Fractured

by Leanne Pearson

  “The B&B wing on Jimmy’s plot?”

  “Yeah,” he answers.

  I feel my cheeks flush. It’s impossible to deny how attractive this man is. Dominic is extremely good looking. Well built and tall. He towers over me. I have to tip my neck back to look up at him.

  The blue of his eyes is mesmerising, and I have difficulty pulling my eyes from his. Why I’m reacting this way to a man I’ve just met when Danny has only been gone ten days, shocks me senseless. I feel so ashamed. Trying not to show how much at odds I am with myself, I look away, but keep the conversation going.

  “Why did Chase call you Dell?”

  “It’s from my surname, Dell’Antonio,” he replies almost shyly.

  “Italian?” I ask.

  “Yeah, Dad’s side. Mom’s American.” This explains the suave sex appeal.

  “Is that a South African accent I’m pickin’ up?” he asks.

  “Yeah. I’m surprised you guessed right. Most people ask if I’m from Germany.”

  “Nah, I’d recognise it anywhere. It’s very unique. I like it.”

  As the words roll from his tongue in a husky voice heavily accented with a mellow southern twang, an unexpected frisson of warmth glides over my skin, settling itself in my belly.

  A while later, Chase, Dominic and I are sitting at the bar still waiting for Jimmy to make an appearance. None of us are talking, all lost to our own thoughts. I’m keeping to myself, maintaining a safe distance from this handsome stranger who is causing me to feel something other than grief.

  God, why? Why must smothering guilt at my awareness of another man now be added to the self-reproach I’m already experiencing?

  I usually drink Southern Comfort with L&P, or Bourbon and Coke. This afternoon I’ve ordered a whiskey sour, double shot. I check my phone, noting a third missed call and a voice message from TVNZ. They want to interview me on the Campbell Live show. As tactfully as John Campbell handles these interviews, my grief is too raw, too private to share on national television.

  Looking down into my glass, I realise I’m standing on a precipice. Yeah, drinking hard liquor, and just a few hours after taking pain medication too. Awesome. If I start down this road, will I fall headlong into the dark place so many find themselves in after a life crisis?

  I do know that I need to stop the hurting somehow, just for a while. Dull this crushing heartache and stop the kaleidoscopic memories from spinning through my mind incessantly.

  My hand trembling slightly, I bring the glass up to my mouth, the heady scent hitting my nostrils before I’ve taken the first sip. I shudder as the tart citrus flavour fills my mouth. I swallow it back in one shot, the sour undertone masking the kick of the whiskey. It hits my stomach, warming me from within. I order another, slamming this one back too, soon feeling a heat in my belly that spreads out to my limbs, dulling the pain in my back somewhat and calming my nerves.

  “Uh, Kate, babe, take it easy. That’s not lolly water you’re knocking back,” Chase says, brows knitted together, and on at least drink number three as well.

  I hold my empty glass up to him. “Hey, drinking was your idea bud, and I’m not driving, so you may want to ease up there yourself.”

  “Don’t stress, sweetheart, I’ve got his keys,” Dominic says, jiggling the Holden keys in his hand.

  My tummy flutters at the endearment. It suddenly dawns on me that I haven’t seen Dominic drink anything other than Coke all night. I manage to fix my face into a small appreciative smile just as Travis approaches the two men.

  “Keep that up, and you’ll be pissing proof in the next hour, man. If your boss asks you for another urine sample, you’ll be a sliced lemon short of it being a cocktail,” Travis remarks.

  Chase gives him the one finger salute.

  Men. Such finesse.

  I silently sit and watch Dominic and Travis exchange introductions. Both men are very easy on the eye. Dominic has the height advantage over Travis who has a slightly leaner build. Travis has sandy brown hair that’s always immaculately groomed. He wears his hair in a trendy Ivy League style with a forward flick, which highlights his thick eyebrows and light brown eyes. He’s always clean-shaven, which is a good look on him as his jawline is strong and masculine. It’s his dazzling smile though, that captivates the ladies and lures them in, the deep seductive tenor of his voice, an added bonus, which charms them senseless.

  I met Travis a week after Danny and I started dating. They’ve been best friends since primary school. Travis is a great guy, albeit a certified womaniser. He avoids any form of commitment at all costs. A result of his messed-up upbringing I suspect. The moment he senses that a woman is about to sink her claws in, he blows them off. I’ve had a string of his cast asides crying on my shoulder over the years. Trav is the consequence of an affair that his mother had with a married man. His existence brought the affair into sharp focus, dissolving the marriage.

  Growing up as the product of a “dirty affair”, he’s had it tough. A few years after the break up of her marriage, Travis’s Mom developed an addiction to sleeping tablets and alcohol. He was separated from his slightly older half brother who was permanently placed in the care of his biological father, who gained full custody. Travis went to live with his maternal grandparents while his Mom pulled herself right in a rehabilitation program. I’ve gleaned over the years that his grandparents were very distant emotionally, providing very little nurturing. Trav’s upbringing has been anything but stable and I think this explains a lot about the way he is.

  The minute Travis’s eyes find mine through the crowd, he winds his way towards me. Up close, I notice that his eyes are bloodshot and his pupils look dilated. He pulls me into a rough hug.

  “So glad to see you, baby,” he says with a slight slur to his words. I frown into the crook of his neck. Clearly under the influence of something, and hurting, I don’t think he realises that he called me baby. I’ve always been Kate to him.

  “Are you drunk and high, Trav?”

  He turns his face away slightly and runs his hands through his hair. When he turns back to me I’m able to see just how glazed over his eyes are. High is an understatement. I’ve never seen him this stoned before.

  “So what if I am?”

  I know better than to get into this with him. Danny had tried so many times after finding Travis blazed, irrational and reeking of marijuana.

  “I’m worried about you. I know you’re hurting, too.”

  “Don’t be. I’m fine,” he mumbles.

  His hand then cups my cheek, his thumb drifting over the edge of the small dressing on my face.

  “I, uh...” He stops, then drops his hand, exhaling slowly.

  He’s really hurting, as high as he is, it is there in the set of his jaw, and the dullness in his eyes. But something else is working behind the marijuana fog his brain is being forced to operate under. I just can’t place it.

  “I need to go,” he says brusquely, his voice a rough whisper.

  As Trav turns away from me, leaving me frowning once again, my eyes meet Dominic’s. He is watching me intently.

  I suddenly want to be home with my arms wrapped around Danny’s pillow, breathing his familiar smell into my lungs.

  Turning my back on both men, I walk a bit farther down the bar and sit down. A few minutes later I hear Sarah approach me from behind. She can be relied upon to brighten any situation or mood, no matter how depressing. She barrels up to me, a slightly more subdued version of her usual bubbly self. She gives me a gentle hug before sitting herself down. I’m feeling anxious and edgy; my nerves feel frazzled, coiled like a spring ready to unravel.

  “How ya doing today, hon?”

  “Broken arm, stitches, gaping hole where my heart used to be. Yeah, I’m doing okay, Sarah.” The bitter words are out of my mouth before I can clamp it shut. Tears spring to my eyes at the look on her face. She looks wounded.

  I apologise immediately. “Sorry, Sarah. I didn’t mean to snap.”

 
“Don’t apologise, Katy. I won’t take offence to anything that comes out of that pretty mouth of yours, for the next few months anyway, okay? I just want to be here for you in any way I can.”

  Her eyes are tearing up, too.

  “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “Well fortunately for you, you’ll never have to find out,” she says, sweeping me into a hug, which almost causes me to black out in pain as she squeezes my back. I cry out and Sarah pulls back immediately.

  “Oh God, I’m sorry, Katy, I forgot about your arm for a minute.”

  The pain radiating from my back right now is far more painful. I keep this to myself though. My decision to indelibly mark my skin as a reminder of my lost love was such a personal decision, so close to my heart. It’s just not something I’m willing to share with anybody at the moment.

  “It’s okay. Anyway, how did you know I was here?” I ask.

  “Chase sent me a text a little earlier. Fortunately I picked it up before I left for Mum’s.” Sarah chews on her lip, looking a little apprehensive.

  “I got a call from my stepdad yesterday. He and Mum want me to move back in with them for a bit until things settle down around here. Said I could use the sleep-out, rent-free. I told them my unit is fine, no structural damage, just partial road collapse towards the bottom end of the street. They’re insistent though and the offer of rent-free accommodation is very tempting. As you know, I’m away so often due to my work schedule, so it would make sense I suppose.”

  “What are you going to do? You’d need to give notice where you are,” I ask.

  “Not sure. I’m going to mull over this for a few days. My focus right now is you anyway.”

  Her parents’ generous offer does make sense; she’s a training facilitator for a global cosmetic brand and spends a lot of time on the road. I take another gulp of my drink, noticing that my hand is trembling slightly. Of course, Sarah notices.

  “Your hand is shaking, Katy.”

  “Yeah I know, didn’t eat much today. It’s nothing. I’m fine,” I say dismissively.

  “Sarah, please don’t hold off on making important decisions because of me.”

  “I’m not. It’s an open offer with the folks, not one I would make on the fly anyway. And you’re my best friend, you are my priority.” Someone calls out to Sarah, so she kisses me on the cheek, telling me she’ll be back shortly, and heads over to the other side of the pub to chat to a few friends.

  I order a beer.

  A few locals approach me, offering their condolences, asking how I’m doing. Tragedy seems to trigger such inane questions from people. A falling building crushed my boyfriend to death. it almost took my life, too. How do people really think I’m doing?

  Murmurings of the earthquake are on everybody’s lips as I stare numbly at the television on the wall above the bar. It’s replaying footage captured by a bystander of a man who is chucking large pieces of concrete aside like they’re lightweight blocks of foam as he heroically attempts to get to somebody trapped beneath a fallen building.

  The news ribbon moving along the bottom of the screen catches my eye: Confirmed death toll: 186.

  Oh God. If Dan had survived, that figure would be 185.

  News footage is feeding through from the worst hit areas; teams of engineers and safety crews are shown canvassing the CBD, ascertaining what buildings are structurally sound and which are not. Looking away, I take a long swig of my beer. Yeah, I’m mixing drinks too now, but not feeling the burn in my throat so much anymore, so I must be pretty well tanked.

  My eyes are perversely drawn back to the television which now shows a wild-eyed reporter stating that preliminary geologist reports estimate that the peak ground acceleration at the time of the earthquake to be 1.8 times the force of gravity. This indicating, she dramatically elaborates, that many of the buildings and those trapped inside them, didn’t stand a chance when it hit. My throat tightens and tears threaten as I think about all those lost in the CTV building alone.

  God, I don't need to be watching this right now.

  I’m feeling light-headed and beads of sweat are forming across my forehead. The music is pumping and people are pouring in, driven by the need to drown their fears and escape the destruction out in the streets for a few hours. The pungent smell of perfume and musky cologne is in the air. Multiple drinks are lining the bar counter. I don’t think I can diplomatically answer another question as to how I’m doing. I know it’s the alcohol that’s warping my senses, and I do appreciate the concern shown, but honestly, do people really want to know to what degree my heart is breaking and just how utterly destroyed I feel?

  Hell, no.

  A group of rowdy young guys start slamming their hands down on the counter, the reverberation of their fists suddenly making me feel panicky and claustrophobic. My head starts to spin as I become hyper aware of the noise levels in the pub, of the concentration of people. There suddenly seems to be too many bodies pressing into such a confined space, and not enough air. I feel myself going into full freak out, my heart is galloping through my chest at an alarming rate and the edges of my vision begin to blacken.

  The sounds of the quake are ricocheting in my ears now. Graphic images of trapped people flood my mind. I can hear their desperate screams. It’s like I’m back in that crumbling building, but the ground isn’t shaking. My chest tightens and I’m only capable of rapid, shallow gasps of air. I clasp my hands over my ears to silence the noisy club, my body shaking like a leaf.

  Oh God, what’s happening to me?

  Unsteady on my feet, I stumble forward, frantically searching for Sarah. People’s faces swarm and merge before me, someone grabs my arm; a foreign voice asking if I’m okay. It feels like an invisible force is pulling me under, suffocating the air from my lungs.

  Dominic suddenly appears in front of me, which brings me back up to the surface momentarily. He’s speaking to me but it’s as though he’s standing on the other side of a thick plane of glass. My trembling legs give out under me as a wave of disorienting dizziness has me clutching his strong biceps in a death grip.

  Dominic somehow manages to get me off that roller coaster ride of terror, and out into the balmy night air. Away from the congestion of people and noise, I force myself to take slower breaths.

  “Kate, are you—” Dominic’s question is cut short as Sarah slips her arm around my waist.

  “She’s fine. I’ve got her. Thank you.”

  My heart rate slows incrementally, and my frantic breathing finally regulates as Sarah guides me over to an empty bus shelter. Looking up, I see Dominic is still standing a few feet from us with his hands on his hips, his penetrating stare burning into me.

  “I’m okay. Thank you,” I say to him.

  “Yeah. We’re all good here, um thanks?” Sarah says almost quizzically.

  “All right. I’ll be right inside if you need me,” he replies curtly. I hear the hesitation in his voice. It seems that none of the other guys noticed my freak-out, as nobody else has followed us out.

  “Was that an apparition or is that man for real?” I hear Sarah whisper to herself as she passes me an energy bar and some water. I can’t steady my hands as I take them from her, and she puts her arm around my trembling body. I feel like I’m in shock still, incapable of understanding what just happened to me.

  “What’s wrong with me, Sarah? Am I going insane?”

  “No honey. You’ve just experienced a full on panic attack. Jess, at work, has them from time to time.” Sarah is calm, but tearful.

  “But I felt as though as I was back in the cinema complex when it collapsed. N-not just memories, it was like I was right there, Sarah. I heard actual sounds, despite the music playing inside Jimmy’s.”

  “What sounds, Katy?”

  “The building collapsing, the screams. God, the voices were so clear, so real. It was awful,” I whisper through a clenched jaw, squeezing my eyes closed.

  The March air is thick with humi
dity, yet the hairs on my neck are standing up and I feel clammy and cold. Sarah sighs deeply, giving my leg a squeeze.

  “They’re flashbacks, Katy. It’s perfectly understandable that you’re experiencing them.”

  “Hearing things in one’s head is not something a sane person should experience, Sarah. God, I really think I’m losing it.” I run a still trembling hand through my hair. Sarah grasps it, anchoring me.

  “You are not losing it, please don’t stress yourself out any further. It’s early days still on your road to recovery. I read an article about quake survivors in the newspaper on Monday. The article profiled a sales rep who was in the CTV building just before it collapsed. She escaped a few seconds before it went down. She was found in the rubble a few hours later by the search and rescue team. Anyway, my point is, the woman in the feature has been plagued with flashbacks ever since. She says she went into that building as a free-spirited, confident individual, and exited a different person entirely. She didn’t lose anybody close to her as you have, but the event was life changing nonetheless. Her symptoms are very similar to yours. Flashbacks, anxiety, agitation.”

  “I know what she means. I’m not the same person who walked into that Cinema complex either. It sometimes feels like I’ve had a personality change, like I’ve shed the skin of my former self. I miss the person I used to be, Sarah,” I admit in a tremulous voice.

  “You’re still the same person, Katy. Grief is a journey you have to walk, there aren’t any shortcuts,” Sarah says as she places both of her hands over mine.

  “It affects people in different ways, hon. The thing is, you need to let go and allow yourself to grieve openly. You can’t move forward and start to heal unless you’ve grieved for Dan in a healthy way. I’ve not once seen you break down and just let go.”

  Her eyes are brimming with unshed tears as she speaks. Anguish has me by the throat, my body exhausting itself with the strain of suppressing the torrent of tears that are choking me up. Able to read me so well, Sarah pulls me into a hug.

  “I d-don’t know how to go on with my life with…without Dan in it,” I whisper into her hair.