by Natalie Ward
I like that Owen and Will come by too because I feel like in addition to dragging Emma into all the shit going on in my life, I’ve also kept her from hers too.
These past few weeks, she’s spent every night at my apartment. I like it, have grown used to it, and I’m not sure how I’m going to feel when the night she doesn’t stay finally arrives. I know she’s only doing it because she’s worried about me, about all the shit that’s going on inside my head. But as much as that’s what’s keeping her at my place, I don’t want this to become our normal.
Which leaves me stuck somewhere between sorting all this shit out and knowing that the day I finally do will ultimately mean she goes back to her own apartment.
“Anything else we need to do?” she asks, smiling at me.
I glance around the now empty bar. Tony’s gone. I sent him home early, knowing that if anyone needed a break, it was him.
“Nope,” I say. “We’re all done.”
Emma nods, smiling as I walk towards her, wrap an arm around her shoulders and pull her close.
“You’re coming upstairs?” I ask, half expecting her to say no now that I’ve actually managed to re-enter the real world for a couple of hours.
“Yes,” she says, as we head outside.
I exhale, grateful that it won’t be tonight I have to face it.
It’s selfish of me and I know it, but I’m doing it because I genuinely feel like I need her here. She’s the only thing keeping me going in all of this. And despite our earlier confessions, both of us finally admitting to each other how we really feel, things are still a long way from being back to normal.
~ Emma
The rest of the week almost feels like we’re back to normal. Nick keeps going back to work each night and actually seems like he’s enjoying it. He’s eating better too and drinking less. And we’re talking more; not necessarily about that night, but about how he’s feeling and how much he wants to fix this.
He still isn’t sleeping that well, the nightmares waking him most nights, but he does seem to be coping with them better. He’s often able to shake it off and actually go back to sleep instead of spending the rest of the night awake in front of the TV.
So we fall into a routine of work and the bar and occasionally spending time with friends who drop by for a drink.
I try to spend as many nights as I can downstairs, even though it means I’m exhausted when I have to get up for work the next morning. It just feels like something Nick needs from me and I don’t want to undo how far we’ve come by bailing on him.
Even though I’d never admit this to him, it feels like some sort of peace has been reached.
Fragile peace, but peace nonetheless.
“Emma!”
I turn; see Adrian walking towards me, waving.
“Hey,” I say, smiling. “What are you doing here?”
He waves a file. “Patient consult,” he says, glancing down the corridor. “I don’t do them often, but every now and then I get asked to come to the hospital. How’s things?”
“Good,” I nod. “Nick’s back working again,” I add.
“Nice,” Adrian says, smiling.
“I took your advice,” I say, half shrugging. “Got him back there. It seems to have helped…a lot.”
“I’m really glad to hear that,” he says.
“I feel like he’s really starting to improve,” I continue, eager to tell him how much things have changed just this past week. “As though he’s finally starting to move past all of this and get back to…”
“Emma,” Adrian says, cutting me off.
“What?”
He offers me a sympathetic smile. “This isn’t going to happen overnight, you know that,” he says. “Nick’s suffering a lot of grief, a lot of stress and trauma, most of which he’s only just beginning to acknowledge. It’s going to take time, especially as we haven’t even discussed Amy’s death yet.”
Adrian’s words hit me with a thud; knocking the joy I was feeling at all the progress Nick’s made right out of me. The worst thing is, I know he’s right too, but I’ve been so blinded by finally seeing him acting normal, that I thought it was all basically over.
God, I’m an idiot.
“Don’t beat yourself up,” he says, placing a hand on my arm. “He will get there, I promise. You both will.”
I nod. “I know.”
“And I know you want it to happen quickly,” he adds.
“No, I get it,” I say quickly, embarrassed by my obvious stupidity. “I get that it’s going to take time, really. I just…”
“You wanted it to happen quickly,” he suggests.
I nod, flushing a little at how stupid that is and especially considering that I really should know better.
“Don’t give up,” he says. “We will get there.”
I take a deep breath, nodding as I meet Adrian’s eyes. They’re kind, sympathetic and I’m reminded of how lucky we are that he’s helping Nick. “I won’t.”
Adrian nods once before glancing at his watch. “I have to go,” he says. “I’ll see you at the usual time tonight?”
I nod again; watch as Adrian smiles once more before turning and walking away. I watch as he disappears down the corridor, turning into a room at the end.
I feel so stupid for thinking we were even close to getting back to normal. Like an idiot for acting the way I just did.
When I walk out of work tonight, Nick’s waiting for me, sitting on the same bench he sat on all those months ago. He smiles as he stands and hands me a coffee, just like that first time, and for a second I stop, wonder if maybe Adrian’s wrong about it all taking time.
“Hey,” he says. “How was work?”
I glance up at him, searching his face for some sort of sign that he’s getting better. But despite the smile, the eyes that are fixed on mine, I know it’s not there. Adrian’s not wrong, I am.
Nick is still in pain and although he might be trying to hide it by going back to work and coming to meet me now, I can see it, right there in his eyes.
“Em?” he prompts.
I shake my head. “Okay,” I tell him. “Ran into Adrian,” I add, not elaborating.
“Huh,” Nick says, not asking for details.
We turn and head towards Adrian’s office in silence. When we arrive, he greets us with a warm smile, as he normally does. He makes no mention of running into me today and neither Nick nor I bring it up either.
Instead he goes through the usual questions, asking Nick how he is, how he’s sleeping and whether he’s gone back to work yet. He doesn’t look at me once, instead praising Nick for going back to the bar and encouraging him to keep it up.
Eventually, he turns to look at me, gives me a quick smile that I can’t decipher before turning back to Nick.
“So, can we talk about the night Amy died?”
And despite how much I wish Nick really were getting better, I suddenly want to ignore all the things we still need to talk about and deal with and instead stay exactly where we are.
About One Year Before That Night…
~ Nick
“You sure you don’t want to come downstairs for a bit?” I ask, sitting on the couch.
Amy shakes her head, her eyes fixed on the TV, not looking at me.
“Aims,” I say, resting a hand on her foot. She flinches and I immediately remove it, knowing she can’t stand to be touched by anyone these days. “Sorry,” I murmur.
She pulls the blanket further under her chin, her bloodshot eyes still fixed on the screen. She barely sleeps, hardly ever talks anymore, just spends day after day and night after night, sitting on my couch watching TV. I’m not even sure she’s actually watching it, she never changes the channel, and once I caught her staring at a signal error message as though she was fascinated by it.
“It might do you some good,” I suggest, knowing that nothing I suggest ever seems to get through. “Come down and hang out with everyone, have a drink. You don’t need to work.”
>
She shakes her head again, still not looking at me.
I let out a long exhale, running a hand through my hair as I stand up. “Okay,” I say, slowly bending down to press a kiss to her forehead. Her eyes close when I do, her face contorting as though she’s in pain from this one action. “I’ll come up and check on you later, okay?”
She shrugs and I watch her for a second longer before I finally drag myself downstairs to work. In addition to not sleeping or talking, she won’t eat either and me coming back to check on her is partly to get her some dinner and make sure she eats it and partly to check that she’s actually okay.
I don’t think that she would ever do anything. I believe her when she said the sleeping tablet overdose was an accident. It seemed legit, especially after everything that had happened to her, but I’m still reluctant to leave her by herself for too long. I don’t like the dark places she takes herself to, her mind seemingly disappearing into an endless pit of despair that I’m afraid she’ll never get out of.
I get it though, knowing everything that happened to her, but it’s unbearable to watch someone so connected to me suffer this much. I catch her crying sometimes, scratching at her skin as though she can barely stand to be in her own body, and it literally kills me.
It breaks my heart to know that she’s so irrevocably changed from the person she used to be. But as much as I want to help her, help her find a way back to being that person again, I have no idea what to do.
Or if it’s even possible.
How the fuck do you undo something like what she went through? Doctors can give medicine for the pain, sew up the cuts and tell her she needs to talk. But none of that will undo what’s been done to her.
“She okay?” Tony asks, as I walk into the bar.
I shake my head. “Nope, the same.”
“Fuck,” he mutters, exhaling hard. I know he’s tried talking to her too, encouraging her to come downstairs, even if it’s just to sit with us while we set up the bar. But just like with me, she refuses his pleas as well.
For a while we thought it might be because here is where everything happened. That she couldn’t stand to be in the one place she associated with the attack. But then it became apparent that she didn’t seem to want to go anywhere. Not home to her place, not to Mum and Dad’s, not even to Amy’s.
I’m not sure what it is about my apartment that seems to comfort her, but there is no way I’m ever going to kick her out. If she sees it as some sort of refuge, then she can stay here as long as she needs to. I’ve even brought Oscar over, in the hopes that he might help. She allows him to sit on the couch with her, but she all but ignores him too; rarely stroking him and only occasionally remembering to feed him.
“You want me to go up and try?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No, just leave it for now. I’ll go up and check on her later.”
“I mean,” Tony starts, then stops, running a frustrated hand over his head.
I know exactly what the rest of his sentence is going to be. It’s the same thing he says every night we can’t get Amy down here. The same thing we’ve all been wondering these past few months.
“I get she’s gone through a lot,” he continues. “I mean seriously, I fucking get it. But is this shrink she’s seeing actually doing anything?”
I shrug. “I dunno,” I say. “It’s supposed to be helping.”
“Doesn’t really seem like it,” he mutters.
I understand his frustration because even though I don’t say anything, there’s a part of me that wonders the same thing. Is talking to this therapist actually doing anything?
I get that it will take time; it’s a pretty massive thing to have to deal with. What I don’t get is how she only seems to be getting worse with every day that passes.
It’s a busy night and by the time I finally make it upstairs, it’s been nearly two hours. I take up the burger I’ve ordered her, knowing that most of it will be left on the plate. Amy’s still curled up on the couch, same spot I left her in.
“Here,” I say, smiling as I crouch down in front of her. “I brought you some dinner.”
Amy eyes the plate in my hand before looking back at me. “I’m not hungry,” she says, her voice scratchy as though she hasn’t spoken in a long time.
“I know,” I say, offering a smile. “But you need to eat. And you need to take these,” I add, reaching for the tablets on the coffee table.
Anti-depressants, anti-anxiety meds, sleeping pills; you name it, Amy’s on it. I worry that all they’re doing is turning her into a zombie, but her therapist assures us that just like their regular meetings, the tablets are a good thing. Says she needs some peace in order to be able to start processing and dealing with what’s happened to her. That these tablets will help give her that peace.
In my mind, the only thing that’s going to bring Amy peace is Tony and I finding that fuckhead Zach and beating the shit out of him. Pretty sure Dad feels the same way and if the day ever comes when we do, I don’t like Zach’s chances at being able to walk away…ever.
Amy holds out her hand for the tablets and I put them in her palm, holding a glass of water out too. She swallows them down, her head falling back onto the pillow.
“Come on, Aims,” I say gently. “Eat something, please. For me?”
She looks up at me now, her blue eyes filled with so much pain it breaks my heart. It’s unbearable to see her like this, to know that I can’t take any of it away for her.
I remember back when we were kids and Amy broke her arm falling from the tree, and she’d cried and cried at the pain. I’d been so scared, not because I thought we’d get in trouble, but because I’d never seen her like that.
I’d wanted to break my arm instead, even offered to do it, just so I could take the pain away from her, make it mine so she wouldn’t have to feel it anymore.
But of course I couldn’t do that, just like I can’t now.
She eventually reaches out and takes a couple of fries from the plate, shoving them in her mouth, chewing and swallowing them as though she’s barely even tasting it.
I smile in encouragement. “Keep going.”
She repeats the movement, shoveling the fries in one after the other until they’re all gone. I know she hasn’t tasted a single bite, hasn’t even come close to enjoying it.
“Burger?” I suggest.
Amy shakes her head once before it falls back onto the pillow again.
“Can I get you anything else?” I ask, already knowing what the answer will be.
“No,” she croaks out.
I reach over, slowly so she knows it’s coming, and gently brush my fingers against her cheek. “This will get better, Aims,” I whisper. “I promise you, eventually it will get better.”
It feels like an empty, hollow promise, but despite my own lack of belief in the words, I know I still need to say them.
Her eyes flick to mine now, the pain briefly receding so they are nothing but empty pools of blue. She watches me for a moment, searching my face as though she’s looking for answers, or maybe the truth behind my words.
It’s unnerving the way she looks at me, but as scary as it is, I don’t want to look away. I need her to know that I’m here for her, and that no matter what happens, she will never be alone in this.
“Aims?” I whisper.
She smiles now, the tiniest, briefest flicker of a smile before she reaches out and mirrors my earlier action, brushing her own fingers across my cheek. It’s such a small gesture, but right now, it feels huge.
Amy hasn’t smiled since any of this happened. I totally get it, but it’s been so long, I just wasn’t expecting it. And coupled with her actually initiating touching me, it just feels massive right now.
“Do you,” I start; swallowing hard as I force the emotions I’m suddenly feeling down. I don’t want to scare her with how much this means to me. “Do you want me to stay and hang out for a bit?” I ask.
“S’okay,” she says, brushin
g her fingers against my skin once more.
I wait, hoping she’ll change her mind. But she doesn’t, instead, turning back to the TV, the moment we just shared seemingly forgotten. I turn to go, but for some reason, turn back, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead again.
As much as this small change in her is a good thing, there’s something about it that scares me, as though there’s more to it than what I’m seeing. But then she glances up, smiles at me again and I push that feeling away, wondering if maybe instead of it being a bad thing, it’s actually a sign that things are going to get better after all.
I head back downstairs, confused about how I’m feeling. I so desperately want this to be a sign that things are getting better, but at the same time I wonder how it can be. Nothing’s changed. Not how she’s feeling, how much she’s talking, eating or even anything she’s doing. Zach still hasn’t been caught, and so far that doesn’t look like it will be changing anytime soon.
So how could Amy possibly be getting any better?
“You okay?” Tony asks, as I walk back into the bar.
I shrug. “Yeah.”
“You sure?” he asks, giving me a strange look. “You don’t seem it.”
I shake my head, trying to shake off whatever this bad feeling is. It was just a smile, just a touch. Maybe it was more, but maybe it was exactly what it was and nothing less.
“It’s nothing,” I say, grabbing a beer from the fridge.
Tony watches me as though he isn’t sure whether he believes me. “How was she?” he eventually asks, evidently deciding not to push it.
I shrug. “Okay,” I say. “Pretty much the same.”
Whatever it is though, I don’t want to jinx it by saying anything else, as though by allowing myself to vocalise it, I will turn it into something it’s not.
Tony mumbles something I don’t catch and we both go back to work.
But as the night drags on that feeling, whatever it was, doesn’t diminish, it intensifies. By the time we are ready to close up, it’s become so prominent, it’s practically screaming at me to wake up and pay attention.
