“Man, poor Bamm. Give her our love.”
“I’ll tell her you called her that.” Some of the stress has gone from his voice, and I think I can now hear him smile.
Because of Billie’s red hair, she’d reminded me of Pebbles from the Flintstones when she was younger, but I’d gotten the characters’ names mixed up and called her Bamm-Bamm.
“She’ll probably flip her middle finger, call me Wilma, and tell you to tell me to fuck off like she used to when she was a kid.”
“Fuck, I hope so. At least that’ll mean she’s still the fighter we love. I’m worried sick about how this will affect her mentally. The kid’s been through so fucking much already.”
I blow out a breath as I contemplate this. Billie was with her parents when they were killed by a suicide bomber at a hotel in Bali. Pete and Lainy died instantly, and Billie was buried with their bodies under the rubble of the hotel lobby, which had collapsed around them in the blast. It took rescuers several hours to secure the area and reach her. She’d suffered terrible night terrors and had seen counsellors and psychologists for years afterwards.
“She’s tougher than she looks, that one. As long as she’s got you, Mel, and Kenz, she’ll get through this.”
“I fuckin’ hope so.”
“She will. Go be with your sister, just keep me updated. Love you, man. Love you all.”
“Love you too.”
I end the call. Mum is now sitting where I’d been on the sofa, and I collapse down next to her.
“Billie’s been assaulted. She’s okay but in the hospital. Cal, Mel, and Kenzie are flying over to be with her. What the fuck, Mum? What the fuck is happening right now?”
My shoulders shake as I fight not to sob, but I’m not crying just for me anymore, my tears are born of anger, tiredness, and confusion. I feel like a pussy as my mum silently hands Layla back to me, then wraps us both in her arms and lets me cry.
Billie
It was late here by the time my brother and I had finished talking, and all I’d wanted to do was sleep. But, every time I’d closed my eyes, I saw Michael’s face hovering over mine. Those small eyes bulging from his puffy face, flushed purple with rage. I’d been able to smell his whiskey breath and almost feel the sweat that had dripped from his forehead and top lip onto my face. I’d recalled his hands squeeze tightly around my neck, and the incredible pain I’d felt when his teeth had clamped together over my breast. The sound of Oliver shouting from my bedroom for his dad to stop and Amelia’s distant screams had filled my ears, over and over. But more than anything else, more than all the horror Michael Bosworth inflicted on me last night, was the overwhelming anger. It had kept me awake last night and still boils inside me now. A rage so fierce that even after the adrenaline and fear had stopped coursing through my system, my heart’s tempo has refused to slow. I was pissed off that I hadn’t been able to defend myself and that I hadn’t been able to shield Oliver and Amelia from what they might’ve witnessed. Bitter resentment towards Carmen for initially putting her public image before the safety of her own children and me ate at my insides, but most of all, I was consumed with fury and outrage that Michael had felt it was okay to do what he did. How dare he. How fucking dare he put his hands on me. And what makes it worse, I think, is that the fucker is dead, and I have no idea where to direct my rage.
My blood pressure had spiked a couple of times, so the nurse had given me a sedative, which had obviously worked well enough for me to sleep through my brother arriving. When I open my eyes, he’s sitting in a tub chair at the side of my bed. His left ankle rests on his right knee, his elbow on the curved edge of the chair, his jaw resting between his thumb and index finger, his blue eyes on me.
We stare at each other in silence before Cal gets up and leans forward to wipe a tear from my cheek with his thumb. I hadn’t even realised I was crying, and now that I’m aware one has escaped, the rest break through my wall of will and determination, and I can no longer hold them back. As painful as it is with my two cracked ribs, I let out a sob.
Callum doesn’t hesitate in climbing onto my bed and pulling me into his arms. Exactly like he did when I was just seven, he holds me while I cry. And just like then, I cry tears of happiness at seeing him, and tears of sadness at what Oliver, Amelia, and Carmen have lost and will now have to face. Tears at the unjustness of the world, that my parents aren’t alive to be here for me, that life just fucking sucks sometimes. But the tears I cry hardest, those that fall fastest, are my tears of rage, anger, and indignation at once again being attacked and how helpless and humiliated I feel.
I was just a child when a suicide bomber walked into the lobby of our hotel in Bali and blew up himself and seventeen other people, including my parents.
We were waiting for our rental car to be delivered. He’d smiled as he walked towards me, his hand held to his chest, eyes aimed at me as he pressed the button that ended my life as I knew it.
I’d been on my knees, playing with my doll and, apparently, that was what had saved my life—being low to the ground. All I could remember after was the anger I felt. How dare he take my parents away like that, how dare he take them at all. They were good people and had done nothing to him. I was angry with myself for being so helpless. I should have done something, should have realised his intentions or thwarted his plans. Just like I was then, I’m consumed by how irrelevant and inconsequential I feel. Like the world doesn’t care about me, that it ignores my wishes and allows my fate to be dictated by others, my choices taken away.
I feel paralysed by the anger that engulfs me, and I struggle to breathe through my tears. Callum pulls away and looks down into my face as I fight for my breath, fight to stave off the anxiety attack stealing one more thing from me.
He whispers my name and murmurs instructions for me to breathe through my nose. I know what I should be doing, I’ve done it before, many times. Except, this time, it’s not working.
Cal places a mask over my face and presses the emergency call button. My head starts to spin and dots dance in front of my eyes as alarms sound around me. My head feels as if it’s about to explode, and then slowly, it doesn’t. The panic subsides, and it’s as if I’m being dragged out into the calmest of oceans while floating on a tide of feathers.
The next time I open my eyes, Kenzie is sitting where my brother had been, her arms are folded across her chest and her perfect brows are pulled down into a frown as she stares at me. I slide my eyes to the sofa against the wall at the end of my bed and find Cal staring at me too, his knuckle pressed to his lip. Mel is curled up next to him, her head in his lap as she sleeps.
Cal lets out a long breath, and I can see the tension leave his body as his shoulders relax.
“Way to go to win some attention, bish,” Kenzie says as she gets up and moves to sit on my bed. “Shift over, my arse is going numb in that chair.”
I laugh. I’m still feeling a little bit out of it, and for some reason, Kenzie’s comment makes me laugh.
“That’s because it’s so bony, you skinny ho,” I slur, and this time she laughs.
“Well, we’ve not all been blessed by the booty gods and born with extra padding.” She makes herself comfortable beside me. “Now, give me a cuddle and tell Auntie Kenz all about it.”
“My bums fat,” I tell her.
“You have a great bum.”
“My ribs are broken. You have to be careful,” I whisper. I don’t know I whisper, but that’s what I do.
Kenzie sits up a little straighter, slides one arm around my back, one across my front, and I move so my head rests on her chest.
I take a deep breath in of her Jo Malone perfume and relax into the familiarity of being surrounded by family.
“I’m so sorry this has happened, Bill.”
“Me too, but at least it’s brought all of you to see me.”
“Well, if you missed us, there’s always FaceTime. I’m sure it’d be a lot less painful and traumatic . . . but then, you always were a bit of a drama llama.”
“Fuck off making me laugh, it hurts,” I order.
Cal stands and walks to the opposite side of the bed where Kenzie was just sitting. The room I’m in now is different from the one where I fell asleep last night, this one’s more like a hotel suite than a hospital room. I’m assuming Cal arranged the upgrade and they then moved me once the drugs had knocked me out.
“What happened earlier?” I ask Cal as he reaches for my hand.
“What happened is that you scared the fucking life out of me—”
“And me,” Makenzie adds.
“Me too,” Mel chimes in from where she’s now sitting up on the sofa.
“Is that the medical name for it?” I ask, laughing again because I’m so funny.
Cal huffs and shakes his head. “You had a panic attack and they sedated you. I’ve spoken to your doctor, and he said it was normal. They were kind of expecting it.”
“Wow, I have a doctor? All to myself?”
Kenz screws up her nose and shakes her head. “Don’t get too excited, this is real life. You got a McFugly, not a Dreamy or Steamy.”
I shrug, “makes no difference to me, not a fan of any of them right now.”
I turn and look at my brother, “except you. I’ll always love you.”
My nose tingles. I really don’t want to cry, so I grin while my drug-fucked brain attempts to find something funny to say.
“And maybe Dr Kovač or Dr Ross.”
“Dr Ross is mine,” Mel adds.
“You can have him, he’s old, and old men are my least favourite right now.”
It’s her fault Kenz and I have our ER doctor obsession. She was who introduced us to the show and its characters when we each reached an age she felt it was appropriate to do so. For Kenz, that was at a much younger age than me, as she refused to be left out and watched in secret. We still have binge-watch days when we’re all together and Cal is out of town.
The room falls silent for a few beats too long before Kenzie ads, “Bill, have you seen your face? I don’t think even McFugly would be interested right now.”
“Wow, don’t hold back.”
“Always rely on me for the truth, babe.”
“Yeah, I forgot just how brutal you can be. Thanks for the visit, fam, but can you take her home now?”
I’m aware that Makenzie’s just trying to fill the awkward silences, but Cal has zero colour in his face, and Mel looks as if she’s about to burst into tears. I’m probably well ahead of both of them on the stress-o-meter, but I’ve been pumped full of drugs, and since waking from my meltdown, I’m feeling a whole lot calmer.
I’m happy to paint on my smiley face for the people who raised me. I don’t need them aware of the turmoil churning inside my head. Makenzie will see right through my front, though, and that’s okay, she’s my girl, and I know she’ll have my back.
“So, what else did my fugly caregiver say?”
“They’ve glued a cut in your head, you have two stitches in your lip, a cut on your tongue and inside your cheek, a displaced middle knuckle, a fracture to the side of your hand and wrist, and two broken ribs,” Callum reels off.
“Great, when can I go home?” I attempt to keep things light, if I don’t, I know I’ll fall apart.
Mel now has both hands covering her face as tears stream down her face.
“Please don’t cry.” I hold my arms out as I speak. My left hand and wrist are in a cast, and my ribs scream at me with every breath I take, but I need a cuddle as much as the woman who raised me for the past fifteen years does. Cal steps to the side, allowing Mel access to me. She climbs onto the other side of the bed to Kenzie and wraps me in her arms, leaving me sandwiched between them.
“The police are going to want to talk to you tomorrow, but we should be able to take you home the day after. The doctor wants that cast on for at least forty-eight hours before you fly. We can use the record label’s jet to get you home, so at least you won’t be stuck in your seat with your ribs causing you pain for the whole flight. There’s a queen-size bed at the back of the plane, so it’s even better than flying first class.” Mel lets out a long breath that moves my hair when she finishes talking then leans into me. “I want to squeeze you just as much as I want to wrap you in cotton wool and protect you from all the shitty things this world has to offer.”
“I know you do, and I appreciate it. But I have a life to live and, unfortunately, I’m occasionally gonna come across arseholes like Michael Bosworth. Next time, I’ll be prepared. As soon as I’m fit enough, I wanna learn to box, or some kind of self-defence. I don’t know what, but I never want to be left feeling that vulnerable and ill-prepared if anything like that should happen again. Drew taught me a few defensive moves, but not enough to be able to save myself from what happened last night.”
“I’ll come with ya,” Kenzie says.
“We’ll all go together,” Mel adds.
Cal crosses his arms over his chest. “It won’t happen again. It shouldn’t have happened this time, but I’ll be making sure it doesn’t happen again. But, if it will make you feel better, I’ll talk to Micky; he can probably teach you a few things about defending yourselves. It’s something you all should’ve done sooner in hindsight.”
“And ain’t hindsight a wonderful thing,” Mel says quietly.
“And you”—Cal gestures with his chin towards me then nods down towards the cast on my hand— “you need to learn how to throw a punch. The doctor said that was a typical boxer’s break, what they usually see after a bar fight. Did you hit him?”
Kenzie, Mel and I sit up a little straighter, and I nod. “I punched him a couple of times. I think I broke his nose.”
“Good girl,” Mel says with a smile on her face and pride in her voice.
“Well, if you didn’t, the bullet that went through his head and exploded out the other side did.” Makenzie, as tactful as ever, states.
I look to Cal. “Is that what happened? They told me that Carmen shot him, but I don’t think they felt I could deal with much more.” I watch as my brother's eyes dart to Mel then back to me. “You can tell me; I’d rather hear it from you than read it online.”
Cal closes his eyes and folds his arms across his chest.
Both Mel and Kenzie still.
I wait.
“The police aren’t saying much, but Aaron flew in with us. He’s spoken to both the police and Carmen Bosworth’s legal team . . .”
Mel takes my good hand in hers. I still have an IV line going into the back of it and a blood pressure cuff around the same arm, so it’s a little awkward.
I hate that my brother looks so torn because of someone else's actions.
“I love you, Cal,” I blurt. “I love you, and I got so fucking lucky when I was born with you as my big brother.”
A sob bursts from Mel and I feel her shake beside me, but I don't take my eyes from my brother’s face. I need him to know how much I appreciate everything he’s done for me.
His gaze slowly shifts from the floor to meet mine. I take in the bloodshot whites that surround his grey-blue irises, which are so much like our dad’s, and despite the tingle in my nose and the fact my chin is trembling, I give him a small smile and nod.
“I need to know what happened.”
I don’t see tears on his face, but he wipes at it with the back of his hand anyway, at the same time he tilts his head from side to side, relieving the tension in his neck. His nostrils are flared, something my brother only does when he gets angry, which doesn’t happen often. Drawing in a deep breath, he nods and says, “When Carmen came into your apartment, you were unconscious. He was on top of you and had pulled your top up . . .”
Pain slices through my boob as I recall his teeth sinking into my tender flesh, the ice in my veins not sufficient to numb the horror of that particular memory.
I nod at the recollection of being in that position and listen as Callum continues.
“He had one hand around your throat, the other was att
empting to get your shorts and knickers down. Carmen had collected a gun from wherever they keep them in the house before she came to your apartment. She aimed it at Bosworth and screamed at him to get off you. Instead, he reached for his own gun . . .” Cal clears the emotion from his throat and chokes out, “He had a gun, kid, did he point that fucking thing at you?”
I nod as tears track down my cheeks.
“That fucker. That fucking fucker,” Cal whispers while lacing his fingers behind his head and spinning slowly in a circle. He stares up at the ceiling.
“He dropped it. I think I headbutted him, or maybe when I punched him . . . I can’t remember, but I did something, and it skidded across the floor.”
“Good girl,” my brother praises me.
“I tried to crawl away then, to get to the kids. I was going for the gun, but I realised I don’t know how to shoot a gun—”
“Gun lessons, we’ll get them too,” Makenzie says quietly.
“He pulled me back. He grabbed my hair and pulled me back. He was on my chest . . .” I can barely breathe, the memories resurfacing as I talk through them. “Then I was on my front, trying to reach the kids . . . they were in my bedroom. I put them in there when I heard Michael arguing with Carmen on the phone. When they’ve both been drinking, their rows can get violent . . .”
“Wait, this wasn’t a one-off?” Cal asks. “Has he come at you before?”
“No, never. They just tear lumps out of each other.”
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell us? Why’d you stay? Fucking hell, kid?”
“The children, Cal. I was scared for the children—wait, where are they? Are they safe?”
Oh my God, I hadn’t even considered where Oliver and Amelia were.
“I don’t know, and I don’t fucking care right now. You should’ve let one of us know this shit was going on. Fuck me!” Cal again begins to pace.
“I know. I called you both a couple of times last week, but I read what was going on with Max’s wife and figured you were helping him out with the baby and everything—”
All the Forbidden Things Page 10
