by E. S. Maria
CHAPTER TWO
“Hannah Rose Mackenzie!” my mum calling me by my full name with a heavy Latina accent spells trouble for me. But I don’t care. I’m standing by my reaction.
I turn towards her. “I don’t want him here.”
“It’s okay, Mrs. M,” I hear him speak again, this time he’s closer, my skin seemingly aware of his closeness, and my heart thudding like it’s awoken from its passive state.
Brodie seems to whisper something to Mum, and then I hear them walking away, their footsteps getting less and less prominent.
Great! They’re leaving me alone with him.
I don’t want him to see me like this!
My first instinct is to back away, needing to gain more space between us.
I refuse to have the same reaction I always seem to get when he’s close. He doesn’t deserve it. The last time I felt like this was when he came to visit a year ago. I was with Paul then, yet my body reacted to this asshole more than I ever did with my own boyfriend.
It wasn’t fair to Paul, and it sure as hell wasn’t fair to me.
“Look, don’t worry, Songbird. I’m not going to stay,” his voice is soft, practically a whisper.
And God, he smells so good. Why does he keep coming closer?
“Good, leave. You’re good at that, aren’t you? Oh, and I don’t want you calling me Songbird again,” I whisper back with gritted teeth before turning away from him. My intention is to run off in the solace of my bedroom. But he reaches for my arm, and his touch feels like an explosion of tiny little tingles. I try to rid of his touch, but he’s holding me firmly, and he’s turning me around to face him.
“Please don’t walk away from me,” he pleads softly.
“Fuck you,” I spit back, still trying to get my arm back.
He exhales deeply, as if trying to find his calm, “Okay, I deserve that.”
“You deserve worse. Let go of me!”
“I will, but not before I tell you how sorry I am … about ... about everything.”
“Fine. You said what you needed to say. Now let me go.”
“I’m sorry about Paul.”
“Fuck you! Let me go now.”
“I’m sorry about what happened to you.”
“I said, let me go!” Tears that I’ve tried to hold back are now threatening to fall.
“And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry about what happened to us.”
“Screw. You. Atticus. Screw your bullshit!” The bitterness in my voice when I utter his name should convince him that I mean business.
“Songbird ...”
“Call me that again and I’ll scream my head off.”
He finally lets me go, and the heat from his touch quickly morphs into a cold chill.
“Okay … but I’m here if you need me. And when you’re ready to talk, just like old times, I’ll be here to listen.”
I don’t even give him a response. I turn towards the direction of my room, and I walk faster than I should. I just can’t stand being so close to him now. Thankfully he doesn’t stop me, and all I hear from him before I close my bedroom door is a deep, long sigh.
It’s a good thing I’m back in my room, with a thick, solid door blocking him from me. At least he won’t see the tears running down my face as I cry out every pent-up emotion that Atticus managed to unleash in a matter of minutes.
Then I hear three taps on my door.
In that ever-familiar, ever-distinct way he does that’s meant only for me.
A tiny little code meant for only us.
But that was in the past where it should remain.
And now he’s doing it again.
Why?
Fresh tears burst out.
“I know you’ve been through so much. And maybe that explains the rage and the profanities. But I’d like to think that I was your friend first before … before we … happened. I’ve never forgiven myself for what I did to you, and I won’t blame you if you never forgive me. But I hope you do because I want to be your friend again. What do I need to do to be your friend again?” The smoothness of his voice and the genuine remorse in it is too much for me to take. How dare he expect friendship from me after what happened between us?
Sighing in resignation, with tears still falling, I answer him, “Don’t ask for something I can’t ever give you again, Tic. Do what you do best and just walk away.”
“That’s not an option anymore. Okay, I’ll stop calling you my Songbird. But can you blame me? Your voice is perfect. You’re my perfect little Songbird.”
The hostility that I’ve been trying so hard to push down surges back up, “Perfect?” I start banging on the door, screaming louder until my throat begins to hurt. “If you still think I’m perfect, then you’re a fucking idiot. Leave me alone, Tic. Get the hell out of this house! Get out! Get out!”
I hear a pair of footsteps running, with Mum calling out my name, trying to open the door. But they’ve yet to change my doorknob, which I’ve now locked to prevent Atticus from coming in.
Then I hear Brodie telling Atticus to give me some space and to leave. He agrees, and I inwardly thank my brother for doing that, but at the same token, my stomach twists, knowing that he’s walking away from me again.
I shouldn’t be surprised anymore. He’s good at that.
Atticus Foster is the master of walking away.
Yes, that Atticus Foster.
The same singer, songwriter whose chart-topping rock ballads scored him platinum records and numerous television guest appearances, not to mention a sold-out world tour … the same world tour that my brother’s band, Halcyon, is supporting.
This is the same Atticus Foster whose hoards of fans scream his name in concerts. With women professing their undying love and devotion to him, hoping they can catch his eye and have his babies.
That same man that everyone loves, I loved as well.
But I loved him before they all did. He was my Atticus.
I always thought his name was different. But it suited him because he was different from any other guy I’ve met. Sure he was an asshole when I first met him, but then I grew older, and as I got to know him better, falling in love with him became so easy, so inevitable.
He fell for me too … at least I thought he did.
Then he decided that I wasn’t worthy of it, and he walked away, leaving me brokenhearted and questioning my self-worth.
If it weren’t for Paul, maybe I wouldn’t know that unconditional love does exist, and that there are people truly capable of it. Paul made me feel like I was perfect for him, and I believed it because he never failed to say so.
But all good things last, and in my case, it lasted way too soon.
Mum asks how I’m doing, and if I can please open the door. But right now, I can’t face her, or Brodie, or anyone else. So in my calmest tone, I apologise for my outburst, telling her I’ll take my meds so I can rest up. I also promise to unlock the door once I’m ready.
She knows I will. I’ve had my moments. This wasn’t the first time I’ve broken down, and it sure as hell won’t be the last either.
Eventually, she relents and walks off, and I breathe a sigh of relief when she does.
With a heavy heart, I carefully make my way back to the bright light coming from the window, and I sit on the cushioned nook, leaning against the wall behind me and closing my eyes, remembering how to take deep breaths in the hope that they’ll help lighten up this rottenness inside of me.
But who am I kidding? This feeling is permanently embedded within me. And I have to accept it. I have to accept the nightmares, the scars, the guilt, and the regret.
I deserve the punishment.
I deserve it all. Because it’s my fault.
It’s all my fault.
CHAPTER THREE
Six Months Ago
Rubber.
I can smell the stench of burning rubber.
Then I hear someone screaming. I think it’s a man’s voice, but it’s not Paul’s
. He sounds older, and extremely rattled. He sounds like he’s on the phone, and I can barely understand what he’s saying. But I do hear enough to understand.
“… accident ...”
“… out of nowhere …”
“… a truck ...”
“… car rolled ...”
“… she’s on the ground ...”
“… he’s not moving ...”
He’s not moving?
Who’s not moving?
Is it Paul?
It can’t be.
I try to open my eyes, but my brain can’t seem to communicate with my eyelids. I try to speak, but all I can do is cry out in a whisper. I can’t even flinch or move a fraction because my body feels like it’s made of stone. Then, what feels like some warm, dense liquid trickles from my cheek and down to my chin.
What the hell happened? And where the hell is my Paul?
God, why do I feel so cold?
I can hear sirens coming from a distance; then, the same voice I heard a while ago is now speaking within inches from me.
“C’mon, stay with me. Help is coming, stay with me,” he pleads, his voice rough and on edge. I want to look at him and around me, but my eyes can’t seem to open, or are they open but I can’t see him?
“P-Paul …” I croak out, wincing at the pain.
“Shh, just take it easy. They’re here now ... Over here, mate! Over here!” I hear him yell out. Two more voices emerge, a man’s and a woman’s, both sound a lot calmer than the first guy.
“Hello, sweetheart. Help is here now. What’s your name?” a woman speaks to me gently. “You might’ve hurt your neck so if you can’t talk, I’ll just ask you to blink once for yes, and blink twice for no, okay? Can you hear me?” I try to speak out so she‘d know that I can hear her, but I feel so cold that my teeth are clanking too fast. I try to blink, to open my eyes but I don’t even know if my eyes are cooperating.
“Okay good,” she says, so I guess I did blink. “You’ve been in an accident, so we’re going to take you to the hospital, but I’m going to place an oxygen mask on you and some blankets to help you warm up and feel calmer.”
I hear her call out to someone else about me having the shakes, but what happens next is all vague as I feel myself getting lighter, almost weightless, like I’m floating far away from where I’m lying. The last thing I hear before everything turns black is the lady’s voice calling out.
“Stay with me, sweetheart … stay with me …”
I’m kissing Paul.
He’s kissing me back.
I tell him I want him badly.
But then he lets go of me all of a sudden.
Why doesn’t he want me anymore?
Is it something I said?
Then he breaks up with me.
Why?
Now he’s driving off, saying he’s taking me home.
But he’s angry. I just know it … I can tell.
He’s driving fast … then faster.
I plead for him to stop.
We swerve.
I squint at the glaring lights in front of us.
I hear some screams.
Screams coming from me.
Paul ...
“Paul,” I can barely hear myself mumble his name. My mouth feels like it’s covered with cotton wool, my throat like sandpaper.
“She’s awake. People, she’s awake!”
Mum. She’s here … wherever this is.
“Oh, thank God. Shhh, not too loud though, Nancy. She’s still trying to come to. Brodie, go and get the doctor now.”
My dad. Brodie.
He asks to get the doctor.
So maybe I’m in a hospital?
“Hannah, sweetie? Your family’s here,” Mum’s gentle voice is comforting, just like the way she’s stroking my cheek.
“Mum … where’s Paul, Mum? I need … I need to see him,” I mumble, needing to see my mother’s face, but struggling to open my eyes. It feels like my eyelids are stuck together.
I hear Mum sigh, and she brushes some hair off my face. “Paul is … I don’t know how to say this …”
Her voice sounds heavy and broken, and it’s making me nervous.
“Why? What’s wrong with Paul? He’s okay, right?” I finally manage to open my eyes, but … but it’s weird. All I can see is darkness, with only a hint of light coming through. I squint, blink my eyelids faster, slower, hoping it’ll make a difference.
But there is nothing. I see nothing. Nothing but darkness.
I try to reach up so I can feel what’s blocking my eyes, but there are things attached to me and they’re preventing me from raising my arm. “Mum, did they bandage my eyes? I can’t see anything.”
Mum’s hand stills, then she lifts it off my cheek.
“No, your eyes aren’t bandaged at all. Can you see my hand, sweetheart?” she asks reluctantly.
I move my head from one side to the other, hoping to see what Mum is doing but failing to even catch a glimpse of what it is. “Are you doing something in front of me? What’s going on? Why can’t I see anything? Mum? Mum, please what’s going on?”
My guts feel twisted up inside.
And I haven’t even seen Paul yet. What happened to him? Why isn’t anyone telling me what happened to him?
“Good afternoon, Miss Mackenzie. I’m Doctor Navi.”
Mum speaks first, panic in her voice, “Doctor, you need to check my daughter. Something’s wrong with her eyes. She said she’s unable to see!”
I hear my dad’s voice, and he doesn’t sound pleased, “What? What do you mean, Nancy?”
Then I hear another voice, a woman’s voice, speaking in a calm tone, “I think it’s best if the family can wait outside while Dr. Navi assesses Hannah. So if you can just wait—”
“No,” I cut in, shaking my head, my heart beating way too fast to be normal. “I want my family here. Mum, Dad, Brodie, please don’t leave me!”
“I’m sorry, Hannah, but we need Dr. Navi to run some tests without any interference,” a female voice obliges. “Your mum can stay, but she needs to be seated. The rest can come back in as soon as the doctor is done.”
“We’ll be right outside the door, Hannah Banana,” Brodie calls out. But his voice sounds a little too bright to be genuine.
“This won’t be long,” Dr. Navi tells me way too steadily for my liking. When people sound like this, it’s usually because they’re about to disclose something terrible. I’ve seen this in the movies and TV shows way too many times. “Would you like Mrs. Mackenzie beside you? Don’t worry, I’ll speak with the nurse later.”
I nod back the best I can, and in no time, I feel my mum’s hand enveloping mine. I welcome her warmth, grateful that I have someone loving to hold.
This must be pretty bad if the doctor is making concessions.
Still in that calm voice of his, I hear him speak, “Hannah, you were involved in a car accident. Do you remember that?”
I nod, leaning my head towards the doctor’s direction, “Yes.”
“You suffered from internal bleeding, and a punctured lung. You also had a fractured skull and a deep laceration along your jaw. On the way to the hospital, we almost lost you because of your injuries. We alleviated your bleeding, but we had to put you on a medically induced coma to prevent your brain from swelling. Your injuries were pretty bad, Hannah, but you fought all the way. It was quite remarkable actually.”
“How long was I in a coma?” I whisper, my voice trembling.
“Six days.”
I hear my mum sob aloud, but I try to focus on the doctor.
“My eyes. I can’t see.”
I feel two fingers prying each eyelid, then there’s a hint of bright light flashing. But it’s dim, like a thick, black curtain is covering my eyes, and I can’t seem to push it off.
I hear the doctor clearing his throat. “Sometimes, blindness may occur as a result of injuries sustained to the head. It may be temporary, but unfortunately, it may also be permane
nt depending on the extent of the damage to your retinas. I’ll recommend you to a specialist who can do some tests on your vision. Once your body’s ready, you’ll be able to do these tests.”
I hear my mum sobbing again. The weird part is, I feel bad for her.
Am I just too overwhelmed to react?
Or maybe I’m just clinging on the hope that it would be temporary.
It has to be temporary. I can’t be blind. I have plans, big plans for my future.
And my plans involve Paul.
Paul.
“What about my boyfriend, Paul? He was with me in the car. I need to know what happened to him.”
“You need your rest, Hannah,” I hear him say, again too calmly for my liking. “We’ll talk about Paul when you wake up. Right now, we’ll just allow your body to have its much-needed rest.”
I’m getting frustrated, but as I open my mouth in an attempt to protest, my jaw starts to feel heavier, and my body seems weighted down.
Did the doctor just make me go all sleepy?
“Paul …” I croak.
It feels like liquid lead is running through my veins, making me feel weighed down.
And just like that, I black out once again.
CHAPTER FOUR
Present Day
“Han? Hannah Banana? Open up, I’ve got ice cream!” The loud thumping on my door makes me lift my head from the window. I must have slept without realising it.
Now my bloody head hurts from moving so abruptly.
“Hannah? C’mon you never say no to ice cream.”
It’s Brodie. I love him, but I don’t think I can deal with him right now.
I still can’t believe he brought Atticus with him.
“Is he still here?” I manage to croak out.
“Who? Oh …” he pauses, “he left straight after. The ice cream is melting!”
Ice cream. Big bro knows me too well.
I carefully make my way to the door so I can unlock it, moving to the side to let my big brother in.
“Finally! This chunky monkey is starting to look like a chunky milkshake.” He walks past me, and I close the door once again.
