam on the acceleration as fast as I can. I can only imagine what happened to her.
Brooke is my very best friend, and I love her very much. Living with her is amazing - we’re polar opposites, but at the same time we’re sisters at the hip. We get along like a house on fire.
Brooke and I have known each other since high school. We started together at Melrose High when we were thirteen - I was loud and immature as hell, whereas she was as quiet as a mouse. I don’t know how or why, but one of us mentioned One Direction in bio one day, and we just clicked. Soon, study dates after school were a thing - we were with each other pretty much every day after school, either actually studying (of course, Brooke being the one enforcing the study - I get soooo distracted), laughing about some girl’s eyebrows at school, gossiping about the cute new boy in our year group, or making food. Safe to say, we became best friends in only a short matter of time.
The next year, my parents divorced. Both my parents had cheated on the other, and my dad decided to move out of Canberra to Queensland, planning to take me with him. I didn’t want to go with him, and after a lot of meetings with social workers, child support agencies, and hearing argument after argument each night while I lay in bed, I was able to stay in Canberra with my mum. Brooke was my source of comfort to help me through it all, and I am so grateful. I don’t know what I would have done without her.
Three years later we were seniors in our last year of high school. We moved out just after graduation and started flatting together. I found myself in a relationship with one of the “jocks”, if you’d like - but it really didn’t work out. He was nice enough, but we didn’t really go anywhere. Likewise, he found that he didn’t feel anything either and we decided to just remain friends (to this day, we’re still really good mates). Brooke also found herself a guy - Jake Carson. He was a nice guy - always buying her flowers, constantly taking her out on dates. They fell in love, went to senior prom together, vowed to live life together and grow old. I was so happy for her.
They were together for just under two years. But six months ago, Brooke slammed on the breaks and dumped him, coming clean to me about every little detail about their relationship.
It was a nice relationship on the surface - but he was a monster to her. He had a possessive-like nature about him; his goodnight calls were not ones of making sure she was safe but that she wasn’t sneaking out to see another guy. He called her princess; not because he treated her like royalty, but because he believed she was a stuck-up snob and needed dealing with properly. He forced her to lose her virginity for him, telling her how much he loved her. And she believed him for so long. Until the abuse started. He physically abused her, leaving her in blood and bruises. He verbally abused her, too - telling her she was pathetic, worthless and weak for not fighting back. He told her she was stupid, that she was ugly, that she was a pain to deal with. And yet, when she tried to leave, he would threaten her, telling her that he would shoot himself if she did. It took her so long to muster up the courage to stand her ground and tell him no.
She thinks I didn’t know - and I’m not lying when I say that I didn’t - but I knew there was something up with the way she wore three layers, a turtleneck, and a scarf in the middle of summer. I knew there was something up with the four extra bottles of concealer stored away in her makeup drawer in the bathroom. I knew that even though she said she loved him, there was something in her eyes that told me different.
One morning, on the way to work, I went into the bathroom to grab some hair ties and caught a glimpse of purple, black and blue; all over her. Her whole middle was covered in bruises, her upper legs had cuts, and there was a big, violet bruise on her left cheek. She broke down in tears, telling me everything, while I held her, saying to myself: Jake Carson is a dirty bastard. You touch my Brooke ever again, and you’ll mess with me.
He was taken away by the cops in the early hours of the morning about a month later after we hatched a plan which lead him to believe Brooke was the only one home, whilst myself and three local officers camped round the back until he arrived. He never made it behind bars as Brooke had hardly seen him in that month since I found out; so most of the bruises were gone, and she never took any pictures. After his arrest we found that the radius bone in one of Brooke’s arms been completely shattered and would take months of being in a cast to heal.
We moved to Brisbane shortly afterwards; as an escape away from him for Brooke and a way to start a new page together as besties.
We’ve been through a lot, Brookie and I. And as I drive to the hospital, heart pounding and breathing heavily, I know we’ve got many more rocky times to come.
Notes
Hey guys,
Sorry it's a few days late! Earthquake and exam drama kinda put the story at the bottom of my priority list for a few days, but we're BACK!
Anyways, I didn't even write this chapter! The character Caitlin is based off my best friend Sarah, so she really wanted to write a Caitlin POV :D Here it is, and it is bloody amazing <3
Also, I got a story banner made! @jenniferhoran, I am so grateful for this amazing piece of art, everyone please comment if you like it, and go check out her story for more!
Anyways, enough talking, hope you're all having a fantastic week!
My last exam is tomorrow, so in 20 hours i'll be freeeeeee!!
Love you lots,
Half_a_heart x
Will you continue this story???
6/17/17