I was just about old enough to drive-- seventeen, but my mother still didn't trust me behind the wheel yet. Whether it be because she didn't like the thought of me getting in an accident, or if it was because she didn't like her 'number one son' growing up so fast. But I didn't mind. Driving wouldn't give me my time to think.
I thought about all of my years in dreary old Cornwall, where nothing happens unless it's summer. I was glad to be out of there, but it's not like the countryside would be any different. But I was forced to go. Not by my mum, nor my dad, but by my conscience. I had to leave. I was a liability back home. My parents didn't need that. So I left for Aspenden.
When I was a kid, Aspenden was the only place I could ever really have fun, but as I got older, I realised that fun for a kid was different from fun for someone like me. So I stopped going there to visit my grandparents. Of course, my guilt was terrible when they died. I didn't visit them for years. But life is life, and death is death. No changing that.
But now, at seventeen, I'm back here. The only other place I felt safe. But I had no idea how wrong that was.