“Can I call you Abi?”
She nodded, curling herself further into the embrace of my couch. It was comfortable, unlike those hospital seats. I silenced my internal echo loop before it took hold. I couldn’t be distracted in here, not when I had to find a way to reach this beautiful young girl hidden inside the fortified prison walls she’d built.
“I’m Dr Bishop. I know your mum booked this appointment, but I want you to know this is a safe place. What you share with me is confidential. Do you know what that means?” I asked.
She nodded again.
“Can you tell me what it means?”
“It's private. You won’t tell anyone.”
I nodded. “Not unless I believe your life is in danger.”
Her brows danced with hesitation. “Even my mum?”
“Even your mum.”
“But she’s paying; what if she makes you tell her?”
“Firstly, she’s not my mum, so she can’t make me do anything.”
The corners of Abi’s mouth twitched.
“Secondly, your mum is not my client, Abi. You are. I’ve had a good chat to her; she won’t ask me what goes on in here. She might ask you, but whether you choose to talk with her or not is entirely your choice.”
I noticed a near invisible shake of her head followed by obsessive scratching of her jeans, just above the knee.
“Do you know why your mum made this appointment?”
“She thinks I’m gonna hurt myself.”
I observed every detail: the quiver in her voice, the way she pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them protectively, the darkened rings around her eyes barely masked by a thin layer of concealer, and how she hid behind the long, dark hair loose around her face.
“Does she have reason to think that?” I asked, cautious of pushing too hard.
“She thinks she does.” She tucked her thumbs through the strategically placed holes in the cuffs of her hoodie.
“Do you?” I watched with intention.
Her eyes met mine for a second before she shrugged and looked away, her fear of exposure silencing her.
There was no hiding the truth. There was no light, no glimmer of hope in those eyes. Her mother was right; this young girl was in a world of pain.
“Abi.”
Her thumb wrestling slowed as she raised her eyes to mine.
“You’re beautiful.”
She scoffed but I wouldn’t be deterred.
“Underneath that pain you’re wearing, you’re a work of art.”
Her expression changed from disbelief to fear, and I had to pinch my own leg to stop myself launching off the couch to cradle her in my arms. Oh, darling girl, what’s made you so afraid of life?
I pressed the do-not-disturb button on my wrist, alerting Sally not to interrupt the session.
“I don’t want to be beautiful.” Her whispered response confirmed my suspicions.
“You’ve been hurt, Abigail, but this isn’t the end of your story, just a really painful chapter. Will you let me help you? We can turn the page together.”
Her response was barely audible.
“All you have to do is trust me. Do you think you can do that?”
“I’ll try.” She pressed both sleeves to her face to wipe away the evidence of her grief.
I waited until she lowered her arms. “There’s something else I need from you.”
“What?”
“Turn up.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean here. When you have an appointment. Make it an absolute, no matter how dark you’re feeling.”
“I’ll try.”
“No, Abi.” I lowered my elbows to my knees and focused all my attention on her. “I need your word. Will you turn up?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m not asking you to commit to the next six months, or even to talk to me when you’re here. I just need your word that you’ll turn up to our next appointment. This time next week – deal?” I willed her to agree. Come on, girl.
“Okay.” She uncurled herself from the couch and stood.
I followed her to the door and reached out to get her attention. “Abi.”
She flinched when my hand made contact.
I pulled back, then placed a card in her hand and closed it. “This card has the number for Lifeline. If you ever feel like you need to talk to someone urgently, or you feel like you might hurt yourself, call or text that number. The responders are trained to talk you through a rough moment, okay?”
Abi nodded and stepped into the waiting room.
“Same time, next week,” I confirmed when Abi’s mum, Joanne, approached us.
“How was that?” Joanne brushed her fingers over her daughter’s shoulder.
“Fine,” Abi mumbled, moving out of reach.
Joanne offered me an awkward smile, then followed her daughter to the elevator.
When I closed the door to my office, I was overcome with grief – not just for Abi and Joanne, but for me. For this life that I loved and felt slipping away. I slid down the wall and wept on the floor. I thought about Harry, but not even the idea of a passionate affair with a prince of a man could pull me back from the edge. Not this time.
8
Today was the day.
My brain was tired. My body was tired. My heart was … I couldn’t tell you what my heart was ... weary? How can you tell it that it can’t have what it wants? That because the vessel, which houses it is engaged in an epic battle of survival, it doesn’t deserve to feel alive?
I raised myself into a seated position and grasped the duvet in my fists as the blood rushed to my head. What the hell?
When the spinning stopped, I stood, determined to overcome the hopelessness that was rallying to make a home in my spirit. I didn’t even get halfway to the bathroom before my temples sparked with pain. I steadied myself against the dresser, pressed a palm to my forehead and swore. Was it a panic attack? A realisation that my life was slipping through my fingers? Stress? Fear? Or was it the beast, making his presence known inside of me?
Hot tears, heavy with grief, wet my cheeks. I let them. I’d run out of time to pretend; there was nowhere to hide where he couldn’t find me. He visited me as much in the light as he did in the dark now – in a quest to torture me, to ensure I didn’t forget.
How could I forget when I could feel his flames licking at my skin, hear the rattling of bones in every echo, smell the blood dripping from his claws? How could I when I knew that blood was mine?
I stripped naked and climbed into the steaming shower in an attempt to silence the terror in my thoughts. I stood directly under the showerhead and held my breath until my lungs were screaming. I threw my fists against the wall, gasped for air, then let the sound of my grieving heart consume me. It was my plea for freedom, my war cry, my lioness arising.
I felt her inside me, rising out of the dirt. I felt her raise her chin and eyes to the beast. I breathed in her conquering spirit, her courage. I closed my eyes and watched her until the water ran cold.
Standing in front of the mirror, it was as if I’d lived a lifetime blind and could see for the first time … the perfection, the beauty, the strength, the power … something had come alive in me.
She had come alive in me.
I filled my palm with cocoa butter and traced my hands over every curve, committing them to memory … my muscular calves, my tight abdomen untouched by the miracle of a pregnancy, my firm breasts, which would have nourished the babies who only existed as a fantasy in my chest of impossible dreams.
When my hands passed over my glutes, I thought of Prince Harry and how much I would enjoy his hands on me. Does that belong in the chest too? I spent time brushing my long hair, wondering how I’d look bald. My lioness refused entry to those thoughts that would threaten her dominance.
I put on a full face of makeup, including my favourite bright red lippy, then wandered into my wardrobe naked and selected the perfect outf
it: tight black jeans, ivory blouse, matching lingerie and the sexiest shoes I owned – black stilettos with red soles.
I dressed in silence, then made my way back to my reflection. I pressed my shoulders back, raised my chin and narrowed my eyes.
“You picked the wrong chick to mess with, you hear me? You cannot have me!”
I sensed her roar rumble inside me before the menacing sound filled the room. It was beautiful and terrifying, and if I was cancer, I would’ve run like hell!
I arrived at the hospital an hour early and decided to wander over to the park to grab a croissant, coffee and a few rays - yes, I was now drinking coffee. All those restrictions I’d placed on myself in my quest for clean living didn’t seem to matter anymore.
I was leaning over the walkway balustrade with my face raised towards the sun forty minutes later when I heard a familiar voice.
“Looking good, Sandy.”
I turned my face towards the sound, my senses on high alert. “Why, if it isn’t Prince Harry, all sweaty, flustered and half dressed.” I had to force the gasping breath back down as I looked at the hot sweat glistening on his fit body.
Seriously, come on! “You’re killing me here, would you mind?” I motioned towards his singlet tucked into his running shorts.
He laughed, then untucked the singlet and slid it over his head. I fought the desire to slide my hands down his chest as his muscles rippled with the effort.
“Better?” He grinned.
I allowed my eyes to do a quick inventory of his attributes before I answered. “Better wouldn’t be the word I’d choose, but definitely easier.”
“Easier?” he asked, as if he didn’t know exactly what I was implying.
I bit my lower lip and glanced over his shoulder.
“Oh, you mean, easier not to drag me off into those bushes over there and have your way with me.”
I laughed out loud. “I see you’ve been practising.”
He smiled. “You inspired me.”
“I like it, being privy to your thoughts.”
“You do, do you?”
“That sounded less stalkery in my head,” I added.
“You have permission to stalk me all you want, Sandy.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You look amazing today.”
“Why, thank you, Prince. You’re not looking too bad yourself. Sweat and all.” I gave him the once over, then glanced at my watch. My freedom was coming to an end … indefinitely.
“You have a hot date or something?” He motioned towards my watch.
“I do have to go. But I’d call it an appointment, not a date.”
“Would you like a hot date?”
“I feel like I’ve just had one.” I fanned my face with dramatic flair, then stepped to the side to walk around him.
“How about we make it official? Tonight? You already look the part.”
“I can’t tonight.” I turned and blew him a kiss. “It's been a pleasure, Prince Harry.”
“What about tomorrow?”
I inhaled his offer, allowed my heart to taste it, then pushed the feeling out. He was too perfect to allow him to love me and lose me.
Wow, Avery, take it down a notch. He’s hot, he’s interested, live a little. Have a taste. I smiled. I couldn’t possibly argue with any of that, but no. I’d rather feast on the fantasy of him than the knowledge that I’d ruined his life. I didn’t need that on my conscience at the end.
I checked the time again. I had two minutes to get over to the hospital, up the lift … Hell, I feel invigorated; I’ll take the stairs – maybe even two at a time. I breathed in the look of him and watched, blissfully unaware of his advance. My breath hitched when his palm brushed the curve of my back.
“Say yes.”
“I can’t,” I said, denying myself. My monkey mind was going nuts, screaming all the pros of his invitation. There were a lot.
Cancer. Mastectomy. Chemo. Nausea. Tragedy. I allowed all those ugly words I hated to remind me why I couldn’t say yes.
My skin burned from his touch. I reached around to collect his hand from my back, raised it to my cheek and breathed in his masculine scent. Heat. Sweat. Desire.
I let myself dream, imagine what tonight could be like; I let the images wash over me. I filled that chest right up to the brim, then clamped it shut.
“You can’t tell me you don’t want to,” he said, as I returned his hand to his side.
“I don’t have the luxury of wants, not anymore.” I watched his expression change. What had been so light and carefree between us, turned serious. His eyes implored me to stay, to speak the truth I was holding on to so tightly. I couldn’t, so I turned and walked away.
“Avery … wait!”
Hearing the compassion in his voice, wrapped around my name, tore me wide open. I skipped the stairs and strode right towards the lifts with all the energy I’d gleaned from our encounter draining out through my eyes. Damn it, Avery, why the hell did you do that? You should never have engaged.
No! No, you don’t. You don’t get to turn this into a pity party. A sexy man wants you because you’re desirable; you’re beautiful, you’re funny, and you, Avery Bishop, are one hell of a woman. One that the world deserves to bear witness to. You are fierce.
I am fierce. I repeated until the roar rose inside of me. I lifted my chin and walked tall right into that damn cancer ward.
Watch the hell out – a fight just walked in your door!
9
The first wolf whistle sounded when I stepped through the chemo ward doors.
“Hollywood’s come to town, ladies – touch up ya lippy!” The announcement preceded hysterical hollering and laughter.
I sashayed my hips and completed the catwalk down the aisle between the two rows of patients then did a spin and pose at the end.
“Check out those shoes!”
“Very sex-in-the-city!”
Thomas, one of the nurses, appeared as I flicked up my leg to show the ladies the underside of my gorgeous heels.
“Avery Bishop, you sure do know how to make an entrance – you ready?”
I inhaled with purpose and offered a quick nod. “Yes, dear Thomas. I’m ready to take this beast down.”
“That’s the spirit.” He motioned towards my chair, right in the centre of the group.
“You go, girl! You’ve got this,” one of the ladies called out.
“We’ve got this!” I corrected.
Thomas pottered around getting everything ready while I studied each of my chemo mates. Some offered friendly smiles, some looked amused, and others didn’t, but that was okay. We all have to do what we have to do to survive in here.
“I do hope you brought some sensible shoes, Avery; I get really wobbly after,” one of the older ladies said.
“I did remember that titbit of advice. Thank you, Annie.” I’d met a few of these ladies when Dr Franklin gave me the tour. “And I made myself a fierce playlist too.” I winked at Sammie – the youngest of the group. She was in her second round of chemo for Hodgkin’s lymphoma. She’d had a luscious head of blonde locks a few weeks ago.
“I must say, Sammie, you have a sexy head.”
Sammie touched it self-consciously.
“Lucky for some.”
I followed the voice. Its owner was seated beside Annie who was battling breast cancer for the second time. She pulled the scarf off her head to reveal two long scars running down the sides of her scalp.
“My little friend has taken up residence in my brain twice; it’s so cosy in there, it can’t resist. The scars are pretty terrifying for people.”
I watched as she expertly wrapped the scarf back around her head.
Annie spoke before I could think of the right words. “They’re badges of honour, Tracey. People should be terrified – you, my friend, are a force to be reckoned with.”
“I second that,” Thomas said from beside me.
I looked back at Tracey and felt a tug
towards her, like an invisible thread linking us together. It amazed me that I could feel so comfortable here with these women who felt like the opposite of the strangers they were.
“You ready?” Thomas asked with one hand on my arm and the other on the machine.
I nodded and turned my attention to him. He gave me a quick rundown of what to expect before he initiated treatment.
“We’ll keep an eye on the beauty queen, Tom. You go on your way now – you’re cramping our style,” Annie said.
Thomas winked at me. “I think you’re going to be just fine.”
“Of course she is – she’s got us,” Annie added.
“So, what’s with the get-up, glamour queen?” Tracey asked as soon as Thomas was out of earshot.
I paused as the warm liquid entered my bloodstream.
“You’ll get used to it, dear,” Annie whispered across the aisle. “Just tell us to shut up and mind our own business if you don’t feel like talking. We don’t take offence in here.”
“Please don’t – it’s a good distraction. This get-up is my ‘fierce, to-hell-with-chemo’ look.” I raised my chin in defiance. “I felt pretty crap this morning and decided to embrace my beauty for as long as I could. You know: clear skin; long hair; strong, fit body.” I paused, hoping they weren’t getting the wrong idea. “It’s not about ego – it’s about honouring how I feel and look now … my health, my body without all the poison, nausea and exhaustion. I don’t know how long I’m going to look like this and if I ever will again.”
“It’s good to be prepared – it's less of a shock that way,” Sammie offered from the corner. “I think you look beautiful. It’s nice to see in here. Who knows? I might bring in some red lippy next time … work my way up to the catwalk.”
“Heck, yes! I’m in too,” Tracey added, throwing her free arm in the air. “Me too!” others called out, the words bouncing around the room before a natural calm descended and everyone settled in for the rest of their session.
Some women stared out the window, some placed earbuds in, leant back and closed their eyes, and others chatted with their neighbours quietly until one by one, they finished their treatment and left.
When my time came, I slipped my heels off, replacing them with sensible flats, and slipped out the door.
Then She Roars Page 3
