“I have a few days left to decide, but I think I’m going to leave.”
She scrutinises me carefully. “You sound unsure.”
“It’s a long story.”
“Well, what does your heart tell you to do?”
I let out a short, humoured laugh at her question. “I never knew you could be so cheesy,” I smirk.
“Maybe it’s cheesy, but…just answer me.”
The amused smile fades from my lips. “It tells me that I don’t belong here,” I say softly. “But at the same time, I know that if I left something would be missing.”
“Ash?”
“What?”
“You don’t want to leave him, do you?” It is more of a statement than a question.
“W-why do you think that?” I stutter, trying to clear my head. ‘Something, or someone?’ Dawn’s voice reverberates in my ears again.
“Because I know people, and I can tell that you care about him.”
Her words are electricity to me, rooting me to the ground. My heart – that traitor – seems to skip a beat, as though it is agreeing with her. I try to find my voice. I want to scream at her, tell her that she’s wrong and that I would never let myself fall into such a pitiful state where I would have to rely on someone else; where I might even want to rely on someone else. When you rely on people, they only let you down in the end. Shouldn’t I have learnt that lesson well enough by now? ‘You know she’s right,’ that annoying voice of common sense breaks through my thoughts, startling me. Is she right? I don’t want her to be right. I don’t want to love him. But that horrible sense of dread pooling in my stomach begs to differ.
“I don’t,” I deny, taking a step back.
“It was obvious, really,” she continues, not seeming to notice my distress. “From when I first met you, the way you talked about him, I know you love him.” The dread filters through the rest of my body, making my heart leap in warning. “You put yourself at risk for him. You think of him before yourself. I’d say that’s love.”
I remember back to the fight with Ben. I had joined in because I wanted to protect Ash, because I couldn’t stand the thought of him getting hurt over me. Is that what love feels like? When you feel happy just to be around someone? When you know that something would always be missing without them? Somehow I know she’s right. Maybe I had always known and I had just been too scared to admit it to myself.
My shoulders slump in defeat, and I let out a soft sigh that escapes into the night. “Dammit,” I whisper, causing Tia to frown because she doesn’t understand. I’ve broken my own rules. Because of my lapse in judgement, things have suddenly become a lot more complicated. In that horrible, horrible moment I have two epiphanies. Number one: I have to go back to my sisters because that’s where I belong. Number two: It’s going to hurt leaving him. A lot.
“If you love him, then stay here,” Tia coaxes.
“I can’t , and this never should have happened,” I murmur, more to myself than to her. And then that small screen of self control that I had valiantly been holding up finally falls, cracking and breaking and shattering. I start to run.
I’m not sure where I’m running to, all I know is that if I just keep running maybe I can outrun this complicated mess I’ve created. Forget that. I go back home and leave Ash. This mess isn’t complicated, only painful. My footsteps echo loudly in my head and the grass slips by underneath me. I’ve failed. I even saw it coming and I still did nothing to stop it. If I had been more careful, if I had learned some self-control, then it would not be this hard. I would go back home, back to where I belong, and I would have my sisters back. Ash and I would still be friends, maybe phone each other occasionally, maybe email sometimes. I would not miss him, I would not think about him every day and I would not need him with me.
Twilight. The darkness spreads and the trees whisper in the silence. I run faster.
Chapter 18: Crash and Burn with you
Glitter. Sparkle. Shine. Fall. Crash. Burn. Stars are pretty to look at for a little while, they shine, but in the end they always burn out. When did I start falling?
I do not remember how long I run for. Maybe it is minutes or maybe it is hours. I have long since left Tia behind and the birds stopped chirping around the same time, I think. All that matters is that I feel free, running through the darkness towards nowhere. I enjoy the burning of my throat, the cool wind rippling past me like the touch of a luxurious silk. The fresh odour of soil and plants is an air freshener to me as I dart forwards, feeling the ground slide by and wishing that the earth really was a rectangle, so that I could just run off the edge at any moment.
I keep running even when the darkness catches up, even when I know that I should stop. I have a talent for that; disregarding my own common sense. I run until my lungs blaze and my legs turn numb, trying not to think. ‘Concentrate, don’t look back’ I mentally chant over and over again; a twisted, comforting mantra. ‘Right, left, breathe, breathe.’ I try to remember when I had switched off auto-pilot. However by the time my legs eventually just give up, I have somehow found my way back to the oak tree and have collapsed under it, leaning back against the rough surface of the trunk. I sit there for a long time, breathing hard, my mind blank. And then I wait, wait for nothing to come as I stare up into the black canvas of the night.
The stars sparkle, a small crescent moon suspended in the night as if it is hanging from puppet strings. I feel like snarling up at those stupid, twinkling balls of gas because I have never resented them more than I do in that moment. The stars are beautiful, the stars are never alone. But in the end they burn out and die just like us, destroying any planets that circle them. I think the stars are lucky. They will never have to crash and burn alone, there will always be something there to go out with them; maybe a planet, or maybe just a stray meteor. The stars will always be the centre of some sort of galaxy. They are important, they have a purpose. If only I could trade my existence with a star, maybe I would be worth something.
A cold wind blows and I bring my knees up, wrapping my arms around them. And suddenly, for a millisecond, I imagine that it is not my own hands that are wrapped around myself to retain warmth. Just for a fifth of a moment, I imagine that two, large warm hands hold onto me instead and the warmth spreads inside me, but only for a moment. That is all I allow myself. I know that what I’m doing is wrong. I shouldn’t want him here with me, I shouldn’t love him. Is it love? Whatever it is, if I had stopped it sooner, leaving would not be so hard.
I try my best not to think. When I cannot achieve that, I try to think about the cold wind or how pretty the grass looks at night. But my mind is conspiring against me, and eventually my thoughts wander to that dark period before I had run away, when nothing was worth it. I relied on the numbness to get me through each day, so naïve and oblivious to the world around me. I had not been living, I had only been existing. And then I remember where it all started, when everything went wrong. Because all stories, even the most tragic, must have their beginnings somewhere, right? I tried for a long time to block out the memory, unsure whether I just wanted to forget it completely or not. In the end I stored it away, my own personal pet demon. It was like burying a skeleton in a field of flowers. Bones don’t decay.
I still remember every little intricate detail. The car was old and rusted and my parents had bought it cheap from a dodgy car dealer. Inside it smelt musty; a strange mix of detergent, air freshener and dust. The seats were leather, cool and unwelcoming. Only one of the headlights worked, and the brakes were unreliable. I should have known then that the car was against us.
It was raining that day also; how appropriate. The little droplets of water hurtled through the sky, dripping like tears on cars, trees, the ground and anywhere they could as people hurried for cover underneath their multi-coloured umbrellas. I was nine at the time. I had the backseat of the car all to myself and stared outside in awe, watching the raindrops race each other across the window. I should have known then that the
weather was also against us.
And finally, there was the deciding factor. As the sheet of ice cold water poured down, my parents drove carefully. It was my father, with his honey brown hair, long-distance glasses on and a bright orange fleece, who was at the wheel. My mother, wrapped up in an over-large winter coat, had been staring worriedly out into the downpour, because only one of the headlights on that barely-functional car worked. And when we came careening around a corner, we saw the little girl retrieving her stray umbrella from the middle of the road too late.
My father somehow jerked on the steering wheel at the last minute and the whole car lurched sideways. I can remember exactly what that little girl had been wearing; a ridiculously large, pink coat, with bright purple wellington boots and a white bow in her hair. Her umbrella was pink as well. I saw it clearly, glowing silver in the sudden streak of lightning that had struck. I did not have time to be scared. I heard the skid of wheels, the screams, then the resounding crash that rang in my head as I was sent flying forwards into the back of the front seat.
And then all I could hear was the rain. Pitter Patter Pitter Patter. I was only too happy when the darkness claimed me.
Later, a long time afterwards, I was told that the car was faulty. The brakes had been old and neither of the airbags worked. The car had jerked sideways, skidding on the slippery roads and crashing straight into a parked van on the other side of the street. I was lucky, they told me. I had been in the back and even though I was knocked unconscious, I was not killed by the impact. Faith told me that, the day I woke up in the hospital feeling oddly empty, before crumbling and breaking while I simply watched with disbelieving eyes. The doctors said I was lucky. I never truly believed them.
They say that there’s three stages to dealing with grief. Stage one: numbness. Stage two: mourning. And stage three: acceptance. I think I’m still stuck somewhere between stage one and two. You see, there is a part of me that doesn’t want to just move on and pretend none of it ever happened. It would be like forgetting them. I was the only one to have the privilege of being there in their last few moments, so how can I just forget?
I don’t know how long I simply sit there for, silent tears leaking from under my closed eyelids, until I hear the quiet rustling of grass. I cringe away, head still buried in my knees, when I sense the person approaching. I refuse to look up to see who it is. I’m too exhausted to care. I hear them sit down beside me.
“Go away,” I mutter into my knees, voice rough and muffled. My breath hitches when I feel their arm snake around my shoulders instead, sending shivers through my body. I don’t have to look up to know who it is.
“Hope? What’s wrong?”
I raise my head slightly and I wonder briefly what he must think of me. Red eyes, tear-stained cheeks, chapped lips and chaotic hair. “How did you find me here?” I ask.
“I went out looking for you when you didn’t come back. I met Tia on the way, she pointed me in the right direction.”
“Okay, then why did you come looking for me?”
“I was worried. Isn’t that enough of a reason?”
“I guess. But since you’re here, tell me something.”
“Ask whatever you want.”
“Would you miss me, if I left?”
“Yes, I would,” he admits. “But I guess I can’t change your mind. So at least tell me why you ran away in the first place, you owe me that.”
“Why now?”
“Why not now? You’ve kept it from me all summer. You trust me, don’t you?
I sigh quietly. “Yeah, I do.”
“So will you tell me?”
“Fine,” I whisper. I’m nervous, but not like before. This time I want him to know, so that there’s no barriers anymore. “I ran away because they didn’t want me there.”
“Why?” There’s repressed anger in that one word.
“Isn’t it obvious?” I laugh hollowly. “I was just a burden. They had to take care of me, cook, make money, do everything and I was utterly useless.”
“And your parents?”
“They died when I was nine,” I choke out, and the tears well up again. It’s silly how after so many years it still affects me so much. I try to control my ragged breathing. Boiling, searing pain tears at me, threatening to break me apart with its force. “It was a car crash and I survived.” I make a noise halfway between a sob and a laugh. “It isn’t fair; I shouldn’t have survived. They deserved it more than I did.”
The world swims. It feels like I’m going to crumble until all that’s left of me is dust. Flashes of green, brown and black sway in and out of my vision, disorientating me. The sky, maybe? Coffee hair and grass the shade of midnight green. They blend well.
“Don’t say that,” He mutters beside me, and there’s a note of desperation in his voice.
“Why? It’s true. It would have been best for everyone if they survived instead of me.” I vaguely realise that I’m crying into the soft folds of his coat and he’s holding onto me, offering wordless comfort. There’s nothing between us anymore, only mutual understanding. We stay like that for a little while and I can hear my own half-sobs mingling with the sound of the wind to create an odd, broken symphony that lingers sadly in the dark night. Maybe it’s better this way, not being alone. I feel an odd calmness settle inside me. It is better this way, I decide.
“Not for me,” he whispers after I’ve been reduced to sniffs and a tear-streaked face. I wipe at my eyes so that I can see his expression properly. There’s pity there, but underneath that there’s admiration. “I’m glad that you survived, that I met you. I guess I always thought something like that had happened, but I didn’t want to push you to tell me.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier,” I mumble, averting my eyes. “I did trust you, it’s just that…”
“I don’t think any less of you now that I know,” he assures me, as if he can read my thoughts and doubts. He takes my chin, forcing me to look at him. “It’s okay to break, you know. It only means you’re human.”
“I don’t like being human,” I attempt a weak smile. “It takes so much effort.”
“Would you prefer to be a vampire?”
“Nah, sleeping in a coffin can’t be good for your spine.”
He chuckles, a cheerful and hopeful sound. Then a comfortable silence falls between us. “Did it hurt?” he asks after a while, serious again.
“Of course,” I say. “But not in the beginning. I didn’t even believe they were gone for a long time. I just felt numb.” It’s an exhausting process, unlocking door after door so that he can see inside. “Even though I know I couldn’t have done anything, sometimes I still feel like it’s partly my fault. I think my sisters resented me, because I was the only one to have the privilege of seeing them alive for the last time.”
He sighs sadly. “I wish I could have been there for you when it happened. I wish I could do something now to make it easier.”
“You already have,” I say. “You’ve put up with me all summer, even when I insulted you. You didn’t give up on being my friend even though I never even said thank you.”
“It was worth it,” he smiles warmly. “You’re worth it.”
I blush slightly and, because I can’t think of a less cheesy way to phrase it, my heart flutters. “You really believe that?” I ask, trying not to let too much hope leak into my voice.
“Yeah, I do. You’re brave,” he tells me. “I admire you; you’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met.”
“Funny, I think the exact same thing about you.”
“Can I get that in writing?”
“Nope, and I’m not saying it again either.”
He laughs quietly. “Isn’t this the oak tree I first found you under?” he asks.
“Yeah, it is.”
His chocolate eyes are bright, glowing with pleasure. “I don’t know about you, but this has been the best summer of my life.”
“It has been for me as well,” I whisper, a
nd my voice cracks. “I never want it to end.”
“You’re still going to leave?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll miss you.” It’s those three words that I wanted to hear, but at the same time the wistfulness of his tone dulls any satisfaction I would have felt.
“No, you won’t,” I say, maybe just to try and convince myself. “You might for a little while, but then you’ll forget about me, it’s better if you do.”
“I won’t forget. I don’t want to.” He smiles slightly and there’s an odd expression on his face that I can’t pinpoint. “You know, you asked me once why I’m always so happy.”
I blink, confused. “So why is that?”
“I’m happy because I have everything I want.”
“And what’s that?”
“You.”
Cold Water Page 19