by Key, Liana
He's twisting at his fingers, pressing his thumbs together. "I'm sorry, sorry I wasn't there. I should have - ". He doesn't finish the sentence.
"It wasn't your fault," I say, surprising myself, because I have been blaming him. I haven't wanted to see him, or talk to him, because I have told myself that it is his fault. It's easier that way, I can reject him, deny him, dispose of him. But if I blame myself...
Antonia returns with a tray. "I'm going to put it out here on the balcony," she says walking towards the doors and opening them right up. "You need some fresh air sweetheart."
I stand up to follow her. Sitting in that position has made me stiff and I stretch my back by leaning backwards. My core is still tender and bruised. I limp towards the balcony, but I think I'm putting it on. My thigh is still strapped, but it doesn't hurt and it hasn't affected my walking - till now it seems.
I continue with the act and make a drama of easing myself into the chair.
"Be careful, sweetie," Antonia says, "and enjoy the sunshine."
"Thanks," I flash an automatic smile. Nathan sits on the other side of the table. We're closer now. Antonia has put a jug of juice, water and two cans of soda on the tray.
"Help yourself," I say, but Nathan shakes his head, "I'm fine." I pour myself a water, just as a distraction.
"How are your -," he pauses, perhaps unsure of what to say, "injuries?"
My hand automatically goes to the side of my neck, the bandage there. "The stitches came out," I say.
He nods. "Your eye looks much better," he says politely, as if he was talking to his Nan.
I think I drop my guard, "I know, it was so swollen, and so purple." I've forgotten how easily we talk.
"The bump was huge," and we both almost laugh, and I touch my forehead and push back my hair. I don't want to feel this way. I don't want to alienate him. But everything has changed. I can't look at him the same, I can't bring myself to feel for him anymore. I seem to have been stripped of all my senses, devoid of emotions. Nothing is ever going to be the same for me. For us. I know that I will never want Nathan to hold me, kiss me or make love to me again.
I pick up the glass, take a sip and put it back on the table. My hand lingers there and he reaches out to touch it. I pull back sharply. He looks confused, his eyes plead for answers.
"You should go," I whisper, pulling up and hugging my knees again. My head is down but I can feel him stand up, standing near me.
"You know I love you," he says quietly. My heart surges. It's more a statement than a question, and I nod. But he's gone already.
NATHAN
I almost run down the path, cut across the lawn, towards the gate, which is pushed open with Jakey coming through. I feel relief at seeing him, like talking to him about Magdala will be a good thing, help me with this plethora of emotions racing through my mind. I see his fist momentarily at eye level, then I hear a crack, and my head jerks back, my arms are flailing by my sides. It feels like I'm in slow-mo, trying to keep my balance, but my legs give way and I hear the thud as I hit the ground.
His voice is loud, it's pissed, "What the fucking hell are you doing here?" Fierce, a warning, "You fucking stay away from her!"
There's blood everywhere, pouring from my nose. I instinctively pull my t-shirt up, try to mop up the drops. I feel the pain now, radiating across the centre of my face. That crack was either his knuckles, or my nose - I'm guessing the latter. I've maneuvered myself into a low squat position, my legs shaky. The blood is gushing now, I keep my head down, I remember that from health class.
"What the fuck Jakey?" It's Cassian's voice. Where has he come from?
"He fucking shouldn't be here," Jakey spits, hatred in his words.
"You can't fucking hit him," Cassian says, and I'm thinking, Wow, Magdala had said that Cassian never, and I mean never swears. "Get some ice."
I find my voice, "No," I say, and finally have the courage to look up. "I'm fine." I just need to get out of here. The front of my shirt is soaked, it was a grey t-shirt - now it's red. Cassian pulls off his t-shirt and rolls it up, shoves it under my nose, "You need ice," he says again. "You broke his fucking nose," he says to Jakey.
"He fucking deserved it," Jakey retorts, his voice merciless.
I stagger to my feet, turning Cassian's t-shirt under my nose, trying to find a blood-free spot. I fumble in my pocket for my keys. I feel the blood going down my throat. I lean forward again, spit a load of blood onto the driveway. I go towards the gate. Cassian follows.
"Will you be okay to drive?" he asks.
I nod. I open my door, slide in, readjust the t-shirt, start the car, let down the window.
"I'll get your shirt back to you," I say, as if it's something important, almost choking on the blood going down my throat.
He shrugs it off, "Don't worry, just get some ice on it." I nod again.
As I start to reverse, he leans in to the window. "Magdala lost her phone," he says, "I'll keep in touch."
I nod again, not wanting to risk swallowing more blood. I want to say thanks. Because that's a big thing, knowing that. Knowing that Cassian will keep me connected.
The drive home is torture. The blood hasn't stopped, or even diminished. Every so often I have to tilt my head to the open window and spit. And now my head feels woozy too, and there's a throbbing on one side. Must've been where I fell. And the disdain, the viciousness in Jakey's tone, it hurts, it cuts through me, confirming that he, maybe all of them, blame me for Magdala's rape. And worst of all, Magdala's indifference, her loathing of me, the realization that it's over for us.
There's blood, saliva, phlegm all down my front. There's nothing else in the car I can use to mop up. Cassian's t-shirt is now soaked, my jeans are getting covered, so too is the seat. I can't get home quick enough.
I go around to the back door, call out to Mom. She goes into a state of controlled panic. She knows what to do. Grabs some towels, buckets, ice, water.
"You need to go to the emergency department," she declares.
I shake my head. "No way."
"What happened? An accident? Is your car all right? Keep your head down! I need to get you to hospital!"
I readjust the ice. Now my face feels numb. I think the blood is stopping.
Mom dabs at my face. She motions for me to raise my arms, and pulls my shirt over my head, throws it in a bucket. She peers under the ice pack. "It doesn't look good, love. You need a doctor."
I shake my head, hoping she can't see the tears, hoping she thinks it's just the ice pack and the wash cloth.
"I thought you were going to see Magdala," she says, confused no doubt.
"I did," I murmur.
"So what on earth happened?"
I say just one word, "Jakey." And she is silent. Then she gets up, handing the ice pack back to me to hold, and says, "I'll ring Colleen."
Colleen is Mom's good friend, she's a nurse at the rest home that Mom works in. She is over in fifteen minutes. Colleen knows how to put noses back, Mum tells me, she's done it before. I wonder who for, but don't say anything.
"It might hurt," Colleen warns. I shrug, I don't care. Magdala was raped and stabbed. I bet that hurt. Jakey's punch hurt. Besides, my nose is numb, my whole face is numb. Colleen takes me unawares. She just does it. It fucking hurts, it fucking hurts like hell. I swallow some pain killers, jump in the shower and go to bed.
Colleen has put a splint on my nose and taped it in an X across my face. It looks fucking ridiculous, and I laugh at the thought of Magdala seeing me now, or if we were both together with our banged up faces. I'm off school for a week and a half. The headache doesn't subside for three days. Michelle kept wanting to know what happened and Mum told her I banged my head on the windscreen because I didn't have my seatbelt on. Jakey wasn't mentioned. Mum soaked and washed and folded the t-shirts, amazingly all the stains came out. She recognized that one wasn't mine and asked whose it was. I told her it was Cassian's, and I just left it sitting on my dresser. Ben fancied it and
started wearing it. Cassian texted me a few weeks later: Hope you have recovered, was all it said. I texted back: yeah, fine.
I was just grateful he was keeping in touch.
MAGDALA
I seem to have the ability to switch on and off emotions pretty easily. And I wonder if it's being a product of a broken home. My Mom and Dad didn't last long as a couple. It was my Mom who left when I was just three years old. I use to cry when she came to get me, taking me for day trips or weekends, cry because I didn't want to leave Cassian or Dad. At some point Cassian started coming with me and over the years she came and went, never to a schedule, only when it suited her. If for some reason Cassian couldn't come, I had learnt to be brave, be tough and not to whimper or cry. Maybe a psychologist would say I had attachment issues, and maybe they'd be right.
My parents met, of all places, online. Dad boasted that his profile was wrong, he boosted his age by ten years. Otherwise why would a thirty year old woman ever be interested in a twenty year old? My Dad has always preferred older women, but I guess that's his story, perhaps it was because he grew up motherless as well. Cassian's Mom was twelve years older than Dad when they met.
Things were so frantic, three days in hospital, police in and out, my mother arriving from Hawaii, family visiting. I made my bedroom my sanctuary, my place of retreat. And then the bombshell - the police telling us they had arrested a person for the crime, that I would need to identify him. The thought of seeing him set me into panic mode, but they assured it would be done by cctv link. Still, the thought of being just a room away was sickening to me. My mind was desperately trying to block him out, to forget the mad look in his dark blue eyes, to not remember his bristly mustache touching my face or his fat tongue in my mouth.
"It has to be done," Dad insisted, "you don't want him getting away with it."
I nodded, I had to be brave, I had to use the switch on-switch off skill that had hardened me up. To my amusement, the cop who lead me into the viewing room, advised me to "Stay detached," as if she'd studied Psychology 101. My eyes didn't want to look at the screen, but I lifted them and felt a shudder, vibrating deep into my spine. But he looked ordinary, hair tidy, face clean-shaven, a button down shirt and chinos. Hardly the look of a rapist, and I had to pause before replying to the cop who asked, "Do you recognize this person?" It was as if there was a moment where I wasn't completely sure, a hint of uncertainty, even though I knew it was him. His eyes lifted, as if he knew he was being watched, and he stared at me though I guess it was just the direction he supposed I would be watching him from. And of course I would not forget those eyes, those eyes that had looked crazed and wicked as he had pushed himself into me. Then he smiled and winked. I gasped, then realized he couldn't see me. Even the cop was taken aback and raised her eyebrows.
I felt anger then and affirmed, " That's him."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, though he had like a mustache."
"A mustache?"
"Well not a full one, just like facial hair, on his top lip."
"Okay, we're done."
I fell into Dad's arms as I came out of the room and he hugged me tightly and kissed the top of my head.
"All right princess?" he asked and I just nodded.
Later that evening, Cassian came into my room. "Did it go okay?" he asked, joining me on my bed, leaning against the pillows. I just shrugged. As good as any i.d. can I told him. I'd already switched myself back off. He put his arm around me and I snuggled into him.
Chapter 5
NATHAN
I came to see the broken nose as a type of blessing, because having that time off school meant I had to deal with minimal people and I avoided a lot of the aftermath of the rape news, especially when it became known that the police had arrested and charged someone. It quickly spread that the guy had gone to West a few years back. It seems the white van was the giveaway. I imagined Magdala's blood smeared in the back of it. Dane's older brother apparently went to school with him and it was known that he was a loser and a psycho. We all looked up his picture on Facebook and kind of agreed that perhaps we'd seen him around various basketball games. Nondescript really, worked in a factory, into drugs, drove an old silver Camaro, apparently the van he'd been in, raped Magdala in, had belonged to a friend.
The first weekend after I was back at school, there was a party and I got drunk. Like real drunk, a mix of Vodka and Tequila shots and cheap white wine does it to you pretty quickly I learnt. I hadn't been drunk for a long time, since meeting Magdala in fact, but being out with the boys, it seemed like the thing to do. Drinking games, backyard football, shooting hoops, drinking, smoking weed, hooking up, vomiting, sleeping rough summed up the night, though I didn't necessarily partake in all events. I ended up sleeping over at Dane's that night, draped over an armchair.
The following weekend wasn't much better. Same shit, different place, though I ended up being driven home, vomited out the bedroom window several times and got a right earful from Mom the next day. I wasn't proud of myself, and if I was honest with myself I guess I was just trying to fit in with the boys, looking for an escape. Truth is I missed Magdala like mad, the intimacy, the closeness, the talking, the laughter. I missed her so much it hurt, but being drunk makes you forget all that. It makes you numb.
MAGDALA
Everybody was trying to help me. I was given the name of a counsellor, it was suggested I see her. I was given the number of a support group, it was suggested I join it. It was suggested I go back to school, get things back to normal. But what was normal for me now? I had no normal.
Even Jakey and Cassian were acting weird around me. Like they had to treat me differently, like a delicate flower, as if I might crack if they said the wrong thing. They kept me occupied, music, tv, gaming. They said I should get out, go places, but I said I didn't want to. I just wanted to stay home. That's where I felt safe. Out there, it wasn't. I was frightened that I might see him, that he might want to stalk me, then kill me. I couldn't explain the fear I felt, so I didn't try to. It seemed easier that way, not to burden anyone. And as long as I was at home, I was safe.
It was four weeks later, and I went along with Jakey, Raff and their stepdad Connor to a Clippers game. Cassian had gone off to work, having just started a job as a waiter in an Italian restaurant the week before. On his first shift he made $100 in tips, which is typical Cassian. He has a way with people.
Jakey and Raff were excited I was with them, or they appeared to be. I kept close to both of them, like real close, at one stage holding the back of Jakey's shirt, so we didn't separate at all. If he thought it was odd, he didn't say so. When I mentioned the caps looked cool, Connor came back with one for me. I laughed, but I wore it back to front like Jakey did. It made me feel incognito, which I liked. He could've been at the game for all I knew. Just before half time the guy sitting right along from us got a hotdog. The smell instantly made me nauseous. I tried not to sniff, tried not to breathe too deeply, but it had permeated the air, and a wave of bile was ascending in my gut.
"I gotta go out," I nudged Jakey. Maybe I looked pale, because he didn't hesitate. He guided me past bodies, pushing me towards an exit, into some fresh air. I squatted down, wondering if I shouldn't race to the restroom. Jakey squatted beside me.
"Do you want some water?" he asked. I nodded. "Okay, just wait here, and -"
But I cut him off. "No, don't leave me. I'll come too." And I grabbed his shirt end. He assisted me up, like I was an invalid. He put his arm around me. He bought a bottle of water, and I sipped on it.
"You feeling better?" I just nodded, the nausea had passed...for now. "Was it something you ate, you think?" He looked concerned.
I shook my head, and at the risk of sounding like a nutcase, said, "He stunk of hotdogs, I can't stand the smell, it makes me sick."
Jakey just stared at me for a moment and then it was like he had a lightbulb moment and his arm pulled me in close. "Oh, baby girl," he said and he stroked my back. It felt nice,
reassuring. I drank more water, and said we could go back in, that he'd probably finished the hotdog by now. I felt bad Jakey was missing the game. Jakey said, "I'll just get some pizza," and we went to queue. "You can hold this for the rest of the night, so if you get a whiff, just smell the pizza!" I punched him in the arm, I did love Jakey, he always found a way to make me feel better. Jakey moved Raff and Connor along, so they were closer to the hotdog guy. The rest of the game I was fine, Jakey kept shoving the pizza up to my nose, and as we walked to the car he started eating it, even though it was cold.
"You okay?" Jakey asked me.
"I miss Nathan," I said suddenly and unexpectedly, even to myself.
Jakey put his arm around my waist, "You're better off without him," he said, and lowered his voice, "you don't need that trash in your life." I wasn't surprised by Jakey's outburst. I knew he'd never liked Nathan. "He didn't take care of my baby girl," he added simply, "so just forget him."
I liked Jakey's loyalty, his sense of dedication to me, and it was oh so easy to just say everything had been Nathan's fault. I know it wasn't fair, but fair wasn't part of how I was dealing with it. I remembered how Nathan had tried to apologize for what had happened, and I had given him the impression that I wasn't blaming him. I had heard the heartbreak in his voice when he'd come to see me in the hospital, I know he cared, know he loved me. But something inside me didn't want to reach out to him, didn't want him to know what had happened to me, couldn't bear him to know the details. I felt shame, embarrassment, a loss of dignity. I was in fact the trash that Jakey had accused him of being. Why didn't I try harder to push him off? Why didn't I scream louder? I'd allowed another body into a place that had been Nathan's. I no longer felt worthy of his love, know that I would never be able to return it. He deserved better than me. It was better if he just forgot about me. Better if he just moved on. So the easiest thing to do was to cut him out of my life and disappear from his.
NATHAN
The next weekend there was a party at Kara, Stevie's girlfriend's house, her sweet sixteen, a big night. Luke and I had a bottle of bourbon, and it was going down a treat. He started smoking weed, but I hadn't wanted to buy any, so I stuck with the booze. Champagne, or a cheap version of it was passed around, and for some reason that set me off on my face.