This is my last chapter :O Aren't you all so sad? No? I wasn't expecting you to be… It's from Isla's point of view if you were wondering and I still don't own anything, I have gained no more rights since I started writing this. Apart from the rights to Isla so actually that's a lie. Thanks Ella for helping with colours!

I've never told anyone about dad or about the men who came before. Mind you, I've never told anyone about mum before either; it's remarkable how little everyone knows me, interesting how little information I reveal about myself to others, to outsiders. Yvonne isn't really an outsider, she is, after all, my big sister so I can tell her all these things; confide in her.

Somehow, I get from a position in which I'm sat bolt upright at the end of the bed to a position which involves me lying with my head in Yvonne's lap. I've soaked her sheets and I'm sure they've soaked right through and made her pyjamas wet but she doesn't mention it. I don't know how long I was lying there for but it must have been a while because somewhere in between me returning to an upright position and getting to the lying down position in the first place Nick manages to go and get both him and Yvonne another coffee.

'One chock-full-of-sugar coffee' Nick says, holding out a cup to Yvonne, teasing her about the high amount of sugar she puts in her coffee 'one orange juice' he chucks me a carton 'and one perfectly normal, absolutely delicious coffee' he says, passing the remaining cup from his left hand to his right. It amazes me how jolly he manages to be in times like these, when both Yvonne and I have spent the past half an hour at least in tears.

'So when exactly in between gambling does dad get the time to talk about how wonderful I am?' Yvonne asks, furrowing her brow and changing her pitch of voice towards the end of the question, making it slightly higher and give the question a more inquisitive, innocent edge.

'Oh, all the time' I answer in between gulps of orange juice. 'When he's drunk, when I do something wrong, which, by the way, is a lot of the time, when I get home from school, when I do my homework. Whenever, really' I shrug 'he talks about you non-stop, how wonderful you are and how you're a police officer and you left them to protect them and how I should do something truly admirable like that. Why exactly did you leave them?' I rush through the basics of what dad says about Yvonne, before skipping to what is, in my eyes, the important part. Why she left them. I'm constantly being told about how she left them but I've never found out why.

'Because I worked on a case involving a very dangerous man who's now in prison' Yvonne began 'and he shot a man once but we had no proof it was him so he was still out there and when we tried to arrest him, despite lack of evidence, he said he'd get us back somehow. He got us back all right, the other officers on the case and I, he made our lives hell. He covered my house and our parent's car in graffiti, stole slabs from the wall and piping from the drain and sent death threats. I had to leave, for the safety of the family.'

'Why did you never come back though?' I ask, persisting with my enquiry.

'The time was never right' Yvonne replies, her grey eyes seeming sad and lonely, dulling a little 'I never knew what to say, how I'd return. I wish I had now, I wish I'd been there for you, been there to help you. You're everything to me, you and Nick, you know that? Everything' I notice Nick is actually no longer in the room and slide off the bed, slipping my feet into my trainers.

'Where are you going?' Yvonne asks, a note of panic rising in her voice. My voice tone changes too, it gets higher, begins to crack as though I'm crying.

'I don't know' I answer, shaking my head and running out of the room 'I really don't know' I whisper, seizing my rucksack and flinging open the door. 'Anywhere' I answer 'anywhere at all'

I run down the corridor and out of the door, there I see Nick, talking to a woman with a dark bob and a cigarette in his mouth. He seems to be explaining something to her but when he sees me he stops her and begins to run after me. I try to run away but he grabs onto my arm.

'Where are you going?' he asks.

'I don't know' I answer, shaking my arm away.

'Fine, why are you going then?' he asks and I freeze just as I'm about to run off. No-one ever asks me that. It's always 'where are you going' or I don't even get given the question, just the command of 'get back here right now'

'Because there's no point in me being here.' I reply 'Yvonne doesn't need me, you're the only she really cares about'

'Yvonne' Nick says 'is in a critical condition, both physically and mentally and you claim you're not needed.'

'Even if I was needed it wouldn't matter, would it?' I say 'who really cares how she's feeling? Whether she's better? Does it really matter' I spit and the spite in my tone shocks even me.

Nick looks shocked and almost hurt. 'It matters to me' he replies as he re captures me arm. 'And it matters to you' he says, almost pleading with me. I yank my arm from his grasp.

'No. It. Doesn't.' I answer harshly 'She can go die for all I care' and with that I run off, immediately hating myself for what I said. I hear Nick shout after me but I can't turn back now, I can't bear to see the same hurt that was in his eyes in Yvonne's eyes. I can't bear the look of betrayal, the force of facing either of them after that row. And so I do the only thing I know, I run. As fast and as far away from the problem as possible.

So I'm back on the street again, living the life I lived for the six weeks prior to meeting Yvonne. I'm back out in the cold, sleeping rough, under bridges and in doorways, avoiding drunks and druggies and, above all, finding food. I get by, stealing and begging but my already thin frame is weakened and I know I'm just skin and bones now, slowly shrinking and becoming more and more malnourished by the day.

I count my fingers then spread out my palms, stretching them and looking at the way the cracks of dirt have filled the little gaps and the dust has collected up in between my fingers. My palms are dry and I'm worn out, tired, exhausted and, above all, cold. I have my big coat on but it's nothing to protect me against the icy frost of the winter that stings my skin and nips at my face, nothing compared to the fierce wind I have to fight against.

I know I could be back at the hospital with Yvonne and Nick, safe, dry and warm, everything I'm not now but I don't want to be. The way I see it is that if I'm not there there's nothing I can ruin. If I'm gone, so are all their troubles; they can go on with life as normal, live their life in the way they deserve, be happy and free. I don't mind being unhappy but if I make other people unhappy I know there's something wrong, something that's no-one's fault but mine.

I walk into the train station and I'm instantly shocked by the warmth being under a simple shelter can give. I slide onto a plastic seat, lined with chewing gum, and curl up into a ball, drawing my knees up to my chest. I sit there for a while, completely still, and watch as the trains pass by, counting them in my head, watching as the people's faces whizz past me, trying desperately to count the people to whom I mean nothing. It strikes me how insignificant I am; how the words I said a few weeks previous to Nick might have some truth in them; how if I were to die it would affect but a minute part of the world, but a speck of the earth. My problems are less than a speck of dust in the grand scheme of things, my life is but a grain of sand on a beach filled with thousands.

I watch as another train passes. The sixth train. And I look at a girl who can't be much older than me, who's standing, leaning against the wall and looking at me. Her eyes are blue and her gaze captures me and her straight light blonde hair is worn down, hanging by her shoulders with her fringe over her eyes. She's holding a book and wearing a beret, she looks like the model child.

But behind those brilliant blue eyes I can see a sadness; a feeling of self-hatred and behind the calm, confident exterior lies a lonely girl with no-one to turn to. A girl rather like me. Only I have Yvonne. And maybe Nick. I have people I can trust, people who care about me. I have more than the girl stood by the platform, two more people who love me, two more people who care what happens to me. I may only be a speck of dust or a grain of sand but you can't have a beach without millions of sand grains, everyone is needed somewhere.

I ran away from the people who cared for me because I felt insignificant.

I ran back because sometimes it's best not to matter too much, as long as I have a small purpose I can make a small difference.

Yay! The end! Big thanks to HermioneLumos and Amber French Chambers and especially to Meggi (RacingRosso- check out her Nick and Yvonne stories fi you haven't already! They're amazing!) and biggest thanks of all goes to Ella, my sister, for all the colour help. Thanks for reading and following and reviewing :)

-Checky x