My Bed is a Blackhole

by Hadley Wickham

  ‘Well break up with Rhys then,’ I counselled and Mel looked like I’d just slapped her.

  ‘What? I’m not going to break up with Rhys,’ she said.

  ‘Then don’t go out with Brayden.’

  ‘But I’ve already said I would.’

  ‘Mel, what do you want me to say then?’ I asked her, and Mel looked down at her half-empty coffee cup.

  ‘Well, I was thinking of maybe going out with Brayden without telling Rhys and just seeing how things go. I mean what if Brayden and I really click and have a relationship better than the one I have now?’ she asked and I looked at her disbelievingly.

  ‘Are you seriously considering cheating on Rhys?’ I clarified.

  ‘Well not cheating, just keeping my options open. I just want to see how this thing with Brayden goes, and if it doesn’t work out, I’ll stay with Rhys.’

  ‘Mel, you can’t do that.’

  ‘I’m not going to cheat on him!’ she cried a little too loudly, and the girl who brought our coffee looked over at us.

  ‘I just don’t see the harm in seeing Brayden if things aren’t going to work with Rhys,’ Mel explained.

  ‘If you know things aren’t going to work out with Rhys then why are you still seeing him, Mel?’ I asked. I had begun to grow frustrated with her; not just because the conversation itself was moot but because like Doug, Mel was behaving out of character.

  ‘Because if I break up with Rhys I’ll be alone,’ she pathetically reasoned. I stayed silent; I couldn’t understand what she was trying to say, or how she’d created the illusion that somehow, what she was proposing to do wasn’t wrong. ‘Honestly though, what do you think?’ Mel asked, and every atom of my being simultaneously screamed in her direction. I was too tired for this and even though I knew how this would end; with Mel storming out of the cafe, I cared so little I didn’t even try to stop myself.

  ‘Mel, what you’re thinking of doing is so incredibly selfish I’m shocked you’re actually considering it. You made a commitment to Rhys and what you don’t seem to grasp is that being in a relationship means that you have to consider his feelings as much as you do your own. You can’t see Brayden because I know for a fact that if the situation was reversed, and it was Rhys seeing another girl you’d be devastated. Either be with Rhys or don’t be with Rhys, but don’t drag him along just because you’re afraid of being alone. I mean what kind of pathetic excuse is that? He deserves better, as do you.’

  Mel was glaring out the window in silence and after a few moments she turned her face back towards me.

  ‘I can’t believe you just said that,’ Mel hissed and she loudly shoved her chair back as she stood up. The ear-curling noise made the few other café patrons turn and look at us; all they saw was pretty brunette picking up her bag and walking out of the cafe while an unsightly girl with hair the colour of dirty dishwater continue to sit there in silence.

  I was drenched from the rain by the time I got home after meeting Mel. Her stroppy departure had left me without a ride home and I’d forgotten my bus card so had no other option but walk back. On any other day I wouldn’t have minded but from the moment I stepped out from under the eaves of the café, big fat drops of sticky water had fallen in a steady rain which had drenched me from head to foot and left my hair plastered to my scalp. Walking with water seeping through my clothes, and eventually my underwear, left me miserable and I’d been forced to blow my nose on my jacket sleeve. I had thought the walk would make me feel less angry with Mel but all it seemed to do was exacerbate it. I hated the rain and the wind, I hated the people I passed in the street and their stupid expressions that made me want to punch them in the face. Soon I began to hate even walking; I hated every single step and didn’t think of where I was going. All I wanted to do was stop and give up; slump into a sobbing wreck and try to melt into the slick grey footpath. It was walking up the final hill of our street that did it. All of a sudden an immense tidal surge of anger welled up inside me and I couldn’t hold it. My throat closed up, choked with snot and tears cascaded from my eyes onto my cheeks. I bent over with my hands on my knees and felt the raindrops hit the back of my neck like wet ball bearings. I couldn’t stop hating everything. I hated my anger. I hated Mel and Josie, Doug and Abby. I hated my mother and my dad, Peter and Henry. I hated Alison. I hated what I was studying and I hated my god forsaken bed and the Blackhole. I hated the fact that I hated everything and that Miranda hated nothing.

  “Why do you hate everything?” Miranda asked.

  I don’t know.

  “Think; it’s not hard.”

  I hate everything because I hate myself.

  Fuck. The gasping realisation punched a hole right through my gut and it felt like all the breath had been knocked out of me.

  I hated myself.

  I reviled everything about how I looked, how I thought, how I spoke. All I saw in the mirror was a person that I didn’t know, that I didn’t want to know and that I couldn’t care less about. I shouldn’t have been surprised really. I knew the Blackhole was inside me but I’d just never thought it actually was me. How had I lost to it? How had I let myself go? How had I let the Blackhole win when I hated it so much?

  “It’s your fault. You gave up.” Miranda stated.

  Fresh hot tears melted through my eyes and I let out at desperate sob.

  ‘Please.’ I choked. ‘I can’t do this anymore.’

  ***

  Eventually I made it up the hill. The anger burnt itself to ashes and soon I truly was left with nothing but the feeling that I was sopping wet and going to get sick if I didn’t get home soon. I also knew that my mother would be home at five and if I wasn’t back then she’d realise I hadn’t seen Alison for my session. Peter looked relieved when he saw me at the end of the drive though noticing how wet I was immediately asked what had happened.

  ‘Nothing,’ I replied and I walked through the door and straight into the shower. I was freezing and as I peeled my clothes off goose-bumps spread across my body, soon I was standing naked and shivering. The water hurt when it hit my skin but I stayed under the steaming torrent and eventually the pain turned into numbness followed finally by warmth. I stayed in the shower for so long the bathroom soon became thick with steam and when the shower eventually ran out of hot water I turned it off. The mirror was fogged up and I wiped a strip clean so I could see my reflection. I’d not looked in a mirror for weeks and it took me a moment to recognise my familiar features: hair the colour of dishwater and eyes to match. My skin was red and shiny from the hot water and the bags under my eyes were a sight to behold. My fringe had grown out and there was a patch of hair on my left side that had formed into a matted mess which I’d felt in the shower. What surprised me though were my jutting cheekbones; they made my eyes look withdrawn and my cheeks were sunken. I’d lost weight apparently and I recalled my leggings bagging up around the knees when I had put them on earlier. Well at least I was skinny again. I leaned up close to the mirror, enough so I could see the tiny pores on my nose and the hairs of my overgrown eyebrows.

  ‘I hate you,’ I whispered. I immediately drew back; there was nothing more to say. A banging on the bathroom door made me jump and it was my mother’s voice.

  ‘You’ve used all the hot water!’ she shouted and I opened the door.

  ‘You used all the hot water,’ she repeated.

  ‘Sorry,’ I replied and she turned away dismissively. Dad had just arrived home and I saw him putting his bag down at the kitchen table. Noticing my mother’s jaunty walk and asked what the matter was.

  ‘Your daughter’s used all the hot water,’ she cried, and the way she was carrying on ignited my frustration. Jesus, it’s not the end of the world.

  ‘That’s okay,’ Dad soothed, apparently not seeing the catastrophe. ‘We can just turn on the boiler for an hour.’

  ‘Yes, but we shouldn’t have to, Wi
ll…’ my mother stated and I began to drift back to my room, not hearing or caring about the rest she had to say.

  ***

  ‘Mum says you have to come for tea.’ Henry’s voice was muffled as it travelled through my closed door and I rolled my eyes. I knew I’d be forced to the table whether I wanted to or not, yet I let my mother boil by taking my time. Eventually I arrived at the table and found the rest of my family had started eating. I sensed rather than saw my mother’s glare as I sat down, I was staring at the plate of food placed in front of me and suddenly decided I didn’t like chicken Kiev or asparagus.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ my mother spat the question at me.

  ‘Nothing, I’m just not hungry.’

  ‘Well you’re going to eat it.’

  Forcing my heavy eyes up from my plate I looked at her. ‘How? Are you going to make me?’

  Both dad and Henry looked up.

  ‘Excuse me?’ My mother’s question fell sharply from her mouth. I knew she was surprised; I wasn’t usually the insolent one.

  ‘You heard me.’

  My mother’s face contorted, her eyes turned to slits and she pursed her mouth into a hard line. ‘You impertinent…’ she trailed off, her anger apparently stealing her words.

  ‘I’m not being impertinent, I’m just not hungry.’

  ‘You’re going to eat your dinner,’ my mother stated and her voice was tight.

  ‘No. I’m not.’

  My mother shot out of her seat and I jumped. She grabbed my plate and walking into the kitchen with it, threw it in the sink; I heard the plate facture as it landed in the bowl. Dad, Peter and Henry all looked as dumbfounded as I was.

  ‘Fine. You know what? Just do what you want then. You always do,’ my mother was shouting at me from the kitchen. I was frozen in my seat and staring at my mother in shock as she walked back to the table.

  ‘Get out,’ she commanded and the anger that I thought had disappeared, flooded back into my body. Tears that felt like needles pricked my eyes and I considered listening to her. I didn’t want to be at the table so what I did next was completely stupid. I stood up quickly and my chair crashed to the ground behind me. Leaning over the table to where my mother’s plate rested opposite me, I grasped the cream china, intending to throw it at the wall but before I could pick it up my mother grasped my wrist.

  ‘Drop it,’ she growled and I obeyed. The plate fell with a dull thud against the table but my mother’s grip tightened, her nails digging into the underside of my wrist.

  ‘Let me go,’ I croaked but my mother held on.

  ‘What is wrong with you?’ she shouted in my face and I began to pull my wrist away but she held on so tight. I pulled her around the side of the table so it was no longer between us and desperately waved my arm from side to side, trying to loosen her vice-like grip.

  ‘Let me go. Let me go,’ I whimpered as snot began to run down my nose.

  ‘What is wrong with you?’ My mother shouted again desperately and I began to cry harder.

  ‘Let me go!’ I cried.

  ‘Sarah, let her go.’ My dad’s voice was firm and my mother looked at him. He held her gaze and after a moment she opened the vice of her hand. I immediately turned and walked back to my room. We weren’t allowed to run inside.

  ***

  I sat on my bed with my back against the wall and let my ridiculous sobs turn into shuddering breaths and eventually stop entirely. My knees were brought up against my chest and I had my head resting on my folded arms. All I could think about was how much I hated my mother and how much she hated me. A knock on my door made me look up and it was Peter.

  ‘Hey, mum wants you to come back to the table.’

  ‘Well I’m not.’

  ‘She’s got you some more dinner.’

  ‘I’m still not hungry.’

  ‘She’s really upset. You made her cry.’

  ‘You say that as if I care.’

  Peter was silent for a moment, ‘Christ, you really are a fucking bitch.’

  ‘You sound surprised,’ I stated as a matter of fact. Peter shut the door and I was thrown back into the darkness of my room. Nobody came again.

  ***

  I sat for hours with my back against the wall. I heard Henry brushing his teeth in the bathroom before bed and my parents muffled talk in the kitchen. The gentle thrum and garbled draining of water as the dishwasher turned on signalled they had gone to bed and soon after that I heard Peter’s heavy footsteps pass my door as he walked to his room and presumably to sleep. I tried to think about nothing which meant that I thought about everything. I thought about my mother and dad, Peter and Henry, Doug and Abby, Mel, Josie and Laura until my head was so full of crushing disappointment and loathing I couldn’t take it any longer. My head was about to explode. I had to leave; I had to get out of my room and this house, just out of my head and find a space to breathe. I made my way as quietly as I could through the hallway. I knew where all the creaking floorboards were and avoided them masterfully. The fly-screen door would be the problem, its characteristic hiss couldn’t be muted and I’d just have to risk it, maybe if I opened it slowly… I made it past the fly-screen and down the porch steps. The rainy day had transformed into a still but muggy night. The clammy fingers of the wind brushed my cheeks as I walked through the darkness. I was speeding up; trying to run away and I broke into an uneasy jog. Despite how unfit I was I kept going. I ran and ran until I felt sick and my lungs burned in the icy winter air. My nose and fingers began to feel numb but I could feel sweat wetting the armpits of my shirt and I kept on running. I ran along the footpath which looked golden in the streetlights and watched my shadow as it dipped in and out of view. There were very few cars on the road and although I couldn’t be sure of the time I guessed it was very early morning. Underneath a pitch black sky the world was illuminated by nothing more than the hazy streetlights whose light clung to the surface like a dense fog. I eventually came to the Swan River and ran along its banks until the traffic bridge rose up in front of me. I had to stop my running for a moment as I clambered up the solid wooden stairs but when I reached the top I pushed myself to run again, even though my breathing was wheezy and my feet dragged themselves unwillingly forward. Soon it was only my mind that was still running; my body had stopped and I was peering over the edge of the bridge at the river below. The black water looked like molten glass as it slipped sluggishly under the bridge and the lights from the port were reflected as golden spires. I held onto the wooden railing and pushed myself up onto my forearms so I left hanging like a rag-doll, half over the edge and half on it. The night was completely silent, only the gentle wash of an occasional wave reminded me that the blackness I was staring into was water. It was an immense slippery mirror and even though the railing was pressed against my stomach I couldn’t stop taking deep full breaths which filled my lungs to bursting. Falling into the water would be easy. I’d had practice with the Blackhole, yet in falling this time I’d find something I couldn’t in the Blackhole’s immense depths. The vast expanse of the river breathed freedom and reprieve from everything outside it. I tried to see my reflection but I was too high up, all I could see was the emptiness of another Blackhole. Would I fall into this one too?

  15

  It was a shocking jolt that woke me up. I had been dreaming I was falling and was waiting for the drop when my phone rang; I didn’t know if I ever made it to the bottom.

  ‘Hello?’ My voice was soft and muddled from sleep.

  ‘Hi, it’s Alison. Sorry, did I wake you?’

  Crap.

  ‘Oh hi, um yeah, it’s okay. How are you?’ I asked. I could already feel my stomach dropping.

  ‘I’m very well, thank you. I was actually ringing to see how you are. You missed our session again yesterday.’ I sensed a slight tone of frustration, or maybe it was concern in Alison’s voice.

&
nbsp; ‘Um yes, sorry about that but I got caught up meeting a friend for lunch.’

  ‘Oh I see. Well that’s not a problem because I have a session free this afternoon and thought you could come in.’

  ‘This afternoon… what time?’

  ‘Three. Will you be here?’ Alison’s terse tone made her question almost a demand and the feeling in my stomach sank even lower as I realised my defeat. As much as I wanted to avoid Alison, I couldn’t forever, not as long as my parents kept on paying her and after my performance last night I doubted that would be anytime soon.

  ‘Um yeah, I can make it for three.’

  ‘Good. I’ll see you then.’

  ‘Okay, bye.’

  ‘Bye.’ Alison hung up. And I thought waking up to the Blackhole was bad.

  My session with Alison loomed over me all day; it was stifling. I felt trapped by the impending appointment to the point where every vessel in my body raced with hot nervous apprehension and I felt physically sick. When 2:30 slowly rolled over I was almost glad, save only for the fact it allowed me to put into action what I had spent the morning meticulously planning out. My anxiety had made me overestimate my time yet again and I arrived at the office with ten minutes to spare. Deb beamed as I walked through the door. Today she was wearing a pair of emerald green spectacles that delicately rested on the end of her nose.

  ‘Oh hello, you’re back,’ she announced and I gave her a tiny smile in acknowledgement. ‘Where’ve you been?’

  In a Blackhole.

  ‘Here, just very busy,’ I replied lamely but Deb looked at me with a sincerity that made me want to burst into laughter.