Page 52 of The Prospect

“Mum, please,” I plead as she scans my face, her worry from before equally reflected back at me.

“Just…” She exhales, accepting that I’m going to go no matter what she says or does. “Be safe, okay?”

“I promise I will.” I plant a kiss on her cheek before stepping backward and exiting through the back gate of our house.

My family and I live on the outskirts of Crawley, on the cusp of Copthorne. Our garden backs onto a vast countryside with tall grass, pebbled trails and an assortment of hidden passages.

Over the years, both Hazel and I have explored every nook and cranny this town has to offer, and in doing so, the two of us discovered somewhere only we know.

About a ten minute walk away, just over a valleyside and past an abandoned farm, is a bridge. From what the two of us have seemed to gather, the bridge was used as a means to help the farmers cattle safely cross the ravine that divides through the lot.

The bridge is old with its worn brick that supports its frame and an abundance of moss trails its way up from the water—dating it back to the late 19th century.

From afar, its structural stability is slightly questionable, but when you really get up close to it, you can see that such a frame has withstood the test of time.

Just like mine and Hazel’s friendship.

It’s been five years since we first met and candidly, I don’t think a single day has passed by where we haven’t spoken.

We’re “thick as thieves,” as my dad would put it. Or “two peas in a pod,” as her mum likes to say, but frankly, I say that we’re one and the same.

When Hazel’s happy—I’m happy.

When Hazel’s mad—I’m mad.

And when Hazel hurts, it’s like I can feel it too.

“Hazel!” I cry out her name as I run down the hill, using my hands to cup around my mouth as the bridge slowly fades into view.

No voice follows, but it doesn’t stop me. I keep up my pace and call out her name yet again. “Hazel?” I shout over and over. “Hazel, are you there?”

“I’m here,” a sniffly voice calls back out to me, and without needing to look any further, I see her. Sat along the edge of the bridge in our usual spot, with her legs dangling over either side, is my Hazel—picking at the moss, rubbing it in between her fingertips, and throwing it into the water over and over.

As I reach her side it takes her a second to make direct eye contact with me, only when she does, my stomach plummets to my feet.

Hazel’s once deep brown eyes are now surrounded by redness, and within an instant I come to the conclusion that she’s been crying—crying a lot.

Her long-sleeve is damped as she uses it to wipe across her rounded cheeks and her sad attempt to flash me a weary smile as she finally says, “Hello,” completely breaks my heart.

“Haze.” I hop up beside her, embracing her in my arms. “What’s wrong?” I speak directly into her hair, running a soothing hand up and down her back. “My mum said you werelooking for me. I’m so sorry. I was at practice and it finished late, and then?—”

“It’s okay.” Hazel’s voice is muffled as she whispers against my chest. “You didn’t know, Greenie.”

“But I should’ve.” I pull back, using my thumbs to wipe away her salted tears as I clutch onto her sweet face. “It pains me that I wasn’t there when you needed me, Haze. It literally pains me.”

She looks straight into my eyes. “You’re here now and that’s all that matters. You’re always here when I need you.”

I rub small circles over the apples of her cheeks. Over time, I’ve formed this unconscious habit of making Hazel’s safety and well-being my own personal responsibility.

I know I don’t need to. Hazel is strong, resourceful and well-equipped to handle her own battles. But every time I look at her, I can’t help but see that little girl standing in the front of the class, sporting an innocent smile and telling everyone about her passions.

She’s had her hooks into me from the start and I don’t think she even realizes it.

“Just…please tell me what happened?” This ambiguity is slowly killing me. “Are you hurt? Did someone hurt you?”

“No, I’m not hurt.” Hazel sniffles yet refuses to make eye contact with me. “I’m just upset.”

“Upset about what?” I pull on her small frame so that she can nestle into mine. She’s cold. Shivering. I tuck her in tighter to warm her up. “What happened that made you upset? Do I need to beat someone up?”

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