She’s giving me her best puppy-dog eyes.
“Fine,” I grumble, “but we’re here for you… I’m not joining in playing dress up.”
Sometimes I really dislike my best friend.
She’s tricked me into getting into a changing room by showing me a top that I actually love. I’ve tried it on and I’m going to buy it, but before I had the chance to escape the confines of the small room, she started bringing me bikinis.
There are three of them hanging on the hook in here, staring at me, and I haven’t moved one muscle in an attempt to try them on.
“Show me when you’ve got one on,” Lucy demands from outside the door.
“Not likely,” I mutter under my breath.
“What?”
I take a deep breath and try to find the small amount of courage I do possess.
“I’m not putting these on; you’re wasting your time.”
“Just try one on, Violet, for crying out loud; what’s the worst that can happen?”
I can feel the tears starting to form in the corners of my eyes.
I know she means well, but sometimes I wish she would just disappear.
I don’t mean that really. She’s my best friend and I love her to death, but sometimes it seems like she doesn’t understand what it’s like for me at all.
“Do you trust me, Letty?” Lucy asks quietly from outside the door when I don’t reply.
I think about her question for a moment.
Outside of the members of my family, Lucy is the only person that really knows me. She’s one of the only people that I’ve ever let in to my life one hundred percent.
I do trust her. As much as I hate her right now, I do trust her.
“Yes...” I reply, my voice cracking.
“Try the blue one, okay?” Her voice is still insistent, but it’s more gentle now.
I know she’s not going to give up, and she’s right, the worst that will happen is that she’ll barge her way in here, see the scars she’s already seen one hundred times over, and then I’ll go home without the bikini I never actually wanted in the first place.
Maybe a little piece of my self-esteem will be chipped away, but to be honest, at this point, there’s not a lot left to lose.
“Fine,” I sigh in defeat.
We both know she’s going to win in the end – she always does.
I strip off my clothes and reach for the bikini.
I pull on the bottoms – I have no issues with wearing bikini bottoms, but it seems wrong to wear the bottoms without the top, so I don’t.
I look at the top for a minute before hope springs to life inside me.
I’ve never seen a bikini like this before. The neckline is high, the back is string but the front is a large piece of fabric, rather than the two stupid, tiny triangles that swimwear always seem to consist of.
At a glance, I’m actually confident that it will cover most of, if not all of the large scar down my chest.
I hurriedly pull it over my head, I don’t even bother to undo the ties, there’s no time for that, this is the first moment I’ve ever been excited to try on anything that comes from a swimwear range.
I wiggle it into place and stare at myself in wonder in the floor-length mirror.
I actually look pretty good.
I’ve still not got even a hint of the boobs that Lucy has, but the blue of the fabric makes my eyes look so much bluer than normal, so that’s a win.
“Have you got it on yet?” Lucy calls as she taps on the door.
I can’t find the words to reply to her so I push the door open a fraction so she can come in and see for herself.
I can’t believe it.
The worst of my scars are hidden.
I can only see a tiny little bit peeking out the bottom of my top, but only because I’m looking for it – I doubt anybody else would even notice.
“Holy moly, girl, where have you been hiding that booty?”
I feel myself blush but for once I don’t care about the red staining my cheeks.
“Mainly in my pants.” I grin at her.
She stands next to me and we both stare at my body in the mirror.
“You look really good, Vi.”
“I look normal,” I whisper.
I know most people don’t want to be ‘normal’, but I wouldn’t mind it. Normal isn’t broken, and broken is all I’ve ever known.
“Pffft, screw normal… you look hot.”
“I can’t believe it’s covered everything.” I turn in the mirror to look side on.
“You’re a genius, Lucy, I’m so sorry I ever doubted you.” She raises her brows as she waits for me to repeat it back to her.
I laugh and hug her shoulder. “Thank you, Luce, you really are a genius.”
She looks so pleased with herself and she should be, buying a bikini might not be a big deal to her, but it certainly is to me.
Today was a first for me and it gives me hope that it’ll be the first of many.
Violet
2011 (Eighteen years old)
“You’re going to that party whether you like it or not.”
I stomp my foot and scowl my best scowl at my dad.
There’s something very mixed up about this picture.
Most of the girls from school are begging their parents to let them go to this party, and more than half of them are getting told a resounding no. Yet here I am, arguing with my dad because he’s insisting I go, when I’d really rather stay home.
Parties aren’t my thing.
I’d much rather be in my studio, minding my own business and painting, but no… my father has got on one of his missions.
“If she doesn’t want to go, sh—”
“She’s going, Lee.” He cuts Mum off with a glare.
Mum would love it if I stayed home. I know deep down she would like for me to go places and have fun, but I also know that she won’t sleep a wink until I walk back through the front door, and that only makes me feel guilty for going at all.
Auggie goes out all the time, and even though Mum worries a bit, I’ve never seen her sit in the chair by the window for four hours straight while she waits for her to get home.
It’s ironic really, August is far more likely to get herself into trouble than I am, but that’s just one of the many downsides of having a bad heart – people worry.
“Dad, I’m really not bothered. To be honest I’m actually feeling a little bit off…”
“Don’t you dare bullshit me, young lady.” He raises his brows at me, daring me to argue with him.
We both know I feel fine, and it’s pretty clear I’m not fooling him in the slightest.
“Lucy will be over in fifteen minutes, Violet Aubrey Miller, so I suggest you march your butt up those stairs, put something on and get ready to go.”
I huff out a breath and stomp up the stairs. There’s no arguing with him when he’s made his mind up – I know that better than anyone and unlike August, I have no intention of wasting an hour of my life trying to change his decision.
I grumble all the way up to my room, I just don’t see the big deal about turning eighteen if you can’t even have a drink to celebrate the occasion.
I’ll probably never have an alcoholic drink in my life.
The cocktail of medication I take each morning makes drinking, like everyone else at school does, an absolute no-go for me.
Thankfully Lucy isn’t a big drinker, so I’m not totally alone when I do get forced to go to these kind of things, but honestly, sometimes I’d rather she just go have fun without me.
I’ve got a pretty good idea that the only reason she never has more than a couple of drinks is because I’m there with her. And while I love her for being so considerate, I don’t want my messed up condition to impact on every aspect of her life as well.
I know she’s not even legally allowed to drink yet, she’s got a couple more months until she turns eighteen, but that’s never stopped anyone I know from doing it anywa
y. And besides, she has to experience everything for the both of us, so I think it’s fair that she gets a head start.
I frown as I search for something that might be somewhat acceptable to wear to a house party.
I don’t own ‘party’ clothes. There’s a few things here I never wear, stuffed somewhere down the back of my closet. Things that Lucy convinced me to buy and I’ve never worn, and considering she’s apparently going to be here very soon, I figure that I should just go straight to those options and save us both the time and argument.
If I come out wearing jeans and a t-shirt, I’m not only going to get told off by my best friend, but probably my dad too if his speech in the living room just now was anything to go on.
There’s a light knock at my door and it startles me.
No one knocks around here, not even Lucy – she’s pretty much part of the furniture at this point in our friendship.
“Come in?” I ask cautiously.
I’m not sure what I was expecting to come through the door, but it certainly wasn’t my dad holding a bright yellow box, wrapped up with a pretty ribbon.
“Here.” He holds it out to me. “This is for you.”
I eye him suspiciously. “But my birthday was two days ago.”
“I was saving it.” He pushes it even further towards me.
I take the box from his hands and turn to sit down on my bed with it.
I slowly undo the ribbon as he lingers awkwardly near the door.
I glance up at him and raise a brow. “You can come in you know, I’m not exactly healthy, but I haven’t got anything you can catch.”
“Oh, ha ha,” he retorts sarcastically, but my statement has the desired effect. He comes into the room and perches himself, albeit awkwardly, on the corner of my bed.
Poor old Dad, he really doesn’t know what to make of teenage girls.
I’ve got August to blame for that I think. She was quite the hell raiser for a while there, and I think Dad is just waiting for me to snap and join her in the teenage drama queen club. I hope he’s not holding his breath, because me and my sister couldn’t be more different if we tried.
“C’mon, buttercup, open the box already. I’ve got things to do and you’ve got a party to get to.”
I roll my eyes at him in an overly large gesture and lift the lid off the box.
“It’s a top – for you to wear tonight… I mean, if you want to,” he rambles as I lift the black top out of the box.
It’s a gorgeous fabric, sleeveless and high neck with a scoop hem at the back.
It’s exactly what I need for this stupid party.
“Your sister showed me some pictures, but I wasn’t sure I got the right kind…” He’s rubbing at the back of his neck as though he’s suddenly unsure of himself.
“You picked this for me?” I gape at him.
He shrugs and stands up, clearly embarrassed. “What, you think shopping is hard or something?”
I can’t believe he did this for me. I’ve never known my dad to set foot inside a shopping centre, let alone a store selling nothing but clothes for girls, but he did – for me.
“It’s perfect, thank you.”
“So, you’ll go then?” he asks, pausing by the door – he seems eager to make his escape.
“I didn’t know I had a choice.”
He sighs. “You always have a choice, Vi. I know I pushed you into it, but I just… I don’t want you to miss out on anything… I want to make sure you experience it all.”
He wants me to experience it all because we don’t know how long I have.
He doesn’t say the words, but I hear them.
They’re there, hidden in virtually every conversation I have.
It used to make me sad, but it doesn’t so much anymore. I’m just happy to be here, as alive and well as I’ll probably ever be.
I jump up off my bed and wrap my arms tightly around his waist.
I used to hug my parents so often, and somewhere along the line I’ve stopped.
The realisation saddens me. I know I’m technically an adult now, but I’m still not too old for a hug.
“Thank you, Dad.” My words are muffled against his jersey, but I’m sure he’ll still hear them.
He leans down and kisses the top of my head and I decide that I’ll try my hardest to have fun at this party, if not for my sake, then for my dad’s.
I flop down on my bed and look up at my ceiling before letting out an excited squeal.
I don’t care if I wake Auggie in the next room, in fact I hope I do – I can’t wait to tell her about the night I’ve just had.
The party I never even wanted to go to has somehow turned out to be the best night of my life so far.
Leanne
2012 (Nineteen years old)
I carry a lot of guilt with me every single day and I worry about anything and everything that a person could possibly worry about when it comes to their child.
I worry that it’s my fault that she’s in pain… I worry that every little thing is related to her heart condition.
I worry that I’ve done this to her – that my selfish choice has given her a lifetime full of hardships.
It was my choice to give her this life, and it’s by no means going to be an easy one.
In the nineteen years since Violet was born, I feel like I’ve aged about ninety years myself.
I don’t sleep deeply or peacefully like I used to, and I fret about all sorts of trivial, insignificant things.
I know this isn’t my condition to live with, and that medically speaking, I’m completely healthy, but it’s the things no one can see – the things that go on inside my brain that make me think I’m no better off.
I break out into a sweat at the smell of hand sanitiser – it transports me back in time to the paediatric intensive care unit where we spent far too much time, and the beeping of a reversing truck has me running to check a heart rate monitor that isn’t there.
I stress about Violet the most out of my three children, as I’m sure any parent would, but I also spend countless hours worrying that August and Charlie aren’t getting the attention and time that they need, because I’m always concerned first and foremost with their sister.
I’d be devastated to think that they held Violet responsible for not having an attentive enough mother, or for having permanently distracted parents.
I know Charlie doesn’t begrudge his sister a thing. In fact, he’s probably thrilled with the leniency he gets because my mind is always preoccupied with things other than his curfew or his cell phone bill.
August, on the other hand, isn’t so easily pleased.
We’ve had some tough times with her over the years, and I know that a lot of that is down to the fact that her sister has been so unwell.
We’ve missed dance concerts and parent teacher interviews, school events and birthday parties because of hospital visits and emergency situations.
August might come across as a spoilt diva, but I know deep down that this is her way of coping.
She loves Violet something fierce, and even through all the tantrums she’s thrown about having to sit through specialist appointments and blood tests, she’s always the one who gets the most upset when Violet has to be admitted into the hospital. She’s always the first one to notice if Violet’s colour is off, or if her breathing sounds laboured.
Having a sibling with a heart condition has taken its toll on her – it’s taken its toll on all of us if I’m being honest.
It’s not just the kids I fret about, it’s Shaun too.
I worry that I don’t give my husband sufficient attention, or that he doesn’t get enough of my time, but the reality for a lot of years has been that there just hasn’t been enough time.
That’s one of my biggest worries in life.
Time.
I’m terrified that we won’t get enough time.
Time with Violet, time together, time to really just enjoy this life we’ve been given.
We’re always waiting for more time to pass.
Always looking to the next stage, the next surgery, the next milestone…
It’s really hard to live in the moment when you have no idea how long that moment is going to last, or how many more moments like it will follow.
I do my best, but even I can’t do it all.
When Violet was younger, I wasn’t so bad, or perhaps I was just too busy to think too hard about things outside of our bubble.
But now her life is just a ‘wait and see’ game – we’re not actively doing anything new to better her condition and that’s when my mind gets the better of me.
I worry that my beautiful little girl won’t get the same things in life that her siblings will.
She really is beautiful. I know she thinks I’m just saying that because I’m her mum, but I’m not. She’s got long dark hair that thickened up after her last childhood procedure and has stayed that way ever since. Her skin has evened and smoothed out into a stunning creamy tone. She’s got deep dimples in her cheeks when she smiles, and her eyes, my goodness, those eyes, they really are something special.
All of my children have stunning, big blue eyes, but there’s just something about Violet’s that take my breath away. They shine like an aquamarine crystal and hold so much more depth than any nineteen-year-old’s should.
She’s wise beyond her years that girl, and considering we were never sure if her condition would ever allow her to reach even the ‘normal’ scale, it’s incredibly impressive that she’s turned out so well.
She’s smart, kind, compassionate and funny.
If it weren’t for her heart – I’d have very little to worry about where Violet was concerned… far less than August or Charlie. But in the same breath, I know that if it weren’t for her heart she wouldn’t be the same person she is today.
Her heart is as much a part of her as every other organ or limb, and if it weren’t for the struggles that she’s had, she might not feel empathy the way she does – or look for the good in those around her.
It might not be the life she deserves, but it’s helped shape her into the amazing young woman she is today.
My Heart Needs (The Heart Duet Book 1) Page 5