Love of the Undefined

By Amelia Carter

Louise is an average 16 year old girl.
Well, almost.
She eats a lot, sleeps a lot and has sarcasm listed as her second language. She is also a lover of chicken kievs, but that's beside the point.
There's just one thing that set's her apart from others.
Issues.
Lots and lots of issues.
Oh, and a stalker who claims he's going to teach her how to love herself.
Sweet sixteen, huh? Where did that phrase ever come from.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jan 10, 2015
• ISBN: 9781326148416

Book preview

Love of the Undefined

Love Of The Undefined

By Amelia Carter

All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Copyright © Amelia Carter 2015

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent publisher.

ISBN: 978-1-326-14841-6

For my Grandma and Granny, I know you both would have been so proud, for me, for who I was, for having the strength to overcome all my troubles and for all the people suffering from the same troubles as I was.

Prologue

Do you ever just sit there and think?

Do you ever think about life; your life, others lives; the world, why we're all put here - our 'purpose'?

I do.

A friend of mine used to say to me; or was it even to me? Perhaps just to the world in general, whilst we sat in a drab English class, going over the same old questions, the same old themes, etcetera, that she hated clichés. Couldn't stand them. That whenever she read a piece of writing; whether it hers or another's, that she just found it so 'cliché'.

But isn't everything a cliché?

Let's take life for example - people, even. We live, we die...that's it - repeated over and over in a constant cycle that's practically drenched in the word cliché. I suppose you could argue that 'everyone has a different story' - yeah, but is there really such a thing as a different story? A story is simply 26 letters wound into different combinations.

I think a lot - perhaps too much.

Yet, I still don't believe there can be one simple story for everything - there will always be different minds, different people, even different objects and animals all interpreting the same situation in a different way; for example, take here and now, I am lost inside a whirlwind of thoughts, somewhere else on this Earth someone is dying, another is giving birth, another on the verge of a breakthrough, driving, eating, sleeping, a wondrous mixture of simple and complicated things all compiling together into a tiny moment - one tiny moment capable of holding millions and thousands of people; memories; lives. At one moment in time, so many different things can happen.

And that is the beauty of life.

Louise?

A voice called me from my thoughts and I snapped my head up, momentarily startled. A woman was smiling at me. I decided she was pretty - dark skinned, a shade of chocolate coupled with long dark hair that fell past her shoulders. She had a warm smile - inviting, yet somehow still managed to be patronising.

Yes? I replied to her and she leaned back into her chair, I was definitely grateful for the newfound space, I let out a deep breath.

Did you hear what I said? She asked and I internally kicked myself. This was why I hated to think.

Um...

I asked how you were feeling, She informed me. Ah. The almighty question - the question I had been asked too many times to remember.

Okay.

I rolled the word around my mind - repeating it over and over again until it lost it's meaning - did it even have a meaning to begin with?

I was thinking again.

Yes, came my automatic reply - the wrong one. I fought the urge to face palm. She chuckled.

Yes? She shook her head and smiled at me, clearly amused at my mistake. Well, at least she wasn't concerned. Are you a little nervous?

I decided to nod, even though I wasn't; or was I? I shouldn't be; I had been through this same procedure far too many times, just not with this woman.

It's completely normal to be nervous, I totally understand, she referred to the file balanced on her lap. I see you have trouble with new people? How are you coping with that?

I sighed; not this again. Over and over, turning round and round in circles. Life was a constant circle, I realised - how easier could things be if it were a square?

Okay, I guess.

Ouch! Major mistake.

You guess? She asked, I sighed - what could I say now? Think Louise. Think.

Yeah.

Would you like to talk about it?

I looked at the woman's name badge; Mary it said. Didn't suit her – a woman like her needed a lustrous name. A names just a name but she had that look about her. Then again, she was sat here talking to me. I changed my mind - it did suit her.

Not particularly.

I wish I didn't have to come here - I was fine, there was definitely nothing wrong with me.

The issue was clearly everyone else; they were the ones claiming I had a problem. Perhaps they all had something wrong with them and I was the only normal one. I almost laughed at the thought.

Why do you think you have a problem with people, Louise?

Clearly she was either deaf or ignorant. I was sure that I had said that I didn't want to talk about it. For a bunch of people who claim that listening is their job, so on, so forth, they sure don't seem to be doing very well.

I don't know.

The less I said, the quicker I could go - the quicker I could go, the quicker I could get home.

Oh god.

What if I missed Emmerdale?

Do you feel threatened by people? She pressed. That's all these people did - pushed and pushed and pushed then stood around bewildered when the subject of this relentless torture finally snapped. I know that they mean well, but come on - I'm fine right now.

Right now.

Sometimes. I replied.

Mary threw more questions at me about my 'irrational fear of people' and told me how 'she would help me through it' and a load more meaningless words that sounded like a monotonous drone to my sore ears and by the time the hour mark was up, she had realised she knew even less about me than she had when I walked in. I said my thanks (for what, I have no idea) then stepped out into the hall.

I would have cried out in glee at the freedom, but then I remembered that I would have to undergo this yet again, next week, just that next week it would be a different topic. Maybe even the topic.

I definitely did not want to talk about that.

I didn't have much to talk about anyway, which was part of the reason why I don't see the point in going to these stupid sessions. They wanted to 'understand' me in order to be able to 'fix' me, yet, all they saw when they looked at me was my sickness. How could they possibly help me if they couldn't see past the problem?

Just give me a bunch of pills and get it over with.

I sighed - I knew life wasn't that easy - if life was as easy as that I'd probably be on some yacht in some exclusive club; and not giving a damn about anything or anyone else. eating Chicken Kiev's (not the ones with the unidentified white substance, it would have to be garlic, of course). I almost drooled at the thought.

What a life that would be.

Chapter One

I managed to make it home just in time for 7pm - the sacred time of Emmerdale.

It wasn't that I absolutely loved the series, or that I was particularly obsessively engrossed with it. It wasn't overly spectacular either; it was just that I had to watch it religiously Monday through to Friday, I didn't really know why, maybe it was just to see what was going on - I had to stay caught up with the drama, even if it was just the same old plot line switched around a bit to keep the attention of the audience. But maybe that was what made it 'realistic'. The same events occurred time and time again.

I mean, if there weren't regular occurrences and events in life you'd probably get an angry mob rampaging the streets every time a husband cheated on a wife, screaming obscene insults and wondering how they could commit such an unthinkable crime.

Although, that would definitely be deserved and rather amusing for spectators.

But that's just not the way the world works. Sure, the guy would get a few harsh glares, a bad reputation and end up with a rat-haired nobody who claims how bad-ass they are to have a cigarette dangling the wrong way through their stubby fingers, but they get no real punishment.

Personally though, if I ever had to make the choice, I would prefer the mob. If I wanted to see a sea monster I would just take a trip to visit 'The Deep'. It would probably be safer. Less diseases too.

What did I tell you about – My dad began.

Here we go again; he always finds a fault somewhere. I swear he just copies and pastes the same argument into his mouth each time and just switches the subject to todays 'what has Louise done wrong this time'.

Don't get me wrong, I really do love the big guy, but couldn't I catch a break for a least one day? I just wanted to come home, watch Emmerdale then rest - not the sort of rest where you close your eyes and all that boring malarkey though, I mean the sort of rest where you flip out the bottom of the recliner chair with a bunch of random pictures flicking across the TV screen and not have a care in the world. I always thought I felt weightless when I rested, like the weight of the world has been temporarily lifted from my shoulders.

Inconsiderate. Lazy. Ignorant...

He was just listing a bunch of words that clearly weren't forming a sentence now. I sighed. I will not get mad. I will not get mad.

Take it upstairs. He ordered and pointed to a stray book lying next to me on the couch. Oh, that's what it was about.

I'm literally just about to use it, came my reply.

Maybe I was, maybe I wasn't, I was definitely thinking about using it; I needed to revise really, but:

Question: who likes revising?

Answer: No one?

DING DING DING - we have our winner!

You've got to start taking on some responsibility, picking up after yourself he crossed his arms. I looked over to my mum who was sat, one leg placed over the other, a Sudoku puzzle book in hand as she tapped the pencil against the paper in different combinations, occasionally looking up at the TV now and again.

Multitasking at its best.

I took the offending book and rested it on my thighs - this was one of the many perks of not having a thigh gap, you ended up with a permanent portable table that served you wherever you went, whenever you wanted. I wasn't obese, I wasn't anorexic, so I wasn't worried. I didn't really care about my weight and I wouldn't unless it became a death sentence.

Finally I delved into the depressing world of studying and the joys of biology revision - guess what page my book was open at? Oh yes, the one, the only, the menstrual cycle! What fun my life had become. Although, I've got to say, sometimes biology lessons can be possibly pressing the boundaries into interesting; especially when some kid in my class answers to the question 'what is urea?' With the, I guess you could say 'humorous', answer of 'something on the side of your head'. This lead to my teacher breaking down in tears of laughter that drove home 10 free, completely work-free minutes of which I enjoyed thoroughly.

What has my life come to?

I flicked through the pages idly; the mantra of 'reading is not revising' ingrained so deep into my brain that I had to walk all the way over to my bag in the other room to collect some revision cards to make sure I was doing something 'productive' before I was driven insane.

So, how did your sessions go? Mum asked, not bothering to look up from her Sudoku book.

Crap, was what I wanted to say but A) I don't swear in front of my parents - I seem to be in the minority of thinking that it's disrespectful and frankly quite frightening too and B) because that would just lead to more questions which would lead to arguments