Under Rose-Tainted Skies
Page 21
‘Okay. Well, that all looks good.’ Her nose wrinkles when she smiles at me. ‘I’ll go and chase down that prescription. And then hopefully we can get you back home before the day is out.’
‘Home,’ I repeat. The one place in the world where scary things couldn’t get me is no more. Home is a word that should conjure images of thatched cottages, flower beds, and white picket fences. All I see now is skeletons and shards of glass bejewelling my bleeding skin.
‘That’s right,’ the nurse replies. ‘There’s nothing like your own bed.’ She chuckles to herself as she exits the way she entered, in an emergency-type rush.
‘They caught him,’ Mom says, doing that thing where she reads my mind. ‘Luke called the police, and they managed to catch him while he was making a run for it. Is it okay that I’m telling you this?’
I think no, but say yes.
‘Ours wasn’t the first house he hit. The guy used his job to scout locations and seek out vulnerable people. He’s going to prison for a long time.’
I think she means for this to make me feel better, but I feel nothing.
Almost nothing.
‘Is Luke okay?’
‘Worried sick about you. He hasn’t stopped calling.’ She turns, points to a table in the corner of the room. It’s adorned with two big bunches of yellow and purple flowers. ‘And he keeps sending you daisies and carnations.’
The flowers are beautiful. I close my eyes, remember how tight he held me when I fell into him. I wish he were here.
‘I told him you’d call him as soon as you could.’ And I will.
‘Tell me what you’re thinking about,’ Mom says when the silence starts to stretch. She perches on my bed, reaches over and rubs circles on my hip.
‘I don’t even know.’ My brain feels like it’s trapped in a vice and every time I try to figure something out, it squeezes tighter and tighter around it.
The intruder. My injuries. Leaving the house. Having to stay in hospital. Taking sedatives. Strangers touching me. My plate is too full. I have mental indigestion. My life is on its ass. It’s a face in full shadow, a stranger at a bar, a reflection I don’t even recognize any more.
I’m being forced to challenge ideas that have kept me safe for so long. There’s an entire library of information in my head, and suddenly I can’t decide if any of it is worth reading.
‘Get some rest,’ Mom says, leaning forward and kissing my forehead. ‘We’ll get you through this. It’ll all be over soon. I promise.’
In Recovery
Back before the black-and-white pages of frightening reality were banned from our house, I went through this stage of reading non-fiction. Celebrity auto-biographies mostly, but there was this one rags-to-riches story about a woman named Audrey Clarke. Audrey owned a small grocery store in Brooklyn during the Great Depression.
As the misery of that decade rolled on and on and on, she ended up losing most of her store stock to looters. Debt collectors took what was left after that, including her clothes. By the time the Depression ended, she had no house and no business left.
She was sleeping in a neighbour’s toolshed when she turned to writing to fill her days. Her books were good. She made quite a bit of money from eager publishing houses in the end. Lived out her life in a very affluent neighbourhood, playing golf on the weekends and collecting classic cars.
I liked reading Audrey’s story because never, not once, did she entertain the notion that she had been beaten.
There’s this one thing she said that keeps popping into my head as I swallow down my serotonin reuptake inhibitors and watch that damned blackbird jumping around on my windowsill.
Your mind adapts to what worse is. Suddenly, that thing that seemed so terrifying at first is dwarfed by the next challenge that comes your way. But you adapt again and again and again, until you find yourself fearless.
I never really understood what she meant until it no longer felt necessary to be afraid of swallowing a tiny tablet after I’d crawled through broken glass. Literally.
‘Stop tormenting that poor blackbird.’
My bones leave my body briefly. When I turn around, I find Luke in my doorway, hands in his pockets, pulling his jeans so low they sag off his hips and I can see the elastic waist of his boxers. I swallow back a sudden influx of saliva. A cord headband pushes his hair off his face. His eyes make me think of oceans; his smile belongs in a gallery.
My best friend. My boyfriend.
‘I wasn’t tormenting it. It was tormenting me,’ I say in my own defence, grabbing my bag off the end of the bed.
‘Don’t forget your balls,’ he says with a wink, pointing to the two rainbow rounds on my dresser.
‘Check me out,’ I say, tossing the balls up in the air.
‘Good job,’ he tells me as I juggle. The thing about constantly carrying around circular objects is that you turn into a circus clown. On the plus side, it’s been almost a month since I last broke skin scratching. Dr Reeves and I agreed that biting my nails was still allowed.
For now.
Luke cracks a grin and the temperature of my room rises to Florida-in-July degrees. Then he does this new thing we’ve been working on a lot lately . . . he holds out his hand.
‘Your chariot awaits, my lady.’ I hesitate, stare at his fingers, his palm. He has what a fortune teller might call a long lifeline.
‘Did you . . .’
‘Wash my hands first? Yes.’
He fixes a stare on me that makes me tingle from tip to toe. Acceptance of the strange is his superpower.
Before I have time to think myself out of it, I slap my hand into his. The medicine I’ve started swallowing delays my crazy just long enough for me to complete the action before deciding it’s going to destroy me. Once it’s done, and I can see that it won’t, Dr Reeves says all I have to do is focus on slowing my heart rate. Easier said than done for a woman who’s never been in close proximity to Luke for longer than five seconds. I guess that’s about to change.
‘Are you sure you don’t mind coming with me?’ I ask as we make our way out of my room.
‘Are you kidding? After all the things you’ve said about her, I can’t wait to meet the good doctor.’ He means it. I might have questioned his enthusiasm when I first floated the idea of him coming with me to therapy. But he hasn’t stopped talking about it for the past two weeks. I cosy up to his arm. Because (a) I’m addicted to the winter-spice aftershave he wears and (b) we’ve started down the stairs and I can feel a flutter of anxiety in my chest.
‘You okay?’ he stops and asks when we hit the second-to-last step. Deep breath. I nod; my jaw feels a little loose and I don’t want it to start jerking if I try to speak. Mom appears from the kitchen, giving me her my-little-girl-is-all-grown-up eyes over the top of her Best Mom in the World mug.
‘You can do it,’ she says.
‘You’ve totally got this,’ Luke affirms.
It makes me smile. And with that, we head towards the door.
But not before I take the last step twice.
Acknowledgements
Anne Hoppe, your editing skills are of the highest calibre; you have shaped this book into so much more than it was before, but beyond the technicalities of storytelling, I want to thank you for being such an amazing person. I was worried about this story, about how nonsensical it would seem to someone who hadn’t experienced my mental health at its worst, but you made it so easy to be honest and open. Thank you for loving Norah, and for allowing me to take the lead with her story so we could nail the perspective and share her experiences with anyone out there who may be facing the same struggles.
Barry Cunningham and Rachel Leyshon, I’m so grateful to you guys for seeing the potential in this story. Endless thanks for giving me the chance to be published on home soil. Your support and encouragement has been amazing. I still can’t believe I got to work with you guys. The opportunities you have presented me with over these last few months have been beyond my wildest. I’m
indebted to you both.
Kesia Lupo, Sarah Wilson, Esther Waller, Helen Crawford-White, Charlotte Norman and Elinor Bagenal, thank you all so much for backing Rose, and for your tireless efforts in turning it into something beautiful, inside and out. I feel so honoured to have been a part of this team.
Rachel Hickman, Jazz Bartlett, Laura Myers and Nina Douglas, you guys
Mandy Hubbard, all of the above applies to you too. You are a Jedi. Thank you for encouraging me to tell this story. And thank you for answering all my ridiculous freak-out emails. As I write this, we’re still twelve months from release. Can you imagine the conversations we’re going to have? Apologies and endless gratitude in advance. You’re a trooper.
Massive thanks to everyone at HMH Clarion. Hayley Gonnason, thank you for your tireless efforts to get Rose into the hands of readers. And to Christine Kettner: thank you for creating such a gorgeous jacket that perfectly reflects this story. I’m beyond grateful to be a part of this publishing family.
I’d like to say a huge thank you to my mum and dad for their endless love and undying patience. I know these past ten years have been tough. I feel so lucky to have you.
To the best older sister and little brother a person could hope for, Lisa and Nicholas. Thank you for always taking care of me, standing up for me, and supporting me, especially when it comes to my mental health. (Liam, this applies to you too.)
To my best friend and mentor, Rach. You already know. There will never be enough blank pages for me to put into words how grateful I am to you. I’m forever part of your team.
To my amazing beta readers and critique partners, Megan Orsini, Claire Donnelly, Nicole Tersigni, Candice Montgomery, Dawn Ius and S.E Carson – I’m still waiting on planet Dictionary to come up with a word that expresses the outrageous level of gratitude I have for you guys and your writing skills. Thank you for making me a better writer.
Louie, Donna, Cazzy, Jingle Bells, Suzanne Van Rooyen and Jennifer Shannon: I love you guys. Thank you for always being on hand with words of wisdom, encouragement, cake and kindness. This book broke me a lot; I couldn’t have written it without your support.
To the awesome members of #WO2016, and my fabulous Twitter family: you make the drawn-out days of no words and floods of tears bearable. It’s a privilege to always be around such a broad network of knowledge and skill.
Last, but by no means least, Professor: thank you for saving my life. . . .
If you are concerned about your mental health, or the mental health of a friend or family member, you might like to contact MIND or THE MIX.
MIND is a mental health charity which aims to provide advice and support to empower anyone experiencing a mental health problem.
MIND INFOLINE:
CALL 030 123 3393 OR TEXT 86463
WWW.MIND.ORG.UK
THE MIX is a UK charity that provides free, confidential support through phone, text, web, social and counselling for under 25s. It connects young people to experts and their peers to talk about everything from homelessness to finding a job, from money to mental health, from break-ups to drugs.
0808 808 4994
WWW.THEMIX.ORG.UK
TRY ANOTHER GREAT BOOK FROM CHICKEN HOUSE
FACELESS by ALYSSA SHEINMEL
When Maisie is burnt in a terrible accident, her face is partially destroyed. She’s lucky enough to get a face transplant, but how do you live your life when you can’t even recognize yourself any more? As Maisie discovers how much her looks shaped her relationship to the world, she has to redefine her own identity, and figure out what ‘lucky’ really means.
Paperback, ISBN 978-1-910655-19-1, £7.99 · ebook, ISBN 978-1-910655-35-1, £7.99
TRY ANOTHER GREAT BOOK FROM CHICKEN HOUSE
THE BABY by LISA DRAKEFORD
Five friends. A party. One unexpected guest.
When Olivia opens the bathroom door, the last thing she expects to see is her best friend Nicola giving birth on the floor – and to say Nicola is shocked is an understatement. She’s not ready to be a mum, and she needs Olivia’s help. But Olivia has her own problems – specifically her bullying boyfriend, Jonty, and keeping an eye on younger sister Alice. And then there’s Nicola’s friend Ben, who’s struggling with secrets of his own . . .
Paperback, ISBN 978-1-910002-23-0, £7.99 · ebook, ISBN 978-1-910002-24-7, £7.99
Text © Louise Gornall 2016
First paperback edition published in Great Britain in 2016
This electronic edition published in 2016
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