by E. S. Maria
“It felt different visiting him this time. I actually left happier than my previous visits, and the feeling was startling, but in a really good way. In fact I’m actually feeling relieved.”
“That’s great, Han. Maybe you’re already at the final stage of your grief … you know, acceptance.”
“Maybe.”
“I have noticed big changes in you.”
I snort, “Good or bad?”
“All good, of course. Looks like you’ve won the battle to reclaim yourself, and I’ve never been more proud of you.”
“That sounds so profound, big brother.”
“I’m not just all about good looks, I’m also a songwriter, dum-dum! Of course I’m profound.”
“Do you want me to remind you that your last hit song was penned by me, and not you? So who’s the dum-dum now?”
“It’s not like I’m gonna say no. You and Atticus are probably the most poetic songwriters I know.”
“I am? We are? You’re not shitting me?” I look up at Brodie, smiling from ear to ear.
Me and Atticus. Gosh, I don’t even know how to react to that. Atticus is a phenomenal songwriter. He wouldn’t have this meteoric rise to fame if he weren’t so talented.
“So, um, speaking of Atticus …” I swallow hard, “I never asked you if he was seeing anyone …”
“You sure you wanna know?” Brodie asks cautiously.
“Yeah. I guess. I’m a grown woman. I can accept it if he’s seeing someone. I’m seeing someone too, so …” I tilt my head up to him. “So, is he? Seeing someone, I mean?”
I hear him exhale out aloud, “To answer your first question, yes, I guess you can say he is seeing someone.”
Wow. I did not expect that to hurt as much as it’s hurting now.
Of course he’ll be seeing someone else by now, why did I bother asking such an idiotic question?
I remain quiet, nodding back and trying my best to swallow my feelings. But in actual fact, I feel like I’m being choked by it.
“Hey, say something. You wanted to know, right?” Brodie shakes my shoulder, urging me to speak.
“I’m glad that he’s happy,” I lie.
“Not sure if he’s happy. This girl he’s seeing, he’s not even certain as to where he stands with her.”
I pull away from Brodie, facing him with a frown. “Well, if this girl … whoever she is … can’t see how much of a catch Atticus is, then she’s either fucking stupid, or she’s blinder than I am.”
Brodie chuckles, “Or maybe she’s a little bit of option one, and a little bit of option two.”
“Damn straight. What an idiot,” I sniff, pausing, knowing I’m saying this more to myself.
“When I talk to Atticus again, do you want me to tell him you said so?”
I jerk back, “What? No! I mean, don’t tell him anything. Don’t even mention that I asked about him. If he’s busy chasing another girl, the last thing I want is to be that desperate chick that gets in the way. I just wanted to know that he’s okay, that’s all.”
“Well … if that’s what you want. But there’s no harm in actually talking to him, Hannah. I have a strong feeling Atticus still cares about you.”
Brodie’s words make my chest expands, letting little butterflies in, making my stomach feel funny.
But I’m reading too much into Brodie’s words. He only has a strong feeling that Atticus still cares about me. It’s not based on fact.
And just like that, my chest closes tightly once again, killing all the butterflies in its way.
“Hey, Hannah Banana!” Brodie shaking me by the arm brings me back.
“What … what?” I respond impatiently.
“You know, we haven’t played together in ages. You know that’s guaranteed to put a smile on your frowning face. Let me set up the studio then I’ll come and get you. What do you say, sis? Ready to show me what a conservatorium student can do against a dropout?”
Was I frowning that badly because of Atticus?
Maybe playing some music with Brodie is exactly what I need.
“Ha! You’re on,” I answer back with a beginning of a smile, “I say let’s do it, big bro!”
And as the night progresses, what started out as a jam session between brother and sister, progressively becomes a mini concert, with Mike, Shane, and Dylan joining in as the rest of our friends and families move from the house to gather around our humble converted shed.
It really has become an amazing night.
And before I can even stop myself, I’m already wishing that Atticus were here to make tonight even better.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Atticus Foster
She doesn’t know.
And I have no choice but to keep it that way.
At least for now … until she’s ready.
I understand why Hannah doesn’t want to have anything to do with me anymore. She must have totally given up on me for her to think that I’d just accept her decision without a fight. I want her to take back those words. I want her to hear me out because I’m willing to do whatever it takes for her to change her mind. I need her to understand that the coward who left her three years ago is not the same person she drove away and who she was willing to let go.
I made a lot of bad decisions in my life, and two of those decisions hurt Hannah in the worst possible way. But to my defense, I’d rather sacrifice my feelings and stay away from her if it meant giving her a chance for a more secure future.
I had nothing to offer her. I came from a shitty home, had a father who despised me so much he’d beat me constantly to make himself feel superior, and I wasn’t as smart as her. I had no contingency plans, I wasn’t skilled enough to do anything else but write songs and sing. All I had that mattered were my music … and Hannah.
What would happen if I failed to get a break? I would have been a complete failure, just like what my father thought, and I would have dragged Hannah down with me.
I couldn’t live with myself if that happened.
The night of her sixteenth birthday, after Hannah gave herself to me, I was torn to pieces. It was the most incredible moment—to see the look in her eyes as I made love to her for the first time. But it was that same look that frightened me as well. She looked at me with so much love, with so much hope, with so much expectations that I knew I couldn’t fulfil if she stayed with me. It wasn’t her fault that I felt petrified at the thought of failing her. I just didn’t know how I’d cope if that look of love she gave me would morph into disdain, disappointment, or worse, pity.
That would just kill me.
So I thought I did the right thing by giving her up.
I’d rather that she hated me then.
I could work with hate because hate could be temporary.
Hate might eventually turn to love.
And she might not be aware of it, but I saw that same look of love on her face when we made love that night after we left Peak.
I knew she still loved me.
The kind of love we had couldn’t just disappear like that. It was in our bones, in the blood that flowed in our veins.
Hannah … she’d always be mine.
She said she needed to be on her own, to learn how to cope with her blindness and become independent without anything or anyone complicating her process. She needed time, and time was what I gave her. I could be patient. I could wait.
But I wasn’t always patient when it came to her.
I used to think that I was leaving for the city to become a successful musician, so I could prove to my father that I wasn’t a worthless piece of shit while he slapped me around for good measure. But my purpose changed when Hannah came into my life. I still wanted to become a successful musician, but I also wanted to leave for the city so I could be successful for her … so I could be someone she would be proud to call her boyfriend―to call her man.
So I hustled. I worked hard on my craft, sang in pubs or whatever gigs I could get, I peddled my CDs while buskin
g during the day, and tried to speak with people in the music industry, hoping for a chance to be heard. But all they did was slam their doors in my face without even hearing my music. When shit got too bad and I was close to giving up, I would gather whatever money I saved and I’d make my way back to Avoca, just to be able to catch a glimpse of her. I knew it was crazy, but Hannah centred me. She was my light. She radiated it, and she didn’t even have to try. I never approached her because I didn’t want to complicate her life, when my own life was snowballing into a disaster.
Once I’ve had my Hannah fix, I’d return back to the city so I could hustle my music all over again.
Then one day, while I was busking at Pitt Street Mall, I got lucky enough to be heard by a highly reputable music producer. Finally, a door opened for me, and it changed my life.
When I returned back to Avoca for a much needed break with Brodie, Shane, Mike, and Derek, I was already on my way to the top of the charts. I couldn’t wait to see Hannah, so she could finally see me as the Atticus Foster she had always thought I could be.
But I wasn’t expecting to witness just how happy she was with her new boyfriend, Paul. And as much as I wanted to hate the guy she was with for holding on to my Hannah, Paul was genuinely a good person, and he loved Hannah the way she should be loved … the way I should have loved her.
Seeing them together magnified all of my mistakes, my shortcomings. Compared to Paul, I still fell short by a long shot.
My pride couldn’t take it. I wanted to know if I still had a chance with Hannah, that even after what happened between us, she still had some love for me. So like a gigantic asshole, I tried to win her back, and I was blown away when she showed me that my instincts were right. She still loved me, and she was willing to end things with Paul to be with me again.
I had my opening. I could’ve gotten her back.
But my father’s words came rushing back in my head when he told me I was, and would always be, worthless. And when I looked at how Paul and Hannah were together, I felt I was every single degrading word that my father had ever called me.
I felt like a piece of shit back then for trying to break up Paul and Hannah. I let my ego take over, and I couldn’t accept the fact that Paul was the better man who would never break Hannah’s heart.
I, on the other hand, already did that to her once.
So just because I was an asshole, I broke her heart for the second time, trying to justify it by convincing myself that it was the right thing to do in the long run.
After all, wasn’t a short period of sadness worth it for her, if it meant spending a lifetime of complete contentment with a man who was perfect for her?
That was what I wanted for Hannah. And I didn’t care if it meant spending my lifetime with a big chunk of my heart missing, and knowing I’d never get it back.
When Brodie told me that Hannah and Paul were involved in a fatal accident, my whole world stopped and what remained of my heart completely shattered.
Unfortunately, Paul didn’t make it, but Hannah did survive, thankfully. But because of the extent of her head injuries, she had to be placed in a medically induced coma, just to give her a better chance of recovery.
I fucking dropped everything, packed some clothes, left the city, and went straight to Central Coast Hospital. Seeing Hannah lying on the hospital bed for the first time almost left me legless. She was almost unrecognizable, her head was covered with a heavy bandage, and so was her whole jaw. Whatever part of her face I could see was swollen and bruised. She also had tubes and wires attached to her, with a machine that beeped to mimic her heartbeat.
Whenever I was allowed to visit, I always brought my guitar with me so I could sing her familiar songs, in the hope that she’d hear me and she’d open her eyes. I think I sang “Songbird” more times in the span of six days than I ever did in my live performances. I was just thankful that the nursing staff never called security for noise pollution.
But I somehow needed her to know that I was there. I needed her to know that we were all waiting for her to wake up, that we knew that she had it in her to wake up.
And she did. Hannah finally opened her eyes. But whatever relief we all felt was obliterated when the doctors confirmed that she lost her eyesight. I wanted to comfort her and to be there by her side, but I ended things badly between us―twice, and I was afraid that my presence would cause her more pain. So when Brodie asked me if I could give Hannah some time to let her come to terms with Paul’s death and her blindness, I didn’t protest. I was willing to do whatever it took to make sure that she recovered without any problems. I even asked them not to tell her that I visited her almost every day, in case it aggravated her further. By that time, I was about to have my first concert tour, so I buried myself with work, and it shaved off some of the edge I felt for not being able to see Hannah.
Unfortunately, relinquishing my time with Hannah meant standing idly by as her resentment for me grew as well.
I just couldn’t get it right with her. I kept making the wrong decisions.
I caught a glimpse of her resentment towards me when I came back from a break in our tour. The look of hatred on her face felt like a thousand knives being shoved through my chest. I thought that was easier to see than pity. I was so fucking wrong.
But when I picked her up from her first group therapy session, I felt a spark between us that was so strong, it manifested through her clear anger towards me. And strike me down if I was wrong, but I was pretty sure Hannah felt it too. The attraction was so palpable I could practically touch it.
And God, when I touched her …
She felt amazing, just like I remembered, but a thousand times better.
I had a moment of weakness, and I kissed her. When she kissed me back, I knew. I knew it wasn’t over between us.
She tasted so sweet and so addictive that when she told me I couldn’t kiss her anymore, it felt like being fed an expensive lobster meal before I was about to be led to my execution.
But I’d gladly die to have another chance at kissing her again. I’d die with a smile on my face.
And that chance to kiss her again came a few days after. That night she sang at Peak made me fall in love with her all over again. Her song was something she wrote for Paul, and hearing her sing it in front of the crowd made me feel immense pride of her but jealous of Paul at the same time. It reminded me why I had to give Hannah up the second time around, but also why I wished I didn’t have to.
After her song was over, I knew I had to grab the chance to talk to her. She thankfully agreed. I was so eager for my chance to be alone with her that as we were about to leave, I was called onstage. I planned on singing to her as a last ditch effort to hear me out. It was a chance for me to tell her exactly what I wanted to say so I could finally redeem myself.
I wrote her a song on the same day I picked her up from the group therapy session, the same day we kissed, and the same day she told me she was never going to kiss me again. I wrote a song about forgiveness and a second chance. The words mirrored my heart and my soul, and they flowed out of me and onto my lyric sheet. The song was my desperate Hail Mary, my last chance for her to hear me out.
She sat across from me as I sang “Once Again.”
And when I was done singing the song, Hannah did give me another chance.
But for that night, all she gave me was a chance to touch her again.
She just wanted to feel me.
I jumped at the chance. I’m fucking human.
After all, it was Hannah Mackenzie … my Hannah Mackenzie.
If she only wanted me physically that night, then physical was what I’d give.
And that night, we touched, we kissed, and finally we made love.
We didn’t fuck. We didn’t have sex.
We made love.
She said she wanted to remember that moment. I made damn sure she remembered it so much that she would never forget again. I wanted her to feel me like I was tattooed on her skin.
/> Then afterwards, we fell asleep with her in my arms. Before I closed my eyes, I thought that if this was how we’d be living the rest of our lives, then I’d be more than happy to do so.
Heaven was literally wrapped in my arms.
I thought this was my redemption day.
But I should have known that it was too good to be true.
The next morning, after I snuck out to buy her breakfast and coffee, I was shocked to find her scrambling on all fours, frantically trying to find her things, tears streaming down her face. Her reaction― from petrified when she thought I had left her again, to absolute relief when I came back, completely and downright broke me.
I was a fucking idiot for sneaking out like that, knowing I had a history of leaving her at the worst times.
She must’ve thought I left her again, and after just losing Paul, she felt like she’s been abandoned again. Her panic must have been amplified because she couldn’t see to actually dispel her fears.
It must have scared her so much.
Because I did that to her before, and even after so long, it’s obvious that it still affected her.
I felt like I was the worst human being who ever lived.
It didn’t matter that I just wanted to surprise her with breakfast and a good cup of coffee.
I apologised profusely, and I reassured her that I’d never leave her again … because I know in my heart that that was the truth. I was done running away from her.
But that was when she tore down the walls and finally told me everything. She told me why she felt she was the reason why Paul was dead, and it involved me. I felt gutted. Gutted for the pain I’ve caused her, and the guilt she couldn’t seem to shake off. I wanted to tell her, to sing to her, just … to convince her that she was in no way at fault. I wanted to take the remorse that had broken her spirit and keep it inside of me instead. After all, Hannah’s love enabled my spirit to heal after years of beatings and tauntings from my father.
I desperately wanted my love to heal her pain.
But I found out the hard way that it wasn’t enough anymore.
Nothing prepared me from her telling me goodbye … that she loved me but she had to let me go.