I lay on the bed still and silent with no idea of how long for. Short-lived panic eased as the pills took a hold. The intense throbbing in my head subsided, replaced by an increasing need to sleep. As the burn from my lungs becoming deprived of air calmed, the racing thud of my pulse slowed down. Paralysis took over my body as my mind slipped in and out of its conscious state. The end was near, my life ebbing, my spirit diminishing. I felt no fear; no regret only floods of exhausted relief.
The silence was deafening, the gradual slowing of my pulse the only sound to be heard in my ears. This was it. I was really going to die here, right now, tonight. Unwanted thoughts of what I could have had and now never would swamped my mind as my focus and attention began to waiver. Clear, unwanted images of innocent hopes, aspirations and dreams that would never materialise rushed through me. As the feeling spread, I was unable to tell if I was feeling regrets for rushing into taking the tablets or just self-pity for the easy discarding of such an unlived life. Was this really the answer? I’d always firmly believed without a hint of doubt that suicide had to be the coward’s way out. My hasty actions now making me a coward just like my fuck up of a mother had been. Oh god, I didn’t really want to die did I? Just as the panic started to spread further through my weakening body like poisonous venom, I heard HIS unmistakable booming voice shouting my name. He’d come back to finish what he’d started no doubt. Not intent with the abuse he had already inflicted on me, he was coming back for more. “Screw you Alex,” I screamed silently in my scrambled and distorted head, “Damn you to fucking hell.” The sound of his authoritative tone chased away any brief feeling of doubt. Satisfied with my decision and content with what I had done, reclaiming control of my life was liberating. Impending darkness began to take me, spreading through my veins and stemming the blood flow. I barely felt the repulsion of rough hands skimming my arms and skin, barely heard his yells of panic commanding me to open my eyes. Taking back my soul with thoughts of dazzling white clouds and the clearest of blue skies beckoning me to join them, the darkness finally claimed me. As my breathing ceased, blood stopped pumping the shriveled organ called my heart. Death was imminent and the pain over. And for the first time in a very, very long time, I was internally smiling my peachy ass off.
CHAPTER ONE
FOUR YEARS LATER – LONDON, UK
Breathing in the fresh, crisp spring air made me feel truly alive. I loved London. It had become my home over the last four years and I loved it with the affection and loyalty you would have for someone you cherished. London was my family, my saviour and my place of sanctuary. I embraced the vibrancy and pulsating energy it emanated as it invigorated my soul. London was a metropolis of wealth and power. Its tall skyscraper buildings, theatres, and wealth of untold possibilities were simply inspiring. Moving here had been the best decision of my life. It was a decision that undoubtedly saved me.
I never tired of taking a moment just to stand and survey my surroundings. Awe filled my spirit with the visions of bustling life from the rise of the sun to the falling of it. London lived and breathed as if it was alive and I thanked god for being here to witness and embrace that life every single day.
From the opulence of Kings Road and Knightsbridge and its vast array of designer stores, to the simple yet enticing second hand markets of Portobello Road and Noting Hill, everything about the city screamed of diversity and culture and I was proud to call it home. I could never imagine being as happy anywhere else on the face of the earth as I was here and felt nothing but privileged to be a part of it.
I’d lived in seclusion and loneliness until I moved here. Many people despised the overcrowding and loud bustle but I thrived on it. It filled me with a sense of belonging and rightfulness and I needed that. I’d felt a connection to this cosmopolitan oasis the moment I stepped off the flight from Chicago and the connection had continued to grow ever since.
Standing on the small pathway to my modest but perfect Kensington apartment, I watched as everyday life unfolded before me. Impeccably dressed executives rushed out from their up market apartments to their awaiting taxis or expensive sports cars in a bid to survive the early morning traffic while making their way to work. The odd well known celebrity, hiding behind oversized sunglasses and swamped by security as they tried in vain to be invisible took their morning run. My road was warm and inviting with its picturesque apartments and homes but was also full of the daily bustle of life and I stood there silently drinking it all in. London was the comfort blanket that covered me in protection and warmth and I had no intention of ever walking away from that or giving it up.
Making my way down the path towards the little wrought iron gate at the bottom, I grimaced to myself as the reason for my unreasonably early start today hit me like a sledgehammer. Fuck, I hated lawyers or ‘solicitors’ as I’d learned they were referred to in the UK. As passionate as I was about my adopted home city, I was as equally passionate in my hatred for solicitors. Men and women dressed in bespoke suits with the power to change lives at their will filled me with complete loathing. Solicitors were false, indifferent creatures and I’d no intention of spending a second more in the company of such people than I had to.
I exited through the gate onto the pavement, just as the taxi pulled up. Confirming with the driver that I was his pick up and reminding him that I was heading to Canary Wharf, I slipped into the large rear leather seat. As the taxi pulled out into the road, I settled back into the seat and sighed heavily. Just the mere fact that I was going through with this spoke volumes of my recovery and just how far I had come emotionally and mentally over the last four years. Cold memories hit me, detailing the last time I’d sat in a Solicitors office and the treatment I had then suffered at their hands. The sickly sweet stench of the females perfume and the cold, accusing eyes of the male that had sat across from me that day flittered through my mind. They were precise, calculating and unrepentant in covering up Alex’s mess landing the blame and shame of his actions at my feet. They were clear; the fault was mine, my lies despicable. Thick, burning bile crept into my throat remembering the uncontrollable shake in my hand as I signed their damn piece of paper. I’d sobbed violently, damaged and fragile, while listening to their imperious demands receiving only mock smiles, barely audible expressions of false sympathy and sly eye rolls in return for my meltdown. Any thought of reliving that experience would have made me violently sick before relocating here. Mentally stronger, physically healed and emotionally stable now, I readied myself for battle if the situation presented itself and the need was warranted.
My spirit plummeted with wishing that Charlotte was here right now. The vivacious Charlotte Collins was my housemate, my fierce best friend and my beacon of hope when black moments of despair crashed down on me. She was my rock and my reserves of strength at times when the darkness seemed to fall over me again. Those types of moments were much fewer and further between these days, but all the same, she was always on hand to bring me out of my funk when they hit. She was currently vacating with family, had been for two weeks and we had barely spoken twice since the day she left. She was unaware I’d received the letter requiring my attendance at the meeting today, yet her support was needed more than ever. Charlotte would know how to best handle today and would have stood beside me without question and without a single ounce of reserve. The sordid details regarding every aspect of my life had been spilled to her during a rare moment of weakness, which admittedly, had been entirely vodka fuelled. Charlotte had listened to the outpour of my heart in silence, without judgment and held me tightly for numerous hours afterwards until my tears and sobs subsided. That night had sealed our friendship and Charlotte had been firmly by my side ever since. I never begrudged or resented the frequent trips she took with her family, but on this occasion I couldn’t help but wish she was here with me and not having the time of her life in Barbados with them.
After first receiving mail from Jacobson and Fitzgerald, the huge firm of solicitors based in Canary Wharf I was h
eading to, my life had been placed on hold. I’d lived a little over four, blissfully naive years since that night and until now, Alex had maintained his end of our bargain and kept well away from me and without any contact of any kind. Apart from the substantial monthly allowance he deposited into my bank account that remained untouched to this day, all reminders of him had been wiped from my life. But the moment I’d picked up the luxury envelope with my name and address typed neat and precise on the front and the solicitor’s details on the rear, I knew this was down to him. Determined to just throw the letter out with the day’s rubbish, I was infuriated at the thought of Alex rescinding on the agreement he himself had demanded me to agree to. He could gladly have every penny of money he deposited into that account back with my blessing. I’d never wanted his god damn conscience money which is why it was unspent and sat collecting huge amounts of interest on a monthly basis. Fear of the unknown, of having to deal with anything vaguely related with my previous tormenter whipped up storms of anxiety that I was struggling to control. Whatever awaited me would be unpleasant, unnecessary and difficult to deal with. Shifting with nerves, my mind became crazed with the unknown as disjointed images of life under Alex’s rule hit me thick, fast and threatened to pull me back under.....again.
The taxi pulling over to the side of the road wrenched me from my memory fog. After informing me I was at my destination, the driver took his fare and generous tip with a smile and a bow of his flat cap and wished me a good day. Mustering a faint smile, I jumped out of the taxi and onto the pavement. I was in an area of the city that exuded wealth and power more than others. Industry and commerce were rife here, millionaires were ten a penny. Streets lined with the power houses of marketing and commercial enterprises alongside Michelin star restaurants, world famous art galleries and museums were an overload to the system. This area was a young entrepreneur’s Mecca, the backyard of the filthy rich and astronomically successful. Multi storey buildings sprawled upwards as far as the eye could see. The choking whirl of fog and fumes from the exhausts of the never ending line of traffic rose into the air. As much as I adored this city, in all its rawness and glory, these parts were intimidating. A shudder of respect and foreboding crept ominously down my spine. Standing in front of an imposing twenty storey building that seemed to stretch upwards into the breaking blue of the morning sky, my heart thumped wildly behind my breast bone. Built from grey, harsh looking stone, with large windows scattered across it on every floor, the structure was powerful and imposing. The only decoration the dark framed windows wore was a single venetian blind or the name of the company emblazed on the glass. The building smacked of efficiency and productivity and as expected Jacobson and Fitzgerald inhabited the top two floors of the colossal feat of engineering. Straightening my spine, lifting my chin and inhaling a few sharp breaths of refreshing spring air, I placed one foot in front of the other and strode confidently into the building to face my awaiting audience while also confronting my gruesome past.
I am a domestic engineer (born and raised in New Jersey) whose sole responsibility is guiding three young, impressionable kids into becoming phenomenal adults. This challenging yet rewarding work requires a lot of love (coffee), patience (wine), and determination (periodic exorcisms). I work all of this magic from the beautiful state of New Hampshire.
Before becoming a domestic goddess (not really), I spent over a decade working in the medical field, where I wore more hats than the queen.
I have loved the written word and the great escape it provides since I was a little girl. When I wasn't reading about people and the places they lived, I created my own characters and adventures. Finally, I started putting a pen to paper and allowing my characters to come to life. When I don't have a pen in hand, you can often find me laughing at the conversations my characters are having in my head. When I don't have a pen in hand, you can often find me laughing at the conversations my characters are having in my head.
Goodbye Uncertainty Page 30