by Amy Daws
“But because I’m a Clarke and this is our benefit, I’m doing this speech my way. And if any of you are afraid of a trigger or whatever sod all word they give for things that are uncomfortable…this is your chance to exit.”
Chairs shift in the audience as the ballroom full of British tight-arses begin to squirm in their seats. I can just hear the old birds saying silently, “Oh heavens, I want to go, but that might appear rude!”
“If Madge is staying, I’m bloody well staying too!”
“Blimey, Victoria knew I was wearing blue…How could she wear it too?”
When I see no one attempting to leave, I continue, “It was this exact night a year ago…this same charity…this same ballroom that I walked out of, stumbled into a cab pissed out of my mind, and headed through the streets of London. The entire ride, I looked at the driver and thought to myself, ‘he’s got no idea he’s driving a dead man.’
“I arrived at my brother’s furniture shop, grabbed a small, circular saw blade he used for trim work, and drug it across each one of my wrists.” A faint cough echoes in the distance, and I sigh heavily at the ridiculousness that normal things like coughing still happen while I’m up here revealing the incredible fucking darkness in my soul. “You see, I was coming to the end of a dark and depressing tunnel that I had been living in for several years.” I pause momentarily to collect myself for my big moment of truth. The most painful truth that I still struggle with to this day.
“Four years ago, I was a part of a horrific accident that took my sister’s life.” My voice cracks and I frown at the annoying emotions that overcome me. I let my chin hit my chest and suck the insides of my cheeks in between my teeth and bite down. The spongy bounce on my inner cheeks smarts and distracts me enough to continue.
“I still have difficulty labeling what happened to my sister as an accident. When you’re the one behind the wheel…it’s still a tough pill to swallow that it truly was as simple as an accident. Why did it have to be her? Why did I have to be driving by just as she came around the house? So many ripple effects to all the choices we both made that resulted in that one moment. That’s an incredibly hard result to live with.
“Which is likely why I spiraled out of control for so many years. Booze and pills became my best mates, even landing me in the hospital for several weeks at one point. So when shite really hit the fan in my personal life, slitting my wrists seemed like the answer.”
I pause as I recall that one dark night with Reyna. In her flat when I could feel her slipping away from me. I could feel her leaving me, and I knew I wasn’t good enough to make her stay. I knew her heart wasn’t mine to care for because I was nothing. I wasn’t important enough for her to love fully. That was my breaking point. I had hated myself for so long because of what I did to my sister that when I finally accepted the fact that I couldn’t be loved by even someone as dark and twisted as Rey, it truly was the end.
“The pain was minimal at first. Just a wincing sort of ache…Then it spread like wildfire to a burning, sweltering rage. I remember this strange twinge in my shoulders as the blood flooded out of my body and hit the concrete floor beneath me. When I looked down at the sea of red around my shiny dress shoes, I forgot about the pain. I forgot about the cause. I forgot about everything leading up to this one incredibly profound moment. This one moment that I chose was permanent. In that one moment…I had finally erased my life forever.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see my mum clap her hand over her mouth. Her eyes strain against the tears flowing out of them. She’s heard this story before, but I imagine hearing it like this—without any interruption from my therapist—is probably a great deal different.
“But dying that night was all right by me…That was the point, right? The gruesome blade had provided its service. It had yielded my death in a dramatic and manly fashion. I wasn’t sure how long it took to die. This was my first proper go at it. My watch still said 11:11 when my blinking started to feel sticky. It felt as though I was one second closer to not opening them ever again. One second closer to my requested death.”
I clear my throat and push back every shred of emotion attempting to erupt inside of me. Christ, not now Hayden! Get your shit together. I grip my leather cuffed wrists and touch the face of my watch and continue. “Just as I thought I was about to die, she arrived.” My eyes drift down the stage and land on Leslie. Her auburn hair lies softly around her shoulders, framing her face and accentuating her perfectly sincere smile. Leslie doesn’t smile like the British. She smiles like the beautiful, vulnerable, and quirky American that she is.
She gives me the tiniest nod and it’s like I’m transported back to that night all over again. “She wasn’t the woman occupying my thoughts in that moment,” I continue, staring straight into Leslie’s watery green gaze. “She was simply…reality.”
I break eye contact and look down at my hand that’s gripping the edge of the podium like I could break it. “You see, I knew I had loads of people who cared about me. But I couldn’t believe any of them. Not one. I was too entrenched in this emotional world of misery and horror. I felt alone and pointless and utterly wasted here on this earth. I felt like I didn’t belong anywhere. I wanted nothingness. I wanted fucking oblivion.”
I snap out of my private reverie when I realise my very blatant curse. My mother shoots me a proper scowl and I purse my lips together to reel myself back in. “Having someone walk in on you just as you’ve thrashed your wrists to ribbons is ten times worse than having someone walk in on you in the loo. It’s horrifying and you curse yourself for not locking the bloody door. Why didn’t I lock the door? Why did she come in at that time?
“Regardless of the whys, the way she looked at me…The way her terrified gaze met mine made me realise far too late that I was living in the wrong world. Seeing myself through the look in her eyes made me desperate to take it all back. I wanted to save this poor woman from the absolute pain that my choice was causing her.”
Leslie shakes her head at me incredulously as we have a silent conversation amongst the several hundred people in the audience. My brother, Theo, moves to wrap a protective arm around her shoulder. He pulls her to him and I see a small tear slip out from beneath his thick-framed glasses. My heart lurches at the sight. There’s something utterly raw and humbling about witnessing your strong, older brother break down. His love for me after everything that’s happened still floors me. It crushes me in the most vulnerable and real way. The honesty of it is almost too much for me to take.
Leslie’s eyes don’t flicker to Theo’s, though. They stay locked on mine in a silent chastisement. I continue quickly before she marches on stage and curses me out for continuing to apologise over what I put her through. Because Leslie Lincoln is just the type to do that.
“This woman who walked in on me skidded to the floor in an evening gown and scooped me up. She held my head in her lap and my life in her hands as her real, wet tears dripped onto my face.”
I close my eyes and recall her shaky hands holding my wrists tightly to help stop the flow of blood. Her frantic fumbling to call 999 on her phone. Her crying. Her questioning. Her pain. I laid there lifelessly watching this nearly perfect stranger desperate to save my life.
“I realised in that moment that reality and emotions can live in entirely differently worlds,” I frown, desperate for the audience to understand exactly what I feel so strongly in my heart. “And nothing was more real than what I had just done to this poor innocent person. Watching her cry as she stood above me was more painful than the slits I had carved into my wrists. It was more painful than the pain I felt in my heart leading up to that moment. Living in the world of my misery and wanting to leave it was unrealistic. I was running away. And looking into the eyes of just one person who gave a damn—especially someone who didn’t know me all that well at the time—was such a beautiful reality that I didn’t even know existed.”
I clench my jaw to stop the tears that like to come every time I pi
cture Leslie in that one horrendous moment. The agony I put her through is soul-crushing. But it’s also exactly what makes my decision to continue living so incredibly easy. I never want to put that hurt on her face again, or anyone else’s for that matter.
“I can’t take away the pain that I’ve caused everyone close to me. But I can keep continuing to fight the darkness that I nearly let swallow me whole. And I’m not just doing that for myself. I’m doing that for the person who saved my life…and the person who lost hers.”
Flashes of my older sister, Marisa, and her wild blonde hair blast through my thoughts, and my chest does the strange shuttering thing it does every time I think of her.
“I couldn’t even say my sister’s name a year ago,” I croak and reach down to touch my cuffs again. “But now I’m able to say her name every single day.” I smile picturing Baby Marisa and her red, peach-fuzzed head and huge round cheeks. “And saying her name feels a hell of a lot better than that blade did across my wrists.”
I look up and the audience seems completely frozen. No stopping now, Hayden. You’re nearly there. “Most people would assume I wear these cuffs to hide my scars,” I say, holding both my wrists up. “But the truth is I wear them to band my reality to me. And my new reality…is to live everyday…for Marisa.”
I pause as an awkward silence stretches over the room. It’s the emotional and uncomfortable looks of an audience unsure whether to applaud or stay silent. They stay silent, which I’m grateful for. This isn’t something to applaud. Not everything needs a pretty fucking bow at the end.
I walk off the stage without another glance at anyone, willing myself to hold my head high. As soon as I’m concealed behind the curtain, I bend over and take in huge gulps of air. I did it. I fucking did it. I said I could and I did. No one thought I should. Not my mother or my doctor. Not even Leslie. But I proved to them what I was desperate to prove to myself.
I’m not weak anymore.
PUMMELED FANTASY
Bloody hell.
Bloody, bleeding, blimey hell.
I swipe quickly over my cheeks and realise that my face is drenched with tears.
That’s Hayden Clarke.
The Hayden Clarke who is Theo’s brother.
The Hayden Clarke who I’ve been fantasising about ever since I ran into him two weeks ago. How the bloody hell did I not know anything about his back story? Leslie never mentioned a thing about what happened to him. She did mention them becoming closer over the last year, but I thought that seemed normal since she is engaged to his brother. I had no idea what was going on in their family.
Why the hell didn’t I ask what the event was raising money for? Not that it would have changed anything. I was desperate to see Hayden again and see if that initial spark I felt before was real or a figment of my imagination. I never would have suspected that he—Lord, I can’t even finish the thought.
“Did you know any of that?” Benji leans over and hiccups loudly. The scent of alcohol permeates heavily from his breath.
I look away and murmur, “Not a drop.” Benji better cool it on the booze. The night is still young.
“Blimey,” he slurs and looks back attentively toward the announcer who’s resumed her post. She informs everyone there will be a small break before the auction portion of the evening begins.
I look around the table we’re seated at. The dim chandeliers cast a warm glow doing a proper job of concealing everyone’s emotional distress. Regardless, it’s obvious the entire ballroom is visibly shaken by that speech. Reyna suddenly stands up from our table and turns for the exit, her body moves lithely past the occupied seats. Her fiancé, Liam, watches her with a sad look in his eyes.
“I’ll be back,” Liam says, looking a bit morose, and follows in her wake.
Frank gets up next—his large fluff of bright red hair makes him impossible not to notice. I’ve met Frank several times with Leslie and have always got on well with him. He’s got this uncanny way of making me feel fabulous in my own skin.
“Right then…If ever there was time for a bloody drink.” He buttons his denim blazer and straightens his bowtie, then turns to his date. “I think this party needs a bit of Ginger Sparkle. Lionel? Join me, love.”
Lionel nods woodenly and the two men saunter off toward the bar. Leslie’s friend Finley shifts in her seat next to me and grabs her cloth napkin off the table to dab around her eyes. Her husband, Brody, embraces her and then looks over to me. “You okay, Vi? Glad you came?” he asks, catching my anxious expression. Finley turns her vibrant blue eyes to me.
“Oh yes, I’m er…fine,” I stammer, tugging up on the bust of my white gown nervously. The truth is Finley and Brody kind of intimidate me. They’re both American and I’ve met them a couple of times before, but it never gets easier. She’s tall, brunette, and drop-dead gorgeous. He’s even more of a conundrum on my verbal skills. He’s got to be at least six foot two and his mused, curly, dark hair makes him look sexy in that “I didn’t even try” type of way. The two of them look like a celebrity couple.
Finley and Brody moved here sometime last year and live with Frank. From what little Leslie has told me, I believe Finley and Liam had a fling at one point; but it must have been rather minor for them all to be sitting at a table together tonight.
Mustering a shred of my confidence, I ask, “Did you guys know all of that about Hayden?”
“Most of it, yeah. You didn’t?” Finley asks, her eyes looking sympathetic.
I shake my head. “No, Leslie’s never said a thing. Baby Marisa…Is she—”
“Named after Theo and Hayden’s sister? Yeah,” Finley finishes for me.
“Wow. When did she—”
Finley begins to answer, but Brody interrupts her. “I’m not sure it’s our place to say, Fin. Sorry Vi, nothing personal…But maybe Leslie would be better to tell you. Or, better yet, Theo or Hayden,” he adds sympathetically.
Nerves over seeing Hayden up close again take flight in my belly. He could be coming out any minute. Excusing myself to go freshen up, I make my way to the loo in an attempt to collect my thoughts. Once inside, I wait for a couple of older ladies to exit before bracing my hands on the counter and staring at myself in the mirror.
“Bloody hell, Vi. That’s him, all right,” I whisper under my breath. Preparing myself for our inevitable encounter, I stand up straight and smooth down my shimmery gown. I grab a tissue and dab the slightly smudged makeup beneath my eyes as I recall the first time we met.
Two weeks ago, I had just returned from a work trip to China, and Leslie rang to invite me to the soft opening of a pub called The White Swan. Reyna and Liam are the new owners and had implemented several changes, so they wanted to do a dry run with some close friends. I hadn’t seen Leslie since she had the baby, but I’d been away from Bruce for too long and couldn’t bear to leave him my first night back. When she told me I could bring him along, I sort of lost my excuse to say no.
On my way there I happened to be rounding the corner at the same time Hayden was, and we slammed into each other like two freight trains. I had Bruce in tow and his leash went flying. The three of us twisted together like a fishing lure around a tree branch. It was a mess. I certainly did not inherit my brothers’ athletic agility. Bruce was lapping all over Hayden’s face. I didn’t even get a proper look at him until Reyna had come outside to find us all tangled up.
As soon as we broke apart, we locked eyes and…it was weird.
Like, mega weird.
Like I knew him from somewhere kind of weird. He is tall and fit without being overly muscled. He has coppery blond hair that is cut with just a bit of length left on the top, which was stylishly gelled every which way. The angles on his face are chiseled and masculine. The tautness of his jaw is very stern. And his eyes…Bloody hell, his eyes. They are an intense grey that make him look both mysterious and dangerous.
He looked like he could see right through my clothes…and he liked what he saw.
When he in
troduced himself as Hayden, it didn’t ring any bells at first. It wasn’t until later when I was inside the pub that Frank had told me Hayden was Theo’s younger brother. Then it all clicked. Of course he was Theo’s brother. They both have that same intimidating, brooding way about them. Aside from their eye colour—and Hayden being a bit taller and leaner—they really do look a lot alike.
The rest of the night at the pub, our gazes kept finding each other like magnets. And every time we’d lock eyes, he’d look almost angry. I swear he even scoffed once, like he was annoyed with how often I kept looking at him. Me! The cheek of him considering he was the one molesting me with his eyes as well! I felt like a young girl on a playground who got sand thrown on her by a mean boy and it only made her want to play with him more. I think the fact that we were communicating all this angry, sexual tension without uttering a word to each other was what made it all so thrilling. It was like a silent, sexy game of cat and mouse. But I wasn’t sure it was two-sided. Watching him with everyone there, I could tell he was uncomfortable. Like he was dying to leave.
Later, we both happened to be leaving the pub at the exact same time…Okay, I’m full of shite. I saw him getting ready to leave and I wanted to talk to him, so I decided to say my goodbyes then as well. What can I say? I’m glutton for punishment and the bugger was drawing me in with his sexy, half-mast, grey eyes. We stepped outside and I was just mustering up the courage to ask him if he wanted to grab a drink. Suddenly, Bruce stopped dead in his tracks right in front of me and off I went. Hayden caught me mid-fall in a close embrace, and I quickly blurted out my awkward invitation. His bemused eyes turned icy cold. He quickly let me go and stuffed his hands in his pockets, muttering some unintelligible excuse. He turned on his heel and took off, leaving me standing there like an absolute prat with my cock-blocking animal, Bruce.