by Emily James
Mistakes of My Past
By
Emily James
Copyright 2016: Emily James
Cover Design 2016: Covers by Combs
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced, distributed, shared or transmitted in any form or by any means uploaded to any type of file sharing or retrieval system without the written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Editing by: Entrada Publishing
Formatting by: Entrada Publishing
Cover design by: Daqri Combs @ Covers by Combs
This novel is written using the author’s birth tongue, U.K English.
If you would like to purchase the translation rights, then please email the author directly: [email protected].
This book is dedicated to the loves of my life.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 Amber
Chapter 2 Amber
Chapter 3 Amber
Chapter 4 Amber
Chapter 5 Amber
Chapter 6 Amber
Chapter 7 Will
Chapter 8 Amber
Chapter 9 Will
Chapter 10 Amber
Chapter 11 Will
Chapter 12 Amber
Chapter 13 Will
Chapter 14 Amber
Chapter 15 Will
Chapter 16 Amber
Chapter 17 Will
Chapter 18 Amber
Chapter 19 Will
Chapter 20 Amber
Chapter 21 Will
Chapter 22 Amber
Chapter 23 Will
Chapter 24 Amber
Chapter 25 Will
Chapter 26 Amber
Chapter 27 Will
Chapter 28 Amber
Chapter 29 Amber
Chapter 30 Amber
Epilogue Amber
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Amber
My hospital gown sticks to my clammy skin as I lie back on the railed bed. The other patients stare and gawk at me—the Nutter over by the window.
“Amber, do you know why you’re here?” the doctor says, pulling the floral curtain around my bed.
Tommy stands to my left, his arms rigid and folded. My hand trembles as I wipe away my tears. They both wait for my answer, looking down at me, assessing the damage.
“My stomach and throat hurt,” I say as I continue to look down at my shaking hands. My voice is hoarse and forcing out words takes more effort than it ever has. Doctor Jones, I note from his hospital badge, tilts his head to one side, offering me a slight smile. I lower my gaze and thumb the starchy hospital blanket to show I’m done talking.
Doctor Jones sighs in frustration and proceeds with his summary of the situation. “We admitted you last night following a 999 call from your neighbour…” He looks at his clipboard. “Sue Legg, who found you at home, having ingested a number of pills in an attempt to take your own life. Your discomfort is a symptom of the pump used to purge your stomach.” He shakes his head. I guess doctors don’t appreciate those who try to throw their life away. “You were fortunate to be found in time.” Doctor Jones pauses. He probably thinks I’m a bit slow, a few steps behind everyone else, like Tommy’s always telling me. Doctor Jones continues, “You’re physically well enough to leave the hospital but we will need assurances that you don’t plan to repeat this behaviour. And, I’m going to refer you to the mental health team to support your recovery.”
Tommy perches on the bed inches away and attempts to rub my back. I recoil at the gesture. “Amber, it’s been hard for you losing your mum, but I want to help you. When we get home, you have to let me take care of you.” The words slide off his tongue, effortless, like silk, like so many of his lies. I keep my head down and will him to go away.
“You’re fortunate to have such a caring boyfriend, Amber. We couldn’t consider a discharge, without someone to… take responsibility for you.” Doctor Jones smiles and looks at Tommy as though a proud father.
“Richard, I won’t let her out of my sight when we get home.”
He’s on first-name terms with the doctor. It doesn’t matter what I say now, Tommy will have already convinced Doctor Jones of his version of events.
“Amber, if you’re afraid you might do something of this nature again, I’ll refer you to a psychiatric hospital. I’m afraid this just isn’t the right hospital for problems such as yours.”
Tommy answers for me. “That won’t be necessary, will it, Amber? I think we’ve got this covered. It’s losing your mum that made you do it. Isn’t it?”
I sink back against the pillow and angle my head to the window. Tommy’s good at charming people, but I know better than this display of gratuitous compassion. It lasts only as long as his motives require. His plan to destroy me failed, and once I am back at home and at his mercy, he’ll continue his torment.
My heart thumps harder and time slows. The room is getting smaller but no words will come out. I need to tell the doctor why I can’t go home, but he won’t believe me. I’ll end up dead. I would rather be dead than be at his mercy.
Think, Amber, think!
I start to sob. Everyone’s been saying I’m bloody mad for weeks, crazy, pathetic Amber, needs locking up. Well, lock me up. Put me somewhere safe, away from him.
My body convulses; my panic descending into hysteria. Sobs escalate into shrieks and screams. It feels good to let them out, and my screams build momentum.
Tommy reaches for me, but my brain has engaged, and I’m too quick. I launch myself off the bed. I don’t even care that I’m only wearing a backless hospital gown. The trolley at the end of the bed is sent crashing to the floor as I use it to steady my landing. My legs are weak, but the adrenalin coursing through my veins powers me through. I’ve lost everything, and now I’ve lost my mind. It’s liberating and I realise that crazy feels good. If crazy brings safety, then I’ll unleash it all. Swinging back the curtain, I leap forward and spring around.
Doctor Jones says something, his lips are moving, but I only hear white noise. I edge away from them, nearing the open door. The women in their beds stare. Tommy glares at me with narrow eyes. I know from his tight-lipped smile that his teeth are grinding, warning me of his fury. But I have the upper hand because he never shows his temper to innocent bystanders. No, he’ll wait until we’re alone, and I can’t let him get that chance.
Frustration rips at me as I throw another trolley across the room, magazines and papers scatter. I look around the room, not sure what to do next, how to follow through on this crazy display. I catch sight of a glint of light, a pair of scissors that were innocently flung on the floor, a casualty of the chaos.
I sense movement. A nurse has edged behind me. Her arm is behind her back and I know the cavalry is on its way.
Tommy creeps further toward me, almost within arm’s reach, so close I see his eyes straining under the force of his glare. I need an exit strategy, but my thoughts are fleeting as if highlighted by the flash of a strobe. I’m herded into a corner, no chance of escape, no way to protect myself.
The decision I make next isn’t a conscious thought or a final act of defiance. I’ve always been compliant, weak. I handed Tommy my independence and dignity wrapped in a perfect bow and he proceeded to pull the knot tighter, one merciless tug at a time. Now I am strangled by his possession. Surely all that remains now is death?
Tommy’s grabbing hands come closer, skimming my wrist. The jerk of my arm as I try to avoid his touch sends me off balance. I swing to
the floor, just managing to correct myself as my hand swoops down and I grab the scissors with my right hand. They chill my blood as I run the pad of my thumb over the sharp tip at the end.
“Amber, you need to stop this right now,” Tommy says, looming over my crouched position.
There is no way to stop now. I am surrounded, but, it’s about to be over. This thought brings me peace and I offer a small smile to the ceiling and close my eyes.
I hear the quiet intakes of breath around the room as I drive the scissors into the flesh of my inner left wrist. Just for a moment there is absolute silence as I welcome the burning heat of ripped skin and lacerated veins. The pain is a satisfying and violent throb of release, like my emotions, trapped inside for too long.
Blood splutters up toward the ceiling and dances down the wall beside me where Tommy now has hold of me. The sharp tips of his fingers dig into my shoulder and I notice that he wears my blood on his sleeves and on his hands. His face is pinched with a fury that could surely kill. His attention veers to my side and I feel the sharp scratch of a needle followed by the icy push of the sedative.
The young nurse crouching beside me grips the back of my head and looks relieved as she nods to Tommy to indicate that her mission is accomplished.
Bitch!
The final thought to invade my mind before my world turns black is that he almost got his wish. My blood is on his hands, but I am not dying today.
Chapter 2
Amber
I rose from unconscious with the thump of a thousand drums beating from inside my skull. Accustomed to hangovers and comedowns, I float in a fog as I piece together the night before. Memories assault my thoughts in sharp stabs. The sight of Sue's eyes filling with tears as she cries out for help. The sound of the ambulance siren screaming, and the flavour of bile as it's wretched from deep within me.
My eyes snap open with the force of my panic and I'm met with a yellow brightness that causes the drums to beat faster, harder even. My jaw strains as I attempt to hold the drumsticks steady and my restless eyes dart and dip as they examine every inch of my sterile cage.
Curtains sporting the tell-tale National Health Service logo hang haphazardly against black windows reflecting a small, claustrophobic room.
An acute need to know where Tommy is stabs in my gut, and my held breath is expelled as I’m reassured to see it’s just me and one nurse who looks bored to the point of death. Noticing I'm awake, she pads over and syringes meds into my IV drip. I'm about to object but, as though a pressure valve has been released, the drugs hit my system keeping my mind from looking too closely at the damage I’ve caused or what remains of my fate. It’s a woozy feeling of being both here and not here, and before long I can't remember what I was worried about as I fall back into a peaceful cloud.
When Tommy arrives later with some yellow daisies, I close my eyes and pretend I’m asleep. I don’t have a plan, but the drugs help to displace any anxiety I might otherwise feel. I don’t speak, or answer anyone's questions, at all, until my dad shows up.
Dad explains that he came straight away as soon as he heard of my… situation. What he is saying wraps around my heart like a vice. He says he received the news of my mother’s death and the news of his daughter’s attempted suicide during the same telephone call. I hear Dad telling Sue, my neighbour, trying to process this new information. I sob and my body convulses, in short, sharp rocks. Someone notices and raises the alarm. My meds are swiftly topped up and I’m soon enveloped back into darkness.
When I wake, the sun shines in through the window, causing me to blink and rub at my eyes. Dad gazes at me from the chair next to the bed and I’m once again surprised he’s here. We haven’t seen each other in years. He looks older now, frailer. Deep creases line his kind, grey eyes and his head shines under the fluorescent lighting. I drink him in as he talks with the doctor.
My dad squeezes my hand and throws me another concerned look as a faceless doctor labels my problems. Stock phrases like depression, trauma, PTSD and grief stricken are reeled off by the doctor who suggests that my mind needs time to rest and process.
I try to concentrate on their conversation. A voice in my head is telling me this is important. But it's like swimming against the tide. I float further and further away. After listening to the doctor, Dad squeezes my hand once more and asks me, “Do you want to come back to the States with me, or I could stay here with you?”
A soap opera unfolds around my still breathing corpse as the crowd reacts to my dad’s suggestions.
Tommy explains my descent into crazy as he tries to talk Dad out of taking me with him. “As her mum deteriorated, so did Amber’s mental health, she became depressed, then paranoid, even stopped seeing her friends and began taking drugs and drinking too much.”
I stare back at Tommy’s accusations vacantly.
“Amber, can you hear me? I think you ought to stay and take care of your mother’s house. It’s what she would have wanted.” Sue’s tone shocks me. She usually enjoys a scandal and I would have thought she’d be glad to see the back of me. Her yellow hair is poodle-like on her too round face. I don’t know why I haven’t noticed it before. It's such a comical thought I snigger, and then correct myself. I’m just drunk from the drugs.
I don’t answer her. Like Mum gives a damn about the house, she’s dead.
Instead, I stare at the olive-green urn at the side of my bed.
The crowd question whether the urn should be left there. They say the paramedics pried it out of my hands before they resuscitated me in the ambulance.
Dad paces and wrings his hands as he mutters to no one in particular. “Do you think she might hurt herself again? WHO was looking out for my girl? I’m so sorry, Amber.”
The mattress shifts and Tommy sits on my bed. I close my eyes and feign sleep. His too powerful cologne is choking me. “Hey sweetheart, open your eyes, you have to snap out of this.”
I have snapped, just like you promised me I would.
* * *
When Dad excuses himself to find a doctor and Sue leaves to report back to the village, Tommy lowers his tone. “Open your eyes and look at me. You think you can keep this act going? You can’t. You think your dad cares about you? He doesn’t. He's here for your inheritance. Don’t think for one minute he’ll want you when I tell him your secret, and if you don’t snap-the-fuck-out-of-it, I will.”
I keep my eyes closed, but when Dad returns he perches on my bed, strokes my hand and asks me again if I would like to go home with him. His voice has a tone of desperation to it.
My vocal cords force out the words, “Yes. Come with you. Please.”
A look of shock bounces from person to person and when my eyes rest on my dad, I swear he wears a look of pride. Pride I don't deserve.
Dad has no experience with crazy daughters or, daughters in general. So, when I spoke for the first time in four days, Dad named his terms – if I return with him to America, then I must undergo treatment. Since it couldn't be any worse than my treatment so far, I agree.
Tommy doesn’t want me to go; but since Dad remains at my side, he has little opportunity to change my mind.
I close my eyes and wonder if Tommy's right. Would my dad hate me if he knew how selfish I’d been? What a coward I still was? My dad loved my mother, and they only parted because his drive to obtain the American dream left my mother lonely and homesick. We moved back to England when I was four and according to my mother, it was my father’s pride that hindered our contact. He always assumed they'd get back together when he was rich and successful. Only the longer the communication lines were down, the more impossible it was for my stubborn dad to reconnect.
I’m drowsy so I drift in and out of sleep. Concentrating on conversations is draining. The door opens and slams shut, it rouses me but I keep my eyes closed. Tommy changes tactics. “Patrick, I overheard the doctor saying that mental health care in the UK is superior, that it's better for Amber to stay here. You could make her worse.”<
br />
Dad’s unaffected by Tommy's pleas. He's made up his mind.
“Amber's leaving with me. She can come back to England if or when she decides.”
Patrick Scott is a successful business owner and a straight shooter. There isn’t much Tommy can say to rebuff his statement, so he silently submits – though I know it will have pained him to do so.
Unable to risk a smirk, I continue to play the crazy card and stare at the ceiling.
* * *
I arrive in Ohio, exhausted and emotional following two flights, a long car journey, and several pregnant and awkward silences.
“We're here.” The Hope Mental Health Facility is signposted in elaborate gold lettering. Dad removes my small bag from the car and walks me over to the automatic doors. A large, wiry-haired man stands in the foyer.
After my dad introduces himself, he turns to me and says, “Hey there, I’m Bob, you must be Amber.” He shakes my hand and his generous cheeks curve up in a smile. “I’ll be supporting you to work on your recovery here at Hope. Follow me.”
As introductions go, it was short and to the point.
Dad gestures for me to go first and, feeling weak, I hold onto his arm. We walk through three sets of doors. My pumps tap on the mirror-like tiles as we're led through the building, we go up seven floors using the elevator and follow Bob further along another brightly lit corridor.
