“What? How? Those are private.”
“Someone had to make your decisions for you. You weren’t able to yourself. They think that the drugs, and…the abuse you suffered—” she pauses to sniff and clear her throat when it clogs up with emotion. “—caused schizoaffective disorder to develop. You were talking to someone who wasn’t there, and you were deeply depressed. That’s what they’ve been treating you for.”
“Schizoaffective disorder?” I place my hand on my stomach. “But the baby?”
“Is perfectly healthy. The medication they’re giving you is safe during pregnancy. But you’ll need to be monitored throughout.”
“How?”
“Medication and counselling.”
I lie back against the pillows. “I hate counselling.” I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant with Elliot’s baby. Holy crap. Did you hear that, Phoenix? You’re going to be a big sister. When silence echoes back, my breath hitches. She’s gone. “The drugs,” I cry, panic gripping my chest. “It’s the drugs. They took her away.”
“Took who away?”
“Phoenix. She was in my tattoo and I could talk to her. But she’s gone. I can’t hear her or feel her. They’ve sent her away.” I grab the IV line and tug it from my arm, clapping my hand over it to stem the flow of blood. “I can’t be here. I can’t lose her again.”
My mother gasps and the nurse returns, the doctor at her side. There’s a lot of ranting and yelling going on—mostly from me. And I'm told that if I don't calm down, they’ll be forced to medicate me.
I stop instantly, my eyes filled with tears. “That’s why I’m upset. The medicine sent my little girl away.” I feel like I'm losing her all over again.
“Do you think we could sit and talk?” my mother asks once I’ve been out of the hospital and back at her house for a week. I’m still not particularly forthcoming with her. On top of not trusting her because she dumped me in the street at fifteen, I’m also mourning the loss of Phoenix. Ever since I started taking the medication, I can’t hear her anymore. My counsellor tells me it was always my imagination, and that she wasn’t real. But I already knew that. I just miss being able to talk to her. I miss the feeling of carrying her on my back. It’s just a tattoo now. It’s just a tattoo.
“What is there to talk about?” I ask, putting my book down as I give her my attention. My therapist suggested a few sessions with mum could be beneficial to my healing. But I don’t know if I want to drag her shit along with mine. I can only handle one thing at a time. Schizoaffective disorder is something I’ll have to manage for the rest of my life. It’s a disorder that comes and goes depending on my stress levels and circumstances. They believe I developed it because of my drug use, and the trauma associated with my year as a drug whore. I fucking hate that they’re making me talk about that shit again. But Schizoaffective disorder is managed with medication and counselling, and if I don't participate, they can hospitalise me. I don’t want to be drugged up and trapped in a room ever again. So I'm cooperating. Especially since my parents have been granted medical custody of me. It’s pretty fucking hilarious if you ask me—the people who abandoned me are responsible for my medical decisions. It’s insanity of the highest order. And I'm supposed to be the crazy one. Right. The good news is, their custody is temporary. There'll be a hearing in a couple of months to assess my competency. So I’m focusing on being my best self for that. I also want to be my best self for this baby.
“You’ve been here for almost a week, and we’ve barely spoken at all.”
“That’s because I don’t want to be here, but I'm forced under your guardianship by law. The paperwork says I need to be here. It doesn’t say I need to talk to you or be your friend.”
“I’m not asking for you to be my friend. I’d just like us to come to an understanding.”
“Fine. Talk.” I say, sitting up to eye her as she fidgets with a loose thread on her sleeve.
“First, I wanted to give you this,” she says placing a small comb on the bed in front of me.
“Why?” Why would I want a comb?
“This is the comb I used to brush your hair when you were little. Before things got really bad with Oliver—”
“And you withdrew your love from me.” I remember her when I was small, singing to me, telling me stories while she sat with me before bed and untangled my curls. I craved those moments when they were gone. I cried for them.
“Yes,” she whispers. “He accused me of favouring you because you were Daniel’s. I went too far trying to prove it wasn’t true.”
“And that’s why you kicked me out? To prove I wasn’t your favourite?”
“I lost my mind.”
“It was well planned out for something done by a madwoman. You changed the locks and moved away. You left me with a bag of clothes and two hundred dollars. How did you expect me to survive?”
She’s crying now, the loose thread wrapped tightly around her finger as she continues to pull at it. “I thought you’d stay with a friend or go to a shelter. They could have helped.”
“You think a shelter is a good place for a fifteen year old girl?”
She sucks in her breath. “I thought social services would get involved. I kept expecting the police to turn up with you and make us take you back. I never expected…”
“That I’d be sold for two thousand dollars to a drug dealer who enjoyed keeping drug dependent girls in his home?” I frown and look at her. I can’t believe how naïve she’s being. “Yeah. I didn’t expect that when it happened either.”
“I’m so sorry, Paige. I hate myself for what I did to you.”
Pressing my lips together, I nod and wipe at my cheeks. “If it’s any consolation, I hate you too. You were supposed to love and protect me, but you fed me to the wolves instead. My baby died because of you. My brain is busted because of you. And I'll never be capable of having a real relationship because of you. Because you loved yourself more than you loved me.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she cries, breaking down, crying so loudly that Daniel comes barrelling in from another room, demanding to know what's happening.
“All I did was tell her the truth,” I say, my voice cool and calm as I level with him.
“Do you know how upset your mother has been this past month?” he starts, defending his wife. “She has lived and breathed your illness.”
“And that’s supposed to make everything better? I wouldn’t even have this fucking thing if she’d done her goddamned job and taken care of me as a child.”
“She didn’t make you take those drugs.”
“No. But she wasn't around to stop me either.”
“How dare—”
“Stop, Daniel!” my mother calls out, silencing him. “She has every right. I’ve been a horrible mother. And you’ve never been a father. We both have a lot to answer for.”
He stands there working his lips together as he looks between us, two women who look nothing alike bar our height and bone structure, but both of us his family. “Perhaps we should all try to talk this through together,” he says quietly.
I have no idea what they think this will achieve, but I follow behind them, taking a seat at the dining room table and waiting while they talk quietly to each other in the kitchen, making a tray with tea and biscuits. I’m not hungry or thirsty, but I accept it anyway.
Mum sits across from me with Daniel by her side. “Perhaps it will help if I explain how you came to be,” she says.
I doubt it but I would still like to hear it, so I sit back and nibble on the corner of a biscuit.
“I’d been travelling back and forth between Australia and the UK for about a year with work, and Daniel was a colleague. Every time I visited, he was so kind to me. I tried to resist my attraction because I was already married and had a son. But, eventually we both fell prey to temptation.” She looks at Daniel, her eyes so filled with adoration that it hurts my heart to watch them. I’m jealous and annoyed by their obvious happiness. “I was so
in love with him, and he was with me too. However, I couldn’t stay with him. I had to go back and look after my son. I had to honour my marriage vows. When I found out I was pregnant, I knew you were Daniel's. But, I hid all of my dates from your father and pretended that I fell pregnant before I’d left. You were premature, so they kept you in an incubator, and your father couldn’t understand what went wrong because by what I told him, you should have been full term. That, coupled with your dark shock of hair made him realise you weren’t actually his.” She draws invisible circles on the table with her index finger as she goes on. “We had a lot to lose by separating, so we decided to stay together and tell the world you were his. Then another baby—your sister—got added to the mix and things went from bad to worse.
“Your father hated that I seemed to play favourites with you and would torment me over my affair. I started to resent you. I thought that if you weren’t around, my life would be better. So, I sent you out, I drove you away.
“We moved to Melbourne. Oliver had a new job and went ahead of us. It was supposed to be a fresh start. But when I turned up without you, he was livid. Despite his anger over my affair, he didn’t hate you. He just didn’t know how to love a child that wasn’t his.
“We reported you missing, but you were long gone by then. The police spoke to your friends and your school, but no one knew where you went. Slowly, Oliver’s and my relationship crumbled, and we separated. I couldn’t live with the guilt, and he, well, he couldn't live with me. I gave him custody of Adam and Sophie and came back here and…” She looks at Daniel again and smiles with quivering lips. He places his arm around her, resting his hand on hers and squeezing it gently. She left her life and children behind to be with the man she loves.
I’m crying. But I don't know if it's hurt, anger, or sorrow. My life has just been one horrible mistake after another. The first one being hers. I never had a chance.
“Did you know about me?” I ask Daniel. “I mean, before I contacted you. Did you know about me?”
“I did,” he says. “I had to sign as your father for your birth certificate.”
“And you just left me with them?” I stare at him, watching as he thinks through his answer.
“I thought it was best. I didn’t know you were being treated poorly.”
“But you married her, anyway?”
“I did. She made mistakes. Lord knows I've made mistakes too in my life, but those mistakes don’t change the fact that she’s the woman I love.”
I laugh humourlessly. “You’re very passionate for an Englishman,” I say flatly.
“Don’t believe everything you see on television, Paige. We English can be very passionate people. However, my mother, your grandmother, is Italian. She was a very passionate woman.”
I look at my mother. “What happened to Adam and Sophie? Where are they now?”
She looks down at her hands. “I don’t know, Paige. I left everyone,” she whispers. “I left, and I never looked back.”
Her words hit me square in the chest. Like mother, like daughter.
Thirty-One
Elliot
Time crawls when you’re waiting for a new visa to be approved. I went for my interview and produced all the necessary documents to prove my heritage so I can get a five-year visa. My grandmother is English, so I applied based on my ancestry which is an easier way to get approval. But now I’m in limbo while I wait. It’s already been well over a month. I'm hoping it doesn’t take much longer. Tick-tock.
I need to get back there fast. Naomi said that Paige took off from the flat a month ago. Neither of us have heard from her since. Although her phone service is still active. I'm still leaving messages.
I have no idea if she listens to them. But I just keep leaving them, telling her about my day and my progress in getting back to her. I told her how I’ve given up my flat, sold most of my furniture and moved in with my mother to save enough money to have a slush fund when I get back there. Maybe we’ll use it to set up our own place. Maybe we’ll spend it all on sordid weekends away. Or maybe we’ll just save it for a rainy day. You never know what the future holds for us.
I also tell her how I visited my father for the first time in over two years. He's married now to a girl who isn’t really that much older than me, but he seems happy. I realised when I was in the UK, that I had no business being angry with him. After hearing what Paige had gone through in her life, I felt I needed to be happy my dad cared enough to try to steer me in the direction he thought was best for me.
When I told him I was going back and explained why, he offered to help me out money-wise. I said no because I need to do this by myself. But it’s nice to know I can count on my parents in an emergency.
If I wasn’t so damn sure about our feelings for each other, I’d feel pathetic leaving message after message. But I don’t. I have absolutely no doubt in my mind that we belong together. And I want her to know I’m not giving up on her.
And until I can get back to her, I work as much as I can to keep busy and add to my savings. I’m back at the same gym I was before I left. My boss knows I’m leaving again soon, but some of my old clients want to train with me while they can.
So right now, I’m in the Botanic Gardens in Sydney, the best outdoor training spot around here, packing up the resistance bands and mats I was using with my client while I contemplate calling Paige again, just to hear her voicemail recording.
“Elliot?” a familiar voice calls out. I turn around to face her, amazed that this time, I’m not plagued with the emotions I'd had last time we spoke. “How are you?” Katrina asks, smiling.
“Well, thanks,” I reply, returning her smile. It’s so surreal seeing her and not having a desperate need to touch her. I still can’t stop my hand itching, but it’s because I’m waiting to call Paige.
“I heard you were back. I figured I’d run into you here eventually,” she says.
“Um yeah, I’m not back for long though,” I tell her, as I pull the zip along the bag and sit on the ground.
She sits down next to me like we’re old friends. “Yeah, I heard. Our mothers have been gas bagging at tennis,” she says.
I shrug, not surprised they still talk. “Well, it’s good they’re still good friends. So…how’s work? How’s David?”
She leans back on her arms and stretches her long legs out in front of her, crossing them at the ankles.
“Good and good. What about you?”
“Well, works fine, but I haven’t seen David for years,” I joke.
“Har har, very funny,” she says. “I um… heard about the girl in London. I was kind of talking about her.”
I think of Paige and give a wry smile, wishing she wasn’t so far away, wishing she had just told me about her past early on so we could have talked properly instead of leaving it the way we did. I open the gallery on my phone, selecting a picture of Paige and me when we went away together the weekend before I left.
I hand her my phone to show her the image. “Her name is Paige. I’m just waiting on my visa so I can go back to her.”
Katrina studies the picture. “She’s beautiful, Elliot,” she says, as she swipes at the screen to move on to the next photo. I don’t want her going through my pictures and reach over, taking it from her hands as she says, “Wow. Is that a tattoo?”
All of a sudden, I bristle as my defences fly up and I switch off my phone, tucking it away. I know how some people look upon tattoos, especially massive ones like Paige's, and I don’t want anyone judging her when her tattoo represents so much for her.
Noticing a change in my demeanour Katrina shifts positions. “I’m sorry, Elliot. I shouldn’t have done that. The tattoo, well what I saw of it, is pretty amazing. It must have hurt.”
“Probably,” I say, looking up in the sky as I hear a bird call.
Appearing a little awkward, Katrina stands up and brushes the grass off her running pants. “I’d better leave you to it then.”
Nodding, I watch he
r take a couple of steps away. I feel bad for making her feel like she has to leave. “Katrina,” I start.
She pauses her retreat. “Yes?”
“I don’t know if I’m coming back, so in case I never see you again, have a great wedding. Tell David I said ‘hi’ and to have a fantastic life. I mean that.”
“I know you do, Elliot. Thank you, and I truly hope everything works out with Paige.”
“It will. It has to.”
Thirty-Two
Paige
“Your father and I noticed you’ve been looking at flats in the paper. Are you thinking of moving out?” my mother asks as we sit in the waiting room at the hospital so we can see my counsellor. I finally gave into her suggestion and let Mum accompany me to a session or two. Now that I passed my competency hearing, I feel more in control of my life and can handle taking steps to mend our relationship. Daniel is another story though. He’s my father, but he doesn’t feel that way. It’s weird. And it’s something I’ll probably have to focus on in future sessions.
“I think it’s time. I have a job now. My meds are keeping me stable. And I think we could all do with some space.” Moving out is something I’ve been talking to my counsellor about. She also agrees that it will be better for my mental health to have my own place.
“You know I’m happy for you to stay with us as long as you like. But if you must move out, we’d like to help you. I have money that I put aside for you in case I ever found you again. After the divorce, I sold my partnership in the firm and created a trust fund for you. It’s not a huge amount, but it’s enough to live off if you invest it wisely.”
Reaching into her handbag she pulls out an envelope that contains the paperwork for a fund in my name.
“I don’t know what to say…” I tell her, quietly scanning the documents.
“You don’t have to say anything. It’s the least I could do to make up for things. Not that I think it does. I just…I just wanted to make sure you had something.”
Struggle to Forever: a friends to lovers duet Page 65
