Duly Noted

by H. M. Shander

  “Everything okay in that head of yours?”

  I swear it wasn’t him. All I could see was Nate. “What the hell?”

  He stood before her and pulled on his jeans. A smile crossed his face. “Can I take you out for breakfast before I head home?” His shirt slipped over his head. “When you start feeling better, of course.”

  “I don’t eat breakfast,” she lied, “especially with the pills. It turns my stomach.” Another lie, but she wanted him to leave. Disgusted with herself, she couldn’t look at him. What was she thinking to have had sex with him? She swore it was Nate. That had to have been a fucked-up combo of pills. But they’d broke up, right? She kicked him out and was rather rude to him when he was only trying to help. And now she’d fucked someone else. If she could’ve felt worse, she would’ve. But– ah, the pain meds were starting to kick in and numb her.

  He brushed the hair back from her face and placed a kiss on her lips. “Okay. I understand.”

  Pushing him away, she glared at him. “What do you understand?”

  “I’m not stupid, my lady. And it’s okay, I get it.”

  “What exactly do you get?”

  “That you’re embarrassed. I’m sure you hadn’t planned on sleeping with me.”

  Shock registered on her face as she tightened the blanket around her. “You got that right, buddy.” Grateful for working meds as the movement didn’t blind her in pain.

  His eyes narrowed at her terse comment. “Feel better, my lady,” he said, “and call me later if you want. You know how to reach me.” He sauntered over to her door, and exited her apartment.

  When the door clicked, she turned her head into the couch cushions and cried. “Oh, what have I done?”

  Sometime later, because she wasn’t sure what time it was when he’d left, she woke up and tidied the apartment, taking care to make sure it was devoid of anything Matthew James related. She would not let on to anyone, especially her daddy, she’d had a one-night stand.

  About to step out and grab a few groceries, the buzzer to her apartment sounded. “Hello?”

  “Flower delivery.”

  Oh for fuck’s sake. She pressed the button, allowing him access.

  She unwrapped the huge bouquet, staring at the card. You’ve stolen my heart. With you, I know it’s in good hands. The more she read it, the more it pissed her off. She stormed over to the recycling bag and after ripping the card into a million little pieces, tossed it. But the daisies and lilies filled the air with their fragrances, it’d be a shame to toss them. With the card gone, no one would be the wiser to know who they were from. So, she placed them in the centre of her kitchen table.

  Wanting to talk to someone, she considered calling Kaitlyn, but slammed that idea away, figuring she’d be livid to know she’d first had dinner, and then, gag, sex with Matthew. She didn’t want to share that with anyone. It was bad all over. And Nate. If they ever got back together again, Nate would be pissed, and rightfully so. It would drive them forever apart. Her daddy would think her a slut which she’d agree with at this point. And back to Kaitlyn– she’d probably march over and slap some sense into her. Yep, not going to happen.

  That night, sleep gave Aurora the middle finger. The past twenty-four hours were quite the roller-coaster. She remembered the sex part, and it was great. But was it great because she thought it was Nate? As much as she fan-girled over Matthew, she wasn’t into him like that. Did Matthew take advantage of her? Unlikely, since he didn’t know what she’d taken, and didn’t realise her altered mind. But how could he not know? She told him dinner was awkward, right? If only she’d said no to him coming over. Grrr, it was so frustrating.

  Other thoughts plagued her – the anniversary of her mother and sister’s death, and the visit with her daddy who would no doubt be a total zombie about the whole thing. He never talked about it and it bugged her. They both lost that night, and yet he seemed to jump right over it, as if he skipped a chapter in a book. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he talk about it?

  After tossing for hours, she retreated to the bathroom to search out something. Something chemical to help her find Mr. Sandman. Choosing the tiny pill, she swallowed it down and crawled back into bed, rolling over and over until sleep gave up fighting with her, allowing her to steal a couple of hours.

  The morning greeted Aurora no better than the night had, with a nasty grin. Her clock flashed 7:00 a.m. and she smacked it off the table, growling as it bounced on the floor. Four hours of sleep wasn’t enough. Even a cold shower, and a cup of coffee, didn’t help her to perk up. Normally it would. Not today.

  Two years ago today, she killed her mother and sister, even if documentation said she didn’t. She was the driver, and ten seconds faster or slower that day could’ve saved their lives.

  She pulled out the last family photo, taken eighteen months before the accident. All posed together in a portrait studio, trying to capture the perfect smiles for their Christmas cards. But the photographer was crafty, and made them laugh about something Aurora had long since forgotten, and snapped the picture. It turned out brilliantly, becoming Aurora’s favorite. No forced smiles at the camera, instead they’re all looking at each other. Perfection in a photo and Aurora begged her parents for a copy of it, displaying it with pride. Now in her apartment, it sat on her dresser. She touched her mother’s head, and whispered, “I love you, Momma.”

  Work did nothing to ease the sadness within her soul. She’d rather have interacted with her co-workers, instead she organized and shelved the reference material at the far back of the library where no one visited much. If people needed information nowadays, there was Google. It was uncommon to see people using this section. Mostly, they pretended to read, but what they really did was remove books from the shelves and leave them on the table.

  She grumbled as she reorganized the back shelves, making sure the books were in the correct order. Time alone was not good. She longed for company – someone, anyone, to distract her from thinking. Too many people swirled inside her head, and she couldn’t make any headway. Thoughts about her mother would meld into thoughts about Matthew, which would then turn into Carmen and flip to Nate and start the process all over again.

  On a bathroom break, she rooted through her purse needing her gold – Xanax. Disappointed in herself for not having refilled her supply, she debated what to do. Thinking all morning was not the best use of her time, but it couldn’t be avoided. As she stared at the pills she had, she wondered? Will they ease my thoughts? Settle down my mind so I can focus? I won’t mix what I did Saturday, just a couple to shut my mind up. If it helps.

  After glancing around the locker area to make sure she was alone, she twisted open two containers. She hoped together, the two pills would achieve the same effect as the Xanax. Maybe they’ll even be a little stronger together and I won’t have to think at all. Nodding to no one, she swallowed the pills. I’ll be home within the hour and can get the Xanax I need. Dumping everything back into her purse, she headed back out on the floor.

  A young couple made their way to the back area where she stood. Thankful for something to listen to, she manoeuvred her cart closer to hear their conversation. They debated the merits of a recent film, discussing the direction and acting until they stopped. And stared at her. “Can I help you?” one of them asked.

  She focused on the book in her hand. “Umm, no.”

  “Let’s go. I hate eavesdroppers,” the one girl said, standing abruptly.

  So much for having something to listen to. Now it was back to her twisted thoughts. She held a library book, and stared at the call number. Focusing on the shelf in front of her, she couldn’t figure out where it belonged. 126.758. Did it go before 126.578 or after? It was hard to tell as the numbers kept swirling. Five minutes later, she was no further ahead as she still held the book.

  “Fuck it,” she said, sliding it into a random spot. Her phone beeped. Lunch time. “Oh, thank god. It’s time for Xanax.”

  Waving g
oodbye to a staff member who must be new as she didn’t recognize him, she stumbled out the main door. Her head spun uncontrollably, and she tripped over non-existent rocks, catching her foot in the crack of a sidewalk. Her keys dropped from her hands, not once but twice. Exhausted in her efforts to walk with jello-filled legs, she leaned against the apartment tower’s main door trying to unlock it. What’s wrong with me? Why do I feel so heavy? And funky? Her. Key. Would. Not. Fit.

  “Here,” someone said as she left the building, and held the door for her.

  “Fanks.” Fanks? This can’t be good. Something’s definitely wrong. She wobbled her way to the elevator and leaned hard into the soft wall which moved against her back. Someone ought to complain to the caretaker about this. Maybe there’s mould under this wall. The numbers on the panel blinked in slo-mo. 13… 14… 15… 16…

  “Woo-hoo. Seventeen,” she yelled out when her floor number flashed.

  With her head rotating like a tornado and her feet moving like rubber bands, she somehow made it to her apartment door. She breathed hard and leaned against a wall as she tried to see the number on the door. Three doors later, she cheered, “Mine!” Her knuckles rapped on her door. “Hello?” she answered, her laughter echoed down the empty hall.

  “I’ve got this,” the male voice beside her chimed up, although where he came from, she wasn’t sure.

  “I know you, don’t I?” Her speech slurred, and she attempted to focus on the vaguely familiar person before her. Definitely male. Tall. Dark hair. Ah, fuck. Who cares? She gave up trying to figure it out. It was too much work. Besides, he wasn’t standing still, and moved around too much. The tug of the keys from her hand was easy. Way too easy. She sighed and closed her eyes only to throw her hands out to the sides when the unmistakable feeling of falling backwards overcame her. Until something, or someone caught her. And as her stomach flipped, she turned her head, emptying the contents outside the door.

  “Yuck,” the male voice said.

  Her feet dragged beneath her, over to the couch. The rough fabric rubbed against her face. “My couch,” she said, before her body relaxed and her mind darkened.

  Chapter Eighteen

  A loud gurgle bubbled out, as she opened her left eye, and then her right, gasping as two pairs of eyes stared down at her. One had a disapproving glare on his face, and the other wore concern.

  “Hey, Princess.”

  “Daddy?” Oh SHIT. “What’re you doing here?” She scrambled to get into a sitting position, tossing the blanket off. Where had that come from?

  “It’s Monday. I told you I was coming.”

  She rested her aching head against the palms of her hands. Tylenol where are you? I need you. Nah, fuck the Tylenol. I need something stronger.

  “Imagine my surprise when I came into the apartment and saw him in here. With you passed out on the couch.”

  She removed her hands to see the other face. Nate.

  “Anything you want to tell me?” Cole was angry, his eyes in little slits. His mouth tight and drawn.

  “No.” But she turned to Nate. “What are you doing here?”

  He moved out of the way so she could put her legs on the floor. “I followed you home.”

  “Creeper.”

  “You’re lucky he did, Princess.” She hated the tone her Daddy used – the same one he used on her when she was a child. She hadn’t done anything wrong, so why was he scolding her as if he’d caught her riding her bike when he told her not to.

  Nate spoke. “You were walking kind of funny when you left, so yeah, I followed you. You stumbled across the road almost like you were drunk, but I think you were dizzy. You couldn’t stand straight so I helped you into the elevator where you leaned on me, and I unlocked your apartment before you passed out on the couch.”

  She winced, but not from pain. Oh my god, that was you?

  “Your dad shows up, which I figured out because he had a key, and you sort of look like him. Once he determined you’d be okay, he introduced himself. And then we waited. And talked.” Nate stood, moving away from her over to the other chair after she shot an arrow in his direction.

  “What did you take?” Cole demanded.

  Aurora shook her head, not able to remember. What did I take? I think there were two, maybe three pills?

  He grabbed two containers off the floor beside him, flashing them before her eyes. They were from her purse. “How many?”

  She grabbed at the containers, and remembrance dawned on her. “A perc and some cold meds.”

  “Aurora!” he yelled and stood. “You’re not supposed to mix them.”

  “I had to, Daddy,” she yelled back. “The days are hard enough without being slapped with memories. And all morning long I spent walking alone down memory lane.” Tears escaped her eyes. “Today’s a really hard day, and I just needed–”

  “Oh, Princess, I know.”

  “No, you don’t.” She stood to match his stance, pushing his hands away. “You weren’t there. You didn’t hear the crunching of the car. You don’t know what it feels like being slammed into a wall and then hearing nothing. NOTHING.” She sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve. “You don’t know what it’s like. Every god damn day I hear a car squeal its tires, I wonder why I never heard that sound that night. Why did he never try to slam on his brakes? Every time I see someone have a drink at the bar, I wonder if they’ll drive home, and if so, how many people they’ll kill on their way.” Defeated, she slumped. “And it’s all my fault, Daddy.”

  He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her. “No, Princess, it’s his. He was drunk and ran the stop sign. It wasn’t your fault.”

  She pushed out of the fatherly embrace and stormed over to the patio door. “It was. I was driving. It was my responsibility to keep them safe, and I should’ve looked before entering the intersection. Maybe if I had, they’d be here today. I killed them.” Her forehead slammed against the glass as her shoulders rolled inward.

  “Oh, Aurora. It wasn’t your fault and the witnesses agree. You did nothing wrong.”

  Turning to face her father she said, “I should’ve paid more attention, but we were laughing and having a good time. And then… and then… it was gone.” She snapped her fingers. “Just like that. Not looking cost them their lives, and I have to live with that daily. So forgive me if today I didn’t want to feel that pain and hurt.” Huge tears fell down her cheeks.

  “That’s not how to deal with it.” He shook his head, his hair falling into his eyes.

  “How then, Daddy?”

  “You talk about it. Talk through it.”

  She scrunched her face, staring at him. “With who? The therapist? The one who only knows me only since the accident? Why can’t I talk about it with you?”

  “Because, you can’t. You don’t understand.”

  “Don’t I know it?” Turning back to the window, she hunched her shoulders and braced herself against the glass door. “You always shut me out. Every fucking time.” She limped and paced around the room.

  “Don’t use that language with me.”

  Aurora faced him and pointed a stern finger in his direction. “Your wife and your daughter died that day.” Her hands flew into the air. “How can you not talk about that? How can you pretend like it didn’t happen, and they never existed? How do you make it through the day like that?” Her sleeve scratched across her nose.

  Cole looked her hard in the eyes. “Work.”

  “Bullshit, Daddy. I work all goddamn day, and it doesn’t do fuck all to help me.” More tears fell. “Even weeks later, when I was studying all-day for the diploma exams, I thought about them. Then throughout the first year. How can you not think about them?”

  “Because I CAN’T, Aurora. It’s what works for me.”

  “Well it doesn’t work for me.” She poked the air in front of him, almost connecting with his chest. “I miss them so much, and I think about everything Momma will miss in my life. My university grad, my wedding, my babies. E
verything. You don’t think that doesn’t weigh on me?” Her voice fell to a volume barely above a whisper.

  “Drugs aren’t the answer.” Although his expression was one of concern, his tone was flat.

  Falling to her knees, she said, “They’re prescription drugs, they’re supposed to help me.” Her eyes searched his, hoping for anything else but the anger they held. Tears streamed down her cheeks realising it was hopeless. “I need them, Daddy. I need them because I need you, but you keep shutting me out. Talk to me. Please.”

  Her daddy pinched the bridge of his nose. “I check in with you almost daily. Trust me, I’m not shutting you out.”

  “Why won’t you talk about her then? You act like she’s at home, waiting for you.”

  “Aurora, there are things you don’t understand.”

  Her voice pitched. “So enlighten me. Please.”

  He opened his mouth, and shut it just as quick. “Never mind. You’re a child and you’d never understand.”

  “Daddy, please.”

  “Call your therapist. They’re trained to help you through this. Because you need to get through this, Aurora. Hanging on like this, and using drugs to diminish your pain, that’s not healthy.”

  Angry, she stood with her hands on her hips. “You know what’s not healthy? Not admitting you need help too, Daddy.”

  He glared at her, and stepped sideways, thrusting his hands into his pockets. “I don’t. You’re wrong.”

  “Because MacIntyre’s don’t dwell on things. Ever. Am I right?” Anger and heat seared into her soul as he growled.

  “Make an appointment.” He walked to the door.

  “Hypocrite,” she yelled as loud as she could before the door slammed. Grief overcame her, and she backed up to the couch, her head buried in her hands. After collapsing into the soft fabric, the couch shifted beneath her. Through tear-filled eyes, she saw Nate was still there. She’d forgotten about him in her rant.