by Ally Sky
LACE AND PAINT
Ally Sky
Copyright © 2018 by Ally Sky
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
In every woman lies the power to change the world.
I want to embrace them all. The good days and the bad. The hours when my laughter appears for no reason. Ruthless, it creeps upon me, emerging from the dark, and for one brief moment I can live in the sweet illusion the feeling will linger forever, that I can smile and laugh and go crazy with unbridled joy. I want to wrap my arms around those terrible moments in bed, on the floor, when I’m curled up in a ball, motionless. When my heart pounds, my head fights, and I chant my mantra: Get through the day; just get through the day. I keep the windows shuttered, blocking rays of sunshine so there isn’t a glimpse of light.
This is where I live—on the edge. Where the demons, the witches, and the fairies all meet. In a dark and wondrous place I refuse to leave by taking my pills.
I prefer everything at a high volume. Laughter and tears, rage and chaos, all just waiting to destroy everything. Everything. Just so long as I’m not numb, so long as I’m not a flatline on a monitor. That’s how I am with my pills. I’m happy and I’m sad, but it all feels the same.
I want everything now, quick and intense; smells and senses on my skin, my hair standing on end while I dance and jump. Curled up on the cold floor, a puddle of vomit by the toilet seat, fingers filthy from stomach juices, my throat burning from alcohol consumed indiscriminately, cigarettes filling ashtrays. I don’t want to be a dead woman walking, a shadow of myself. I’m willing to endure moments of all-consuming darkness, as long as I experience the crazy moments of bliss.
My demons are locked away, occasionally they lift their heads to see if it’s time to reappear. I push them back to where they come from and lay them to sleep, until they can’t wait any longer and they creep out, sneaking through the keyhole for a celebration that lasts days. Then they tire themselves and exit the room silently, leaving me on the floor in the corner where no one looks for me and no one cares, where the sun doesn’t visit and the night is long and never-ending.
That’s where I stand—on the edge. Where life comes apart, the view is amazing, natural, and rough, where tiny rocks come rolling down and if I place one foot in the wrong place, I could be gone.
That’s where I stand, with my back to the abyss. And every day, I choose not to take that step back. I choose life.
Wednesday
May 16th 2012
A Storm is on the Horizon…
Ben Gurion Airport: the passenger lounge, half an hour before boarding. I could try and explain how desperately I want to leave this place but I doubt my words, as precise as they may be, could actually convey the choking feeling I have. A feeling of complete and utter suffocation. Not the kind where you try to hold back tears, but the kind where you can’t breathe, as though you’re drowning.
I put in earphones and attempt to block out the irritating clamor of the other passengers who are busy exchanging words of where they’re going and what they’ll do when they get there.
I’m running. Fleeing for my life, trying to save the little bit of sanity I have left. London is waiting for me, loving and anonymous, the perfect place to hide from the world.
And Danny is waiting for me, my older, protective brother, whom I’ve missed terribly. All I’m taking with me are my words. This blog is my escape from the day-to-day routine, a safe haven for me to share everything that is yet to come, all the shit, and all the happiness.
I spent my last night in Israel alone. I saw no point in spending it with some meaningless guy. No point in wasting my time. I know exactly what the intentions of those guys are; I’ve been down that road.
I don’t need them. Not on me, nor inside me, with their needs and desires, and their idle chatter, which they assume is what I want. Instead, I preferred cuddling up alone in my small bed, without strange hands smothering me, caressing every inch of my body, making me nauseous.
They’re all the same, trying to paralyze me, control me. Take your pills, go to sleep early, you’re so thin…
I imagine my new life in London, without a responsible adult looking over me, thinking that even at the old age of twenty-six I still need parental guidance. I’ll make do with divine guidance. Not that I think I have any; I don’t believe anyone is looking out for me. It’s all a matter of karma. We live with what we create. So it’s time to start creating a bit of noise, a bit of a mess, within the boring order that is my life. I’m not stopping at any red lights. I’m going to ignore the warning signs. I’m on the highway to chaos, and that’s exactly the way I like it.
Stay on top of things. It’s going to get wild!
Have to finish up, it’s boarding time.
Live life to the extreme, don’t give in to fear and to what everyone tells you is allowed or forbidden. Live on the edge. It’s worth your while and the view is amazing…
Have a pleasant flight.
Talula
I proofread my blog for the last time. Writing it in English was a spontaneous decision I made years ago. Maybe it was another attempt to try and maintain my anonymity. I click ‘post.’ Just me and about two hundred bored followers who read my blog, flying to London…
At least I’ve got a window seat. I glance out the window at the busy workers running around on the tarmac and shuffle through a few songs on my phone. As I raise the volume, all the noise in the plane is consumed by Adele’s voice, burning my ears and scorching my heart. My stomach is turning upside down, doing crazy somersaults and a million different thoughts fill my head. I fasten my seatbelt and wait to feel the engines burning underneath.
Let’s go already. I’m dying to get away from here.
Eventually, I manage to close my eyes…
A gentle hand nudges my shoulder softly.
“Excuse me, Miss,” I hear a voice and remove the earphones. A charming flight attendant is smiling at me. I glance around; the plane is empty and I’m the last one remaining. “It’s time to disembark, unless you’re coming back with us.”
I pull my bag out from under the seat in front of me and get up.
“Sorry, I must have fallen asleep,” I apologize, blushing from embarrassment, and exit quickly. I take out my British passport, thanking my good luck that I don’t have to stand in the long line under the sign ‘Other Passports’. My dad was British so I can hide out in London as long as I want without worrying about visas or work permits. An elderly man with a stern face sitting behind the glass window glances quickly at my passport, no questions asked.
As I pick up my heavy suitcase several minutes later, I remembe
r all of the times I’ve flown to London in the past with an empty one, waiting to fill it with shopping.
But not this time. This time the zipper of my suitcase strains to contain all I have, my whole life packed inside. At the entrance to the arrivals hall, my eyes start to wander. There are so many people it’s hard to focus.
Where are you, Danny? Maybe he’s late? No, he’s never late. But how am I supposed to find him in all this chaos?
Danny is everything I could ever wish for in a big brother. He’s four years older and has always been there for me. Every time I ran into trouble in school, or whenever my demons decided to pop their heads up in celebration. Three years ago, he met John, packed up his life, and left for London, leaving me behind.
I see two almond-shaped eyes, identical to mine, grinning at me warmly. My feet rush to him and he hugs me, and envelopes me, in that sense of security I crave. I collapse into him, my arms hug him with such relief that, for the first time in weeks, the defenses I’ve crafted for myself crack and the tears burst free as they stream down my face uncontrollably.
“Hey.” He hugs me even closer, surprised by the tears overwhelming me as I sob into his jacket.
His voice is confused, “What’s going on?”
Nothing’s going on. This is how I am. I shove my hand into my bag, pull out a tissue, and wipe my nose while I attempt to calm down.
“Shalom,” I mumble in Hebrew, knowing that soon my native language will disappear from my life completely. Danny and I make an effort to speak only English whenever we’re around any English speakers. It’s only when the two of us are alone that we allow ourselves to fall back into our old habits and return to our safe haven, speaking the language we grew up with.
“I’ve ruined your suit.” I wipe my cheeks with my hands.
“It’s nothing, don’t worry,” he says with concern. This isn’t how he expected to find me, not in this state.
“Have you been waiting long for me?”
“No, I’ve just arrived,” he says, trying to smile, but his eyes betray his worry. “How was the flight?”
“Fine, I slept the whole way.”
“Come on, I’m parked right outside.”
Gradually, I manage to stop crying. Danny leads us out to the big parking lot, pulling along my suitcase, and we leave the terminal. The cold Wednesday morning wind gives me goose bumps and ruffles my mane of curls, which I swiftly tie up with a hair band. Typical mid-May weather in London.
As the car accelerates toward the city, I stare out the window at the familiar view of bustling London. We pass my favorite buildings and streets. It’s cold and grey at eleven a.m. and it seems as if everyone is rushing off to some place. Everyone but me.
“Talia…” Danny sighs, his voice still shaky, though he doesn’t take his eyes off the road. “What’s going on?”
“I’m sorry about the welcome,” I reply quietly.
“You didn’t answer me.”
“It’s just the excitement.” I’m trying to avoid answering him, although I know it won’t work with Danny. He’s my brother, it’s his instinct to realize something is up.
“Who are you trying to kid, me or yourself?” He isn’t pleased. He wants answers, and I know he won’t give up until he gets some.
“The past two months have been…” I choose my words with care, “… have been rough.”
“Don’t play word games with me. What does rough mean?” He steals an angry glance my way.
“They were shitty, okay?”
Really shitty.
“You’re so thin…” he continues, his tone unforgiving, his eyes still on the road.
I know that’s true, and I knew he would notice.
“A little…” I answer.
“A little?”
“Things haven’t been so great. You know how it affects me.”
My struggle to stay thin at all costs is extremely familiar to him.
“With Mom?” Even though he’s witnessed enough fights between us, he still asks.
“She drives me nuts. At least now I know where I get it from.”
The past few months have been a nightmare. We couldn’t be in the same room without getting on each other’s nerves. My mother can be exhausting. Her constant interfering with other people’s lives, especially my own, drives me insane. My attempts to stay in my room or avoid her at all costs were to no avail. ‘Meaningless’ is what she calls my life.
“What did she want?” Danny won’t leave the subject alone.
“Same thing as always.”
“For you to take your pills.” He doesn’t ask; he already knows.
He stops the car at a red light and turns to me with a serious look.
“Yes.”
“Haven’t you been taking them?” He’s not pleased, and I can understand why. He’s seen me at my worst, completely unbalanced, and it’s not a pretty sight. But I’m totally against taking my pills, which causes non-stop quarrels with my mom.
“I’m not taking them,” I confess.
“For God’s sake, Talia!” He sighs and pushes against the steering wheel, showing his frustration.
“They kill me. I can’t think, I can’t write, I can’t draw. I can’t feel anything.” I utterly despise those damn pills. They paralyze me; make me numb like a puppet on a string. “If you want to turn the car around and take me back to Heathrow to put me on the first plane home, now would be a good time.”
The light changes to green and Danny accelerates, the car racing down the busy streets.
“I don’t want to put you on a plane. I want you to be alright.” He sounds upset. Danny has always felt responsible for me, and my being here with him now only enhances this feeling.
“I’m fine,” I lie to him. I’m far from fine.
“Talia, you suffer from bipolar. You’re not taking your meds and you look like you haven’t eaten in months. Who the hell are you kidding?”
He has no idea about the state I’m in.
“Can we delay all the reprimanding until we get home?” I implore. “I’ve just landed.”
“This conversation isn’t over.”
We continue driving in complete silence, not saying a word to each other. We cross over Hyde Park toward Kensington. I know the way; we’re not far. Danny parks the car in the street and unfastens his seatbelt.
“We’re here.” He smiles in concern, and I’m not sure who he’s more concerned for: me, because of the shitty situation I’m in, or him, for inviting me here.
“Come on, your room is ready.”
Danny’s house is the brightest house in London. Since he moved here, I have often exploited his open invitation and come over for weekends filled with shopping and good times. I love his house—the spacious living room, the inviting kitchen where one can indulge oneself and, my favorite, the patio with its sofas, which I love sinking into while drinking my coffee and smoking my cigarette. You can count on Danny that his house will be styled to perfection. He works as an architect in a construction company, where John also works as an attorney. Together they bought this place and renovated it. Now it’s my getaway from the world.
“You know where your room is.”
I go down the wide hall to the guest room, enter the first door on the right, opposite the bathroom, and throw my suitcase on the floor. My room. It has a luxurious queen-size bed, two white chests of drawers, an armoire, and a big window that looks out onto a quiet alley. Perfect. This is all I need.
There’s a clatter of a utensil from the kitchen and I guess Danny is preparing some coffee for us. I know the conversation we began in the car is far from over. I take a deep breath, mustering my strength, and go into the kitchen. He places a big cup of coffee on the black kitchen island in front of me.
I’m addicted to coffee. I can live on coffee, Diet Coke, and cigarettes. I get up onto the high bar stool, close to the island.
“Is John home?” I run my hand over the cold marble. It’s probably the only black item in
the house. The walls are painted in bright colors, and the inviting sofas in the large living room are a matching grey. The kitchen is big and accessorized, and I love cooking and baking in it. Near the island are a big, white, wooden dining table and six light-blue upholstered chairs.
“John’s at work. He’ll be back in the evening.”
I’m dying to see John. The fact Danny has a boyfriend never came as a surprise to anyone. Somehow, we always knew, and John is his perfect match. They seem so content together.
“Did you manage to rent out your apartment?” Danny sits on the chair opposite and sips his coffee.
“Yes,” I rush to answer, hoping I might gain some points with him. “You can’t imagine how high rent has become in Tel Aviv.”
After our dad passed away four years ago, I moved into the apartment, which he had left to Danny and me. Danny insisted he had enough money and it became my responsibility, at least until we decided what to do with it. Now it’s rented out and brings in a nice sum of money every month for me, so at least I have one less thing to worry about. I have a little bit of money put aside to keep me going until I decide what I’m going to do with myself.
“So…” he takes a deep breath and I know the inquisition has begun.
