I’d landed on the hood, my right shoulder making contact. We’d both lied about what happened because I’d felt, at the time, as if it’d been my fault. Years later, I wonder what would happen if I’d told everyone the truth. Sure, I’d told Lotte some version of the truth. That she’d run over my foot, which was more than I told anyone else. But it still wasn’t the full truth of what had happened.
Instead, I blamed the shoulder on a bad rugby tackle, but it’d robbed me of drawing for weeks until I’d finally taken the damned painkiller. It didn’t take long for me to feel like I needed the pills just to numb away the feelings that came with holding onto that secret.
And that was why Della was still in my life. She wasn’t just my supplier, but the keeper of my secret. She’d no sooner tell anyone about my addiction because then I’d tell everyone else what she’d done. We were tied to one another by deceit.
Black. So many times, I’d painted her. She’d been black every time, because that’s what she was to me. A black hole I kept falling into.
Very few people had a high opinion of me, and my association with Della was partly the reason. But here I was, twenty-eight, and still a pathetic shit. Running in the same circles, but with a problem with analgesics to boot.
“Did you see that Scott’s having a party?” she asked, trying to change the subject.
“I don’t care,” I told her flatly. “Why don’t you just tell me where the pills are, and then I can be on my way?”
She tsked me as she blew across her nails. “Don’t be daft, Sam. If I told you where they were, you’d just steal from me.”
I shouldn’t have come, but she was the only one able to provide me with what I needed at the moment. A necessary evil.
I wondered how much longer I could endure her company just to get my high, weak as it felt now. I was needing more pills to achieve that high, which meant I was in Della’s presence more lately. Which was probably why she was increasingly obnoxious.
“Kate asked about you. Did you shag her?”
I braced my hands on my knees, steadying my breath. No one could rile me up as quickly as Della could, asking me about other girls and accusing me of things I hadn’t done. “Kate?” I asked, being purposefully obtuse as I ran my hand over the scruff on my chin. “Maybe.”
“You’re disgusting. You have a pretty face, but all the stuff underneath is shit.” She made a noise in the back of her throat and sighed, leaving the room immediately.
I hadn’t shagged Kate, Della’s friend, but the fact that Della wondered even the littlest bit about it made me happy. If the thought caused her the slightest bit of pain that her mere presence caused me, then it was worth it.
I really was a piece of shit.
I stared at my hands, at the paint flecked in the creases of my knuckles, and had a flash of Lotte’s milk-white skin under them. Dropping my head into my palms, I tried to banish the image from my mind. The last thing I needed to be thinking about was Lotte, and all that perfect skin.
I wished I could forget the sound of her heartbeat. The echo of it played in my head at the most inconvenient times.
It’d been two weeks and I still kicked myself for touching her at all. Regret wasn’t an eraser, however, so I could regret all day and night long and still remember the feel of her soft skin under mine.
I glanced at my watch. I was due to be at the pub in a few hours to help Ames get things ready for that night. When he’d asked me for help, I hadn’t hesitated—thinking of the promise I’d made him the years before, when I’d held him in the hospital after his wife had passed away.
Della returned with a baggie and I snatched it from her, eager to leave her. “It’ll take me a couple weeks to get that much again,” she told me. “Might want to think about slowing down.”
I clenched my jaw and turned around. “To hell with slowing down, I’d love to stop. Then I wouldn’t need to be around you anymore.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the doorway she stood in. “If you wanted that badly enough, you’d have gone cold turkey a long time ago.”
She was such a bloody idiot. You couldn’t go cold turkey off of painkillers without making it extremely obvious to those around you. I wanted to stop, there was no doubt about that. But I just didn’t have the ability to tell myself no.
I didn’t seem to have the ability to tell myself no in many aspects of my life. I was a selfish bastard, so full of flaws that it was remarkable that they weren’t so present beneath the pretty exterior that often got me the things I wanted.
When I arrived at the pub, I was an hour earlier than Ames needed. “Want a pint?” he asked me when I showed up. I’d managed to swallow a pill once I’d stepped off the bus, so I was finally feeling calm again. I nodded, striding up to the bar and marveling at how damned good the place looked. With the sale of Lotte’s studio, Ames had been able to put some much-needed upgrades to the place, and the entire room gleamed like freshly waxed wood.
“You look like rubbish,” Ames said, sliding the coaster on the bar top toward me and placing one exceptionally amber lager on top.
“It’s been a day,” I managed, sipping the beer and letting myself relax. Being around Della always made my nerves stand on end, as if her presence reached across the room and rubbed those nerves raw. She was a hard one to shake off.
“Where’s Mila?” I asked Ames, noticing that the pub was much quieter than usual without Mila and Jennie, Ames’ other employee, hanging out.
“She’s getting Asher settled. He’s struggling a bit, with Lotte gone.”
“Doesn’t surprise me.” I ran my thumb down the side of the cold lager. “Heard from her?”
“She’s somewhere in Utah at the moment. I think she’s a little bit lonely, but she’s holding on okay.” He pulled his phone out of his back pocket and pulled up a photo of Lotte standing beside a terribly-assembled tent. “Here’s the tent she tried to put together,” Ames said with a laugh. “She struggled more than just a little bit.”
Her smile was wide enough, but there still was that heaviness around her eyes. I almost thought to touch the screen, as if I could reach through and touch her, but I clenched my fist in my lap, halting me from doing such a preposterous thing. “How’s she getting on with the people she’s with?”
“Fine. She’s mentioned that they’re all avid outdoorsmen, so she’s struggling a little there. The elevation is more of a challenge than she’d expected. But she’s committed to doing what they’re doing, even though she’s got a few more bumps and bruises thanks to it.”
It was hard to imagine Lotte, delicate little bird that she was, wearing heavy packs and climbing boulders—but she clearly was proving she was more than capable. Ames swiped through a few more photos, of Lotte ankle-deep in a stream. She was wearing shorts that rode high on her thighs, revealing dozens of red little bumps all over her legs.
“Mosquito bites,” Ames explained, as if he was reading my mind. “She wasn’t prepared for them.”
“She ready to come home?”
Ames shrugged. “I’m ready for her to come home. Asher too, even Mila. It’s weird, not having her around.” He turned the screen off. “She’s my sister, in all the ways that count, and I feel strangely protective of her being an ocean away, with people I don’t know. Even though Mila vouches for them, I still feel … concerned.”
“I don’t think you’re strangely protective at all. You’ve been in her life longer than not—why wouldn’t you feel some sort of protection over her?” Which reminded me. I still hadn’t told Ames about Lotte’s last night in London. Of me, with her. “Do you think she’s breaking any hearts yet?” I asked, fishing, but concealed my tone with a smile.
“Probably only half a dozen. She told me the first night she was there, she danced with a bunch of girls she didn’t know. Got a few catcalls, I’m told.” He made a grunt and poured himself a lager to go with mine. “Between you and me, I hope she gets this trip out of her system, and
doesn’t end up with some American leech. She deserves better.”
As I stared at my best mate, I wondered if he’d look at me and see me as worthy. As a friend, I’m sure he would. But good enough for his little sister? For the person of whom he was most protective of in the world? I had sincere doubts about that. And he didn’t even know about my habit, my addiction. There were few secrets between us, but my problem with painkillers and what had happened with Lotte would need to remain silent between us.
“She deserves someone great,” I agreed. “Probably no man would really measure up.”
“That’s true.” He took a sip of the lager and looked me over. “What about you? Any new conquests this week?”
I winced. I hadn’t touched another woman since Lotte. I was no saint, but I’d thrown myself into painting since Lotte had left. Anything to get the noise of her absence pushed from my mind. It just didn’t occur to me to find solace in another woman’s arms for that.
Unfortunately for me, the only painting I’d completed had been the Lyra constellation, set against a black and purple background. Lotte’s freckles.
“It’s been a bit for me.”
“A bit? What’s ‘a bit’? Couple hours?”
“A couple weeks,” I clarified, thinking of Lotte.
“Well, shit. That’s no small bit of time.”
I nodded. “I know.”
“Have you seen Della lately?”
I lifted my head. “Della?”
Ames leaned across the bar and cocked his head to the side. “You wanker. You have seen her. Have you lost your marbles?”
It caught me off guard that Ames could read me that easily. It was a good thing he couldn’t see the purpose of my meeting her. “I think I lost them a bit ago,” I admitted quietly.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you look this down-trodden since you were made redundant from the recruitment agency. Speaking of, who gets made redundant from a job recruitment center?”
“Yeah, well that was a good thing. Horses for courses.” I shook it off, took another sip of my beer. “Shouldn’t surprise you, mate. I’m not exactly an upstanding citizen.” I laughed, but didn’t meet him in the eyes.
“You’re not all bad. Not too terribly pleasant to look at, but you’ll do.”
It stung. It was meant as a joke, a poke at my looks. I wasn’t blind—I knew I was, in some circles, good-looking to certain women. That was about all I had going for me, however, so to have my best mate rub it in was particularly grating. He didn’t mean any unkindness by it, it was just who I was, who he was.
“Come on,” he said, slapping me on the arm. “What’s got your knickers in a twist?”
“I don’t know. I just feel—and I know, you’re going to be a plonker about it, but I feel like I can’t really think clearly anymore. I’m lacking a muse, some inspiration.” I looked over to the door when Jennie entered.
“What’s this I hear about you lacking inspiration?” she asked, shaking back her blonde bob for effect. “I’m right here, chap.”
I turned to face her as she hung her jacket up. “Did you conk your head or something?”
She rolled her eyes at me. Jennie had been in school with us, so she was—like Lotte—a sister to us. But a sister I hadn’t taken advantage of. I cringed immediately, unable to reconcile the thought of Lotte being like a sister and also someone I’d slept with. She clearly wasn’t like a sister to me.
“It’s just a question. It’s a silly thought, innit? You giving me inspiration?”
She slid a hand over her mop of hair and glared at me. “What’s got your knickers in a twist?”
“Is there an echo in here?” I asked drily. I was in no mood to be teased, especially not when it felt like all the atoms I possessed were driving me to a nameless place, somewhere I couldn’t articulate. There was an emptiness within me, unfulfilled by everything I tried to shove into it.
“Sam is struggling with his art,” Ames explained, handing her a black apron as she stepped behind the bar. “Needs some inspiration.”
“Sorry, Jen.” I needed to shake off the mood that had followed me from Della’s. “You’re a gorgeous girl. Just not...” I rubbed my hand through my hair. “You know.”
“Uh, okay, thanks?” She put a hand on her hip and turned her head to look at me more clearly. “Are you going out on the pull or something?”
“Christ, no.” I shook my head. “Just because I enjoy the company of women doesn’t mean I need it to survive day to day.”
Jennie made a face. “Could’ve fooled me. Haven’t seen you traipsing about recently with anyone on your arm, though, so maybe you’ve turned over a new leaf.”
My lack of abstinence was a long-running joke among my group of friends, and it never bothered me, not really, until lately. “Maybe I’m over the chase.”
Ames and Jennie exchanged a look and I stared into my beer. If I hadn’t promised to help Ames with the pub, I’d have left by now. “Are we going to sit around and rag on me, or actually get some work done?” I asked, desperate to change the subject.
“I dunno, let’s ask the gaffer since you seem to be stuck on that beer you’re nursing like a baby.”
I leaned over the bar, dumping my beer down the drain, and turned to them both. “I’m here to work,” I said, and softened my tone. I should’ve been feeling better now that the pain pill was kicking in, but I actually felt worse.
I needed to push it from my mind, back in the corner where thoughts of Lotte lived. I needed to shove her from my mind and stop worrying about her like I’ve done since I met her.
Chapter Twelve
I was lying on the grass, watching everybody else splashing about in the late afternoon. Teddy was alternating between splashing Garrett and Ryan and doing tricks off of the floating dock in the middle of the pond.
“Hey! Come on in!” said Garrett, waving to me from one side of the dock.
I shook my head with a smile and tipped my head back, letting the sun beat down on me. It hardly felt like I’d been in America for four weeks, especially with how very far out of my element I felt. I’d surprised myself by going camping and hiking, but quickly learned they weren’t for me. And that was okay, I knew. I had to try it to know I wouldn’t like it.
But I didn’t want to go swimming, didn’t want to bare myself in my bikini around these people. I thought that I’d be out of my shell by now, but it turned out that I was just crawling back into it around these groups of people. Sure, I’d become closer to Joss and Teddy—even understanding some of Teddy’s quirks—but it wasn’t the same as being at home.
I missed my home, so much. I missed being in the pub late at night, watching Ames dance with Mila before the musical machine stopped playing songs for the night. I missed the way I felt every time Sam walked into the pub, the way my skin tightened and my hair stood on edge.
I missed not feeling like such an outsider.
It was a brilliant trick I’d pulled on myself. Leave everything I loved, to see what the world had to offer me. It’d been long ingrained in me to do this, from movies and books that encouraged young people to see the world, explore new places, do all the things they wouldn’t be able to do once they’d had their own families. The pressure to exist outside of your comfort zone was ever-present, and I’d succumbed to it. And now, I regretted it.
I’d pulled out so much hair from nerves, a tick that I couldn’t stop. My pale eyelashes were nearly nonexistent now. I partly did this trip for my sister, since she’d never had the freedom to do it before she passed. And each time I pulled out some hair, I felt shame. Shame for needing to do it, shame for not being the person I wanted to be.
I knew I needed to stop, but the only relief I could find in a place so out of my comfort zone was the relief I got from that one little pull of a hair plug. Earlier that morning, when I’d put my hair up into a ponytail, I’d realized just how bad it had gotten. There was a noticeable difference in thickness, patches of hair completely missing.
I’d done enough research into why I compulsively pulled my hair to know it was a condition called Trichotillomania. I’d read blogs by people who suffered with it, but I’d never really thought it was a problem. It was my one vice. I rarely drank to excess. I never did drugs. I was clean, but I had a compulsion to pull my eyebrows, eyelashes, and mostly my hair. The latter was easier to hide. Out of habit, I ran my nail over one eyebrow, which I now colored completely in to keep my patches from being too noticeable.
The sun was dipping behind the tall trees on the other side of the pond and I knew it’d be dusk in a few hours. We’d all retire to our tents, set up in a makeshift circle across the road from the pond. The campground we were at was fancier than I expected, with a clubhouse, a pool, and wireless internet within the confines of the camp.
Realizing it was near closing time for the pub, I sent a text to Ames.
How is everybody?
While I tapped my finger on the screen, Joss waved at me and captured my attention. She was in waist deep water, wearing her red and white polka dot bikini that managed to not clash with all her red hair. I admired her effortlessness. In conversation, in style. Every group of friends had the one who made sure no one was left out, and that was Joss’ place in this group.
“Are you going to come in?” she asked.
“I don’t think so. It’s not warm enough for me.”
It was a lie. It was no colder than the waters of the UK, however I hadn’t recaptured that feeling of belonging that I had at the party. In the last four weeks, we had gone camping, hiking, and partied. Then we’d gone over the Rocky Mountains into Utah, and hit up campgrounds as we made our way to Arches National Park, in the lower part of the state.
When I was going through my teen years, I remembered watching Bianca going to the clubs, going out with guys every other night, and I always felt like I was missing the experiences she was having. I was at home with my mum, who was in the end stages of her terminal cancer. I didn’t make time to be a teenager, and admittedly, I sometimes resented Bianca for being able to be as carefree as she was, but I knew it wasn’t fair to do so. Her circumstances were different. Just because I wasn’t allowed the things she was didn’t diminish my own maturing.
The Sounds of Secrets Page 11
