“Despite popular opinion, I’m not catatonic you know. I can hear a softer knock.”
“Hey, Kate. Sorry,” he says, brows drawn.
We stare at each other for a few seconds before I speak. “Come in, Matt.” Stepping back to let him in, he offers me a tight smile and a warm hug.
“I was just about to put the kettle on, would you like a coffee?”
“Yeah, sounds good. Thanks.”
Closing the door, I’m now puzzled. I haven’t known Matt that long, but something is definitely up with him today. We walk into the kitchen together, and then Matt turns to me, eyeing me quizzically.
“I know people are asking you this every day, but I want you to tell me how you are really doing, Kate?”
I immediately stiffen. Clenching my jaw, not saying a word, I walk past him and flip on the kettle, my back still to him.
“Kate. Talk to me. Please.” I suck in a breath and slowly turn to face him.
“Had the sparks changed on my car, so she’s a little more zippy now,” I reply in an overly cheerful tone.
Pulling out a chair, Matt sits down and locks his hands behind his head, releases a sigh of frustration and fixes me with a stare.
“Well, you’re not eating well. That’s a given,” he says as his eyes rove over me.
I ignore his comment. I’ve lost about eight kilos over the past few months, so no point refuting his observation.
We continue to stare at one another.
At this point I’m saved by the click of the boiling kettle. Turning around, I busy myself with making our coffees, leaving his remark hanging in the air.
Passing Matt his cup, I sit down opposite him and take a sip.
“You’re not here with Mel, so I’m getting the sense that this isn’t purely a social visit. What’s up, Matt?”
I notice that at the mention of her name, his jaw tightens. I frown, wondering if they’re possibly having issues. He pauses with the cup close to his mouth, then sets it back down, leaning back into his chair, trapping me in a pointed stare.
Here we go...a lecture is sure to follow.
“Look, Kate, I didn’t come here to upset you. People are worried about you. I didn’t know you prior to the quake, but from what I’ve seen, you’ve become almost reclusive, insular. Either that, or you’re flying-off-the-handle angry. Your friends say you’ve all but shut them out, and I hear your mum is worried sick. You uh, well let’s just say that when you’re out, socialising, you’re usually hammered.”
I cross my arms, my shoulder muscles strung tight. These probing conversations are growing tiresome.
“Matt, where are you going with this?”
He sits forward steeping his hands together under his chin. “Okay. Here it is. I’d like for you to attend a trauma counselling group a friend of mine is running for quake victims and those affected by it.”
“Not going to happen, Matt.”
I avoid meeting his steady gaze, fidgeting around with the biscuit tin instead. Matt stills my hand by placing his over mine.
“Kate. Look at me.” I insolently raise my eyes back up to his, struck by the intensity of sorrow pooling in their green depths. A lump forms in my throat immediately. I don’t want his pity. I want to cry, but bite it back instead.
“You don’t have to talk if you’re not comfortable doing so. Just listen to the experiences of others. That’s all I’m asking of you. Please just say you’ll give it some thought?”
I get up and stretch my arms above my head.
“You do realise trying to goad me into attending a group is just a wasted effort, right?”
Matt sighs. “Well you’ll never know what you may take from this kind of group sharing unless you try, Kate. And your chosen coping methods leave a lot to be desired.”
This conversation is making me feel transparent, like my emotions are being fully exposed, bared to his scrutiny. Backed into a corner, I lash out.
Turning on him, “WHAT THE HELL IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?” I yell.
He remains infuriatingly calm.
“Good. Let it out. If you’re reacting, then at least you’ve got some fight left in you, and there’s hope in that right there.”
Aarg, he was so annoying. And so damn nice.
I immediately feel guilty for shouting at him. And because I feel remorseful, I relent and agree to attend the damn group therapy sessions, with one condition: that Melanie accompanies me.
Over the next week, Dominic and I continued texting each other regularly. For such a rough diamond, he has a surprisingly tender side. Not a day went by where he didn’t either call me, or drop me a sweetly worded text message. My heart would speed up whenever my phone chimed, and I realised that I was looking forward to any form of contact from him. He and I are skirting the very edges of “friendship” and it feels that we are at the tipping point of becoming so much more. Which, of course, only amplifies my guilt.
What kind of person does this make me? It’s way too soon to be this attracted to another man.
Dom invited me out to lunch yesterday, but Jimmy’s was too hectic with the foot traffic from the school holidays that are in full swing, for me to leave the premises for any length of time. I was trying to keep my head clear where Dominic was concerned anyway, afraid that my vulnerable emotions could cause me to become more dependent on him somehow.
But tonight I lucked out. Working a double shift to cover for a colleague who was on leave, I had a feeling I’d be seeing him. The construction crew spent a fair amount of their down time at Jimmy’s.
An hour before closing, whipping around the busy bar with my back to the door, I know the minute he enters the pub. I feel the caress of his eyes on my body. I close my eyes briefly, before turning my body in his direction in what feels like slow motion. From across the floor, a devastatingly handsome face comes into immediate view. He gifts me with a blinding smile that I feel deep within my core, making my belly flip. One loaded look from this man and it feels as though he has me pinned up against the wall one metre behind me, caught in a web of desire. When he smiles, I just can’t look away. Or breathe for that matter. It is spellbinding. Only two words could adequately describe Dominic’s sex appeal: High-octane.
Dominic says something to the guy he came in with, then starts walking over to me. As he gets closer, tears burn the backs of my eyes. Strange thing is, tonight for the first time, these aren’t tears of sadness. I don’t know what they are, but the memories of being wrapped in his arms just over a week ago, are so fresh, and that kind of sharing holds an intimacy all of its own. The compassionate way he’d handled me that night has made its mark and touched my still healing heart in a profound way. High-octane sex appeal aside.
“Hey.”
One word. It’s all I had. The effort it requires to prevent an embarrassing flood of tears leaves me with just that. One word.
“Hey, yourself.” Dominic chuckles as he sweeps me into a tight hug.
Feeling the rigid stance of my body, he pulls back slightly to look down at me. He tips my chin up, his beautiful eyes filling my vision.
“You okay, sweetheart?”
Those words are a guaranteed tear trigger. Biting down on my lip to stop their imminent escape until I taste blood, I offer him a watery smile, ducking my head. “Yeah.”
“You sure? Gonna give a guy a complex, darlin’. As a man, it’s my job to try stop these tears, not be the cause of them,” he says softly, as he slides his thumb under my left eye, catching one that I hadn’t realised had fallen.
“It’s not you, I’m not…uh, you just took me by surprise, that’s all. I’m happy to see you.”
“That works both ways then,” he says before dazzling me with another smile that instantly turns my insides to jelly.
~ Thursday 29 September 2011 ~
I’ve been at Mel’s for ten minutes and notice as soon as I walk through her door that she is acting strangely. We’ve not known each other all that long, but I have a pretty good
read on her general moods: Enough to know that something is alarmingly wrong. She is very quiet, troubling her lip with her teeth. She looks up at me with eyes that are suddenly brimming with tears.
“I was almost raped last week. After a night of heavy drinking,” she blurts out.
Her words lock up my body as a chill runs the length of my spine; Mel isn’t a drinker.
“What?”
“Yeah, I, uh...went out with a group from work, got totally hammered. Matt was supposed to join me, but had to work a later shift that day. You know I don’t usually drink much, well I thought it might take the edge off, you know? Like I’ve seen it do with you. Anyway, I-I ended up spending a portion of the night with some of my colleagues. One of their friends, Heath, he’s from out of town, singled me out from word go. He seemed like an intense kind of guy and made me a bit edgy, but I didn’t think too much about it.”
Her lip is quivering. Pulling her to me, I wrap my arms around her and kiss her forehead.
“God, Mel, what happened?”
“We went as a group to Club 54 straight from work. I was dancing with a few of the girls from my department. Some of the guys came over to join us a bit later on, and Heath was one of them. At first he just smiled at me a few times and then started dancing closer and closer to me, ignoring all the other girls. It started creeping me out.
Running her hands through her hair, she shakes her head.
“I was so, so stupid, Kate. I should’ve known. I just thought he was a little drunk and just being flirty. By the time I was alone, I was pretty wasted, so I paid no heed to that gnawing gut feel I had when I thought he first spelt trouble earlier that night. I needed to use the Ladies’, so I left the dance floor, not realising he had followed me. H-he slipped in behind me, spinning me around against the door, using his full body weight to pin me to it, while groping me and trying to get my jeans down. I-I’ve never been so scared in my life, Kate. He totally overpowered me. I couldn’t move, hit or kick out.”
“God, it was awful, he was pushing his erection against me, pawing at my shirt. He ripped it off one shoulder, and got my breast free. He-uh, bit down on it to stop me from resisting him any further.”
She slumps forward, her head in her hands, shoulders shaking.
Tears sting my eyes and anger floods my body. If I get anywhere near this son of a bitch’s privates, he’ll be curled up in the fetal position screaming for mommy.
I move up next to her, pulling her to me, bracing for the answer to a question I have to ask.
“How far did he…go?” My voice comes out in a rushed whisper.
Mel swallows hard, shaking her head.
“A group of the girls I work with stopped it from going any further. They, uh, burst into the ladies’ bathroom in a fit of drunken giggles and distracted him, giving me the opportunity to knee him as hard I could in the groin and get the door open.”
Relief sweeps through me.
I can tell how hard this is on her to re-live. Her pretty face darkens as she continues to speak. Fear, disgust, and anger bleeds into her features.
“Honey, I’m so sorry you’ve been put through this. Does Matt know? Did you report this?”
She sniffs, wiping her nose. Her big brown eyes dart up to mine, widening. Imploring.
“No, Kate, you can’t say anything. Please. Matt has no idea. H-he keeps asking me if something is wrong as it is, as I’ve not been able to have him see me naked. He’d see the bite mark on my breast immediately. So I’ve had to make up excuses not to see him until the bite marks fade at least. I miss him so much.” She sniffs.
“Why have you kept this from him, Mel? He’d totally understand. Matt’s crazy about you. Have you told anybody other than me?”
She releases a sigh, tears still leaking from her eyes. “No. You’re the only person I’ve told. I know you don’t understand my reasoning, Kate. I don’t want people looking at me differently. I can’t burden my parents with this, not now. They’re still grieving for my brother. There’s still so much fresh sorrow in our lives, and Matt, well he’s so fantastic, giving up a lot of his free time helping out at the student volunteer army base. I can’t add to what he’s got on his plate. He may also think I led the guy on. I promise I didn’t encourage him in any way, Kate, please believe me. Things have been going so well between Matt and me. I’d die if he thought any less of me.”
Reaching over, I tuck some hair back behind her ear.
“Hey, don’t think like that. Matt would never think you the type to be flirting with some stranger in a bar. He knows you, honey, as we all do. I’m just glad you’ve finally told me, at least.”
I’m tamping back my anger for Mel’s sake. Inwardly, I am seeing red.
“But I did flirt with danger, Kate, by getting myself into the situation in the first place. When Matt told me he’d have to cancel, I should have stayed home, too. He wasn’t happy for me to go out alone as it was, so in a way I was asking for trouble.”
“No, Mel. A woman out on her own does not give some prick the green light to take advantage and to force himself onto her. Have you seen him again? You mentioned that he’s not a local?”
“No, not since that night, I doubt I will do, he’s from out of town. That tattoo on his bicep is something I’ll never forget, Kate, it was a blackened feather dripping bright red blood.”
Not on my watch will you be seeing her again, you piece of shit.
In that moment, I have a sudden epiphany; this could all too easily have happened to me. I’ve been so caught up in a cycle of self-loathing, that personal safety has been the last thing on my mind the many nights I’ve spent drinking and dancing my pain away.
I’ve been really careless.
How would Dominic react if I found myself in Melanie’s situation?
Why am I asking myself that?
What would Danny think?
What should I think?
Chapter 14
FIGHTING THE FIRE
~ Kate, Friday 30 September 2011 ~
With Sarah away on business for the next few days, I insisted Mel spend a few nights with me after her shocking admission. Mel and I have just arrived at the first session Matt arranged for us to join. My mouth is dry and my hands damp and clammy. I’m in no mood to lay my troubled emotions bare to complete strangers.
Chairs are positioned in a large circle. An attractive redhead, wearing navy jeans and a black T-shirt with the letters: PTSD and some text below it, catches my eye as we approach. She introduces herself to us as Linda the group facilitator and invites us to take a seat. Writing something down on the clipboard she is holding, she then makes her general introduction.
“I’m Linda, and I’d like to start off by welcoming the new members to our group tonight. Our group acronym is PTSD: Patience, Time, Support, Determination.”
With her facing me, I can read the words under the acronym title on her shirt.
Looking around, the folk here are an eclectic mix of cultures and nationalities. To anyone else, this would just be an ordinary group of people gathering together for a committee meeting of sorts, their physical scars mostly hidden from sight. The emotional wounds I pick up on immediately though; it’s in the shadowing of their eyes. This is where their experiences and loss weigh heaviest on their features. Some look as though the events of 22 February have aged them prematurely.
“We are all under pressure, stressed out, but are all unique, and so is our grief and the ways we display it and deal with it. Grief manifests itself in various ways. Some of us are in the grips of anxiety; others feel powerless against the onslaught of bitter anger. Some may have an actual medical diagnosis of Post-Traumatic Stress, or acute anxiety disorder, and may be under treatment for this. But here, just among ourselves, we don’t let those labels define us.
“In time, we can overcome these conditions, once we are strong enough to stop giving negative emotions the power to take over our lives.
“If we allow these powerful emotions to
pull us down, rendering us unable to cope with life, we stop living. Many of us are doing this. Behaviour breeds behaviour, just as fear feeds off more fear. Here we will learn the tools required to break the cycle. We will learn to use our wings to fly once again, reaching for heights beyond that which we thought possible for ourselves prior to 22 February.”
“It’s a mindset, guys,” Linda says, tapping her temple in emphasis.
“We need to change the way we view emotions such as anxiety, anger, despondency. Yes, life has knocked us on our asses, but we won’t allow this to keep us down. We’ll use the pieces around us to pick ourselves up and push on, re-build our emotions and our lives, step by step, one day at the time, always with patience, time, support and determination.”
Introductions continue in a clockwise manner around the circle, while Linda jots down everybody’s names on stickers, passing us name badges when she is finished. When it is our turn, a circle of curious eyes settle on Mel and me. After we introduce ourselves, the stories start flowing. Listening to the harrowing accounts of others, I realise just how insular I have become over the past seven months—so completely wrapped up in my own grief. Although we are all strangers, everybody in the room is somehow bound by the common thread of loss. Some have lost not only loved ones, but also their businesses, their homes, much-loved pets. Compassion and pity wash over me as each personal story is told. A young girl seated to the left of me has scars covering most of her body and a disfigured face from injuries sustained from falling masonry. The scale of loss is astounding and I immediately feel a connection with this grieving community. As the meeting continues, I slowly find my voice.
“Yeah, I have all this anger about why he was taken from me, why I survived and he didn’t. I have nowhere to direct these feelings, so I throw myself into exercise and dancing. And I…uh, drink more than I probably should, too,” I admit, adding to the discussion about lingering feelings of anger and ways of releasing this in non-destructive ways. I omit to tell them about my doctor’s diagnosis of PTSD.
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