by Nikki Morgan
'But-'
'God, Evelyn will you just look at yourself! When will you stop it?' He strode back across the room, closing the distance between us quickly. I was suddenly aware that the room had fallen deathly quiet. People were circling around us, like a baying mob waiting for the violence they knew was coming.
'I-' I didn't know what to say. I felt like a fox caught in the middle of a pack of hunting dogs. What little strength I had, (that had kept me in front of him, that had kept me together despite wanting to run) was now vanishing. Tears were building at the back of my throat, but I couldn't let them see me cry. I was losing my grip, teetering on the edge. I tried to hold my breath hoping that by doing so, it would prevent Dexter from exploding in front of me as I knew he was going to, that it would stop him from saying those things that I didn't want to hear.
'You're embarrassing. You've been following me around like a lost puppy for months-'
'But-'
'And you're getting worse, staring at me in class-'
'I don't-'
'Whatever, Evelyn. It's pathetic. You're pathetic, and I've had enough!'
'I'm-' I wanted to fight back, tell him I wasn't, but words we're failing me.
'You seem to think,' he said, his eyes blazing with a dark and troubling fury, 'for some reason that I'd be interested in a skank like you. You're just a tart like your mother. I mean, how many is that she's been with now? She's like the town bike.' There were giggles. Amber came to stand by him, looking like the cat who'd just got the cream. Or the bitch that had the dog.
'Thanks,' I said. But those words were like oxygen to a piece of tinder, and ignited some fire hidden deep within me. A fire that I'd forgotten I had. Fiery anger arose from nowhere, springing out of me like a coil. 'If I'm such a skank, why the Hell did you save me?' My anger momentarily surprised him. I'd surprised myself. Maybe after my tears, anger was all that was left.
'Save you?' he asked, his face scrunched up as he tried to dismiss what I'd said, 'I didn't save you!'
'So you didn't pull me out of the water on New year's Eve?' I knew everyone was listening, I knew I'd said too much, but what the Hell, I couldn't take it back now. And even if I could, what would be the point?
'No,' he said, his face relaxing as if it all now made sense to him. 'I didn't save you. You were lying on the towpath, out of your head.'
'But-'
'You were lying on the towpath, drunk. A pisshead like your mother.'
I glared and pointed my finger at him, not believing a word he said. 'So how did I get home? Why was your earring in my room?'
'You opened your eyes, slurred something about going home, so we took you home, despite the fact that you stank. We dragged you home, you took yourself upstairs to bed. We needed somewhere to hang so we stayed there-'
'Your earring?'
'Hell, Evie, what do you want me to say? It probably dropped off when I was dragging you home! When are you going to get it through your thick pisshead brain of yours that you mean nothing to me?'
I exhaled loudly as I finally understood. So I meant nothing to him. It hadn't even crossed his mind that I might've tried to kill myself. He thought I was just drunk.
'Hey,' said Sam, appearing at my side, out of nowhere.
'But you saved me,' I said, stepping forward, searching his face for something. Anything.
‘Don’t be stupid,’ he said, taking a step backwards, ‘I could never be with someone like you, so don’t be getting that Stockholm Syndrome or whatever it is because I’m not interested.’
'That's enough,' said Sam, stepping in between me and Dexter.
'You heard what he said,' said Amber. She was loving every minute of it.
Sam turned to me. 'Come on, grab your stuff, I'll walk you out.'
I looked up, into Sam's deep blue eyes, and felt them cut me in two as he searched my face for answers. I didn't speak, but turned and grabbed my stuff off the table.
We walked to the school gates in silence. Sam had his arm around me, protecting me, but I could feel the sorrow weighing him down.
He let his arm drop from my shoulders and reluctantly I turned to face him.
'So,' he said, 'what was all that about?'
His face was ashen, the hurt visible in the way he looked at me, and in the tone of his voice.
'Nothing.' I didn't want to talk about it. Any of it. I was too full of anger, too ashamed, and I didn't want to hurt him anymore.
'Don't lie to me.'
I sighed. No, I shouldn't be lying to you. I cleared my throat, feeling the drizzle soaking me to the bone. In the distance, the sun's rays had managed to poke through the cloud. A small rainbow curved in the sky, like a great stone arch in God's natural cathedral. 'Those photos you asked me about-'
'I knew it! You did, didn't you? You tried to ki-'
'No!' I had to stop him, even if that meant more lies. I couldn't hear those words fall from his mouth. 'No,' I repeated.
'Don't-'
I put my hand on his arm. 'Sam, I didn't.' Luckily Dexter had given me the perfect, ready-made excuse. 'I'd had too much to drink, tried to walk home,' I said, watching the emotions flick over his face; relief, anger, sadness, 'and ended up falling in the river. I stupidly thought Dexter had saved me.'
'Oh Ev, how stupid can you get?'
'I know, I know,' I said, grabbing onto his arm tighter. Why? Why was I lying? How had everything gone so wrong? 'I didn't tell you the truth because I knew you'd react like this. I didn't want to hurt you.'
'But you have, by not telling me. Why didn't you just tell me when I asked you before?'
I shrugged. 'I know. I'm sorry, I felt so ashamed that...' I couldn't take it anymore. I flung my arms around him and he held on to me tightly. 'Sam, I really am sorry,' I said, buried deep in his warmth.
'Just promise me you'll tell me next time, if something happens.'
'I promise,' I said, but the lies were proving too much, they were lying heavy on my heart. My heart broke and I started to sob.
Sam held on to me. It felt so good. And yet so bad.
'Oh Ev, when did it get this bad?'
I couldn't reply. If I had, I think that the truth would have forced itself out of my mouth and then there would've been no going back.
The next day at school Sam hovered over me like a protective father. I kind of appreciated it (he was only trying to look out for me), but after History together and him waiting for me outside the toilets every time I went in, even interrogating me if I spent too long in there (so weird, it was just plain wrong), I felt really claustrophobic. I had to get away.
I told him I had to go home in my free lesson now, that I couldn't have met Dexter anyway as Cassie and Celia were having a girly meeting about the wedding, that I had to go because, if I didn't, I would suffer in the long run. He'd looked at me, searching my eyes for any tell-tale signs that I was lying, but he didn't find any. I was getting far too good at it. To my shame.
Thankfully, when I did get home, Cassie and Dan were out, so I grabbed a coffee and shut myself in my room, knowing that way, at least for a while, I wouldn't have to speak to them if they came back. I spent the rest of the afternoon reading through Dexter's hastily written notes, trying to decipher his writing, before researching my part and merging the two together. If he didn't want to work with me, fine, he'd just have to read out what I'd written wouldn't he?
But guilt kept slapping me in the face as I kept thinking about my little lies to Sam, after all he was only trying to be a good friend. I hadn't even told him about the counselling session I'd got the next day.
I decided I'd text him in the morning, tell him I had to go to the doctors or something. Maybe I should've made it up to him by inviting him to the party on Friday night, but I wasn't sure I was ready for that. I didn't know if I wanted the two sides of my life to merge like that. I liked it the way it was; separate, at least then I could control what each side knew about me. Besides, it was going to be hell anyway, so why would I put
Sam through that when I could bear it on my own?
I stood outside the counselling building, the next morning, and texted Sam. I told him that I was okay, but I'd be in later because I'd had to go to the doctors so, hopefully, he wouldn't worry about me being missing. It was still grey outside; the drizzle had given way to showers, and people hurried by, hunched under their umbrellas. I watched, from under the porch, as a sharp gust of wind stole a Batman umbrella off a small boy. It rolled down the street like tumble weed in an old western.
From outside, the counselling building looked like an average detached house. It was only the blue and white plaque for OCS, Oakwood Counselling Services, and the posters for pregnancy help and crisis services that distinguished it from any other house in the tree-lined suburban street. I pressed the doorbell and waited, my hood over my face in case anyone saw me.
A woman with a grey bob and glasses perched high on her head, opened the front door.
'Hi,' she said, 'can I help you?'
'Yes, I've got an appointment at nine,' I said.
'What's the name?'
'Evelyn, Evelyn Anderson.'
'Oh, hi Evelyn,' she said, stepping forward with her hand extended in greeting, 'Pleased to meet you.'
I took her hand, but her handshake was loose.
'Please come in and take a seat, I'll be with you in a short while.'
I followed her inside and took a seat in the waiting room. The room was bright with a big bay window that flooded the room with light even on such a grey morning, but a dark feeling hung in the air, in the ripped wallpaper and the dog-eared posters. On the coffee table in the middle of the room, women's magazines were piled up, dating from about two centuries ago, but still spewing out the same old crap; "How Karina lost two dress sizes in a week", "Suzy shows her cellulite on boozy girls' holiday", some footballer's wife called Tallulah had had her breasts enlarged and someone called Alex had been caught having an affair.
I removed my hood and started fiddling with the strap on my bag, my legs bouncing up and down of their own accord. I wanted to run. I felt dirty. Like I had a dirty little secret. Well, I did have a dirty little secret didn't I?
'Evelyn Anderson?' said the same woman who'd let me in, 'if you'd like to follow me? I'm ready for you now.'
The woman took me down a corridor and into a smaller room at the back of the house. It had two red leather sofas sat facing each other like a pair of lips, a small wooden coffee table in the middle like a misshapen tongue, and in the corner of the room sat a small desk piled high with files and a computer that looked like it belonged in the Prehistoric era.
'Please sit down Evelyn,' said the woman, pointing at the farthest sofa.
I sat down, clutching my bag on my lap.
The woman put a box of tissues beside me before perching on the end of the opposite sofa. That didn't fill me with confidence.
'Hi Evelyn,' she said, reaching out, over the coffee table, to shake my hand again.
I took it. It was cold, her hold still insubstantial. My Gran always told me not to trust people with loose handshakes. 'Hi,' I said, more to the floor.
'My names Grace Harlow,' she said, taking her glasses off her head and placing them over her eyes, 'and I'm your counsellor. So, I see you've been referred here by the GP?'
I nodded.
She picked up the cardboard file next to her on the sofa and opened it, quickly scanning over it with her eyes. 'Okay, so let me just confirm your address?'
A file. A handful of paper, pieces of my life. 'Thirty-three Oakwood Road.'
'Okay, date of birth?'
'Seventh of November, nineteen-ninety-five.'
Grace Harlow shut the file and looked at me, from over the top of her glasses. Her eyes were grey, like the weather outside. 'So, this is a session led by you. You can use this forty-five minutes to talk about whatever you like, whatever's bothering you or getting you down. If you want to rant at me that's also fine, okay?' she asked, tilting her head in a show of empathy.
But her empathy was lost on me in the cold and drab space. Why would I talk to her? Why would I spew my guts out to a stranger?
She adjusted the red cardigan draped over her shoulders and leaned back in the chair, waiting for me to speak.
But I couldn't.
My words wouldn't leave me, they were mine, and mine alone. I didn't trust her with them.
'I know this is hard,' she said, after a few minutes of silence, 'and it's perfectly okay if you just want this time to sit and think and be quiet, but it can be really helpful to talk about things.'
Still I couldn't speak. I didn't trust her, in her flowery blouse with her loose handshake.
She crossed her legs. 'So, you've been feeling depressed?'
I nodded.
'How long have you been on the tablets now?'
'About two weeks.'
'And are they starting to work would you say? Are you feeling any better?'
No. I feel like everything is too loud. 'Yes.'
'Well that's a good start. The tablets won't take it away, but they'll take the edge off, allow you to try and tackle the root issues behind the depression.'
I nodded.
Grace Harlow un-crossed her legs. 'What about inviting your mother to the next session? Sometimes-'
'No,' I said, a little too forcefully. Damn. I'd given her more information than I had wanted to.
Grace Harlow tilted her head again and looked at me. I turned away.
'Do you get on with your mother?'
I shook my head. Grace sat there, waiting for my confessions to come tumbling out. But they didn't.
'What about your dad?'
'He's dead.'
'Oh. Okay, so how do you feel about that?'
No. I didn't trust her. I wasn't going to say anymore. This stuff was off-limits.
'Do you miss your father?'
I sat still as stone. Still off-limits.
'Do you have any friends, anyone else you can talk to?'
Off-limits.
'What about Grandparents?'
No. I didn't want to tell her anything. The stranger with a grey bob and flowery blouse. Why was I even here? It wasn't like anyone was making me come here. I stood up. 'Sorry, I can't do this.'
'That's okay. I told you, you don't have to tell me anything-'
'I've got to go...too stuffy in here.'
'Okay, take my card,' said Grace standing up, holding out her business card, 'ring me when you've evened out a bit more. At any time, whenever you need to talk.'
I took the card and fled from the nondescript house, feeling more empowered than I ever had. I would talk when I wanted to.
Josh
I'd been wallowing in self-pity for days, not daring to leave the apartment in case I was tempted to follow Evie again. I had to stay away, for my own sake as well as hers. What had I been thinking, trying to get her to see me?
Staying inside my prison, waiting for Death to summon me again, was preferable to that torture. I could feel the axe swinging ever closer to my neck, the release of death not far away. I would just wait it out until She'd decided I'd served my purpose.
And that would be sooner, rather than later, because without Evie, what was the point? I wasn't going to do anything else for Death, I would refuse her and She would have to finish me.
Death didn't know me. She never had.
I was lying on my bed, drowning my sorrows with another bottle of absinthe. There was something about the green liquid that spoke to me like an old friend, promising me that I would forget my troubles.
But it's honeyed tongue had lied to me.
It hadn't worked.
My misery still clasped onto my ankles and wouldn't let go, despite how much I drank. Instead, it felt as though the absinthe was nourishing my troubles, helping them to grow stronger and more alive with every mouthful.
At some point I fell asleep, the drink letting my mind to wander into its darkest recesses, allowing me to dream.
> I was lying half dead in a ditch, maggots crawling across my skin, eating me alive. A ripe full moon hung in the sky above me, obscured now and again by curtains of clouds that shut out the light, leaving me in complete darkness for minutes at a time. I was terrified of the dark, of the not knowing what was out there in the shadows, lurking with the wolves that howled and whined. I felt something wriggling around in my cheek. I reached up to touch, my arm half-eaten and bloodied. I screamed, a scream that seemed to last for an eternity - a scream so loud that it probably could've been heard in Hell - and my face exploded. A black fly burst from my cheek, and extended its silvery wings to fly.
I woke up, drenched in sweat, I could feel the damp bed sheets clinging to my back. Slowly I opened my eyes and shuddered in terror; Death was sitting next to me on the bed, her pale hand resting on my cheek.
She sighed, 'Oh, Josh.'
I shunted the empty absinthe bottle off my chest and onto the other side of the bed. 'What do you want?' I asked, pulling myself up into a sitting position.
Death ran her tongue over her blood red lips, and She let her hand fall onto my naked chest, 'You're a clever boy, you work it out.'
I pulled the white sheet up to my abdomen to cover my nakedness. She looked like She wanted to eat me. 'What if I don't want to?'
'Or maybe you're not as clever as I thought,' She said, her jaw clenching.
'Why don't you just leave me alone? I've had enough, just get it over with because I'm not doing whatever it is you want me to do. I'm out.' I grabbed the sheet in my hand and jumped off the other side of the bed. I quickly found some jeans and pulled them on. 'I'm done.'
'You still haven't grasped how this works, have you?'
I turned around to bite back, but She was standing right in front of me, taking me off guard.
'You don't get to decide when it's over, my love,' She said, cupping my chin in Her hand.
'I'm not doing it,' I said, staring straight into the black pools of her eyes.
'Ah, is baby throwing a tantrum because he can't get what he wants?'
'I'm done. I want to die, just get it over with.'
Death laughed in my face. 'And that is definitely not something that you get to decide.' She removed Her hand from my chin, letting her fingers wander down my neck and onto my shoulders.
