by Natalie Ward
I nod, because regardless of everything that’s happened, I know she’s right. Emma is good for me. She’s right for me. She’s everything I want too. Always has been, even when I didn’t want to admit it. Even though I know I don’t deserve it.
“Go home,” she says, shoving me a little. “I kinda need my couch back,” she adds, laughing as she pulls me into a half hug, kissing my cheek. “Ugh, and for god’s sake, take a shower before you go and see her.”
I chuckle now, pushing up off the couch. “Thank you,” I say, pulling her in for a proper hug. “And I’m sorry for…you know.”
“It’s all good,” she says. “Let’s just pretend it never happened.”
I spend the walk home both sobering up and trying to work out what I’m going to say to Emma when I see her. When I finally reach my place, I can see the bar is still open. I could go in there, if nothing else, to apologise to Tony for being a dick this past week. But I don’t, because I know if I do, I’d only be stalling what I know needs to happen tonight.
I could go straight to Emma’s too, but at the very least, I need that shower before I do. I’m trying to win her back here, not put her off even more. I know Oscar will have been fine, that Tony will have taken the spare keys from my office and fed him, but I am definitely not fine.
So I skip the bar and hold off on going to Emma’s, instead sliding my key into the door to my apartment. My footsteps on the stairs echo in the silence. At the top, I unlock the other door and walk inside, kicking off my shoes. I walk into my bedroom, throwing my keys and wallet on the bed before turning and walking into the bathroom.
And when I walk in there…
…the arm hanging lifeless over the side of the bath…
…the red stain of blood on the tiles…
My whole world falls apart…again.
~ Emma
I’m surrounded by warmth, floating weightlessly on a cloud, rested and at peace for what feels like the first time in forever.
And then I’m yanked from my dream only to find myself cold and wet, sitting on the tiled floor with Nick’s arms wrapped tightly around me as a voice keens with anguish and despair.
It takes me a second to realise it’s Nick who’s making this noise and as I try to turn so I can work out what’s wrong, his arms only tighten, holding me against him.
His whole body is shaking as he rocks me in his arms, his face buried against my neck.
“Nick,” I plead, twisting awkwardly as I place a hand on his cheek.
He groans, as though in agony, his arms tightening even more. It’s only now that I’ve half turned, that I notice the knocked over glass, the spilt red wine that stains the white tiles of his bathroom floor and in that second it hits me what he would’ve seen when he walked in here.
Amy.
A memory of her anyway.
I must have fallen asleep, somehow knocked my glass of red wine over. And even though I still don’t know the exact circumstances of Amy’s death, except that it was due to both an overdose of sleeping pills and massive blood loss from the cuts on her arm, judging from Nick’s reaction to this, I’m going to take a guess that whatever he saw when he walked in here tonight somehow reminded him of that.
“Hey,” I say softly, one hand sliding over his as I attempt to pry his fingers from me. “It’s okay, I’m okay.” He groans again, saying nothing. “Nick,” I plead. “Look at me, please.” He eventually lifts his head and his eyes are so full of pain and despair that it’s almost unbearable to look at. “It’s okay,” I repeat, meeting his stare.
Nick stares back at me, his eyes searching as though he doesn’t believe me. His hands loosen slightly, sliding up my back to grip my neck. Then he pulls me in for a hard kiss and the fear that’s coming from him is now palpable.
“I’m okay,” I repeat against his mouth, struggling to get air. “It’s okay.”
I don’t know how long we sit on the floor of his bathroom for, but eventually I convince him to get up. He looks completely wrecked, so I gently pull off his clothes and push him into the shower.
He pulls me in with him, pulling me against him as we stand under the scalding hot water. He hasn’t said a word and still doesn’t, even as I begin to wash him.
Eventually we get out, drying off before walking into the bedroom. I climb into the bed, pulling him in after me. Nick gathers me in his arms and pulls me against him, and while this might normally feel good, tonight it feels anything but.
Because why I don’t doubt that I’ve now somehow been forgiven for the awful thing I did in looking up Amy’s file, I fear that what I’ve really done is open a whole new nightmare about that night.
Neither of us sleeps and Nick still doesn’t say anything. When dawn finally arrives, I’m grateful I’m off work because there’s no way I could function like this, and there’s no way I want to leave Nick either.
I roll onto my side, placing a hand against his cheek. “Hey.”
Nick stares up at the ceiling, barely acknowledging my touch. I flatten my hand, turning his head until he faces me. Nick blinks once before leaning in to kiss me. It’s softer this time, almost gentle as though he’s afraid of hurting me.
“You want to talk about what happened last night?” I ask when he eventually pulls back.
Nick shakes his head. “No.”
I nod, even though I know him not talking about it is a really bad idea. “What about what happened before, what I did?”
He shakes his head again.
I let out a long exhale. “Okay, we don’t need to talk about it right now,” I tell him, knowing we will have to at some point. “But can I just say how very sorry I am for betraying your trust like I did. I never should’ve done it and I truly regret the pain it caused you.”
Nick stares at me the whole time I’m speaking even though it feels like he isn’t listening to me at all. When I finish, he pulls me in for another kiss. It’s tender and beautiful, and almost like it was before everything went to shit.
Almost.
Because at the same time, it feels different, like an excuse maybe, or an avoidance at the very least. And as shitty as it is for me to just pretend this past week hasn’t happened, it’s still exactly what I do, kissing him back, as I pull him against me.
Because the truth is, I’ve missed him and I’ve missed this, and as much as I know we can’t ignore what’s happened, I don’t really want to talk about it right now either.
We spend the day in Nick’s apartment; neither of us doing much and neither of us saying much. Given everything that’s happened, especially Nick’s reaction last night, I know I need to get him talking about things, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. I’m stalling because I’m scared, and I’m scared because I don’t want to push him back over the edge again. Not when I’ve already done it once.
The medical side of me knows this is wrong, that you can’t just bury grief and trauma and expect it to go away on it’s own. It never does. Nick needs to talk about what happened, not just what happened last night, but a year ago too. Me letting him stay mute is only going to make things worse in the long run.
But the side of me that cares for him, that sees him as something more than just a patient, can’t bring myself to push it, because this side is just happy he’s back. Even though we both know he’s not really back at all.
“Are you going to work tonight?” I ask, late in the afternoon.
Nick looks up at me from the couch. “No.”
I nod once, unsure what that means, before sitting beside him. He pulls me close and we spend the rest of the evening watching mindless TV, which neither of us takes in. When we eventually go to bed, Nick pulls me close again and for a little while it almost feels like this past week didn’t happen, that everything’s normal again.
But as soon as it’s over, that feeling disappears and I realise as ‘normal’ as that might have felt, it really wasn’t.
We fall asleep without saying a word.
~ Nick<
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I wake with a start, the images of my nightmare still flashing before my eyes; my body shaking and covered in sweat. I glance over at Emma who lies beside me. She’s still asleep, thank god, so trying not to wake her; I carefully slide out of bed.
In the kitchen I grab a beer from the fridge before walking into the living room. I turn on the TV, turning the volume down low and sit on the couch. Oscar follows me, curling up beside me as I slide down and prop my feet on the coffee table.
There’s a foreign movie on that I’m not paying any attention to, subtitles that I’m not bothering to read. I can feel my eyes closing again and I risk a brief moment of rest.
But it’s back almost immediately.
The long pale arm hanging from the side of the tub.
The pool of blood on the floor that seems to grow bigger and bigger the longer I look at it.
I can hear dripping and it takes me a second to realise it’s not coming from the faucet, but from the arm that’s hanging over the floor.
I walk closer, my bare foot stepping right into the middle of the blood. At first I don’t recognise the person in the bath. At first glance it’s Amy, but then it’s Emma, and then it’s back to Amy again. I reach out to her, but as soon as I do her eyes open, her mouth following in a silent scream that makes me stumble in fright, slipping in the blood as the face morphs into someone I don’t recognise at all.
And that’s when I wake up.
I knew that’s not what I’d walked in on yesterday when I finally came back home. Emma wasn’t lying dead in the bath with a pool of blood on the floor. She was asleep, and it was just red wine.
I feel like a fucking idiot for reacting the way I did and I honestly can’t understand why she’s still here, trying to help me. Why all of this hasn’t scared her away.
“Can’t sleep?”
I glance up and find Emma wrapped in a blanket, leaning against the bookcase that separates my bedroom from the living room.
“No,” I reply, shaking my head.
Emma eyes the beer in my hand as she walks over. She says nothing though, as she sits beside me on the couch, resting her head on my shoulder.
“You should go back to bed,” I tell her, even as I wrap an arm around her shoulders. “You don’t need to stay up with me.”
“Mmmm,” she murmurs, as she pushes herself against me, clearly not moving.
I exhale a long sigh, wondering exactly what the fuck is going on right now.
With me.
With her.
With us.
Because this world we’ve somehow slipped back into isn’t the same world we were in a week ago. Things have been said and done and changed in ways I’m not sure how to undo or come back from.
~ Emma
Nick doesn’t go to work all weekend and when I join him on the couch after his latest nightmare on Sunday night, he tells me to go back to bed because I need sleep before I go to work tomorrow.
“I’m not going to work,” I tell him, my eyes half closed in exhaustion.
“What?” he asks, twisting a little so he’s looking right at me. “You have to go. You should go, Emma. I don’t need you staying here, babysitting me.” His words sting and he immediately apologises. “Sorry, that’s not what I meant.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure. “It’s okay,” I tell him. “Anyway, I have the week off.”
“Why?”
I take a deep breath as I sit up. In reality, both of us are exhausted because neither of us has slept since Nick came back. It’s only been two nights, but it’s been two very disturbed nights filled with his nightmares and me trying to comfort him. Even when he’s managed to grab a nap on the couch, it’s never for very long and always ends the same way: with him waking from a nightmare.
I know it can’t go on like this, but still I can’t bring myself to do anything about it. I’m being a coward; I know that.
“Why, Em?” he repeats.
I give him a smile. “Because,” I say, glancing down at my hands. “Because Jason gave me the week off.”
“Why?’ he asks again.
I exhale. “Because I was messing up at work.”
“What?”
I glance up and find Nick unusually focused as he watches me, waiting for my answer. I force myself to take a deep breath as I wonder how I’m supposed to explain this without making everything worse. The last thing he needs is to feel like something else is his fault.
“Yeah,” I say, reaching for his hand as I offer a small smile. “I was having a bad week and Jason suggested I take some time off. It’s no big deal,” I offer, shrugging.
“Bullshit,” he says, sitting forward a little. It’s the most animated I’ve seen him since this all started. “This isn’t like you, Em.”
I shrug, because it’s the best explanation I’ve got right now.
Nick watches me, scrubbing a hand over his face as it finally dawns on him. “It’s because of me, isn’t it?”
I shrug again, not sure what to say at this point.
“Oh fuck, Emma, I’m sorry,” he says, pulling me against him. “I’ve really fucked things up here, haven’t I?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head against his chest, knowing I’m the one who’s fucked things up. “But…” I pause, force myself to take a deep breath before I say what I know I should have said two days ago. “I do think we need to talk about what happened, Nick.”
I pull back a little so I can look at him, but Nick looks away, stares at the TV as though he’s avoiding me.
“Nick?” I whisper.
He turns now, smiles at me in a way that’s supposed to be reassuring, but is most definitely not. “It’s okay, Em, really,” he says. “But I am sorry it’s messed with your work, truly.”
I shake my head, not believing a word he’s saying. “It’s not messing with my work,” I say, even though we both know that’s not true. “I just want you to be okay,” I add, my words a whisper.
“I will be,” he says, pulling me against him again. “I will be.”
But he’s not, and as the week goes by things don’t get any better, they get much worse. The nightmares don’t stop. If anything they get more frequent and more graphic, so that by the end of the week, Nick’s not even sleeping at all anymore.
Work is out of the question and instead he spends most of the time sitting on the couch alternatively drinking beer to dull the pain or coffee to stay awake.
Tony messages me every night, letting me know he’s taking care of the bar, asking if he should come and see Nick. Every time I relay the message though, Nick shows no interest in either the bar or Tony. He doesn’t even leave the apartment and by Friday I’m at a loss as to what to do, because this limbo we’re in feels like something indefinite and I’m no longer sure what to say or what to do or how to make any of it better.
No amount of medical training has prepared me for this, because for the first time in my career, I’m not removed from the situation. I can’t just switch off and detach my emotions when I’m dealing with someone I care about.
And because of that, I’m more confused than I’ve ever been; unable to make a diagnosis or work out the best course of treatment. All that feels too clinical, too detached from this reality and the person I’m trying to help. The person I care about.
Worst of all though, is the regret I still feel for causing all of this in the first place. For opening up a wound that was simply trying to heal itself in its own way.
Do no harm.
Feels like an ironic slap in the face now.
“Hey,” I say, handing him a bowl of pasta. “Hungry?”
Nick shakes his head, ignoring the food and instead taking another sip of beer.
“You need to eat,” I tell him, holding it closer.
“I’m not hungry,” he says, pushing it away.
I stop; watch as he finishes his beer before pushing off the couch and walking into the kitchen and grabbing another. I follow after him, the bowl of pasta
still in my hand.
“But you’re thirsty?”
Nick turns, a pissed off look on his face. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
I exhale, my eyes closing briefly as I try to work out the best way to say this. “You need to eat, Nick,” I tell him. “You need something more than alcohol in your system.”
“Do I?” he says, slamming his beer on the kitchen bench.
“Yes.”
“Fine,” he says, stepping towards me. He grabs the bowl from my hand, roughly spooning several mouthfuls of pasta into his mouth before throwing the bowl into the sink where is smashes against the pots. The sound makes me jump, but Nick doesn’t notice, instead picking up his beer and walking straight past me and back out to the couch.
I step forward, my hand grabbing the edge of the sink as I try to remain standing, an ache spreading throughout my chest as my body almost doubles over in pain.
I know this is beyond me now; that no amount of medical training or experience has prepared me for this. I can’t help Nick, no matter how much I want to. I need…I need help.
My phone sounds out with a text, and I’m not sure if it’s an omen or a blessing. I grab it from the kitchen table.
Jason: hey, just checking in to see how things are going? I hope everything’s better…that you sorted whatever it is you needed to sort. You ok to come back next week?
I almost start crying at his words and without even thinking, I hit the call icon and hope to god that this is the right thing to do.
That I’m not going to make things worse than they already are.
~ Nick
I fall back on the couch, my body wracked with guilt over what I just did. I’m not trying to be an arsehole here, but I just can’t seem to stop it. I’m fucking exhausted and I have no idea how to fix any of this shit that’s in my head or between us.
Even though I’m pissed off about what happened, about what Emma did, I do know she doesn’t deserve this.
