by Nicci Harris
“Oh my God, if you say Erik, I swear I will tit punch you.”
A small chuckle fills my throat. “Well, I won’t say that name then. That sounds painful.”
“How did he take it? Oh God, I’m not even sure I want to know.”
I gulp before I answer her. “I left him a note,” my voice breaks, “while he was asleep.” My belly twists. Running has become such a natural response for me. I face-palm myself.
“Oh. My. God. I am not judging you but, oh my god. He’ll be crushed.”
My phone beeps with a second call. I peer down at the name flashing intrusively: Konnor. Shame and guilt surge through me.
Bitch.
I raise my phone back to my cheek and breathe out loudly. “Konnor’s on the other line.”
“Pick it up. talk to him!” she pleads.
“I can’t.”
✽✽✽
It is no wonder people hate hospitals. They intrude on every sense and are filled with people who avoid you when you need them most. The receptionist has a permanent scowl on her face, and my appearance in front of her further etches it into her features.
“Hi, I’m Blesk Bellamy,” I say as sweetly as I can. She doesn't even look at me. Glass separates us and phones ring relentlessly. She picks up a phone, yells into it, slams it down, writes something, picks up another phone and yells into that one. And so it continues. I glance at my phone: ten missed calls from Konnor. I flick through my texts.
Konnor: Don’t do this Blesk… It’s you I want! You! Please call me. Just talk to me about all of this, tell me what you want me to do. I will do it. I will do anything!
Konnor: Maybe I came on too strong. I will wait as long as you need… just call me. Please don’t block me out.
My heart is weak. I focus intently on forcing the absence of feelings.
“I’m here to see Erik Bellamy,” I murmur, bobbing my head at the receptionist, trying to gain her attention.
She rolls her eyes and tilts her head towards me then slams down the phone once again. “Yes, I know. Wait and I’ll tell you his room number.”
And with that I sink back into my chair.
“Wally!” I hear a familiar voice call out, and I am instantly filled with relief.
Elise slides into the chair beside me, wearing hipster jeans and crazy nail polish. “Excuse me, Miss?” She taps on the window that separates us from the hospital staff.
The nurse, or receptionist, or whatever she is, turns to us with a crushing glare and grumbles, “Don’t touch the glass!”
“I. Am. Sorry.” Elise tilts her head. “What exactly is your job? Are you a receptionist? Or a clerk? Or an assistant? Are you the deputy of business relations? Well, we just need a number. One number—Erik Bellamy’s room number—and then we’ll be gone and you’ll never hear from us again. Or we can sit here, waiting, and get extra—”
“Room thirty-nine, Karri Ward!”
With that, we leave and try to navigate our way through the hospital. When we arrive at Erik's door I stare at the threshold between me and the beeping and pumping sounds of room thirty-nine.
“Are you going to go in?” Elise asks delicately.
I grip her hand and clear my throat before walking in with steady, cautious steps. When I look at him, I am utterly lost for words. Erik is usually so tall, such a big prominent man, with such confidence—he is just so tall. Fidgeting with everything, my hair, my clothes, Elise’s bag, I move to stand beside his bed. He doesn’t look big, or tall. He looks small. When I try to touch his hand, a something rubber presses against my palm. I pull away almost instantly. A canula. He also has a horrendous-looking tube jutting out from his throat. I study his face and all the new colours, dark reds and blues from deep bruising, and greens and yellows from ones that have started to heal. Tears make their ways to my eyes, demanding release.
"Only family is allowed in here!" I hear from behind me.
I jump. “Hi,” I say. “I’m his sister. "Is he okay?"
He peers at me. “Are you family?”
“I just told you. I’m his sister.”
He paces around the room, checking the equipment and making notes on the medical chart in his hand. Then he stops in front of me, scrutinising my expression. I feel fuzzy in this room, with the bleeping and the humming.
“Mr Bellamy is in serious but stable condition. He has already been to theatre.” His tone is pointed.
I blink at him in the midst of what has become a deafening silence. I blink again. Time is strangely slow. Or I am slow. Or he is slow.
Elise grips my hand and squeezes. “What happened in theatre?” I hear her say through my fog.
“We wired his jaw shut and reconstructed parts of his face. Due to the severity of his injuries and the possibility he has bleeding on the brain, it was recommended he be induced into a coma to give him time to heal. Of course, he needed ventilation, so we gave him a tracheotomy, he’s on IV fluids, and is being monitored hourly.”
“How long will he be under for?” My voice sounds mousy.
“Probably about three weeks.” He narrows his emotionless eyes at me.
“He needs plenty of time to heal. This is a big deal, girls, and keeping secrets is a bad decision.”
What is it they know?
Or suspect happened to Erik.
“Okay, we’d like some time alone now,” Elise almost snaps at him.
I’m staring at the ground, but I can hear his shoes shuffle as he moves through the door. “What happens if there’s bleeding on the brain?” I squeak out. But he is gone.
“Why was he so mean?” I cry, collapsing onto the chair beside my brother.
Elise exhales and moves to stand beside me. “When we brought him in, I refused to tell them what happened. Let’s just say, they weren’t impressed.”
I peer up at her. “You lied?”
“No,” she states. “I just decided I wanted to know what happened first. I saw the way you and Konnor broke down. I mean, he called you Liz and you freaked out. I knew I wasn’t ready to talk about what happened.
We have both set ourselves up in room thirty-nine. Elise is at the desk with her laptop open, and I am sitting cuddling my knees on the seat next to Small Erik. Thankfully Elise refused to leave until I do and had emailed all our grad-tutors to alert them about our absence this entire week, due to "personal reasons." One of the grad-tutors emailed was Konnor Slater.
Pulling out my phone, I press the lock button down till the handset goes black. The guilt of being here after leaving Konnor mixed with the guilt of what I have reduced Erik to, is almost too much to handle. I know I shouldn’t be here. But part of me is here for Erik, and part of me is here because I knew Konnor wouldn’t be, so I can hide. My head is so messed up right now, swarming with wrestling emotions.
I jump up when the door swings open. But my entire body relaxes at the sight of a large stubbly fifty-year-old man, with a solid build and generous girth that is the result of his love of wine. My dad.
“Kitten,” he says, stretching his arms to me.
My feet take me to him without my conscious permission. I bury my face into his chest, just as tears begin to fall.
He kisses the top of my head. “Don’t cry.” His arms tighten protectively around me as he exhales a long, agonising breath.
“Hello,” he says to Elise, while he strokes my hair and rests his cheek on my forehead. “I’m Blesk’s dad, Jasper.” Sinking into his chest, I look at the picture on the wall, not quite ready to be released. There is no cuddle in the world that feels as genuine as the ones my dad gives me.
Konnor’s are just as amazing.
“Nice to meet you, Mr Bellamy,” Elise says nervously.
“No, no, just Jasper is fine,” he states, worry painfully evident in his voice.
“Okay. Nice to meet you, Jasper.”
“I hear you brought Erik in. What happened?”
The picture stays the same, yet the intensity in the room becomes palpable, t
hickening and separating us from each other. There is an awkward pause. Poor Elise; this is only her problem by association.
We can’t tell him about Konnor, we just can’t. My brain tells me to answer for her, to intercept the question, but when my mouth starts to move, my voice is suddenly held captive by fear.
“I’m not sure, Jasper. I didn’t see much,” Elise answers uncomfortably.
My dad grasps my shoulders and pulls me away from him, forcing me to look at him. “Blesk? Are you okay, baby girl?” I nod. “Tell me what happened?”
I focus on my breathing and speak delicately, while trying to also project a sense of finality in the answer. “Erik got into a fight. You know how he can be.”
He arches his brow sceptically. “The doctors seem to think you two know something, Kitten.”
I shake my head and drop my gaze to the floor, shuffling my feet nervously and fidgeting with my nails. “No.”
He lifts my chin, snagging me in his line of sight. Solemn, distraught eyes stare back at me——losing another member of his family would break him. “Blesk, this is serious. Tell me who did this to your brother.”
Ever suspicious gesture slices at my insides as hopeless tears trace the contours of my cheek and fall down my trembling lip.
This is all my fault, all my fault.
If I had just stayed away from Konnor he wouldn’t be hurting right now, Liz would still be buried in a closet in my mind, and Erik wouldn’t be so small. I can never tell my dad. I can never tell anyone. Not what Erik did to me and not what Konnor did to Erik.
I search my mind for the right thing to say, shuffling various versions of the truth around in my head like puzzle pieces, seeing which bits form a picture with the least consequences.
“I don’t know who it was.” When the words come out, their deceit strikes sickness into my soul. He looks at me with heavily disappointed eyes. I’ve never lied to my dad before.
Time rushes by, and I am strangely detached.
Shortly after my father arrived, the police came and asked me and Elise a lot of questions. We feigned ignorance, both agreeing that the attacker was a stranger. I got the impression they didn’t believe us.
They asked my father if he wanted to press charges, subsequently opening a case for further investigation. I was surprised and relieved when he reluctantly said no. I’m not sure if it was for me, or because he didn’t want the police poking around Erik’s personal life. The police are used to this kind of dissonance from residents of The District; we lost faith in their authority many years ago. They don’t control that area: we know it and they know it.
At midday, we had lunch, while I sat in the chair by Small Erik. At 2:00 p.m. I tried to study for Musical Harmony 445. I am not sure what I read. My eyes went over the words and the sentences, but nothing actually penetrated my mind.
The doctor spoke to my dad at 4:00 p.m. and a few words registered, coma, damage, brain, police. Elise left at 5:00. When she returned at 6:00 with a change of clothes, I still hadn’t moved. At 7:00 we ate dinner. I think I moved the food around the plate, I may have even tasted some, but I’m not sure what it was.
At 8:00, I switch my phone on and check my text messages.
Konnor: You aren’t coming to class? Do you hate me that much? Damn it, Duch, you are fucking me up!
Konnor: I’m sorry for swearing at you, Duchess. I’m sorry. I should never do that. Just talk to me.
Konnor: Alright, Blesk, alright, just remember I’m here. If anyone ever hurts you. If you ever need a ride, a cuddle, a bodyguard, a friend, a servant, a wizard, lol. Anything. I’ll be there for you.
Konnor: This is not happening. It can’t.
Konnor: Just stop fucking running! Seriously, this is bullshit.
Konnor: Sorry again for swearing at you. Please just talk to me.
I clutch my heart with my hand and count to ten in an attempt to steady my urge to scream from the ache within it.
Guilt. Pain. Bitch.
FIFTEEN: BLESK
“Duchess,” he purrs into my ear, nuzzling my neck. His heated breath floats down on me like a feather leisurely fluttering over my skin. Each subtle tingle, each little caress, each warming sensation, causes my toes to curl and my back to arch with wanting. Little moans escape my mouth, and he hasn’t even touched me yet. His body comes down on top of me gently, and I sink into the mattress with the weight of him.
“Konnor?” I whisper, my eyes heavy with love. I love him so much. I search through the dim light for his dimpled smile, eager to see a glimpse of those green irises that make me feel like home. I squint to search the face on top of me, but it is so dark. Blank.
Propping himself up on his elbow, he feeds his free hand through my hair, combing his fingers from the roots to the ends. He rocks into me and groans, pressing his strained jeans into my thigh, his longing like steel against me. My whole body responds to his rhythm. I widen my knees and welcome him. His noises get more desperate as he picks up the pace, groaning, rubbing, harder, faster.
When the light flickers before returning the room to pitch blackness, I see his face.
His eyes aren’t green.
The pressure of his body pushes me harder into the mattress, restricting air, until I’m being sucked into the bed. My body descends and my fingers claw at the sheets that are now walls, trying to pull myself back up. Panic sets in. Heaving violently, my body gyrates within the hollow of sheets.
“Thank you.”
There is nothing tender about these words. My mouth opens, stretching so wide as if something were crawling out, and I’m silently screaming.
My eyes fly open.
Trying to catch my breath, to get some air, even just a little, I gasp for dear life.
"Get him away from me!" My voice breaks.
“Shhhhh,” Elise croons, cocooning me in her arms. "It was just a dream."
Reality tumbles back.
I am in my dorm.
It's been two weeks since Erik raped me.
I am safe.
Elise pulls me tighter. “Shhhhhhh, Blesk.” She kisses my temple. “Shhhh.” We lie down on my bed and she smothers my head in her arms, brushing my hair with her little fingers. We both try to relax, fading in and out of awareness, but we never let go of each other.
That is the eleventh nightmare I've had since the day on the hill; the day in the basement. It never fails to leave me screaming. Is that how I really felt when Erik would crawl on top of me each night, pulling me from slumber as he would thrust into me? I can’t remember. Every time I think about either of them, Konnor or Erik, all those horrific feelings flood me.
After the first dream, I told Elise everything, everything about that dream, and the truth about Erik and me. By sharing that secret, I felt all the shame I’d always hidden smash into me, slapping all my reasoning, and excuses, with reality. I tried to convince myself - and her - that what Erik did was a small price to pay for everything I put him through, and that it made him happier than it made me sad.
She told me it wasn’t a small price to pay, it was the ultimate price to pay, and there should have never been a price to start with. Elise told me love doesn’t have a price, it doesn’t have compensation. It's free.
I never knew that.
What Erik did was so wrong. I realise that now. I no longer believe I deserved that. I’m not sure I could even look Erik in the eyes again. I feel deceived; I trusted him with everything. It wasn’t until that dream that I remembered how it felt. To have my freedom taken away, again. To be used by the person who I trust the most after everything I’ve already endured. My biological father made me do things that any normal person would find incomprehensible. Erik knows my innocence was taken from me to support my father’s lies, and then he does even worse and takes another piece. I was too caught up in Konnor, and all the emotions that came flooding back with his presence, to realise how very wrong what Erik did was. He used me, just like my father did. He touched me as if he owned me. He doe
sn’t own me. I own me. His hands were all over my skin, and he made me feel like it was his right. And I believed him. I seriously thought I owed him… for loving me.
This is the first time in my life I’ve been able to talk about my personal life with someone with a reasonable level of calm. We discuss my past and we use it to write songs for my live set at The Grill. I've always used my music as a form of expression, but thanks to Elise it is now also therapy. I often search the crowd for Konnor while I’m on stage, but he’s never there. The messages have stopped, too. I’m terrified to analyse what that might mean. His absence is not unlike a hole in my existence, but I’m doing what is best for him; he doesn’t need this kind of drama in his life. The kind of drama that is just… me.
Today we are engaged in one of our writing and counselling sessions while laying on our backs with our feet up on the wall.
“Perhaps, you don’t want to get any closer to Konnor because you feel like his love might come with a price as well,” Elise says.
“No, it’s because he’ll never love me, just her,” I state adamantly.
“Hmmm, maybe, but I think it is more than that,” she says, clicking her pen and pondering.
“Konnor is perfect with a perfect life. He has all these awesome friends, every girl wants to be with him… he’s a star rugby player, and I’m just a burden. I’m damaged.”
She laughs. “Pity party.”
“Come on, Elise,” I groan. “I actually mean it. I’m emotionally unavailable. It’s going to take me so long to just be a normal girl. Oh my god, that is if I ever get there, I may never. He’ll be unhappy with me.”
“Okay, that may all be true. You are damaged, and strange. You say the strangest stuff, and make Yoda impersonations all the time, it’s just odd.” She laughs and then turns serious on a sigh. “But you know what, I reckon I’d rather be odd than normal. And I think you’ll make Konnor very happy. You are his happiness. Being with you, that is what makes him happy… I think he’s one of those guys who falls in love once and forever. You’ve had his heart since he was like five.”