Help Me, Father

“You don’t realise how far you’ve fallen until your safest option is crying into a shrub outside a police station.”

My back against the rough wall, the coarse texture of the bricks dug into my spine through the thin fabric of my shirt. It hurt, but I welcomed it. The rawness was grounding — an anchor in the storm of chaos that had swept through my life like a merciless tide. I stood there, pressing against the cold stone, as if bracing myself against the weight of the world. My breaths came shallow and uneven at first, but I forced each inhale to lengthen, each exhale to soften. Inhale. Exhale. A ritual of survival.

The sunlight was stark and indifferent as it bathed the small, vacant carpark ahead of me, painting hard-edged shadows across the cracked asphalt. I moved with purpose, though each step felt uncertain. Darting across the open space, I kept my head low, my posture hunched slightly in an effort to make myself smaller — invisible.

I found refuge in the thick growth of bushes that lined the far edge of the carpark. Ducking into their dense foliage, the branches scratched at my arms, but I welcomed the concealment. Leaves tangled in my hair, the scent of damp earth clinging to me. Here, in this chaotic nest of green, I finally allowed myself to pause.

Fumbling with trembling fingers, I switched my phone back on. The screen’s glow was blinding after so long in the dark. A surge of hope lit up inside me, burning bright and fast. I opened my contacts, my thumb hovering over names that suddenly felt unfamiliar. So many people I couldn’t call — people I didn’t trust, or couldn’t risk involving. But one name stood out like a flare in the fog: Beatrix.

I tapped her name, breath held tightly in my chest. Each ring pulsed with hope — hope that she would answer, that I wouldn’t have to go through this alone. But the call went to voicemail. The silence that followed felt colder than the shade I crouched in. I ended the call without leaving a message, the rejection settling like a stone in my stomach.

My thumb hesitated again, this time over a name that felt like home: Dad. My heart ached at the thought of dragging him into this mess. Will they trace it? Will they come for him next? The fear gnawed at me like rats at the frayed edges of my resolve.

You can't stand outside the police station forever, my inner voice snapped, sharp and unsympathetic. They are coming for you, remember. The words struck true. Standing still was no longer safety — it was surrender.

With a deep breath, I pressed the call button.

The line rang, each chime stretching the air taut with expectation. And then — “Gladys?” His voice broke through like a lighthouse in fog. My chest seized with relief. “Where are you? We need to talk, urgently.” His tone was firm, laced with concern and something deeper — something that felt like fear.

Tears pricked at my eyes, uninvited but unstoppable. “Please come and get me,” I whispered, the words tumbling out, barely coherent. The urge to curl into the safety of his arms, to hide from this nightmare, became almost unbearable. “I’ll send you my location.”

I pulled the phone from my ear, hands trembling as I shared my coordinates. The moment I hit 'send', I clutched the phone to my chest, shutting my eyes tightly. It was done. A single action with infinite consequences.

And now, I could only wait — crouched in the green hush of the bushes, listening for the world to shift once more.