by J. M. Adele
She was the something unpredictable in my life, the splash of colour in my black and white, the special thrown in to set me off balance. She was perfect. And I’d fucking lost her.
What a dick.
“Good. That’s good.” I kept nodding like a dipshit bobblehead before I backed out of the room and followed Lee to the veranda.
Stew busted through the door, holding his latest trophy—the grog. “Let’s get shit-faced.”
As far as coping mechanisms went, it wasn’t a healthy one. But who the fuck was I to judge? If Mum and Geoff were to die, I’d probably get blind drunk, too. My father, on the other hand ... well, it wouldn’t make much of a difference, would it? I’d be sad. But I’d get over that real quick.
It looked like we were all in for a night of drowning our sorrows.
Andrea
Rockhampton, Australia
3rd of August, 2009, 9:38 p.m.
She’s finally asleep.
Tish blew out soft even breaths as she rested her head on my shoulder. The poor girl was utterly drained. We’d spent the night watching cheesy rom-coms on the couch while the boys drank and did whatever they were doing out the back.
I eased from under her, putting a couple of cushions in my place before going to ask if her brother could carry her to her bedroom. I didn’t even have to open the door to realise Ben was the only one remotely sober enough to do the job. Lee was leaning so far forward in his chair he was half lying on the table. One arm was stretched across the glass top, acting as a pillow for his head. Stewart was slumped on the opposite side with his feet on another chair, clutching a can of rum to his chest just like he’d done with his balls. Ben had a deck of cards set out in a game of solitaire.
I poked my head through the door. “Um, Ben?”
His head snapped up. “What’s up?”
“Could you give me a hand for a minute please?”
He tossed the cards away and pushed his chair out before circling the table. I stood back to give him room, chewing on my lip as he faced me. Oh, damn. It was hard seeing him. I would’ve loved to crawl into his arms and cry. This was horrible. So, so horrible. These poor kids. I was trying to be strong for them, but I just wanted to dissolve into tears. It was so unfair. Life was so fucking unfair. The one person who I wanted to turn to for comfort was right in front of me ... untouchable.
“Tish has fallen asleep on the couch. Do you reckon you could put her in bed?”
He nodded, heading for the lounge room. Scooping under her knees and back, he made light work of the task. I didn’t need to be reminded of how strong he was. I knew what it was like to be held by him. He was a gentle giant. My gentle giant.
I tucked the covers around her and switched on the fan for some air circulation. After making sure she had the tissue box and a bottle of water beside the bed, I left the door slightly ajar before going to find sheets for us.
Ben waited in the lounge, his arms crossed.
I swallowed against a dry throat. “Thank you. And thanks for getting dinner for us.”
“No worries. I needed to pick up some clean clothes anyway.”
I tossed a couple of sheets on the couch and two more on each recliner. “Which one do you want?”
“I don’t care.”
“Okay.” Grabbing the sheet on the seat nearest to me, I unfolded it and flung it out to settle over the chair. “Are they still drinking?”
“No. I gave them tonic water and told them it had vodka in it.”
“Nice one.” I kept my eyes on my task.
“Andy.” His voice cracked.
Nope, not looking. “That’s my name.”
“I know this isn’t the right time to talk about us, but if you’ll hear me out, I’d like to apologise for being a dick.”
Why couldn’t you have apologised two months ago? Why did you have to hurt me at all? I smacked at the creases in the sheet, making them worse rather than smoothing them out. Whatever. I was just buying time until my voice box untied itself. “You’re right. Now is not the time. And yes, you were a major dick.”
His mouth screwed up as he took his sheet and put it over his bed for the night. “I think you’re an incredible friend.”
I blinked, my eyes stinging in warning. “I think you are, too.”
He did Stewart’s sheet as well. That was how thoughtful he was. I might’ve looked like I wasn’t paying him any attention, but I had him pinned in my peripheral vision. I’d had him in my sights since day one. I just had to trust my knowing that we’d be okay. Did that mean I’d make it easy for him to get back in my good graces? Hell, no. He’d hurt me bad. He needed to know I wouldn’t tolerate any shit like that in the future. Boundaries.
I loved him, but I loved me more. And I deserved better. If he couldn’t rise to the occasion, I wasn’t going to drop my level to meet him. Nuh-uh.
Rise up, or ship out, Benny-boy.
_____
Ben
Rockhampton, Australia
4th of August, 2009, 1:12 a.m.
Stewart and Lee hooked an arm around each other and aimed for the doorway. At the same time. Dickheads. They were never gonna fit. They ended up in a heap on the floor with bruised knees and egos.
Andy heard the ruckus and helped me get them in bed. Or to the couch, in Stew’s case. She went back to her recliner as I did what I had to do in the bathroom. When I got to my recliner, she looked asleep. I didn’t know how she could be with Stewart chopping down a forest just next to her.
Maybe I should tilt his head back?
I started to get up, but she beat me to it, adjusting his position until the chainsaw quieted to a snuffle.
“You’re awake.” I lowered the footrest and sat.
“I think the neighbourhood is awake.” She pulled the sheet over herself.
“Is he always this loud?” I squinted, only just able to make out her features, the standby light on the TV casting a dull glow in the room.
“Only when he breathes.” Her lips quirked. I think.
“Maybe he should’ve stayed home,” I joked.
“Maybe you should’ve.” She wasn’t joking. Her tone had bite.
I expected nothing less. My heart thumped against my ribcage like it was beating me up all over again.
“Do you remember me telling you how I would wish on Venus?” Her hand brushed at her hair.
“Yes.”
“I wished for someone who understood me. Who was secure and happy enough on his own that he wouldn’t depend on me to make him happy. Because that’s what I watched my mother try to do for my father, and fail. I knew that wasn’t what a healthy relationship was about.” Her arm swatted at the air before flopping back down. “Whatever shit you’ve got going on in your brain, you’ve gotta deal with it. It’s not up to me to fix you.”
“I know. And I have.” I huffed, rubbing a hand across my forehead. Standing, I crossed to her. “Come with me.”
“No.”
I held out my hand. “Come with me, please?”
“It’s one o’clock in the morning.”
“Do I have to throw you over my shoulder?”
“No. Jeez.” She ripped the sheet off.
I grabbed my keys from the table on my way to the door.
“We can’t leave. What are you doing?”
“We’re not leaving.” I swung the door open and waved her through, pressing the key fob to open the car. “Hop in. The back seat.”
“If you think—”
“Andy. Just get in the car. I’m not going to touch you unless you tell me to.”
She scoffed and yanked the door open. I retrieved my guitar before letting her in and closing the door. Rounding the car, I adjusted the driver’s seat way back before sliding in, seating the guitar across my lap. It wasn’t a full moon, but it was getting there. Enough that I could still see her beautiful face when the interior light switched off.
“I hate myself for what I did to you. It was inexcusable.”
She crossed her arms and faced forward.
“Your first time should have been special, and I took you like an animal. I put you in a compromising position in front of your little sister. And then I left you. I’m no better than my scumbag father. A chip off the old block.”
Her mouth dropped open as she stared wide-eyed.
“I want you to know that I’ve never experienced anything so amazing in my life. And I feel sick saying that because I treated you so roughly. I lost control. I’m sorry. I’d like to make it up to you if I can.” I tucked the guitar under my arm. “I’m going to be the sappiest most clichéd idiot there is to prove to you that I want you back. So bad.”
What was I doing? Her opinion of me was going to sink to the depths of sewer scum after this. Too late, my fingers were already strumming the tune I’d had in my head constantly for weeks.
I opened my mouth and closed my eyes, pouring my heart into the song I’d written for her.
You woke me up,
and I brought you down
Had me on cloud nine,
and feeling proud
I ran away,
from the one I love
Ruined chances,
I was dreaming of
You can depend on me
Baby, will you bend to me?
Don’t be sending me
Away, away, away
So baby,
can you hear me out?
Or baby,
will you scream and shout?
’Cause there’s no way,
this will go away
This love,
it is here to stay
You can depend on me
Baby, will you bend to me?
Don’t be sending me
Away, away, away
Hangin’ by a string,
What could possibly bring
You back to me?
My guitar apology?
You can depend on me
Baby, will you bend to me?
Don’t be sending me
Away, away, away
I unclenched my eyelids to find her chewing on her lips, her eyes glossy with tears.
She sniffed, clearing her throat. “What’s it called?”
“‘Guitar Apology.’”
“It’s good.” Her mouth curved with a hint of a smile. “You say you took me like an animal. I loved it. I loved what we did. It was perfect. You made me feel desirable, sexy. I wanted you hungry for me.”
Her words punched me in the gut and lifted me through the roof at the same time. She’d loved it. I was such a fucking idiot.
“Don’t ever hurt me again.” The words crumbled as she twisted away from me, swiping at the moisture streaming down her face.
I got out, abandoning the guitar on the front seats and joined her in the back. She’d curled in on herself. Shit. Do I hug her? Will she let me? Whatever hope I’d had deflated like a limp penis. That hadn’t gone as well as I had planned. I banged my head back on the headrest, waiting for her to run from the car.
She didn’t.
She crawled into my lap and sobbed.
I folded around her and breathed her in. “I will never leave you again.”
Please don’t ever leave me.
Emmeline
Hampshire, England
9th of March, 1868
Marybeth wiped a cool cloth over my brow and held my hand as I bore down through another contraction. It had been eight months since my father had tossed the earl from the property. I only hoped the timing concluded the baby was Sebastian’s and not an early delivery of Reginald Fortescue’s offspring.
“’Tis crowning. Not long now.”
“I am going to be sick.”
She dropped my hand and ran to fetch a bowl.
I leaned over the side of the bed and vomited on the floorboards, unable to wait. “Sorry.” Resting back on the pillow, I pressed a palm to my forehead. My head was threatening to split open and my vision blurred in and out of focus. “I cannot—” Bowing forward, pain ripped through my stomach. “Aargh!”
The overwhelming feeling that I had done this before settled in my chest. I had a son. His father’s name was “Ben.”
“Pardon, miss?”
“Ben. If it is a boy, name him Benjamin Sebastian.”
“You can name him yourself.”
I shook my head. No. I had to return. It was time.
Another contraction squeezed my insides. I screamed as my flesh tore, allowing the baby’s head to enter the world. White spots danced across my vision. I fought for breath. With one more push, the body followed. I collapsed onto the mattress, fighting to stay conscious.
Marybeth gathered the crying baby in a towel and held it up for me to see. “’Tis a boy, miss.”
Ben. Sweet boy.
“Look after him ... for ... m—”
My eyes drifted shut.
“Miss? Miss!”
My heartbeat sputtered and stalled.
_____
Ben
Brisbane, Australia
8th of January 2017
I hummed our song, holding her hand, being careful not to mess with any tubes. My forehead rested on the bedrail as my eyes traced the pattern on the lino floor. This had become my routine over the last couple of weeks. Mum would look after Seb, while I came to visit Andy. I’d walk in with a question on my face. The nurses all knew what I was asking. The answer was always the same.
“No change.”
Her hair had appeared greasy today. I’d have to remember to ask the nurses to help me wash it. There must be a way. Her skin was cold against mine. She smelled like Sorbolene cream. They must’ve given her a bed bath recently. The machine keeping her breathing gave me a beat to hum to even if it wasn’t the right tempo. I slowed my song down to match her. And I would do it for the rest of her life.
The song came to an end.
“Seb smiled today. I think he may have had gas, but I’ll take it.” I raised my head and smiled at her. “He regained the weight he lost after birth, plus two hundred grams already.” I rubbed my thumb in circles on the back of her hand. “He’s doing great. He needs his mamma. Come back to us, Andy.” I broke our connection and pushed my fists into my eye sockets. I was so fucking sick of crying. It didn’t do shit. Didn’t solve anything. Didn’t make me feel better—just made it worse.
It didn’t bring her back.
I dropped my arms, sighing. Maybe I needed a coffee.
Hauling to my feet, I wiped my palms on my jeans and turned towards the door. Making it three steps clear, I stopped when the beep of the heart monitor changed behind me. Her heart rate had hiccupped. Scanning her immobile form, I couldn’t see any change. Must’ve been a glitch.
I spun away again, taking two more steps. Her pulse began to race, the machine going apeshit.
“Nurse!” I yelled, running back in the room.
Three nurses barged past me, blocking my view. I plastered myself against the window, hands clasped on top of my head. What the fuck was happening?
A doctor came in, voicing my question minus the curse.
“She’s waking up,” one of the nurses answered.
Fuck. I hoped to God it was true. I held my breath, mangling my bottom lip with my teeth.
“Andrea. It’s okay. We’re going to take the tube out and then you can breathe by yourself. Just relax.” His elbows jostled as he worked.
I was glad I couldn’t see what they were doing. Even if I did want to look, I couldn’t. I was frozen, too petrified to inhale, let alone move. I focused on the drip, drip, drip of her IV, waiting for some sign that she was going to be okay.
“Okay. It’s okay. Just breathe. You know how to do that. You’ve been doing it on your own for years.”
I listened to the doctor’s instructions like they were meant for me, ordered my diaphragm to help. My nostrils flared as I pushed air out. And then she coughed. My legs gave out and I slid to the floor. My arms felt like their bones had dissolved as th
ey flopped at my sides.
I tilted my chin to the ceiling and mouthed a thank you.
Thank you to a God I hadn’t believed in.
Until then.
_____
Emmeline/Andrea
Somewhere. Everywhere. There.
Swirling ... spinning ... floating ...
The oppressive weight of carrying around a sack of flesh was gone. I’d released myself, and not for the first time. I’d done this before. But this was different. This time I was reuniting with the small part of me I’d left behind. And I was eager to go. I called in my energy, asked the fragmentation to heal and pull together again. It bubbled and vibrated like an oncoming earthquake.
But I couldn’t get past a barrier.
They wanted to show me something before I went.
She wanted to show me something before I went.
Jess.
I felt her. Every soul had its own unique vibration. I recognised hers straight away.
A scene rolled across my consciousness. My energy dropped instantly. This wasn’t a happy scene. Her spirit tugged my thoughts back, reminding me I was merely a spectator and that she was happy and free where she was.
I observed Jess laying on a bed. The frame was the old-fashioned wrought-iron style. Her mouth was gagged, hands tied above her head and secured to the frame, her feet tied to each corner of the end of the bed. Her body was naked.
I retreated, preferring not to witness this heinous crime. Jess’s ghost reminded me she was no longer there—she was here with me. We were in another realm, our energies suspended in nothingness. No flesh to tie us down. No mind to fool us into believing a false reality. We were consciousness. Pure energy.
Jess’s eyes blinked open as her head rolled to the side. Taking in her surroundings, she thrashed all her limbs, sheer terror in her eyes.
Why are you showing me this? I don’t want to see this.
She planted a word in my awareness. Watch.
A man entered the room. He was muscular, like he did manual labour for a living. He wore nothing but a twisted smile. I knew that face. He was young. Only in his late twenties, maybe early thirties. Where did I know him from?
Johnno’s party. I’d seen him. He’d been there when I’d picked up on the negative juju. Had I recognised him that night? Who was he?