Where the Heart Is (Hearts Series Book 1)

by L. S. Pullen

  I brace myself before knocking, taking in a deep breath. “Soph, it’s me. Can you open the door?”

  She doesn’t respond. A chill rolls down my spine. Goosebumps run up and down my arms. I knock a little harder. Something’s wrong.

  “Sophie, open the door,” I say, louder.

  Simon runs up behind me. “What’s going on?”

  “She isn’t answering me.”

  “Sophie, this isn’t funny. Can you open the door?” he hollers.

  No response.

  He crouches down to try and look under the door, but it’s useless. He shoots to his feet and grabs the corner table, pulling it in front of the door. He grabs hold of the doorframe as he stands on top of the table. My hands shoot out to steady him as he peers through the glass pane at the top of the door.

  “Shit!” he hisses as he jumps down, causing the table to topple over. I pull it out of the way, my pulse racing heavy in my ears.

  “What? What is it?” I ask, afraid to hear his answer.

  He shakes his head, his face morphing into fear.

  I swallow hard.

  “Move,” he says, as he starts to kick hard at the door.

  My insides are in knots. I hold my breath with each grunt he lets out as he kicks harder. Just when I think it’s no use, there is a creak of wood followed by a crack. The lock gives, and he forces the door open.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, but he doesn’t answer.

  I peer round him and let out an audible gasp. My hand flies to my chest.

  She is lying on the bathroom floor.

  I push past Simon, and rush to her side, landing hard on my knees. Her face lies in a pool of her own sick.

  “What the fuck?” I say aloud.

  I scan the bathroom. A pill bottle! I grab hold of her face and turn it towards me.

  “Sophie, can you hear me?” I yell, tapping her cheek for a response. Nothing. I bring my head down to her mouth.

  “Please tell me she’s breathing?” Simon asks, the worry lining his breathless voice.

  I nod. “Yes, but it’s shallow.” My voice cracks.

  “Thank fuck for that. Should we make her sick?” he asks, panic-stricken.

  “God no, that’s dangerous. Besides, she’s already been sick. I need you to call for an ambulance.”

  I tap Sophie’s cheek with a little more force.

  “Soph, come on. Wake up! Please don’t you do this to us!”

  Remembering my first aid training from years ago, I move her into the recovery position. I scamper off the floor and grab the dressing gown.

  Simon asks me questions, relaying what the operator is asking, and I answer best I can. But everything is fuzzy. My hand is unsteady each time I touch her back to feel her breathing. The smell of her vomit makes me even more nauseous.

  Simon has been pacing the whole time, talking to himself. I block him out, trying to keep my shit together. I don’t notice him leave until he returns with two paramedics in tow. Everything else happens in a blur—questions, radios buzzing, Sophie being loaded onto a stretcher, Simon following the ambulance to the hospital.

  He hands me my shoes before we get out of the car. I didn’t even notice I’d left his house in my bare feet. We sit, anxiously, in the waiting room. Everything is so clinical. Hospitals make me think of death, and all I want is to be out of here.

  Unsurprisingly, Sophie has had to have her stomach pumped. They also put her on a drip for rehydration and gave her activated charcoal for her stomach. People shuffled in and out for hours, asking her questions. She even had a visit from someone in mental health who suggested she seek out support, to which she agreed, and they discharged her just after three this afternoon.

  Simon asked if she wanted to go home, but she said she couldn’t face them. That this would only make everything worse, so we drove back to his place in silence.

  Sophie and I sit on the sofa when we get back. Simon rushes off upstairs.

  “It was an accident, you know that right?” she asks, her voice hoarse.

  I nod and take her hand in mine. “Of course.”

  She leans her head on my shoulder, her legs tucked beneath her. We sit and say nothing as we watch a blank television in front of us—the only sounds coming from Simon moving around upstairs. My stomach finally begins to settle.

  “Hey, baby girl, I’ve run you a bath in my en-suite,” says Simon, re-emerging.

  He holds out his hands and pulls her to her feet. She wraps her arms around him, muffling a thank you.

  I follow her up the stairs—her body movements slow, lethargic. I close the door behind us and sit on the floor beside the bathtub once she’s submerged under the cover of bubbles. She pulls her knees up to her chest.

  “I’m so sorry I put you both through this, but it really was an accident...you do know that, right?”

  “I’m not going to lie, Soph, it looks like a cry for help,” I say, skimming the bubbles onto my fingertips, and blowing.

  “I had so much going on inside my head. No matter what I do, I always seem to mess up. I’m worthless,” she says, choking back her tears.

  “What the fuck? You are not worthless. Don’t ever think like that, do you hear me?” I say, determination in my voice.

  “Don’t say the F-word,” she reprimands, sniffing back her tears.

  Sophie isn’t a swearer—she has always chastised me over my use of language. It’s not like I go around swearing nilly-willy, I just don’t believe in sugar coating some things.

  “Fine, but you’re not worthless. Do you think I’m worthless?” I ask, unblinking as I look in her eyes.

  “No, of course not. I just can’t seem to get my crap together. I mean look at me—” she waves her hand in front of her, “—the guys I sleep with… I pick the wrong ones every time.”

  “Do you want to know what I think?” I ask, but don’t give her a chance to respond. “I think you choose the wrong guys on purpose. You know it won’t go anywhere with them, but in that moment, it fills the void.”

  “I think I just want to feel connected you know?” She rests her forehead against her knees.

  “We both handle what happened to us differently, but I think you’re the bravest person I know. I’m terrified to put myself out there. At least you try.” I look away, unease settling in my stomach.

  “I like to take back the control, but it’s all a front.” She looks up, tears in her red-rimmed eyes.

  I feel an ache at the back of my throat.

  “I understand about wanting control, Soph. I hate that my body conspires against me, that my head and my body aren’t synced like they used to be.”

  She reaches her hand out for mine, and I take it.

  “But you’re doing better, and that’s what counts.” She gives me a pensive smile and my hand a gentle squeeze.

  She’s right. I was withdrawn for so long, but I’m moving past that now, and that’s because of Sophie and Simon.

  “I have a good support system, that’s why. You will find someone worthy of you. You’re way too special not to.”

  She releases my hand and rolls her fingers over the remaining bubbles.

  “I thought I had, with…you know who.” She won’t speak his name, and I don’t blame her. When things got tough, he dropped her like a hot potato.

  “Well, he showed his true dick colours, that’s for sure. But this path you’re on…it’s self-destructive, Soph. And it hurts us to see you hurting because you deserve better.”

  “I’m sorry, I know you’re right.”

  I know why she does what she does. After what happened to us, there are times I want to completely block out the world round me, too.

  A tap on the door breaks me from my thoughts.

  “Are you okay, Baby Girl?” Simon asks through the door.

  She nods, wiping her face with the sponge she grabbed off the side of the bathtub.

  “Yeah, she will be,” I say, “Can you grab something for her to wear, please?”
r />   “Yeah, course.”

  When he comes back, he cracks the door open, dangling a handful of clothes from his hand. I take them and place them on the toilet seat.

  “Kettles on, how about some tea and toast?” he asks, hand hanging limply in the air.

  “Sounds good,” I reply as he pulls the door closed.

  I find a towel and place it on the sink.

  Sophie laughs. “Whoever said tea solves everything clearly didn’t know a thing,” she says, shaking her head.

  “Come on, you. Get out,” I say, passing her the towel. “What’s the point of Simon spending thousands of pounds on a new sofa, if we aren’t going to abuse it?”

  She smiles and takes the towel. I leave her to get dressed.

  I head downstairs of Simon’s freshly decorated townhouse—it’s like a bloody show home, his self-made interior design expertise evident.

  Sophie joins me on the sofa, and I pull the throw over us both. I’m glad to see she has some colour back to her face—I’ve never seen her skin look so pale. Simon hands her a mug of tea. She wraps her hands around it, peering over the rim.

  “Si, I really am sorry. I’ll pay for the bathroom door,” she says before taking a sip.

  “Behave. Don’t even go there.” He twists in his chair to give her a stern look.

  Her eyes go wide as she looks towards me and lowers the mug.

  “You left Nate’s to come here. I’m so sorry. When is the funeral?” Her eyes cast downward.

  “It’s fine. It’s not for a couple of days. You need to stop beating yourself up—you’d be here for me if the roles were reversed, wouldn’t you?”

  “Of course…but I do think I do need to reconsider having some counselling. I don’t want to wake up in the hospital like that again.” A shudder runs through her.

  Simon moves to sit on her other side, wrapping his arm over her shoulder.

  “I think that’s a good idea, baby girl. You need to stop bottling it all up. Listen, I’ve been thinking… I want you to come and move in with me. At least until you find somewhere else to live.”

  She’s been saving for a deposit so she can move out of her parents’. Their relationship is as dysfunctional as they come. They’ve never been big on public displays of affection, but they are all about image.

  “I may take you up on that offer,” she says, gratitude in her voice.

  We talk for hours until she ends up drifting off to sleep. Simon and I fall silent as we watch her for a moment, her breathing heavy as she falls deeper.

  “Bunny, get the door. I’ll carry her,” he says, scooping her in his arms like she weighs nothing.

  I pull back the duvet as he lays her on the bed.

  “Thanks, sweet cheeks,” he whispers.

  I pull the duvet over her. “Do you really think she’ll go back to counselling?” I ask.

  “I do. It frightened her—what happened. You were amazing, by the way. I was the one who almost had a panic attack when I saw her through the window…”

  He rubs at his face.

  “I didn’t feel calm. I thought she was gone—” I choke on the word and swallow. He puts his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into him.

  We leave the door ajar, then return to the living room.

  Simon looks up at the clock. “Are you going to stay?”

  “No, I think I should head back. Do you think that makes me sound like a shit friend?” I ask, feeling conflicted.

  “No. Shit friend, You. Are. Not. I already rescheduled my diary while you guys were in the bathroom. I’m off for a couple of days. I’ll take her to go pick some stuff up from her parents’. Damn, they make mine seem normal.”

  “Nothing strange as folk,” I say, my eyes round.

  “Will you at least stay for some dinner?” he says, fluttering his eyelashes. My stomach grumbles. I smile with a nod as I rifle through my bag, coming back empty-handed.

  “Shit, can I borrow your phone, please?”

  He hands it over and heads to the kitchen.

  “Hello?” Nana says loudly into the receiver.

  “Hi, it’s me—Felicity.”

  “Is everything all right, dear?”

  I slump back into the sofa and let out a long breath.

  “Yes, it is, but it could have been so much worse. It was dreadful—we had to call an ambulance. For a brief moment, I thought she was gone… It was an accidental overdose, but I’ll tell you all about it properly when I get back.”

  “Thank the heavens, she’s okay. I hate to see you girls like this… She will get there—you both will. In time, you’ll learn to adjust.”

  I rub at the tightness in my chest.

  “I hope so. I’m going to stay for dinner before heading home.”

  “If you need to stay, we’ll understand.”

  As much as I want to stay, I need to be near Nate. There are things I need to say.

  “No, I’ll see you later.”

  Simon pokes around at his food, loading his mouth as he tries to speak. I raise my eyebrows, watching him swallow before he continues.

  “So, about Nate?” His eyes peer up.

  “What about him?” My face flushes.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” I say, unable to hide my smile.

  “Cookie, I can tell something else has happened, so you might as well tell me.”

  I drop my knife and fork with a clang. “Fine. We may have kissed…again. You know, I’ve always liked him.”

  “So, what are you going to do about it?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

  “I don’t know. It’s so complicated.” I take a sip of water.

  “No, it’s not. You need to start living. It’s been what? Almost two years?”

  I know it’s been long enough. I don’t need him rubbing salt in the wound.

  “Listen, I know you and Soph think you’re handling what happened to you, but newsflash, neither of you have a healthy way of dealing. You both gave up on everything you loved doing. She stopped going to church, and you became a hermit. I know you’ve come a long way, and if there was a way for me to fix it, I would.”

  “I get it, but it is what it is.” I fidget in my seat as he watches me playing with my food.

  “I know you don’t need someone to make you happy, but it does make a difference when you find your special someone.”

  I stare at him. His grin widens. I raise my eyebrows. What’s he not telling me?

  “Spill,” I say, then take a bite of my food.

  “I met someone,” he says, nonchalantly, with a shrug—like it’s no big deal. His eyes actually sparkle.

  I swallow my food as quickly as I can before I speak.

  “What? When?” I ask. A buzz of excitement shoots through me, and I wriggle in my seat.

  “About two months ago.”

  I drop my cutlery on my plate and push it aside. Whoa…back up. He managed to keep it a secret from me for two months? Damn, he must really like him.

  “And you didn’t think to tell me, you sneaky bastard. I want details.”

  This boy doesn’t know how to keep a secret—he couldn’t if his life depended on it. That’s how I know this isn’t some passing crush.

  “His name is Ryan. We met through a mutual friend at an exhibition. He was working security. Once it was closed, we got talking… I didn’t know he was gay, not until he asked for my number, so he could call me to arrange a date. And the rest, as they say, is history.”

  His dimpled smile tells me all I need to know.

  “Damn, your radar was off. So, is he a good kisser? How many dates have you been on?”

  “I told you, just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I have gay-dar. We see each other as much as we can and talk every day. I really do like him.”

  “Oh, you’re smitten. I’m just surprised you kept it so quiet.”

  “I didn’t want to jinx it, you know? Like if I told you it wouldn’t be true.”

  I take his hand. “I unde
rstand.”

  He grabs his phone and pulls up a photo.

  I fan my face. “Wow, he’s hot. He looks like a bodybuilder.”

  He actually blushes. “I know, right? Like I said, he works security, so he can take care of himself. There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “What?”

  “Ryan and I have talked about it—a lot, and I’ve decided to come out to my parents.”

  I push my chair back and lean over, slinging my arms around his neck.

  “I am so proud of you.” I give him a kiss on his cheek and sit back down.

  “I think he was the push I needed…besides we want to be exclusive, no sneaking around. It’s not like my parents can threaten me with material things. I work enough to look after myself, now.”

  “That you do,” I say, my grin so big, my jaw aches.

  “Just means the façade between us will need to come to an end. I’m sorry,” he says, worry crossing his features.

  “So be it, we’re still best friends, and that’s all that matters.”

  He smiles and points upstairs. “Always. You two are stuck with me…the three amigos.”

  It seems like fate has well and truly intervened this time. All I have to do now is work out how the hell to explain this to Nate. I get a heavy, sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. The thought alone scares me, so how the hell will I even manage to get the words out?

  Chapter Fourteen

  To say it’s been weird—Flick being gone—is an understatement. I know she’s only been back in my life for a few days, but I feel her absence now more than ever. Even when she’s quiet, her company is welcome—a comfort I never knew I needed.

  She’s so guarded now. I always saw her as an introvert who played the good extrovert, but now that side of her has diminished. I know I pushed my luck—getting swept away and kissing her like that. She’s unsure of herself, it ripples off her like waves of summer heat.

  If my Gramps were here, I’d confide in him about it, but I also now know they were privy to whatever went on with her. They might have acted as though everything was fine, but they knew.

  I’ve kept myself busy all day. When I hear the familiar sound of a bike pull up, I don’t need to see Charlie to know it’s him—always so heavy with the clutch.