by Jessop, K. L
Jesus Christ.
She’s been back five minutes and has my head all over the place.
Once I close my front door, it’s like my body loses all willpower. I walk towards the cupboard under the stairs, feeling my chest tighten with each step but not willing my feet to stop. When I open the door, I kneel down to reach for the one thing I’ve kept out of sight for years; the one thing that had the ache in my chest intensifying when I closed the world to it the day I decided to try to move on; the one thing that’s kept me close to Everly, even though she didn’t want that attachment. And as I lift the lid off the box that’s filled with memories of what we once had, that ache ripples through my body just as strongly as it did the day I put the box into storage. Trinkets, photo’s, pressed flowers…. You name it, it’s all in here—all the little things I kept because these little treasures were what made us us and what made Everly her. We were never a couple for grand gestures or fancy dinners. A single flower and an evening around the campfire at the cabin eating marshmallows had been our kind of thing. That’s what had made us who we were.
I miss that.
I don’t just miss what we had. I miss having a connection with someone that has the same dreams as my own, and I doubt I’ll ever find that with another because Everly set the bar so high that the damn thing still stands tall after all these years.
As I look through the box, my sights are only on one thing, and it’s shining back at me as bright as anything. The star that has her name engraved in the middle had been the last thing Everly gave to me—our last Christmas together before everything changed; before I lost my girl for unknown reasons, ones I can’t even begin to comprehend. As I hold the star between my fingers like it’s the most delicate thing in the world, I fall back against the wall, sitting myself on the floor as the burn in my chest builds, and my heart splinters with discomfort when I turn it over and read what’s on the other side.
I love you forever.
She lied.
I’d carried this star around in my wallet for years, holding on to it like it was worth the entire galaxy and that it would bring her back, but each night that passed and another day came and went without her with me, those stars had slowly burnt out. It’d felt like my heart was a razorblade: every time I breathed after she’d gone and another night was spent without her, it cut me deeper. My hope was gone. My love was lost. My life would never be the same.
I hadn’t had the heart to get rid of anything. I couldn’t. So, I’d packed it up and hidden it from the world, hoping that maybe one day I’d be able to bring myself to reopen that box once more.
And here I am.
Maybe it’s fate.
Maybe I’m delusional.
Maybe it means nothing.
But as I hold the star in my hand and my eyes glance over it, it gives me a kind of comfort that I’ve not felt in years. What sort of comfort that is, I’m unsure, but surely it means something? Doesn’t it? I guess only time will tell, but right now, I want to hold on to it for as long as possible and in the meantime try to find the closure I’ve been waiting on all these years.
But something tells me that it’s not going to be that easy.
15
Everly
I stroke the black acrylic paint along the bottom of the white canvas, focusing on the way the it soaks into the tiny holes before another stroke of paint completely covers it. I do it once more, knowing full well I’ve overloaded the area I’m working on but make no attempts to move to another part of the canvas. Anita thought getting out my easel and paints would help take my mind off everything, but it hasn’t. Adam still hates me, Dad is still gone and my heart is more congested now than it has ever been before. All the while, my mother is walking around trying to keep it together for my sake. I heard her crying last night and it hurts that her brave face and warm smile is a front just for me. I know she is hiding herself because she feels it will only jeopardise my recovery by breaking down, but at the same time, we’ve both lost a massive part of our lives: I want her to know that it’s okay if she should fall apart.
“Your canvas is going to fall to pieces if you keep painting the same bit, Ev,” Anita says, bringing me out of my thoughts.
“Sorry, I was just thinking.”
“Want to talk about it?” she asks softly as she pinches the metal together of the necklace she’s making with her jewellery tools.
“Not really.”
What’s the point in talking? It won’t change anything. I’ve learnt that over the years. Talking may help for a while but the nightmares still come back and drown my body with fear at night; awaken me from my dreams and haunts, invading my thoughts at any given moment where I can’t breathe, be it a smell, a flashback, a phrase or a programme on the television with a similar storyline. Anything can be a trigger, bringing back what I went through, and there’s no way to stop them, regardless of how much I fucking talk. It never leaves me.
I change brushes and dab into the yellow paint that is now starting to dry on my pallet board from the warmth of the sun. Painting outside is never a good idea as you’re forever topping up the paint before you’ve used it, but the day is too nice to be spent indoors. I want to listen to the birds and feel the breeze on my face. Dad was always one for being outdoors whenever he could and always said not to waste our time behind closed doors as tomorrow it could be raining. Not that the rain bothers me either—if anything I prefer it because it hides away the stars.
Stargazing was once something I enjoyed; now it’s too much to bear because it reminds me of those nights at the cabin.
Now, I love listening to the rain at night when I can’t sleep. The way the raindrops hit my window soothes a small part of my soul that’s looking for that much needed tranquillity. It may only be for a moment, but that moment is everything.
Seeing Adam yesterday had given me a similar feeling. The way his eyes had kept mine captive awoke something inside of me that hasn’t seen the light in a long time. It had scared me, not because I was frightened, but because for the first time in ten years, I felt safe. Despite our awkward conversation, it had been nice to have him close, to walk beside him like nothing between us had changed, and in that moment, that’s what I’d allowed myself to imagined it was like—like time hadn’t passed and our blood hadn’t been laced with anguish, but then I’d gone and ruined it when I closed up on him after his question.
It’s not that I don’t want him to know where I live now; I just wanted to separate what happened to me here to the new life I have now in Milford Haven. I thought I was doing the right thing for the both of us. But as I felt his red-hot stare on me, I knew I’d done wrong, yet I couldn’t find the words to make it right. Watching him walk off had had that goddamn knife sticking deeper into my stomach and creating more agony. He didn’t even look back. He always used to look back.
“Do you think he will ever forgive me?”
Anita looks up at me confused. “Who?”
“Adam. I saw him again yesterday and—”
“You did?” She now puts down her tools and turns in her seat to look at me. Moving her sunglasses to the top of her head, her eyes glue themselves to mine as if I’m about to give her some exclusive gossip. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because there’s nothing to tell. I saw him, I walked off, he followed, and we walked for a bit and chatted.”
“And?” Her eyes flash with a little excitement, but I’m not feeling her joy.
“And then I shut down and he left me standing there while I watched him walk away.”
“But you talked. That’s something.”
“Is it? I couldn’t bring myself to tell him where I live now, Nita.”
“These things take time, Everly. Don’t beat yourself up. You chatted, he clearly wanted to be near you and you clearly felt comfortable enough to let him. That’s progress.”
“You think?”
“Yes. I mean come on. When was the last time you spoke to a guy when you weren’t swimming in alcoh
ol?”
She has a point. Before the rape, I would hardly drink at all. Then, once I moved to Milford Haven, every time we’ve been out on a ‘girls’ night or just stayed in drinking, I’ve ended up intoxicated because of needing my anxieties to disappear. Only, over time, it has made them worse. So, spending time with Adam, even if it was just letting him walk beside me, is the most I’ve done with any man in as long as I can remember.
“I guess, you’re right.”
“Erm, hello. Like I keep say—”
“You’re always right, yeah, yeah.” I smile. “You’re also annoying at times too.”
“The term you’re looking for there is unique. There is only one of me.”
“And God help all of us if there were more than one.” We both laugh as Mum comes outside with a tray of sandwiches and tea.
“Girls, I’ve made you lunch.” I love her millions, but I swear she still sees me as a little girl at times. On the other hand, maybe keeping busy is her way of dealing with everything. I know I’m finding it difficult and I hate myself for laughing with Anita, but she has this way that makes me forget at times. When we used to talk about his line of work as a funeral director, Dad would always say that people grieve in different ways—some right away, other later and some just have ups and downs—but I also remember how he used to tell me that it was okay to smile and be happy at the same time my heart was aching.
And I am trying but not only do I have the loss of dad, everything else comes with it. I’ve cried myself to sleep every night since I returned home because being back here is torture—like I knew it would be—and that heavy weight pressing on my chest is so strong I can’t breathe. Being here is crucifying me.
But I can’t them this because I will only put more worry on her and Mum.
“Helen, thank you. You’re simply amazing,” Anita says, diving into the plate of tuna sandwiches. Mum smiles at her, but I can see there is something bothering her. I’ve also noticed that she has her best pearl necklace on which means she’s going into town.
“Mum, are you alright? Are you going out?”
“I am going out, yes, dear.” Her jaw moves and her mouth forms a straight smile before she sits down at the opposite side of the table. “I’m going to see Reverend Mark one last time before tomorrow.”
Anxiety grips my stomach. “Do you want me to come with you?”
“No, darling. I’m fine. Honest.” She nods. “Although, there is something I need to talk to you about because the decision was made last night and you were already in bed.”
“Okay. What is it?”
From the corner of my eye, I see Anita has now stopped eating and her eyes are running back and forth between me and Mum. I suddenly don’t like the tension that’s building rapidly between us all.
“As you know, there’ve been an overwhelming number of people sending their deepest sympathy to our family and showing their gratitude for your father.”
“I know. He was more of a popular man than I thought.”
“Therefore, and after much thought, I’ve decided to move the reception after the funeral from our house to the social hall.”
Ice floods my veins with her words and my heart quickens so fast, it causes me to grip the table.
It’s just a building, Everly.
“I’m sorry, Everly, darling. I truly am, but we simply cannot cater for everyone here in this little house. You understand that, right?”
I do. And I get it. But that place is where my good life ended and my brutal one started. The colourful days were drawn closed with darkness and my heart was torn to pieces with the secrets I had to carry while I had to pretend everything was fine while he slowly took everything away from me. Now I have to go back, stand inside a building where I said yes to the man I loved—still love—while visualising what Jamie did to me on the opposite side of the doors.
“Okay,” I whisper, not having the energy to say anything else.
Getting up from her seat, Mum comes over to me. The warmth of her hand cups my cheek as a soft smile graces her face. “I love you, Everly. You can do this. I know you can.”
But how can I when each day I’m here feels like a punishment where I’m bombarded with memories of a life that I wanted but wasn’t allowed to have.
“I love you too, Mum.”
* * *
It comes to my attention as the dawn of morning marks a new day and sunlight enters my bedroom that my ceiling needs a good lick of paint. My parents clearly haven’t decorated my room and now the ceiling is an off-white colour. I can’t remember how long I’ve been awake or whether I’ve been to sleep at all, but every time I close my eyes, I see Dad lying peacefully in his bed, just like the day I last talked to him before he said goodbye to the world. He’d looked calm and free from any pain. All the while, I’d held his hand and cried into the blankets that had been keeping him warm that little bit longer. I’ve not been into that room since. I can’t bring myself to go in only to find he’s not there. And I can’t bear the fact that after today, he’ll be truly gone forever. I don’t like the thought of him being in that cemetery all alone. I don’t like the thought that, eventually, the only thing I will have of him is a headstone and some flowers. I want my daddy back. I need him here. I can’t bear the thought of today. I feel physically sick to my stomach that this day has finally arrived when all I wanted was to wake up and find out it had all been a bad dream.
Why can’t it have been a bad dream?
“Morning, beautiful.” Anita’s soft voice comes from around my bedroom door.
Her eyes tell me she’s already been crying and I have to swallow back my tears. I can’t cry yet.
“Your mum has made breakfast.”
“I’m not hungry. Have you been up long?”
“About an hour. I’ve been helping her out in the kitchen.”
I sense her come further into my bedroom and sit on the edge of my bed. Taking my hand with a little squeeze she says, “Stupid question but how are you feeling?”
“Numb,” I murmur. “I don’t really feel anything. At least, I don’t think I do. Is that wrong of me?”
“No, babe.”
I just need to get through today—be there for Mum. That’s what the ladies from church told me. “Be strong for your mother, Everly. It’s important she has you.” And she has, she will always have me. But I don’t know how much strength I have left before I break.
“I should get up. Mum needs me,” I say, wiping a stray tear away before it’s noticed. “How does she seem this morning?”
“I honestly can’t tell. She’s frantically cleaned things that she’s already cleaned, made way too much breakfast for the three of us and got upset when she took your dads cup out of the cupboard to make him a coffee. Now, though, she seems to have this wave of calm over her.”
I close my eyes at her words. I wish my insides felt like that. Anita squeezes my hand harder, making me look at her, and when I do, I see the worry on her face. “But, Everly, I think you should know that your mum has gone and gotten you—” Before she can finish, Mum walks into my bedroom with a soft smile and a mid-length garment bag hanging over her arm.
“Good morning, darling. Breakfast is ready so if you want to get up we can eat. We can’t be late because the ladies from the church will be here soon. It’s a beautiful day; your father will be pleased.”
I look at her in disbelief, not knowing what to think or how to feel because all I am right now is numb. The fact that she’s come into my room talking about breakfast and the weather knowing what today is confuses me. How do I know what’s right? I’ve only ever lost one member of my family—my Gran—before now and I was too young to remember how I felt or what I should feel. I know grief is dealt with differently because dad had always said, but is Mum’s way of dealing with it to protect me normal?
“What is that, Mum?” I ask as dread lines my stomach when I focus on the bag she’s brought in.
“I’ve bought you a dress to w
ear today,” she says, hooking it on my wardrobe door. As she unzips the bag and looks at me, waiting for me to inspect it, my mouth goes dry. Getting up from my bed, I walk over to her, and with shaky hands, I take out the black dress that’s on the hanger. My stomach twists with anxiety and my palms begin to sweat as my heart beats as though it’s in my throat.
It’s a beautiful dress, elegant and lace free but I know it will hug every curve of my body exposing my figure. It’s the type of dress I’ve not worn in years. It’s the type of dress I’ve not wanted to wear in years.
“I can’t wear that, Mum.” I whisper. “It’s too small.”
“Darling, it’s your size. You’ll look beautiful.”
“Thank you, but I can’t wear it. I have an outfit.”
“What? That oversized shirt that’s hanging on the back of the door?” Her voice is full of disbelief. She doesn’t get it. Why can't she just understand?
“I don’t like fitted clothes, Mum. I like them baggy.”
“It’s just a dress.”
“And I’m thirty years old. I can make my own choices,” I bite back, hating the fact I’ve snapped.
Like I’ve said the most horrendous thing in the world, she turns to face me, and for the first time in all the years I’ve known her, her stern words hit me as her eyes fill with tears and her finger points in my direction, anger and hurt laced in her tone. “Now you listen to me, Everly Rose. You may be of an age where you make your own choices, but I am your mother. Today, we say goodbye to your father, a man who lived in this town for years and was respected by many, and I will not have his daughter turn up like she’s just crawled out of bed and flung on the first thing she could find. I need you by my side today, and I need you looking your best. You’ll wear the dress.” With that, she leaves my room with tears heavy in her eyes as my own fall down my cheeks, loathing the fact I’m the one that’s caused her to break.
As I stand looking at the dress, I think about what she is asking of me and wonder if she or anyone who knows of my history truly knows of the demons and the scars I carry. Ever since that night and all the times after, I’ve wanted to rip my body out of my own skin, claw away at all the bad that had happened so I can feel peace just for a few minutes, but nothing ever works. I want to look as ugly on the outside as I feel on the inside. I don’t want to be touched. I don’t want anyone near me. So, I hide myself away and wear clothes too big for me: a baggy shield—a cocoon of protection.
