Chapter 10 – What can she possibly need help with?

I sit there, staring after Hannah in disbelief. Why did she leave? What was it about my poem that made her leave? I just spilled my heart out and what did she do? She left! I feel as though she took my heart with her. Maybe someday the empty hole in my chest will be filled, but right now, that feels pretty much impossible. If I wasn’t feeling so empty, I’d cry. Hannah pretty much rejected me. It was obvious the poem was about her. If it could've been about someone else, maybe then I could forgive her for breaking my heart. Maybe. But it had to be about her. Why else would I read a poem to her about liking someone who is not Regina?

Well, if she’s planning to continue breaking my heart, then I’ll do everything I can to repair it. I’ll start by keeping my distance from her. She never seems to want to be around me anyway, I’ve noticed that. Well, I’ll make it easy for her. I get up from the table I march out the door, standing tall and confident, ready to take on the world. A strong wind whistles, and I jump in fright. So much for being ready to take on the world.

I hurry home, and rush indoors to the warmth. I smile at the familiar surroundings. Mom has been cleaning, and everything is in place. I sigh. I know why mom has time to do this – it’s because she has no job. If only she wasn’t so stubborn. If only she would learn English. I speak Gaelic and English, and so does dad. I’m better than him at Gaelic though. My mom has lived in Ireland all her life. Dad was born here, but went to Ireland on a business trip. He quit his job when he and mom fell in love and had me, but decided we should live in America anyway. Once we moved here, he got a new job. It was all a ploy. I don’t mind America, but mom hates it. She misses Ireland, but would never admit it out loud. I don’t think I can ever forgive dad for hurting mom that way.

I walk into the kitchen and see my mom cooking.

“Hi,” I say to her in Gaelic. She smiles at me.

“Hello sweetheart.” Her Gaelic is much more confident than mine. If I didn’t speak to mom in 

Gaelic, I’d forget it all together. Mom takes in the look on my face. “What’s wrong darling?”

“Not much.” She cocks her head.

“Girl troubles? Is it that girl Hannah?” I stare at her in disbelief.

“What would make you think that?”

“I was here when she came around to our place. I heard the way you talked to her.” She pauses briefly. “I found the poem.”

“Oh.” Mom smiles.

“That girl is madly in love with you,” she tells me.

“Then why did she run away? I read her the poem. She left.”

“Don’t judge her too harshly. She’s had a bad life.”

“How would you know?”

“I can tell. She loves you. Remember that.”

“I don’t believe you,” I say stubbornly, but I want to believe her, with all my heart. “I’m going up to my room.” I stomp up the stairs and flop down on my bed. I get my notebook from the drawer of my bedside table. The one with all the poems about Hannah. I reread some of them.

I hold a treasure
To my heart
It’s wonderful
But it’s not smart

Being in love
Will only bring grief
To me, to Hannah
Ah Hannah, what a thief

For she has stolen
My heart and soul
I’ll forever love her
Without her, I am not whole

I move onto the next one in disgust.

How can I describe her?
She’s perfect in every way
She lights me up
She’s brighter than a sunny day

Her eyes alone are magic
The color of the sky
Her hair is perfect too
It’s the sunset flying by

I stop reading, unable to continue. This won’t help me get over Hannah at all. I rip the notebook to shreds. The doorbell rings. I run downstairs, wiping my eyes dry.

I fling the door open. Who should stand there but Hannah? I consider slamming the door shut in her face, but decide it isn’t rude enough.

“Hello,” I say, glowering at her, my eyes opening wide so I can focus on not crying.

“Can I come in?” I want to scream at her that no, of course you can’t. You can’t even be here. 

Go away. A little part of me tells me not to. “I need your help.” Ok, that was unexpected. 

What could she possibly need my help with? She doesn’t need me, and I don’t need her, no matter what my heart is telling me.

“With what?” I ask her rudely. Then I take in her face, and this time, I’m not talking about her beauty. Her lips are dry, and she keeps licking them. Her eyes are wide and full of fear. 

What really scares me is that her skin is ashen. It is literally grey. She doesn’t look too good. 

Immediately my dislike towards her disappears. Only temporarily, mind you. As soon as I help her with whatever is wrong, I’m going back to ignoring her. Not that I’ve actually ignored her at all yet. “Come in,” I order her. She obeys, swaying a little. I put my hand out to steady her.

“Now, what’s wrong,” I ask her once we are sitting on the couch.

“He’s here.” What? Who’s here?

"Who’s here?”

“You have to help me.” With what?

“Listen, Hannah, obviously something is wrong. But you need to tell me so I can help.”

“No I can’t tell you. I shouldn’t even be here. What was I thinking? Now you’re in danger too.” I can’t tell if she’s talking to herself or me. “You need to come with me.” Her eyes are pleading. Despite her lack of explanation, I can tell she really does need me.

“Okay,” I say. “Hang on.” I run to the kitchen, tell mom that I’m stepping out but will be back soon, then return to Hannah.

“Let’s go,” I say. I lead her out of the house, grabbing the keys to mom’s car on the way. She won’t mind me borrowing it. This seems like a good enough cause.

“I got my license last spring,” I explain to Hannah. “I’ll drive you wherever you need to go.” She just nods. I unlock the car, and we get in. She whispers an address, which I only just catch. I put my foot down on the accelerator, and we’re on our way.