Discovering Stella (19 page)

I growled like a man possessed.
“Stay away from
her,
you
hear?”

“You’re
a crazy bastard.
No wonder
Vicky fucked
you
over,”
Leigh growled back.

Lights out, motherfucker.

I wrenched
my
arm back and punched him fair and square in the face, knocking the arsehole
out
cold. Then, getting to
my
feet, I glanced
over
to where Vicky was still sitting at the bar.
Her
top
lip curled
into
a sly smile before she swivelled
on
the
stool,
facing away from me.
Yeah,
you do that,
Vic,
because I’m more than happy to see the back of you.

“What the fuck, Laws—”

I held
my
hand in the air to halt
Todd’s
pending words.
“Don’t
stand there and tell me he
didn’t
deserve it. Everyone
here
knows the fucker
did.”
Turning
to Larry, I clicked
my
fingers at him.
“Give
us your
beer.”

“Why?” he asked
defensively,
cradling the pot to his chest.

“Just
hand
it
over,
Larry. I’ll pay
for
all of
your beer next
week.”

He
shrugged and happily handed me the
beer,
which I then slowly poured
on
Leigh’s face.

Coughing and squinting, the dickhead shook his head and rolled to his side, wiping his face and eyes. I gave him a
moment
before I held
out my
hand and helped him to his feet. “This is
over.
You,
me and Vicky
...
are
over.
Don’t
mention
her
in
my
presence and we are good. And
as
for
Stella,
don’t
even go there, because if
you
fucking
do,
you’ll regret
it.”
I looked
over
at
Todd
who was angrily surveying the carnage surrounding us. “Leigh
will
take care of anything
that’s
broken
and needs replacing,
won’t
ya, Leigh?”

“Whatever,”
he grumbled, cupping his nose.

I then got the hell
out
of there.

*
 
*
 
*

Stumbling through the door of
my workshop, my
head was throbbing like a
bitch.
Fucking Leigh.
Although I was
angry
with him
for
screwing
Vicky,
I could never hate him.
We’d
been friends
for
as
long
as
I could
remember,
but
that
didn’t
mean I felt like forgiving the prick anytime soon. I also
couldn’t
blame him entirely — Vicky had been the instigator.

In
all
honesty, Vicky’s
and
my
relationship had been
on
the rocks
long
before the two of them screwed around, so
it
was only a matter of time before we were to go our separate ways.
But
despite of our pending split, that
didn’t
excuse the fucking cheating.
It
also
didn’t
excuse betrayal.

Vicky
hadn’t
always been a vindictive snake. Before she
joined
the band and started experimenting with weed and ice, she was a real sweetheart: beautiful, intelligent, caring and a little
shy.
Then something changed. Something that had
her
turning to drugs.
I’m
not
sure what.
I’ve
tried putting
my
finger
on
it,
but
for
the life
of
me I
couldn’t
figure
it
out.
And to be frank, I really
couldn’t
give a shit any
more.
She
chose
her
bed, and
now
she had to lie in it.

Throwing the keys
on
the desk in
my
office, I proceeded to
walk
to the fridge, opening the freezer door and grabbing the ice
tray.
I kicked off
my
boots and flopped
on
the couch, holding the tray
over my
eye.
Goddamn women. Are they really worth it? Worth all this?
I sighed, knowing that if
my
mum could hear
my
questioning thoughts, she
wouldn’t
hesitate to give me
an
earful. Mum was
an
advocate of chivalry, hence
my
business name: Knight Repairs.
From
a very young age, she’d read me bedtime stories, the majority of them being medieval tales of kings, queens and knights.
She
was forever crafting swords, shields and armour
out
of everyday
household
items and encouraging Meg and me to
role-play,
as
kids often
do.

My
favourite medieval tales were about
King Arthur
and the Knights of the Round
Table,
although Mum was never a fan of Sir Lancelot. She’d always maintained that he
broke
the code of chivalry when he practised medieval courtly
love
and pursued Queen Guinevere. Mum was a strong believer in respecting the
honour
of
women,
a code of chivalry she tried instilling in me. Another moral code was to protect the weak and defenceless.

Speaking of the weak and defenceless, I desperately wanted to protect Stella —
needed
to protect
her. But
I’d be lying if I
didn’t
admit to also having a sense of pride.
Okay
, so maybe pride
wasn’t
a knightly virtue,
but
I was only human, and
more
importantly,
a man.

A man whose ego had been hurt.

A man who had been knocked off his horse.

Don’t cook ... unless you can

Opening your eyes the morning after a mammoth
cry
session is always
an
extremely uncomfortable task. And I have no
doubt
that if
my
eyelids had the ability to emit sound during this process, they’d be screaming at me to press them
shut
again.
Last
night, after leaving Lawson by the river and slowly
making
my
way
home,
I’d cried myself to
sleep.
Seeing him shattered and at a loss
as
to what he should do had
broken my
heart.
After
all, I was the
one
who’d begged him to go further
...
begged him to make me feel good. And
boy,
had he made me feel good. He’d made me feel something I’d
never
felt before.
It
was hard to explain,
but
when I came apart
on
him, the immense explosion of
varying
emotions was like nothing I’d ever experienced.

Pleasure had coursed through
my
body
by his hand and,
as
a result, guilt had hit me with
full
force soon after.
My
first instinct had been to turn those feelings
into
anger, lashing
out
at him
for
no good reason. I knew
it
was cruel to direct
my
insecurities and confusion at him,
but
in that
moment
I
hadn’t
known what else to
do.
I’d been scared and feared what he made me feel
...
what I was afraid to feel
...
what I
shouldn’t
feel.

Deep down, I
wondered
if I should make
an
appointment
to see a psychologist.
I
n
my
line of
work
as
a nurse, I had experienced firsthand what compartmentalisation could do to a person. I
wasn’t
living in denial of
my
past though. I knew what had happened, lived what happened — every single
fibre
of
my
being was
tormented
daily by
what happened
. So
no,
I
wasn’t
disputing what I’d endured and suffered. I was instead choosing to take leave from the constant reminder by simply ignoring it.
Did
that indicate I should seek
out
a shrink?
Probably.
But
like most things,
it
was easier said
than
done.

Getting
out
of bed, I opened the
curtains
only to instantly close them again.
Holy crap, that is bright.
I squinted and groaned, then considered crawling back
into
bed.
Sheltered
within pale lemon-coloured walls, I could hide away
for
the
day and
pretend
to be sick, therefore
not
have to face the
world
and those who were in it, those who persistently tried to unwrap
my
protective layers — layers that I’d unwrap when I was good and
ready.

Groaning,
I
flicked
through
my
wardrobe,
which
basically
consisted
of
three
dresses,
a cardigan, a skirt,
some
tops,
a pair
of
jeans, and a
limited
supply
of
underwear.
Now
that I’d
decided
to
stay
in
Pittstown,
I
would
definitely
have
to
take a
trip
to
Shep
parton
and
buy
some
more
outfits
—
not
to
mention
shoes
—
having
deliberately
left
behind
the
majority
of
what
I
owned
in
Melbourne.
I
didn’t
want
it
any
more.
I
didn’t
want
the
constant
reminder of who
I used
to
be.

Selecting the dress I’d worn the night Lawson and I had tequila shots, I had to push aside those memories
as
well, which only added to
my
need
for
more
clothing
...
or,
alternatively,
remaining in bed
all
day.
But
even if staying in
my
room were a
possibility,
I
couldn’t
do it. I
couldn’t
let
Todd
down after pleading with him to let me
stay.
My
stepbrother
hadn’t
hesitated when granting
my
request to remain in Pittstown, together with offering me a
job. S
o the
absolute
last thing I wanted to do was disrespect him and throw his generosity back in his face.
Suck it up, princess
...
Princess, oh god.

Saying that
word
in
my
head beckoned
more
tears to well, prompting
my
eyelids to once
again
plead
for
closure. The thought of facing Lawson was unbearable. I
didn’t
want to once
again
witness the sad, disappointed
or
angry
expression he would surely have,
but
...
I just
couldn’t
give him what he wanted. I
didn’t
know
how.
I’d tried, and quite
clearly,
I’d failed.

Closing
my
eyes, I focussed solely
on my
breathing, practicing a mild meditation technique that I used to suggest to
my
patients.
It
was also
my
saving grace when things were sometimes too much to bear. Continuing this process until
an
unknown amount
of
time had lapsed, I reopened
my
eyes and found a renewed sense of courage, which allowed me to forge ahead and have a
shower,
get myself dressed and make
my
way
out into
the kitchen.

As
I walked down the hallway, I could smell and hear bacon and eggs cooking. I was very hungry, having
not
bothered with dinner after arriving
home
the previous night.

“Are
you
going to wake her?” Meg asked,
her
voice
just audible from
my position
in the hallway.

“Should I?
She
sounded terrible when I called
her
last night.
Perhaps
I should just let
her
sleep.”
The uncertainty in
Todd’s
voice
was unmistakable.

Rounding the
corner,
I took a breath and prepared myself to come face to face with Lawson.
“No
need,
I’m
awake,”
I said
meekly,
yawning and quickly scanning the room only to find Lawson absent.
Phew.
He’s
left
already.

Meg smiled from
her
position
at the
stove,
but
then tilted
her
head in a
show
of concern.
“You
feeling
all
right?
You don’t
look so
good.”

“Ah ...
yeah,
I’m
fine. I suffer hay
fever,”
I lied, sniffing
for
effect,
“and
I’ve
run
out of
antihistamines.”

“Oh,
you
poor
thing.
You
could
get
some
from
the local
GP,
or
I can grab a
packet
for
you
in
Shepparton
after I finish
work
today.”

I slid
onto
a breakfast-bar stool. “That would be terrific,
thank
you,”
I said gratefully, feeling
awful
that she was
now
going
out
of
her
way to get me medication I
didn’t
need.

She
walked to the other
side
of the bench I was sitting at and placed the
frying
pan she was holding
on top of
the wooden chopping board. Meg then leaned forward and grabbed
some
toast that had popped up from the toaster.
“Would
you
like
some
bacon and eggs?”

“Sure,
thanks.
It
smells
wonderful.”

“Everything she cooks is
wonderful.”
Todd
stepped behind
Meg
and wrapped his arms around
her
waist
as
she buttered the toast.

She
laughed mildly and turned
her
head to give him a quick peck
on
the lips.
“You
have to say that,
or you
don’t
eat. Appar
ently
I’m
the only
one
around
here
who knows what a kitchen is
for.”

Feeling terrible that I’d lied to Meg about
my
pretend
hay
fever,
and also feeling a little useless because I
hadn’t
really
done
anything during the
couple
of weeks I’d been
here
— except
for
some
basic cleaning — I came up with
an
idea.
“I
can
cook!
Well,
I
can
make something
that’s
edible at least. Why
don’t
I cook dinner tonight?”

Meg and
Todd
shrugged and then smiled. “Sure!” they said in unison.

“Okay,
excellent!” I smiled genuinely,
now
filled with a sense of purpose —
as
silly
as
that sounded — and began
thinking
of the different things I could make. “Is there anything
you
guys
or
Lawson
can’t
eat,
or
perhaps
don’t
like?”

“Nah,
we’re
all
pretty
easy,”
Meg explained, wriggling
out
of
Todd’s
embrace in
order
to open the fridge and take
out
the orange juice.
She
poured
some into
a glass and passed
it
across the bench to me.
“Although
I’ll have to check if Lawson is coming
home
tonight.
He
may stay
out
like he did last
night.”

Hearing that Lawson
hadn’t
come
home
sent
the butterflies in
my
stomach crashing
into
each
other.

“Babe,
you
said
you
saw him at the
pub. Did
he
mention
anything about where he was going and
for how
long?” Meg asked.

Todd
kissed
her
on
the
cheek
and
stole
the
second
glass
of
juice
she’d
poured.
He
then
briefly
flicked his gaze
to
me
before
turning
around
and walking
to
the sink.
“As
far as I know
he
slept
at the
workshop.
He
wasn’t
in the right frame
of
mind
to
come
home.”

Meg
put
down the butter knife and turned in
Todd’s
direction. “Why?”

“He
got
into
a fight with Leigh.”

“What?” Meg and I exclaimed simultaneously.

My
heart picked up a beat. “Is he
all
right?”