by Key, Liana
"You think I sit here all day crying because I want to?" I shouted, my voice shrill, shaky. "You think I want to think about her twenty four seven? You don't think I try to think of other things?" More than just my voice was shaky now, my whole body felt out of control, trembling, tears falling. "You don't know what the fuck I'm going through. Oh no. Because you're moving on. In fact, why don't you just move on out?" I have no idea where the thoughts were coming from, but it was like I couldn't stop. "You know you were only with me because of Cassidy. Well, guess what? She's gone." Again my arms signaled wildly. "She's gone, so you may as well go too. Why be stuck here with someone as pathetic as me? Someone who can't even get out of their pajamas every morning, who just lies around wallowing in grief? That's me isn't it?" I cast a scathing look in his direction. "You don't have to stay now Flynn. You can fucking well go. There's nothing keeping you here now." I finished with a flourish, my head shaking from side to side, my hands and fingers extended.
"Don't Magdala," he said, "don't be like this." He walked around the bed, towards me. I backed up, leaning against the door, wiped at my eyes. He reached out and touched my shoulder, I purposely turned my head to the side, not brave enough to establish eye contact. "I haven't stopped loving you," he said quietly, and he brought his other arm, his stump up to my other shoulder. I shrugged it away forcefully, like I didn't want it touching me. I'd never done that before, never, and his reaction was one of disbelief.
And I immediately felt regret, and I started to whisper, "I'm sorry," but he had already turned. He went into the bathroom and shut the door. I heard the shower turn on. My cries had turned into sobs and I went back out to the lounge, back to the sofa. He came out about fifteen minutes later. His hair was wet and he was dressed in jeans and a hoodie. He carried a backpack and he walked in front of me, picking up his school bag.
"I'm going to go home," he said, not looking at me. I started to sit up, started to say something, but I was too slow. He grabbed his keys and was gone.
That was the first night I'd spent alone in the apartment. I waited for his phone call, his text. But there was nothing. I waited for Julie to ring me, but again nothing. I slept fitfully, tossing, turning, listening for Cassidy. I got up early the next morning, still waiting, thinking he would come home for breakfast, or pop in before he went to school. He didn't. I heard nothing throughout the day, and I wondered if I should give in first. But I thought Why should I? It was he who had left me. I drove to the cemetery, sat on the lawn by Cassidy's headstone, the all too familiar tears rolling down my face. My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a text from Cassian: how u doing?
Me: not that good
Him: u want me to come over later?
Me: no I'm fine
Him: r u sure?
Me: yes, but thanks. Love u
Him: love u 2
I waited for Flynn again, waited for a text, waited for him. But again he didn't come home. I felt sick, empty, but knew it was my own doing. I'd hurt him by physically rejecting him, not to mention all the abuse I'd screamed at him. Maybe it was better if he did leave me. Maybe being free of me would be doing him a favor. My history was abysmal. I'd already loved and lost. I was toxic. For the first time in a long while I thought of Nathan, wondered what he was doing. No doubt he was thriving without me. I would have only dragged him down if we'd stayed together, scarred, broken, violated. He could do way better than that version of me.
Probably Flynn deserved more too. Flynn, kind, generous and gentle, a loving and doting Dad. He didn't deserve my comments about his love for Cassidy. He loved her, of that I was sure. And I knew he missed her as much as I did. But I guessed I was jealous of him, his ability to cope with this tragedy whereas I hadn't found a way. Here I was accusing him of not loving me, but did I love him, like truly love him? Would driving him away really be a bad thing? Without a commitment to me, without any attachment, he could just move on.
I was awake the next morning, but still lying in bed when I heard the key in the lock. My heart started pounding quickly, I jumped up and went out into the lounge. Flynn was at the balcony, unlocking the door. He looked at me.
"I'm just getting my boots," he said, bending down to retrieve them, "for training tonight." He put them into a plastic bag. He looked back at me, his hand scratching his head, his eyes noticing me still in my pajamas.
"Oh," I said.
"You okay?" Said with casualness, no real meaning.
I nodded.
"I better get going," he said.
My heart surged, I longed to say something, but no words came. He was at the door.
"Are you coming back?" I called, my voice light, desperate, as he was already half way out.
He shrugged. "I'll let you know." And the door slammed shut.
I had a double ache now. And it was all my own fault. Bad enough that I should pine for Cassidy, now there was Flynn too. So easily it seemed he could discard me, forget about me too. I ate some breakfast, and in an act of spontaneity put on my wetsuit and drove up the coast. I needed some air, some water, some freedom. I felt heavy, despondent, those old feelings returning, those ones that came after the rape, those ones I'd fought so hard to overcome. I wondered how my life had come to this, after everything I'd been through, why on earth did I deserve this as well? Hadn't I suffered enough? Out on the waves, I didn't have to think. I only had to paddle and look for the next wave. There were no thoughts of Cassidy or Flynn, cancer or death. Just the next wave. I went home and smashed straight back into reality.
Cassian turns up after five, saying he's had a full day of lectures. He asks me how my day has been and I tell him how I've screwed up with Flynn. Cash doesn't usually show much anger, but he is now.
"He's just walked out? And didn't say for how long?" He sounds troubled by it.
"He's just gone home for a bit," I say, not really sure why I'm suddenly defending him. Probably because I know it's my own fault. Has Cassian misunderstood the fight, how I accused Flynn of not caring about Cassidy. I try to clarify it, not wanting to make Flynn look like the bad guy, which in truth he isn't.
But Cash doesn't see it that way. "You're the fucking mother of his child," he says, "you should be the most important person in his world. You lost your baby, he can't treat you like this." I try to diffuse his anger, it's strange to see him so worked up. I tell him about my fabulous day surfing, and he calms down. He tells me to come home for dinner, but I say I'll just cook myself something, there's plenty of food in the fridge. So he takes off, and I sit and wonder if Flynn will come home for the weekend.
FLYNN
The look in her eyes, the disdain as she pushed my arm off her, made me cringe in unworthiness, as if I were a leper, a tainted freak, like I disgusted her. The shower offered some solace, but I couldn't stay in there for too long, and I made my mind up, that it was a mistake to still be here. Words were being exchanged that we would never normally have spoken, but the whole ridiculous situation, the pain, the grief, was bringing out the worst in us, in both of us. I hated speaking to her the way I did, but it was like I had to stand up for myself, she had to know that even though I carried on with life, I still felt Cassidy's loss as much as she did. She might choose to deal with her grief by staying a hermit, but I needed to carry on with life, I needed friends around me, familiar faces. And the whole act of normalcy helped me cope.
When I arrived home that first evening, with my overnight bag of clothes, Mom and Dad had been worried.
"You've just left Magdala alone?" they asked. "I don't know if that's a good idea." They of course knew she hadn't returned to school, knew she spent her days lying around the apartment, still trying to adjust to life without Cassidy.
"I disgust her," I said. "She can't stand me, doesn't even want me to touch her. What am I supposed to do?"
"She's needs support," Mom said, "not rejection."
"She's rejecting me," I cried.
"I should go over there," Mom said, fussing, her doctor's voice
coming to the fore.
"No, Mom," I pleaded, "please don't interfere. Just give us a few days, and I'll fix it. But I think we just need some time out." And I did believe that. For the two months before Cassidy died, we'd spent practically every waking moment together, mainly confined to a small hospital room, and the six weeks since she'd died, we'd never spent any time apart, other than me being at school. I was sure a day or two apart wouldn't end our relationship. In fact I believed it would strengthen it, that the words we were saying to each other were being said in frustration and exhaustion.
I'm just sitting around in the dining room waiting for dinner, which Mom is cooking. Afterwards I plan on going around to James' place, just to hang with the boys. I hear the doorbell ring, and moments later Dad ushers Cassian through to me. It's a surprise to see him.
"Hi," I say, standing. He intimidates me a bit because he's so tall and solid.
"Hi," he says, unsmiling. "You got a minute to talk?" I've never had a whole lot to do with Cassian on his own, but he's always been quite friendly and amicable in the past, but I'm sensing that's not the case today. I'm guessing he's seen Magdala. I offer him a seat at the table and I'm glad when he takes it because I don't want him towering over me. "I've just been with Magdala," he says directly, not beating around the bush.
"Yeah," I nod, suddenly feeling guilty, like I've abandoned her. "Is she okay?"
"Is she okay?" he repeats, as if he can't believe I've just asked the question. "What do you think?"
I sigh. "I thought it was best to give her a few days on her own," I say, now frantically trying to justify my actions.
"A few days on her own?" he asks, in that same incredulous tone. "She says she doesn't know if you're fucking coming back."
"Cassian?" It's my mother's voice, at the doorway. She's obviously heard his outcry.
He turns. "Dr Surridge," he says, "excuse my language. I'm sorry." And he briefly lowers his eyes. Mom acknowledges with a nod.
"I'll work it out," I say. "I just think we need some time apart to think things out."
"Magdala is Cassidy's mother," he says, and there's now this authority in his voice which makes him seem like he's more than a year older than me. "It isn't about what you want Flynn, it's about her."
"Cassian," my mother interjects, with her own sense of power. "Flynn's trying to do the right thing in a very difficult situation."
"A difficult situation?" His tone is sarcastic. "Finding a park in fucking Beverly Hills is a difficult situation," he mocks, an unapologetic glare towards my mother. "Magdala has lost her baby. Her loss is devastating, and you want fucking time out?" He's now staring me down. "Look, how you deal with your grief is your own fucking business, but I think you need to move on. You're not what she needs right now."
Now I'm aghast, I didn't think he was going to say that. I thought he was going to beg me to go back to her. I don't know what to say and Mom, who is still standing there, now steps forward, moving towards Cassian.
"I don't think that's your call to make Cassian," she says frankly. "That decision is up to Flynn and Magdala." I'm silently thinking, Well said, Mom.
"Well I'm thinking Flynn already made his decision. When he moved back here," he says. "Magdala is in hell right now and she doesn't need someone who's going to run home to Mommy and Daddy whenever he needs a bit of time out." He's humiliating me, making me seem like a child, and Mom's interruptions are not helping my case.
"That's not what's happening," Mom defends. "It's natural in circumstances like this that they each are in different stages of grief and it's a matter of time..."
Cassian is agitated. He stands. "I'm sorry Dr Surridge," he says, "but you can fuck your stages of grief. I'm talking about my sister, and I know my sister fucking better than anyone. I've watched her put her life back together after the rape, and I'm not going to stand by and watch you tear away at it now." His eyes, insanely green eyes, are drilling into me. "Just do me a favor and get over there and pack your things up, instead of trying to pretend it will all work out in a few days time."
"Cassian," Mom says, "this is not your decision to make. Flynn and Magdala need to -"
"Mom," I say, louder than I intended, "Mom?" A look of deflation covers her face when I say, "Can you just leave us. Please." I don't want Cassian to think I'm a puppet, controlled by my parents. I want him to know that I can think for myself. Mom leaves, but doesn't close the door. I suspect she'll be listening from the other room.
"Did she send you over here?" I ask, trying to assert myself.
"No," he admits, "she doesn't know I'm here." Now that's taken me by surprise as well. I felt for sure he was confronting me on her behalf. Now I'm not sure what to think, to say.
"I'll go and see her," I say.
"Flynn," he says, in a patronizing tone. "You're not getting it. This is about Magdala. You're not what she needs, you're not good for her. You need to get the fuck out of her life."
"But we can work it out," I try to convince him. "I just thought we needed a break from each other." But is it what I thought. Suddenly I'm not sure why I left.
"She isn't going to heal with you around," he says, and his voice is now kinder, more gentle, as if he's simplifying it for me. "There will always be resentment, there will always be blame. Who should have felt the lump? Who should have called your mother sooner? Who gave her the cancer?" He pauses. "Do you understand?"
And in a heartbeat, I do. If we stay together we will forever be reminded of our darling daughter, everyday will be a living nightmare of what we went through. Crazily enough, it makes sense. Magdala isn't coping, can't get past it because she sees and feels the pain every single minute, every single day, with me and through me. I'm hurting her more than helping her. Somehow his words make perfect sense.
"So you need to pack your gear up and tell her you're moving out." He says it matter-of-factly but there's a slightly threatening tone to it, one I feel like I daren't argue with. I feel myself nodding involuntarily, as if I'm his puppet. So much for defending myself, being able to stand up for myself.
He reaches into his front jeans pocket and pulls out his keys, indicating the conversation is over. And he walks out the way he came, gesturing to my mother with a nod of his head as he passes her by.
I go down to my bedroom and see his car reversing out the driveway. I open my closet and see the suitcase there, and aren't really sure why it's here and not at the beach apartment. I think I moved to the apartment bit by bit, a few clothes here and there, never in just one big move. I take it out to my car and drive to Magdala's, lug it up the staircase. I knock on the door, even though I have my key.
She seems surprised that it's me. "Have you lost your key?" she asks, a smile on her face, and then she sees the suitcase and her expression changes. She opens the door fully and gives me a wide berth.
"No," I say, "I just didn't want to barge in." I stow the suitcase behind the door. She just watches me. I'm thinking I should have left it in the car, until later.
"Are you moving out?" she asks in a flat voice, leaving me, going to the sofa, as if she doesn't really care what my answer is."No," I say, and she turns, looking interested again. I add, "Not right now." I go over to her, sit down. "Have you been all right?"
She nods, but doesn't look me in the eye. Something in the kitchen beeps and she stands up quickly, heads that way. There's something different about her, but I can't put my finger on it.
"Do you want something to eat?"
"What have you got?" I ask.
"BLT," she replies.
"Yeah, sounds good." Mom had been cooking a chilli which smelt fantastic, but I guess I'm going to miss that. "If it's no trouble." I get up and go into the kitchen, noticing that her surfboard and wetsuit are out on the balcony.
"Have you been surfing?" It surprises me because she hasn't been out for weeks, probably months.
"Yes."
"How was it?" I ask, tasting a slice of tomato that she's cutting.
; "It was great," she answers and she tells me where she went and how it was. She hasn't sounded enthusiastic about anything for some time. It's almost like a light has flickered back on inside her. I'm thinking, two days without me and she's back on track. Fuck Cassian, he's right. She doesn't need me.
We sit at the table and eat our burgers. We have a normal conversation, about James, about working tomorrow, about Aaron's band's gig at the Halloween dance. She goes and wipes down her surfboard, then carefully brings it inside, drapes her wetsuit on the back on a kitchen chair.
"Are you going out tomorrow?" I ask, getting the ice cream from the freezer.
"Yes the forecast is good all day," she says and I feel jealous. That she has something to look forward to. That's she's going to be all right without me.
"Hey, have you been into this ice cream?" I joke. The tub is half empty. She peers in and laughs. "Cash was here," she says. I scoop some on a spoon and hold it out for her, thinking she'll take the spoon, but she just licks it off. I so want her. I want to forget about everything we've been through. I want her like this again, happy, smiling, teasing me. My heart feels like it's doing flick flacks. I feed her more ice cream. She's not wearing any make up but her skin looks like its glowing. Her hair is natural, slightly disheveled, like its been wet from the sea, but she hasn't combed it since. I love that. I do love her, still love her.
I take the empty ice cream tub back into the kitchen and when I come back I sit next to her. She shifts and makes room for me. I put my arm around her, she rests her head somewhere between my chest and shoulder. I'm wondering if she knows Cassian came to see me, but I'm guessing not.
It's getting late and she looks at the time, looks at me as if she's figuring out what I'm going to do. "Can I stay tonight?" I ask.
"You want to?" she asks and I nod and kiss her. We go and get ready for bed. While she's in the bathroom I check my bed stand, yes there are still some condoms in there. I put one under the pillow. She comes and lies down but keeps to her side of the bed. I'm wondering what to do. How right would it be to make love to her when I'm walking out tomorrow? Since Cassidy died we haven't done it much, hardly ever in fact. The night of the funeral we did, almost as if we were in a daze, hadn't understood that we'd just buried our daughter, and making love was something that had made the day seem normal. Several nights when her tears had been incessant, she had turned to me, hoping sex would be a way to turn them off. It had provided temporary respite.