Change Of Season

by Dillon, A. C.

  Andrew. What was he thinking of her now?

  With a sigh, she rolled onto her side. “Sort of. My vision got weird, and my legs felt weak.”

  Emma leaned back in her chair, reaching for a cup of coffee on the nearby counter. “Have you been feeling sick?”

  “No. Just can’t sleep.”

  “Any particular reason why?”

  Autumn shook her head furiously. There was no way in hell she was doing this today, or tomorrow. He was her problem, and until she knew more about the calls to Fiona, there was nothing to say. So close to freedom, she worried. What if she keeps me here now?

  Maybe that was for the best.

  “Autumn, I’d like to tell you a story, if that’s alright,” Emma said suddenly, leaning forward. “I can see how tired you are today. Plus, I’m always asking you to tell me your stories, so turnabout’s only fair, right?”

  Autumn shrugged, somewhat relieved. At least she’s doing the talking.

  “When I was a little girl, my parents never seemed very happy,” Emma began. “They were pretty young – I wasn’t planned, by any means – and my mom did the best she could. My father… well, he wasn’t happy about being saddled with a baby at nineteen. He liked to act as if my mom got herself pregnant all on her own, just to ruin his life.” Emma paused here, grimacing. “So he wasn’t home often, and when he was, they fought a lot. I don’t remember them being happy very often. A day here and there, maybe. I remember… There was a lot of yelling. I used to hide under my bed until it stopped.”

  She was wide awake now, watching Emma as she unfurled her tale. The cool poise of the doctor had been shed. This was the earnest fragility of a woman just like her.

  “One night, when I was twelve, they were fighting again. Nothing new around my house. But when the fighting abruptly stopped, I got worried. He hadn’t left as usual, or I’d have heard the door slam. So I crept out of my room and down the hall, not sure what was going on, but I knew it was bad.”

  Autumn knew it, too. Emma was trembling, her fists balled tightly in her lap.

  “He had a belt around her neck, her hands caught up in it, stopping him from… He punched her hard, her right side, and her head just swung… It seemed so impossible, how it moved. I remember screaming, throwing something at him and screaming…” Brushing aside a tear, she whispered, “He ran out, and I haven’t seen him since.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Autumn whispered. A phantom pain blossomed in her gut and she pressed her hand into it, willing it away.

  “Some of us choose careers because of the money, or because we happen to be good at something. But some of us have a calling, born in our blood. I don’t do this work for the money,” Emma said gently. “I do it because I know what it’s like to be broken, to no longer believe in a better life.” Rising to her feet, she added, “I do it because I know there’s a way to be whole again. I like helping people get there.”

  Autumn buried her face in the starched pillowcase, tears tumbling down her cheeks. Emma knew. She wanted Autumn to know that she knew her pain, her fear – understood it in the fibre of her own being. Her own mother flashed to mind, Autumn imagining how it would feel to see her struck, to see her strangled. Her heart ached for Emma, but she also respected her bravery in disclosure.

  “Take tomorrow off,” Emma said gently. “No therapy, I mean. Sleep in, okay?”

  “Mmhmm.” It was all she could muster.

  Darkness enveloped her as Emma departed and shut the door. Autumn found herself curling into a ball, sobbing quietly into her hands. She’d been deceiving herself, carefully crafting stories of bravado and self-sufficiency, but in her heart, she knew she couldn’t do this alone. Not anymore. This endless game of cloak and dagger with an invisible man was killing her slowly, inside and out.

  One week until her next session. One week to find a way to let Emma in.

  ***

  Her hands were thrust deeply in her jacket pockets as she meandered along the sidewalks of campus, absently noting the buildings she passed: Pearson Hall; the Art Studios and Gallery; the gated entryway to the staff residences; the greenhouse senior Biology students used for their term projects. It was nearing ten now, according to her cell phone – she’d been walking a good hour. Her breath misted white in the near-freezing night, trailing behind her as she circled wide of the Media Studies building, where Veronica and the rest of the cast were surely heading out after another performance.

  She needed the clarity of isolation. Her trusty iPod humming in her ears, she could untangle the tattered threads of what she sarcastically called a life.

  Emma understood violence, truly understood it. But was it enough to speak of him? Would she blame her for staying with him? Would she blame her for Persephone? What If she told her parents? Her mother would be so hurt that she’d known of the risks and allowed him to strike out at her loved ones.

  And then there was Andrew, who was her… friend? Kindred spirit of misery? Autumn grumbled, kicking the concrete with her sneakered foot. What a disaster she’d made of things! He likely thought her to be some mad girl, a neurotic teenager with no clue of what she wanted. She’d fainted in front of him! But what truly terrified her was the look in his eyes moments before she fell gracelessly.

  He was more than a friend, now – or wanted to be.

  I have nothing to give him except grief. Had they met two years ago, it would be so different. Sunbursts and starry-nights of wishes and dreams. That girl believed in love, believed in the inherent goodness of the world. That girl knew her strengths, her beauty. Now, she was a collected mass of diagnostic labels and pills rammed into unmarked bottles concealed in a purse.

  Broken. Defective.

  Sinking onto a bench outside of the greenhouse, she drew her knees tightly against her chest. There was so much feeling inside her, pressing against her skeleton, stretching her skin taut like a drum. How could one person contain such tremendous force? It shoved and demanded, chewed on her heart and spat out the sinew. It left her with scraps, jagged pieces that didn’t fit.

  “Just stop,” she whispered, pressing her forehead into her knees. “Please stop…”

  “Stop what?”

  Her head snapped up, a smile creeping across her lips at the sight before her. “Miraj!”

  “In the flesh!” Her sleek bob was now black, streaked with crimson. Clad in a white bomber jacket, she seemed to glow beneath the street lamp.

  Autumn swung her legs to the earth, making room for her friend. “Where have you been? I’ve been emailing you, but it’s been total radio silence.”

  “Internet’s been a scarce commodity. I’ve come by a few times, but you’ve been hiding on me, it seems.” Miraj perched on the back of the bench, feet planted on the seat as she glared at Autumn. “You’re never in your room, or on those couches you dig so much.”

  “Oh! Well, things have been a little crazy lately. Veronica’s play premiered last week, so I spent a few weeks watching rehearsals.” Autumn hesitated, gauging Miraj’s probable reaction. “And then I’ve been hanging out with my friend, Andrew.”

  “Friend?” Miraj shook her head, and Autumn winced. “Don’t feed me bullshit, Red. I know you better than that. You dating him?”

  “No!”

  “But you want to,” Miraj said, eyebrow raised.

  “No. Maybe. It doesn’t even matter, because I can’t date him or anyone. Not when someone’s apparently back in the area.” Autumn sighed, pulling her collar up as a gust of wind hit them. “It doesn’t matter. I’m losing my mind faster than Wall Street hemorrhaged bad mortgages.”

  Miraj reached out, toying with Autumn’s ponytail as she clicked her tongue, deep in thought. She leaned into her friend’s touch, seeking strength by osmosis. If anyone would know what to do, it would be her.

  “Red, sometimes you really piss me off.”

  “Huh? Why?”

  Miraj rolled her eyes, gesturing to Autumn. “This. This victim stance bullshit. It’s been a year
now, and still you curl up like a child, clamp your freaking hands over your ears and la-la-la, you can’t hear anyone who wants to help you. Hell, you’ve been seeing Zee Doktor how long now?”

  “Three months,” Autumn muttered angrily.

  “What did I tell you about her? She’s a tool. She’s your key to freedom but what do you do in those sessions? Act above her, above the whole process? Send her on wild chases down the wrong paths? If you’re not going to actually try and recover, what’s the goddamn point of being there?”

  Autumn growled as she rose to her feet. “Screw you! You think this is easy? You think I have it made here, locked away in some fancy prison while a stranger picks at my brain and judges every word I do or don’t say? He’s calling Fiona from Burlington, Miraj! You know how close that is? And then,” she continued, seething, “there’s the ghost in my room and the bloody pictures in the floorboards to deal with! Oh yes, my life is a grand one! You want it? Take it!”

  Miraj scowled. “Oh sure, let’s trade. You can have my abusive parents and my shitty apartment with the broken lock my landlord won’t fix, and the endless ramen I eat when I’m not ripping off food from the kitchen at work. You can deal with the creepy neighbour always touching my ass. Autumn, everyone’s life sucks! But you can choose to deal or not deal. I deal. I left my home. I get by. You ran away too, but you’re still carrying the baggage around everywhere. Aren’t you tired? Isn’t it heavy?”

  “Yes!” Autumn snapped, shuddering in rage. “I’m so tired of just waking up and knowing all of it is waiting for me. It stands over me when I sleep. It steals my breath. I want it gone, but it’s chained to me and all I can think is how it’s sink or swim, and I’m going to drown.”

  Miraj rose slowly, biting her lip. “Look, I didn’t come to argue. I just don’t know how to make you see that you can get through this crap if you just listen to me.”

  “So tell me. You wanna fix me? Go ahead, then. Make it all better. I just want to sleep…” Autumn’s voice died away, her head hanging in shame.

  Miraj’s voice was softer now, almost maternal. “You need to tell Emma about him. She can’t help you until you do, and you know that.”

  “But what if she tells Mom and Dad?”

  “Then she tells them. Your parents adore you. They want you to be happy. I want you to be happy, too. You can’t keep holding this in.”

  Autumn shrugged slightly, leaning against a tree. “I don’t know if telling would make any difference at all.”

  “Worth a try,” Miraj countered. “Can’t make it worse.”

  It really couldn’t get much worse than a psychotic ex with stalker tendencies and an innocent guy’s best intentions struck with the shrapnel of her own private war zone.

  “Hey… Who is this Andrew guy?” Miraj asked warily.

  “Just someone I met in the Media building,” she replied evasively. “We study together.”

  “I don’t know if I like it.”

  “Why not?”

  Miraj shrugged. “Guys don’t seem a wise idea right now. Nothing more than that. You need to fix yourself. Seems like he’s a big ol’ distraction from that.”

  Autumn frowned. “I don’t do that at all. Besides, I haven’t seen him much lately. Weeks, even.”

  Well, except for the whole fainting thing, and that lovely stunt Veronica pulled.

  “If you say so.” Stretching her arms overhead, Miraj yawned. “I’ve got an early shift at the diner, so I’m gonna jet. I’ll try and come see you soon, if you’re around and all.”

  Autumn nodded, shuffling her feet. “I’m around. I’ll be going home on weekends soon, I think.”

  “Toronto is so much easier to get to. I might come there instead.”

  “I’ll email you, I guess.”

  “Red? One last thing?” Autumn nodded, and she continued, “You need to live. It’s long overdue. Enough living in fear: it’s time to fight back.”

  With this, Miraj spun on her heels, trudging uphill towards the fence that divided campus from the regional road that connected highway and Oakville proper. As she walked, stride steady and wide, Autumn envied her freedom. Miraj had problems, but she never hesitated. She simply acted, doing what needed to be done to survive. Perhaps thinking was Autumn’s fatal flaw: her mind was a labyrinth with no solution, only dead ends.

  Back to the start, then.

  Her feet carried her to the steps of their own volition, her palm gliding along the railing as she climbed one flight, then another. The creaking of the landing was soothing in its familiarity. With a deep breath and a silent plea for strength, she threw open the door, gripping the frame for support.

  He noticed her immediately, his smile the final nail in the coffin.

  “Autumn! I’m so glad you came.”

  “Andrew…”

  How to begin? How to end?

  “Are you feeling better?”

  He rose from his chair, and she flinched, steeling her resolve. No, you have to. For him, you have to.

  “Yes. No. I don’t know. Andrew, I have to say something, and I need you to listen, okay?”

  Five feet away. Just enough distance. Just out of reach. He was never in reach. Not for her.

  “Okay.” It wasn’t okay. His fingers twitched, fumbling with his belt loops.

  Do it. For him.

  “I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you. I know I have, and I’m not even going to pretend to justify it. I’m just going to say this: you haven’t done anything wrong. It’s all me.”

  “Autumn-”

  “No, let me say this.” She winced as she drove the knife deeper. “I can say and think anything I want to the contrary, lie to myself and the world, but the truth will always find you. We’re not friends, Andrew. I see it in the way you look at me, and the way…” She swallowed hard, stifling a sob. “The way I want to give in. The way I wish I could be what you want me to be. But I can’t, and I’m so sorry for it. I can’t be what you need right now.”

  He stepped forward, her own feet shifting back in reply. If he touches me, I will break. She had to remain strong. Someday, maybe he would understand.

  “I don’t want you to be anyone but you.” A hoarse whisper. It echoed, thunderous, in her head.

  “I need space,” she said quickly. “For now. For time… I don’t know. I can’t be what I want to be right now. Please understand… Please…”

  He nodded slowly, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Anything you need.”

  “Thank you.” She felt herself shudder, fought the urge to run into the embrace she knew he would offer without hesitation. “I should go.”

  “Autumn?”

  She turned back, memorizing him: messy hair, rumpled t-shirt and dejection.

  “Whoever hurt you… I’ll kill him.”

  With a whimper, she shook her head. “Killing’s what I’m afraid of,” she confessed, slamming the door and running down the stairs, blinded by guilty tears.

  TWENTY

  Oakville; December 2nd, 2011

  It was a comfortable couch, all in all: soft cushions that yielded with a hushed greeting. Her fingertips traced figure eights in the cool leather as she stared at her feet, counting scuff marks and mud spatters. Florence + The Machine played softly over the tinny computer speakers at her suggestion. It seemed only fitting.

  Emma sat silently, waiting. Insert coin, press start. Ready Player One. System overload.

  No light indeed, Ms. Welch.

  “I’m sorry,” Autumn mumbled.

  “Don’t be.”

  Lint on her kilt. One single little ball, waiting to be plucked. Imperfections all around. That was the real problem, she decided: failure to see imperfections had cast her into an oubliette where everything was tainted. Her fists balled as she saw him in her mind’s eye: fake smile, fake story. Predator meeting foolish prey, leading her to her demise. Just another meal to chew and spit out. And she’d bought it!

  Worse still, she’d become the destroyer: Heather, P
ersephone, Andrew… But he had pushed his way in. Why did he have to notice her? What gave him the right? What gave Veronica the right to move into her life?

  It bubbled and whistled within her, steam rising until her pursed lips blew open. Fury.

  “I’m not sick, you know. I’m not crazy. I’m just stupid. Gullible and stupid! I think that’s what pisses me off the most: I believed him. I knew better, saw through it, but fell anyway. It’s like playing a goddamn carnival game. They’re all rigged, but hey, throw another five dollar bill down and step right up.”

  “Barkers are manipulative. They thrive on selling the illusion,” Emma said quietly. “People sell illusions, but that doesn’t mean we’re stupid. It means they’re experts at a horrible game.”

  Autumn snorted, shaking her head. “I shouldn’t have fallen for it. I’m not pretty – not in that model way, I mean. Not a single guy gave me a second glance until Chris, you know? It made no sense. But now, I get it: he knew I was so desperate to be loved, to be wanted, that I’d buy every word.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be loved.”

  “The excuses I’d make for him… Stress, jealousy, midterms… What the hell was wrong with me? Can you tell me that? Can you tell me why I let him throw me into walls? Why I gave him head after he nearly choked me out?” She punched the couch, kicking her feet against the ground. “I could barely swallow, but I did it. I thought I loved him and I wanted him to stop being angry…”

  Sobs wracked her body as she wrapped her arms around herself, eyes shut tightly. She couldn’t see Emma judge her. Not now. Nor did she want pity, placating comments devoid of meaning. Her skin crawled at the memory of his whispered declarations of love. A snake. Serpentine.

  “My parents thought I missed him, when my grades started dropping. When he ran from town. They compared me to that Twilight shit, you know? Boohoo, Edward, come back. My mom secretly loves books like that. I didn’t miss him. I missed feeling safe walking down a street. I missed my dog.” She opened her eyes slowly, brushing aside tears. “He killed my dog, Emma. He killed her. We had her for nine years…”