by Carys Jones
“Or it might be just what she needs!” Sebastian enthused.
The Marie he knew enjoyed the excitement of the capital city. She loved to go and see shows or visit specialist boutiques. She was alive in London, finding wonder even in the most unlikely of places. Here she spent her days watching the television with dead eyes. The light within her which had drawn Sebastian in had somehow been put out. He desperately wanted to see that glow in her eyes once again.
“She stays here,” Bill concluded.
“We all just want her back,” Sebastian said quietly. “She’s not her old self, we all see that. I’m willing to try what I can to bring her back. In London she’d have access to some of the best doctors in the country. I’d move in to her apartment with her and do everything I could to make her the old Marie again.”
Carol ceased cleaning to listen, biting thoughtfully on her lip.
“I can’t,” Bill ran a hand across his face. He’d aged ten years in the last three months. Fresh lines had appeared beside his eyes and across his forehead, telling the tale of the nights lost to worry, of the hours spent fearing the worst.
“I can’t just let her leave, she’s still so fragile.”
Briefly the three of them fell silent and turned to glance in on Marie who was sat in the lounge on the sofa, her legs supported by a coffee table. She sat motionless, fixated on the television which was airing some mind numbing daytime show. It was the sort of program Marie would never normally watch but now she couldn’t tear her eyes away from it. It was as if she was no longer there. Her body remained but her essence, the part of her which made her magical, had long departed, pushed out of her in the crash.
“The doctors think she has PTSD,” Carol announced fretfully as the glanced around the kitchen for something, anything to clean.
Bill grew grey and shook his head. PTSD was the ailment of men returning from war. Men who had witnessed such savagery that life back home and normality was almost impossible. How could his precious little girl be suffering with such an affliction? How could sweet Marie have seen such terrible things that she was irrevocably changed?
“She’s certainly not herself,” Sebastian agreed sadly.
Carol realised that she’d not descaled her kettle for quite some time and so keen with purpose she began to rummage through her cupboards for the relevant products she needed.
“London won’t bring her back,” Bill warned, raising eyebrow. “Nothing can.”
“At least let me try,” Sebastian pleaded.
Bill looked back at his daughter, sat so stoically on the sofa watching the television screen but not taking any of the content in. She’d become an empty vessel, a shadow. It wasn’t right. He’d preferred seeing her in the coma to this. It just seemed such a cruel fate to bestow on a young woman who had once oozed so much vitality.
“She’s my princess,” Bill’s voice threatened to break and so he took a long drink from his now lukewarm tea.
Maybe London wouldn’t bring Marie back, but whatever they were currently trying wasn’t working either. They were running out of options.
“Take her to London,” Bill cleared his throat and rubbed at his stubble covered cheeks. “I want my little girl back.”
Carol took a second to wipe away a tear before returning to fervently cleaning out the inside of her kettle.
*
Marie listened as Sebastian explained that they would be moving. On her bed her suitcase was already half packed. A decision had clearly already been reached without her consent.
“You’ve got an apartment there,” Sebastian told her. “Do you remember?”
Apartment. Marie had a whole palace, in Azriel. Why couldn’t she return there?
“I’ll come and live with you in your apartment, it might help you get back to normal.”
“Normal?” Marie focused on the word. What was normal anyway?
“Not normal,” Sebastian quickly backtracked. “But better, back to your old self.”
Marie loathed her old self. A life lived in denial, unaware of who she truly was. The last thing she wanted was to revert back to that, existing in the dark, oblivious of her true identity.
“I don’t know,” Marie said sadly.
“London will be good for you, I promise,” Sebastian held her hands in his and gave them a reassuring squeeze.
“And there are doctors there, specialists, who can help you with things.”
“Aren’t there specialists here?”
“Yes, but…” Sebastian looked around the room, trying to find a way to explain what he meant.
“We need to work on bringing you back, Marie,” he lifted a hand to gently touch her cheek. Her skin was so smooth, returned to its normal pristine condition now that the swelling and bruises had subsided.
“Your arms and legs are healing well but in here,” he ran a hand across her forehead. The sensation made sparks tingle along Marie’s spine.
“In here you still need to do a lot of mending, and there are doctors in London who can help you do that.”
Marie frowned. What was he getting at? Did he mean that these doctors in London would understand about Azriel? Would they be able to get her back?
“Do they know I’m a princess?” she asked, hope causing her voice to rise in pitch.
“Of course,” Sebastian broke out in to a smile at this sudden appearance of the old eternally optimist Marie.
“Oh,” a smile played on her lips as she contemplated this. “Then we should go. We should go right away.”
“We can go as soon as you’re ready!” Sebastian felt buoyed by her response. She seemed engaged and present when for so long she’d been impossibly distant.
“Yes,” Marie clapped her hands together in glee. “And then they can help me get back. I’ll have to let Orion know,” she struggled up on to her crutches and began to manoeuvre herself out of her bedroom, muttering to herself all the while.
Sebastian caught snippets of what she said.
“Orion.”
“Celebration.”
“Home.”
None of it made any sense. The smile on his face fell away as he watched her leave. She was clearly more delusional than he’d been willing to accept. Pulling out his iPhone he called the leading PTSD specialist in London.
*
Carol and Bill waved at the car as Sebastian pulled out of the driveway. Beside him Marie waved back at them, her eyes bright with excitement.
“She looks better,” Carol announced, pleased.
“He said she’s still talking gibberish,” Bill sighed as he waved at the car until it was out of sight.
“Perhaps these doctors in London can help her.” Carol was clinging on to the hope that Marie would soon make a full recovery from all her injuries; both mental and physical. She anticipated that any day now Marie would throw her arms around her mother and insist on an immediate shopping trip to the Trafford Centre where they would admire the dresses in the designer stores and indulge in tea and cake in the food court.
“I hope so,” Bill continued to stare at the space where Sebastian’s car had previously been. He’d known men with PTSD. They’d come home destroyed by war. Whilst they healed on the outside they never truly recovered inside. He knew men who would hide out in the woods for months on end, certain that they were being hunted. They struggled to adapt to their new reality of life in suburbia, a part of them forever caught out there on the battle field, unable to escape.
He wondered if Marie felt like that, if a part of her still remained out on that stretch of motorway, frozen forever in a state of mortal peril.
Carol reached out and took her husband’s hand.
“We did the right thing, didn’t we?” she asked him, her eyes wide and her voice brittle. Already her chest felt like it was caving in on herself as she feared that she’d done the wrong thing to let Marie leave. Her daughter was still so weak, still so distant.
“Yes,” Bill squeezed her hand. “Sebastian will take good
care of her.”
“I just don’t like that she’s gone,” Carol admitted as they turned and walked back towards their house. Her footsteps were heavy with regret. Even though Marie had been unwell, having her back in the house made the home feel complete. A selfish part of her wished that Marie never had to leave.
Standing in the hallway Bill and Carol both looked in to the lounge at the sofa which was now unoccupied, a mound of cushions were the only sign that Marie had even been there.
“I shouldn’t have let her go,” Carol turned and fell in to Bill’s chest as she began to weep heavy, remorseful tears.
“Don’t beat yourself up darling,” Bill told her soothingly. “You didn’t let her go because I’m not sure she ever truly came back.”
*
“We should be in London in a few hours,” Sebastian stated as he pulled on to the motorway stealing countless glimpses of Marie as he did so. He was worried that being back on the dual carriageway might reawaken some dormant anxiety in her but she remained calm and collected as he joined the throng of traffic.
He turned on the radio and leaned back in the driver’s seat, settling in for the journey. The song Radioactive was belting out. Marie leaned forward, bemused to suddenly be hearing it. A memory rippled to the surface of her mind. The song. The crash. Azriel.
“Marie?” Sebastian noticed her gazing intently at the radio. “Are you alright? Do you want me to turn it off?”
“No,” Marie turned the circular dial, flooding the space around her with sound. “I want to turn it up.”
Marie carefully repositioned herself in her seat and focused on the song, letting it carry her away. This was the last song she’d heard before she went to Azriel. Surely hearing it now was a sign? There was a bridge between the two worlds, she was certain of it, and each day she desperately searched for it. But the song was a sign that she was heading in the right direction, it had to be.
Distortion
Marie looked around the apartment she had once called home. It was such a small space. There was one main room which housed the kitchenette, sofa and television. Beyond that were two doors. One led to a minute bathroom, the other to a bedroom which could barely contain the double bed which was within it.
“Its…small,” Marie concluded as she hobbled over to the sofa, her legs aching and struggling to maintain her weight. The building she lived in didn’t have a lift so they’d had to climb three flights of stairs which had taken them almost an hour. Her body verged on exhaustion as she flopped down on the grey two seater sofa and sighed.
“Property in London is expensive,” Sebastian explained, wandering over to the kitchenette with the intention of making them both a much needed cup of tea.
“You did well to get this place.”
“I did?” Marie wasn’t convinced. This apartment was miniscule, already she was feeling claustrophobic and she’d barely been there ten minutes.
“Yes, you did,” Sebastian smiled as he flicked on the pink kettle on the side.
Glancing round Marie saw that the pink which themed her bedroom back in Manchester was prominent here too. The cushions on the sofa were pink and boasted positive messages like ‘live, laugh love’ and ‘friends are the family you choose.’
On the walls were canvas prints of ballerinas against pink backgrounds. There was a pink gerbera in a glass vase on a window sill and the kitchen contained numerous accessories, all pink.
“I like pink,” Marie concluded. She didn’t loathe the shade. It was actually nice to inject some colour in to the living space. On their drive in to London she had been struck by how dull and devoid of colour the city was. From the pavements to the buildings which stretched up from them, everything was grey and dull. Even the sky which hung over head was ashen and devoid of any vibrancy. It all felt incredibly oppressive, as if Marie was drowning in an ocean of darkness, unable to find any light to cling on to.
But here in her apartment there was pink and it was better than nothing. Leaning back on the sofa she thought as she so often did of Azriel. The colours there were glorious. She ran her hand down her dark denim skinny jeans, imagining the sumptuous gown she had once worn, how it had sparkled and shimmered in the light.
“You look relaxed,” Sebastian noted as he handed her a fresh cup of tea.
“Mmm,” Marie made a non-committal sound and accepted the cup from him. Glancing round she continued to try and familiarise herself with the space around her.
“Did you live here too?” she asked innocently. “There is such a lot of pink.”
“No,” Sebastian looked sadly in to his cup. He had hoped that being in the apartment would ignite some of Marie’s memories yet she continued to seem oblivious about the life she had led prior to the crash. He kept reminded himself that she just needed time. The healing process was a long one and physically she’d made great progress, her mind would catch up soon enough.
“I lived in my own apartment in Kensington,” he explained.
“Oh,” Marie nodded. “How come?”
Sebastian ran his free hand down his stubble covered cheeks and smiled wryly to himself.
“Because you are stubborn,” he concluded, looking fondly at Marie. “I kept insisting that we live together in my apartment but you wouldn’t have it. You were resolute that you were going to live in your own place and pay your own way.”
“Is your apartment small too?” Marie considered that two people occupying such a compact space would be unbearable and understood her previous reluctant to co-habit with him.
“No,” Sebastian shook his head. “My apartment has three stories, a balcony and a rooftop terrace.”
“Oh,” Marie’s eyes widened with surprise as she blew in to her cup, making the liquid inside it cool slightly.
“I come from money,” Sebastian quickly explained. “I have always had money, been well off. I went to private schools; my family own a couple of yachts. But you always refused to accept any of it. You wanted to be equals in the relationship.”
“That sounds reasonable.”
But Marie had a castle, and a royal title. Surely that trumped his three storey apartment and any number of yachts?
“Does this,” Sebastian gestured to the room around them. “Does it trigger any memories at all?”
“I don’t,” Marie wasn’t sure how to explain how she felt. She’d been to the apartment before, she sensed that. But the live she’d led there no longer felt like her own. It was as if her time before the crash existed now only as a dream in her mind and struggled to remember details, it all felt hazy and misplaced.
“I don’t remember specific things,” she explained. “But I know I’ve been here. When you talk of your own apartment, I have an image of a grand place full of pristine white walls and black leather furniture.”
“Yeah, that’s it,” Sebastian smiled, hope dancing up his spine and pinching at his heart as he dared to believe that Marie was finally returning to her old self.
“I can take you there,” he quickly offered, “if you think it will help your memories some more.”
“I don’t fancy braving those stairs for a few days,” Marie admitted, wincing slightly and rubbing her sore legs. Her bones had knitted together but the wounds were still sore. The crutches helped as she still struggled to walk unaided.
Time. All the doctors kept telling her that she just needed time when time was what she didn’t have. The more time spent here the more Azriel faded away.
Marie pinched her eyes shut and rubbed at her temple. Thinking of Azriel was starting to hurt as it consumed her with guilt. She imaged the glittering city dissolving in to nothing, the emerald grass dying and turning to dust and the great golden castle getting carried away on the breeze.
“Are you okay, do you need to lie down?” Sebastian asked, leaning in with concern.
“Maybe,” Marie admitted wearily. “I just…” she looked in to his eyes. He appeared so weary. His eyes didn’t sparkle like Orion’s. They were dull and
lack lustre. Hours spent worrying rather than sleeping had robbed them of their previous sheen.
“I don’t belong here,” Marie stated lamely. She wished she could explain more but no one would understand about Azriel, how could they?
“Would you rather be back in Manchester?”
“No,” Marie shook her head, the gesture causing her neck to ache. Her body was still so brittle.
“I don’t belong there either,” she deduced sadly.
“Why don’t you lie down for a bit?” Sebastian suggested, helping her to her feet. “A rest might do you good. You might wake up refreshed.”