Fractures

by M R Field

  My hand curls into the mattress edge as I groan. What a complete fuck up. My stomach rolls, as a light degree of nausea rolls through me. Oh, I want these drugs to start working soon. I feel like shit. I spent most of the night in agony, as I was being a petulant shithead and didn’t want Theo to hear me shuffling around and come to help. He’d already left me some sandwiches, which my stomach had a moment of not wanting to upchuck, so I ate them greedily.

  I look down at the bed and sigh. “I can’t do this anymore,” he said. My hand smooths down the covers as a deep sense of longing blends with the unease I feel. I missed him last night and the night before. He almost sounds as if he’s stopped missing me. My heart tightens at the thought, as I rub my sore shoulder in defeat.

  I was so angry with him that day. I spent the first night in a fit of tears, reading all the letters that I’d opened from my mother while searching for a theme scribbled on the front to resonate. I’d found it.

  Break-ups

  My baby girl,

  There’s going to be a time in your life when you’re going to experience a dreaded break-up. You know, like you’ve probably seen in movies—where the girl cries her eyes out—her makeup doesn’t run, by the way, as it’s the movies—and she thinks her life is over. She wails, howls, and loses her damn mind.

  You’re going to feel that ache one day, and I’m not going to sugarcoat it. It’s going to sting. It’s going to burn, and you will feel that life is really, really crap. It’s going to hurt, baby, there’s nothing I can do to stop it. You know, if I could, I’d egg his car or something.

  But this is what you’re going to do.

  You’re going to get your girls, your real posse, and you’re going to get a tub of your favourite ice cream, and you’ll eat from the tub. None of this unnecessary bowl washing. Just a spoon and a box of tissues. By the time that tub is empty, you’ll have kick-started the healing process. I promise. No break-up is worth ruining yourself over. You are strong and fearless, and you can do this.

  When your heart gets broken, use the right tape to put it back together. The best man will make sure that you never need tape at all. No man is perfect, but he’ll damn well try.

  Love you,

  Mum.

  I hadn’t taken her advice to get the girls over. I’d kept silent. I hadn’t been able to bring myself to talk about him and what I had seen. Instead, I’d wallowed. I’d turned into a ball of pity and remembered all our time together, like a morose reel of memories, stemming all the way from high school. Our first class together, the day I’d realised butterflies were tickling my insides every time he smiled at me. I was hopelessly and utterly in love, overcome with loss from losing him, the betrayal etching itself so close to my heart that I wondered if there were any pieces left.

  Instead of calling my friends, I’d found some old red skirts that I’d sewn and some white material. I’d done what I could to process. To alleviate the ache. I’d created. I’d designed. Until the early hours of the morning, the erratic punching of the sewing machine needle through the cotton had threaded the details of my ideas into a blunt array of colour.

  As I’d used my scissors to slice through the final fabric, tears were held back; pressed my lips together to keep my emotion in check. I’d been determined to prove that I could do this. That I could move on. Even if it had barely been twenty-four hours.

  Grabbing what I’d needed from my makeup bag and shoving it into my back pocket, I grabbed the cutouts and marched upstairs to my kitchen to retrieve my lighter. At the sink, with the window open, I’d lit the frayed edges and burnt them. Not entirely, but enough. I’d then gathered them, raced downstairs to get the designs, tore the old display off my mannequins, and began to dress them.

  The Queen of Hearts had stood in her various forms. The first was haggard, with torn clothing, and I’d called her “Holding on by a Thread.” The second, “Tearing at the Seams,” was an improvement over the last, but still dishevelled, with fewer tears than the final mannequin, which I aptly named “Fake it Till You Unravel.” That had appeared to be well-put. Simple gold ribbon crowns had been wrapped around the tops of their heads, and I’d plucked the red lipstick from my back pocket and wrote, “Love is a myth” across their faces and chests. I’d stood back and stared at them all in a moment and bent down, grabbing the burnt pieces of cut-out hearts and scattering them around by the mannequins’ feet. “You can do this,” I’d said, brokenly.

  Now, I’m sitting here like a fucking idiot, because I realise that I should have listened. Who does that? Not give a person a chance to explain? It isn’t freaking daytime TV. Instead, I’d been reduced to my troubled self, choosing an escape route for heartache that meant literally pushing him away. “I can’t do this anymore.” Yes, you can, Theo. Please come back to me.

  I stand slowly and collect a few things to have a shower. I remember a tiny bathroom being down here, which is what he started with when he first built this place. It is tucked in behind my room. I didn’t notice until now that even my toiletry bag was in there. He’s thought of everything.

  Sighing, I turn on the water to heat it up and begin to strip slowly, making sure my dressings are completely sealed. Testing the water, I step in gingerly and hope as I lather up my skin that I can work out a way to apologise that is sincere and genuine. Yes, he should’ve told me, but fuck, I should’ve listened. What a fucking mess.

  I leave the shower feeling refreshed, but only on the outside. Inside, I’m a tumultuous wave. I take my clothes to my room and see my phone lying on the bedside table. I want to text him, to make him come over, but he’s at work. I’ve done enough damage, and I don’t need him to get into trouble because I’m desperate to listen. As I gently tie my hair back, conscious of the wounds on my abdomen, I hear the rise of the roller door. My heart skips as I finish my hair and check out my appearance. He’s here. He’s come back.

  I try not to run out so I don’t pop a stitch, but it takes a lot of willpower. I stroll out to the main area only to find it’s not Theo, but Eloise. My head flinches slightly, wondering why she is standing there.

  “Um, what are you doing here?” My legs are stilted, as I stand awkwardly to stare back at her. She strolls in confidently, holding a green canvas grocery bag, without the normal cheeky grin on her face. Instead, she is expressionless, almost militant.

  “I’ll explain in a minute. For now”—she gestures to the chaise lounge in front of me—“sit.”

  “But …” I put my hands on my hips, not liking the vibe she’s giving me. “I want to know why you’re here.” Fatigue weathers against my spine as my energy depletes slightly. It’s tough work being pissy.

  “Trinity.” Eloise’s voice is stern, unforgiving. “Can you sit your butt down on the damn couch. I don’t have time for this, and I think it’s past the time for you to be demanding things. Now, sit.”

  I narrow my eyes at her but move to the couch. Whatever this is, it’s preventing me from working out a strategy to get Theo back.

  I can’t cross my arms across my chest, as the aftereffects have me aching too much, so I sit petulantly with both hands by my sides, staring back at her.

  “Now …” Her face relaxes slightly. “I’m going to tell you a story.”

  I roll my eyes. What’s the point of this? I’d ask her, but the drill sergeant seems to have a stick up her arse today. “Do I get milk and cookies?” I smile sweetly, titling my head.

  “No, but you might need something stronger afterwards.”

  I stiffen in my seat as my lips pull into a grimace. “Okay,” I drawl.

  “You see …” She stands at the coffee table and places the bag on top. “There was once a guy who was a very talented artist. He had a busy mind, and the only way he could decipher things was to create his own little world. Things that didn’t make sense or work out in his real one worked out there.” She reaches into the bag and retrieves the latest edition of the TTE series.

  “Why am I learning about your b
rother?” I frown. “What the fuck does that have to do with why you’re here?”

  She looks at me disapprovingly and shakes her head. “Looks like this is going to take longer than I thought,” she mutters, before retrieving the next novel. “This guy was lost, despondent. He chose to keep people at a distance, as he didn’t like affection—it made him feel displaced, alone. So, as he picked up his marker, he began to draw the things that mattered to him. He drew how his thoughts constantly battled with him, while also responding to what his heart wanted.” She continues to pull out novel after novel, gently stacking them. “There was one person he could show emotion to, however. One that he decided to immortalise by giving her a character in his text—Mila. She was the one he cherished and loved more deeply than anyone else in his life.”

  “He sounds lovesick.” I shift in my seat, watching each novel stack in a pile and remembering the scenes from each and how deeply they’d affected me. “Did his family help him?”

  “See …” She stops stacking for a moment. “He’s never really had a family until now. That in itself has been a real challenge. He’s had to cope with new identities wanting a piece of him, while he battles the demons of his past. He can barely handle his sisters cuddling him.”

  My chest thuds. The prickling sensation covers my skin in a mad rush, spreading tingles that force my body to squirm. Surely not? These points are so close to—

  “I’ve even got to meet her,” she continues. “Sure, she’s loud and feisty, and a complete contrast to him, but when he talks about her, his face is peaceful.” She frowns. “Not many people do that for him. My brother is a clever guy, and he still didn’t realise what a hopeless romantic he was.” She reaches into the bag and retrieves the first edition of the magazine that I ever bought, the one I saw for the first time here. At Theo’s place. I turn in my seat towards the bookshelf and see the same novels, which doesn’t surprise me. But my eyes begin to trace the books that are stacked around it.

  Art books, design tip manuals, Magna advice texts … all about techniques on how to draw. Normally, this wouldn’t give me pause, as Theo’s always been an artist, but the pricking along the back of my neck is telling me otherwise. It’s telling me to really look and really see him. Just like Adam asked Mila to do for all these months.

  “Oh my God.” I gasp as I turn sharply to the front, a ripple of pain tearing in my abdomen. “Oh fuck,” I groan, breathing quickly as I continue to ache.

  “Honey,” Eloise says, “take it easy. He’ll kill me if you get hurt.”

  I pant, the tears stinging my eyes as I gaze at her, picking up on subtle resemblances between her and Theo that I should’ve seen earlier.

  “You’re …” my voice falters.

  “My brother calls me Elly. You can call me that, if you’d like.”

  I nod, still stinging from the impact of the turn of events. “But how…”

  “Shh,” she coos as she reaches into her bag and retrieves a pen and notepad. “I can see those cogs in your brain turning, but there’s something you need to know.” Placing the materials next to me on the couch, she moves the pile of novels closer. “He knew he struggled with revealing his feelings and knowing how to reach out to the woman he loves.” She bends and picks up the novel.

  My mind is playing the words “woman he loves” on a loop.

  “He thought if there was a chance that she’d notice him, that she would find that it’s been there in front of her all this time.” Elly flicks open the first novel and skips to the final page. She points to the bottom crevices and puts it under my nose to see. “Do you see it?” She holds it closer.

  I stare at the images and frown. “What am I looking for?” I grab it from her, and my eyes roam along the page. Her long slender finger moves across the page to the left panel, to where I now see the word.

  “When,” I whisper.

  “There’s more.” Her head shifts to the stack to the side of her. “I suggest you get the piece of paper and pen ready.” She walks past me to the kitchen, but I don’t follow her. I shift closer to the table, without affecting my stomach too much. I reach for the second edition and eagerly flick to the last page, finding the next hidden word: “the.” My pulse pricks up as I carry on through the pile, flicking through the coloured pages, past all the memories I had of Adam and Mila’s journey as the throb continues to beat in my throat. I swallow thickly, desperate to write all the words down, knowing deep, deep down that I already know where this is leading. By the last novel, I don’t need to look for the word, as I already know what it’ll say.

  “Night.” I gasp. My hand covers my mouth in a soft sob. My fingers travel across the words on the page as tears prickle my eyes.

  “When the day fades to dark from light, you’re the only face I see at night.”

  “I can’t believe this.” I blink rapidly as tears fall down my cheeks. I’ve traced those words many times over the past few months. Reading every letter, blending my finger with them, hoping that his latest tattoo had something to do with me. Yet afraid to ask. On his back, he has a giant tree of life with a heart in its trunk that those words circulate. “Oh my God!” I grab the latest edition and flick to the centre and freeze. The tree that captured my attention after the many times we shared our bodies faces me. “How did I not notice this?”

  I sit bewildered. Mila and Adam stand facing each other, and my eyes drift to Mila’s shoulders, where faint tracings of indecipherable ink are weaved across her skin.

  “That’s you, by the way,” Elly says from over my shoulder.

  “But, Adam’s eyes are covered,” I notice.

  “That’s because he isn’t seen. He’s hidden.”

  “Oh my God.” My hand covers my mouth as a laugh escapes. “Trice said to me once that she thought the girl looked like me. This is just so …”

  “Romantic? Tortured?” Elly offers, as she munches on an apple.

  “Theo.” I wipe my eyes and stand slowly. Straightening my T-shirt, I clasp her free hand. “Please, take me to him,” I beg.

  “You’re not supposed to leave his place, unless I feed you. I have strict orders.” She smiles mid chew.

  “What did he say about you telling me all this?” I gesture with my other hand towards the novels. “I guess I frightened him too much for him to tell me.” I shrug.

  “Oh no, he doesn’t know I’m revealing his big secret. I told him that I would bring you some soup. Oops.” She fakes a gasp. “I forgot it, but I know a great café near a soon-to-be open restaurant that we could go to.”

  “Yes.” I step around her to get my bag, and I realise I don’t need it. “Let’s go.” I step towards the front of his place, turning abruptly while holding my side. I look at Elly as my lip trembles. “I’m sorry if that was you who was hugging him the other day,”

  “It was Anastasia, and don’t sweat. She’s not upset with you. More worried about her big bro, like I am.”

  “Oh fuck.” I shake my head. “Poor girl. Now she must think I’m a fucking bitch.”

  “Nope, not at all.” Elly twirls her apple in her hand as she strolls towards me, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Provided you get your shit together and go kiss and make up.”

  “I hope Theo gives me a chance to beg for forgiveness.” My tongue flicks my labret as my mouth pulls in at the side.

  “Of course he will.” She grins. “Didn’t he chase you at first? But seeing as you’re standing there ready to aim and fire, let’s go. You’re making it your turn to hunt him down. Hope you have your running shoes on.”

  “If only I could bolt there. I can’t even walk for long, but I want to see him. Let’s go.”

  “Be my guest.” She waves her arm in front of her, holding a novel. “Maybe you can grab his signature while you’re at it,” she sniggers.

  I snatch the magazine from her and smile. “I told my friends once that I’d do TTE like a dinner if I ever found out who he was.” A giggle tickles my lips as I run my hand across the first
edition cover.

  “Ew, that’s my brother. I don’t want to hear anymore.”

  “Too bad.” I wink at her. “You’re taking me there now, so buckle up, sunshine.”

  We walk out the front. My heart overflows with the hope that he’ll be at the restaurant to catch me when I need him the most

  The panel shows the tree of life with its branches outstretched, the heart within bursting through the trunk. “I will fight for you, even if you don’t fight for yourself.” The shadow of Mila stands to the side, waiting.

  TTE

  THEO

  The strong drumming of the Foo Fighters’ “Best of You” plays in my ears as I wipe down the brick wall, cleaning off the excess dust before I begin to sketch. I’m looking forward to getting the enamel paint on there, as it will give it an alfresco feel, but with a shimmery twist. I sense someone approach, and I pull out one of my ear buds.

  “I thought you were going to get some photos done this week.” Papá’s voice trails beside me.

  “I will later on, but I wanted to see the surface again during our normal appointment time and get a feel for what would look good,” I say, as I wipe the edges closest to the ground. I want this to be perfect.

  “Well, you’re certainly doing that,” he laughs. “It’s good to see you aren’t afraid to get your hands dirty, either,” he adds, as I look down at my dusty fingers.

  “Hard to keep clean when you’re working with these materials.” I tilt my head to face him and hold my hands up. “This is nothing compared to what you’ll see when I actually start painting.”

  “I look forward to it,” he muses, as he steps away. “You want an espresso?”

  “No, gracias,” I respond, enjoying the look of his eyes widening in surprise while he walks backwards. His arms move in front of him, waving around simultaneously. I know he’s about to speak from the way his mouth twitches, so I raise my finger. “If you’re about to rattle off something in Spanish, I won’t understand. I’m just learning a few expressions at the moment. Thanks to Google and Faulty Towers.”