Ex, The

by Moriarty, Nicola

  ‘I know, but I was worried that it might have been a spur of the moment thing. Or that she might start to scare you off. I hate that she’s treating you this way.’ His voice was filled with despair and Georgia looked up at him and saw that his shoulders were slumped. She was furious with Cadence for making such a positive, happy guy look so down-trodden. She was determined to make it stop.

  ‘Yes, she is scaring me . . . a bit . . . but she’s not scaring me away from you, not in the slightest. Let’s move you in as soon as we get back from Marcus’s wedding.’

  ‘Sounds good to me.’

  ‘Can I tell you something?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘I think . . . no actually, I know, I almost had a panic attack today.’

  ‘Really? Because of Cadence’s note? God, I’m livid with her.’

  ‘No, not because of the note, because of this thing that happened at work. A patient lost it; he had a knife and was threatening people with it. Amber took him down.’

  ‘That sounds awful. I’m so sorry. Anyone would feel like panicking in a situation like that.’

  ‘Not just panicking, though. I mean almost having a fullblown panic attack. It’s something that used to happen to me a few years back. I went through a really long period of mental health problems — depression, anxiety, that kind of thing.’ Georgia was talking with her head down, her gaze fixed on the table. She didn’t often share her history with guys she was dating. There was still such a stigma around mental health, as if once a person knew you had a propensity to depression, then they had to be careful around you. As though saying the wrong thing might set you off. As though a bad day meant you were having an episode rather than just simply having a bad day. Sometimes she’d even got the feeling that people thought her depression might rub off on them, as though it was contagious and if they were around her too much she’d bring them down.

  The last boyfriend she’d shared her story with was Will. She still wondered if that was the reason he’d broken up with her, despite his assurances that the timing, so soon after she’d told him, was nothing but coincidence.

  She stopped talking and looked up, prepared to see that look in Luke’s eyes too — the combination of sympathy and apprehension. But instead she saw something else. It was a look of complete and utter understanding. He was nodding his head, and he reached across the table to take hold of her hands. ‘I went through something similar,’ he said.

  ‘You did?’

  ‘Remember how I told you about my weight problems and you asked me if it affected my relationship with my parents? Well, you were spot-on. I did resent them for the way they dealt with it. In fact, for a long time, I hated them. I felt . . . somehow lesser. Like they couldn’t accept me for who I was. Like they couldn’t really love me until I lost the weight. Especially because it often felt like it wasn’t really about the health problems for them, but instead it was about looks. I didn’t fit in with the image they wanted to portray to the world. Having a fat son didn’t suit their idea of a nice, middle-class family.’ Luke paused for a moment and Georgia saw his face twist. He was struggling with whether or not to continue. She squeezed his hands and he took a breath and continued. ‘We had a professional family photo done once and I overheard my mum on the phone, asking the company if they could airbrush me so I looked a bit slimmer.’

  Georgia felt a rush of goose pimples on her arms and she shivered. How could anyone do that to their own child? When she spoke, she had to steady her voice. ‘That’s horrible, Luke. Really awful.’

  ‘That was the first time I cut myself.’

  Georgia stayed quiet, giving him the space and time to keep talking.

  ‘I took my dad’s razor into my room and I sliced at the skin on my legs.’ He stared at Georgia. ‘Then I bandaged myself up and kept it hidden under my jeans until it healed — even though it was the middle of summer and I was boiling hot.’ He stopped, looking shocked. ‘I’ve never told anyone that. No one.’

  Georgia stared back him. ‘Luke,’ she whispered, ‘I’m so, so sorry.’

  He nodded. ‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘I’m glad I’ve finally been able to tell someone.’

  Georgia paused, trying to decide if this was the moment she was going to tell someone her truth as well. She closed her eyes. Saw a bathroom sink. Saw the small white pill bottle. Saw her shaking hands gripping the edge of the basin. Saw her reflection in the mirror. Pale skin. Mascara lines down her cheeks.

  She opened her eyes and looked at Luke. ‘I tried to commit suicide . . . twice.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The first time Georgia self-harmed was on her twenty-first birthday. Prior to that, she’d always believed that the only people who deliberately hurt themselves were teenagers chasing attention. But something had been building and building in Georgia’s world. A sense of pointlessness. An all-consuming loneliness.

  It started when she finished high school and noticed an obvious difference between herself and her friends. They all knew what they wanted to do next. Amanda was going to study criminology at Sydney Uni. Rebecca was going to TAFE to become a graphic designer. Heather’s plan was to get an entry-level office job in an IT company. Casey was going to take a gap year to travel around Europe and then come home and enrol in a law degree.

  Georgia very clearly remembered wondering, but wait, when did you all decide? It was like she’d missed some important decision-making meeting that all her friends had attended and no one had warned her that the rest of her life depended on this. It was embarrassing! How could she simply not know what she wanted from her life?

  She enrolled in an Arts degree at Western Sydney University because she felt that doing something was better than doing nothing, but she still didn’t know what she really wanted. She moved into on-campus accommodation with an infuriatingly driven roommate named Cynthia who somehow managed to be simultaneously always studying while also attending every single university event or party and holding down a part-time job in the uni bookshop and sticking to a strict daily exercise regime. It was exhausting just watching her get through each day. And somehow, each day that Cynthia achieved more and more, Georgia felt herself achieving less and less, slipping seamlessly into the role of Cynthia’s polar opposite.

  She didn’t fit in at the parties thrown by the other uni students because she still wasn’t sure what she wanted out of life. She was drifting away from her high school friends because they’d all gone their separate ways, and when they did try to catch up, Georgia felt like the loser of the group, so she started declining invites. Her parents went off travelling around Eastern Europe, Marcus moved down to Melbourne, and Georgia felt very much alone.

  Leading up to her twenty-first birthday, some of her friends sent messages, asking her what she was going to do to celebrate it, but she pretended she didn’t care about her birthday, that she wasn’t fussed on having any kind of party. She turned off her phone and spent the evening sitting on her bed in the dark, torturing herself with nasty thoughts.

  You’re worthless.

  You’re never going to figure out what to do with your life.

  You’re a spectacular loser.

  You lost all of your friends.

  You’re alone.

  Because you don’t deserve friends anymore.

  Around and around the thoughts went, chasing the tail of the thought before. She started off pinching at the skin under her arms. You idiot, you moron, you loser, you deserve this, you deserve this pain.

  No, you deserve more, this pain isn’t enough for you.

  She looked around the room, searching for a way to punish herself. Then she stood up and walked very carefully and purposefully towards the door. She opened it. She put her right hand on the doorjamb, closed her eyes, and then with her other hand, she swung hard and fast to close the door on her fingers. At the last second, she pulled back slightly, afraid of the pain.

  This only caused her to berate herself more. You can’t even do this properly, can yo
u? Again, Georgia, do it again. Do it properly. Don’t hold back, slam it hard. As hard as you can.

  She did it three times before she was satisfied that she’d been appropriately punished. The tears were streaming down her face and her hand was shaking uncontrollably. She climbed back onto her bed and continued to sit in the darkness and the silence, her hand throbbing in her lap.

  In the morning, she turned on her phone and listened to her messages. Marcus had sung happy birthday into the phone and told her not to worry about phoning back because she must be out partying hard with her mates. Her other brothers had left similar messages. There was no message from her parents. They’d warned her there would be times while they were travelling that they wouldn’t have much access to a phone. Cynthia noticed Georgia’s bruised fingers and told her she ought to put some ice on that.

  Throughout the rest of her degree, she continued to self-harm. They were always small, innocuous things that could easily be construed as accidents. Dropping something heavy on her toe. Purposely smashing her knee into a piece of furniture. She scraped through her degree with marks that never lifted above a Pass. It was easy to hide her depression from her family because they were never around. And when Marcus called for a chat, she became adept at putting on a perky, bubbly voice and pretending that life was busy and full.

  The first time she attempted to kill herself, no one even knew she’d tried. It was the day after she graduated from university. While she’d been at uni, at least she could pretend she was headed towards something. But now she was done, she had no idea what was meant to come next. She had an Arts degree with a major in English lit. What kind of job was she supposed to get? Where was she going to live? No more campus living, and she couldn’t move back home because her parents were still travelling and renting out the family home.

  She tried to fling herself off a cliff at the beach. But just like that first time she tried to slam the door on her fingers, at the last second she panicked and changed her mind. So instead of launching herself out into the sky, she did a sort of half-jump and ended up tumbling several metres down some rocks and landing on a ledge with scrapes and bruises. Then she had to climb her way back up.

  It was a turning point though.

  Stop this, she told herself as she scrunched up her suicide note and drove away from the beach. Enough. Something isn’t right with you. Pull it together. Fix yourself.

  And for a while, she did manage to pull herself together — to an extent. She found a job — it might not have been an actual career, but it was something to pay the bills and take her through the days from nine to five; she found an apartment with a friendly girl called Lena who had fifteen body piercings and six tattoos, and she stopped telling herself she was worthless, even though she still didn’t really know what she wanted out of life. She started to see her old friends again.

  But the darkness was always there, hovering beneath the surface. And every now and then it would manifest through the smallest of acts. Taking something hot out of the oven and, when it started to burn her hand through the tea towel, holding on for a few more seconds rather than putting it straight down on the bench. Balling up her fists and letting her fingernails dig into the palm of hands, not because she was angry about something, but because she suddenly desired the comfort that those old feelings of pain used to bring.

  Later, she understood that she should have told someone. She shouldn’t have tried to fix it on her own. She should have asked for help, seen a doctor, allowed her family or her friends to support her. Because then maybe she wouldn’t have relapsed so hard.

  But she didn’t realise that at the time.

  And perhaps the relapse wouldn’t have happened at all, if not for the incident.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Georgia adjusted the seat down, sat on it, hopped off and adjusted it back up again.

  ‘Hip height,’ said Rick.

  ‘I think I have it.’ She climbed back onto the stationary bike and tested her feet in the pedals. That would do. She couldn’t believe how refreshed she was feeling today after having opened up to Luke yesterday. She felt like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. The way the two of them had shared their stories had definitely brought them closer than ever. Admittedly, she hadn’t told him absolutely everything; she couldn’t quite bring herself to go right into the details of the darkest parts of her history. But she’d shared so much more than she’d ever shared with any other boyfriend. And it felt good.

  ‘Did you hear about the reason that patient lost it?’ Rick asked. ‘Apparently it was a psychotic episode. Potentially relating to a mistake with his meds.’

  ‘Jesus, tell me I didn’t give him his meds yesterday.’

  ‘Wouldn’t have been you. They’re already talking to Victor. And there’s a chance it was Dr H prescribing incorrectly anyway.’

  ‘Where did he get the knife?’

  ‘Good question. They’re still investigating that.’

  Georgia pedalled the bike slowly as they chatted. Maybe Rick was right, maybe she would enjoy this class. All you had to do was sit and move your legs, much less coordination than the Pilates reformer class.

  ‘I still can’t believe Amber took him down like that. And I just stood there. I didn’t move. I didn’t do a thing.’

  ‘That’s not something you need to feel bad about. You were taking a beat to assess the situation. And you know what? Amber could have been seriously injured. Yes, it all worked out in the end, but part of that was sheer luck. You didn’t do anything wrong.’

  The instructor hopped on his bike up the front of the class, and Rick and Georgia both turned their attention to him while he greeted everyone and called out instructions for set-up.

  Five minutes in and Georgia had severely changed her opinion of this class. No, it did not involve just sitting here and moving your legs. It involved flicking levers back and forth for speed or power or strength; it involved jumping up and pumping your legs hard while you ‘climbed a hill’; it involved twisting a dial to increase the resistance, once, twice, again, again, a quarter turn, another quarter turn, sit back down, go faster, your watts should be at 300! Your RPM should be above 100. Turn it again, stand back up, turn it again!

  The sweat was dripping down her face, her butt was hurting from the seat, her legs felt like lead. Why oh why did she keep trusting Rick?

  At the end of the class, when she climbed off her bike, her legs very nearly gave way under her.

  ‘Oh look,’ said Rick. ‘Now as well as having a string cheese core, you have jelly legs.’

  ‘Don’t push me, Rick, seriously, do not push me.’

  *

  She was on her way to her car in the gym parking lot when she felt that same hot rash creep up the back of her neck, exactly the way it had when she’d found the first note on her car. Someone was watching her. She was certain of it.

  She’s here again. There’s going to be another note. She stopped still and considered turning back around to find Rick, maybe asking him to walk her to her car. But then she shook her head and forced herself to continue on. Don’t let her get to you in this way. You’re stronger than that. When she reached her car, her eyes scanned the windscreen, her body braced.

  Nothing. There was nothing there.

  *

  ‘Did bloody Rick tell you about the spin class he made me do yesterday?’

  Amber laughed. ‘Yeah, I heard. Also heard you could barely walk afterwards.’

  They were sitting on upturned milk crates out the back of the hospital, and Georgia was watching Amber smoke a cigarette and feeling slightly wistful for the days when she used to smoke. It wasn’t really the nicotine that she missed — she’d never been a heavy smoker — but more the social aspect of it. Several of the nurses snuck out here for a cigarette throughout their shift. Officially, you weren’t supposed to smoke anywhere in or around the hospital, but most of the security guards smoked themselves, so they turned a blind eye to the little smokers’ area.


  ‘I almost fell down the stairs on the way out of the gym! Next time I’m making you come with us.’

  ‘Good luck with that.’

  ‘Hey, how are you feeling since the whole . . . drama with the knife?’

  ‘Umm, not great to be honest.’

  ‘Oh really? Why?’ Georgia was surprised; if she’d acted the way Amber had, she’d be feeling on top of the world right now.

  ‘Denise took me to task over it.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘Apparently my actions were reckless. I should have stayed right back, kept my distance and waited for security.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘To be honest, maybe she’s right. You know what I keep thinking? I have a daughter. I’ve finally got Violet back in my life and there I am risking myself when there was no need. I should have been thinking of her.’

  Georgia hesitated. Finally got Violet back in my life? That was the first time Amber had revealed anything more than the basic terms of her custody arrangements. So, for a while she hadn’t had any access to her daughter? Amber seemed to realise what she’d said; she’d obviously got carried away without meaning to. Now she looked uncomfortable.

  ‘You know what?’ said Georgia. ‘I don’t think you were risking yourself needlessly at all. You acted on instinct, and your instinct was to protect others by trying to get him to stop. And a protective instinct is a bloody great thing for a mother to have.’

  Amber smiled. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Anyway, what about me?’ Georgia continued. ‘All I did was freeze. Fat lot of good that did.’

  ‘Yeah, well, it was the smarter move, according to Denise.’

  ‘All right, I have something to take your mind off things. Luke’s about to meet my entire family in one fell swoop. We’re flying to Melbourne this weekend for my brother’s wedding.’

  ‘Family wedding. Moving in. Tomorrow you’ll tell me you’re engaged.’

  ‘Ha. Don’t even joke, and him moving in is temporary, remember?’