Authors: Janelle Harris
Mark pulls back the curtains in our bedroom and the soft, morning sun stings my eyes.
‘What time is it?’ I ask, wincing as I run my fingers through my knotted hair.
‘Time you were up, you lazy sod,’ Mark jokes. ‘You really need a shower. You stink!’
‘Thanks. I love you, too.’
I try to sit up, but the sudden movement of my head tortures me and pain darts around my temples. Mark hands me a glass of ice water from the bedside locker. The ice hasn’t started to melt, so I know he got it fresh from the kitchen just moments ago. He must have anticipated my pounding skull.
‘God, I’m so hungover,’ I admit. ‘I must have been completely out of it last night; I can’t remember a thing.’
‘You really don’t remember?’ Mark says.
‘Nope, not a thing, sorry. Was it a good night? I’m sure it’ll all come back to me later.’
‘I doubt it,’ Mark mumbles as he crouches down at the end of the bed. He doesn’t stand back up. I try to lift my head high enough to glance over the edge of the bed to see what he’s up to, but every movement sends a stinging shock down my spine.
‘You weren’t drinking last night,’ Mark says.
‘Really? I have a hangover from hell that begs to differ.’ I massage my temples with my fingertips.
‘That would be the sedation medication wearing off. You’ve been asleep for almost twenty-four hours.’
‘Sedation?’ I sit upright, making my head feel like it might explode.
Why would I need sedation?
And for a whole day. I don’t remember seeing sedation meds on the prescription I got leaving the hospital, but then again, I hadn’t paid close attention. Mark looks after all that.
I squint as I look down at Mark, and then the ground.
Why is he picking up little shards of shattered glass off our bedroom floor?
Mark hangs his head as soon as I catch his eye.
He can’t even look at me.
And for a brief, horrible moment, my husband feels like a stranger to me. I slip my fingers inside the neck of my t-shirt and pull it away from my skin, but it doesn’t relieve the tightening in my throat.
‘Laura, come on, think. Do you remember chatting in the kitchen? You were tired and angry. You insisted everyone leave.’ Mark pauses while he stands up. He looks at me – finally. ‘You insisted
I
leave.’
‘Leave? What? Go where? This is your home. Why would I want to kick you out?’
Mark doesn’t reply; he watches me, scrutinising me. I don’t like it.
Whatever this sedation stuff is, it’s killing me.
I shut my eyes as my brain feels like it’s liquefying and draining out of my ear. I lean over the edge of the bed feeling like I might throw up. Hazy images of me guarding the door holding my favourite crystal photo frame in my hand suddenly pop into my head. I remember screaming loudly. That’s probably why my ears are ringing now. Anger and pain surged through my body into my hand. My knuckles whitened as my grasp on the frame grew stronger. I stared and stared at the beautiful picture and then I suddenly threw the frame as hard as I could. I watched it shatter into little pieces on the ground with a haunting feeling of regret.
My hands fly to cover my mouth.
Mark
.
Oh God.
I had thrown the frame right at him.
Why?
I was vicious - I remember, but I can’t fucking remember why. I open my eyes as the images began to scramble again. Mark is sitting on the bed beside me; his arms are wrapped tightly around my shoulders.
‘We will get through this,’ he whispers as we rock back and forth, together.
‘I know, I know,’ I say, soaking up his comfort. But I have no idea what the hell it is we’re supposed to be getting through, and for the first time, I realise paralysis is not my biggest problem.
Fuck.
‘God, Mark…I’m sorry.’ And now I’m the one avoiding eye contact.
This is ridiculous.
‘Did I hurt you?’
‘You weren’t in control. It’s okay.’
‘Of course, it’s not okay.’
‘You’re right; it’s not okay. It’s terrible. We really need to work on your aim. You completely missed.’ Mark’s laugh is dry and forced, and I know it’s a crappy attempt to cover up his tears.
Maybe I should pretend to laugh, too. But how funny is it that I tried to decapitate my husband with some finely polished Waterford Crystal?
‘I hear the doorbell,’ I say abruptly, and I can see Mark is as grateful for the interruption as I am.
Mark kisses my forehead softly as he stands up. ‘I better get it. Do you need me to help you get dressed, or will you be okay on your own?’
‘Of course, I’ll be okay on my own, silly,’ I reply, desperate to be alone.
Mark looks back at least three times before he leaves the room. I actually have to flick my fingers in the direction of the door to get him to move forward.
I roll my eyes and shake my head, but I’m smiling as I conjure images of how long it would actually take Mark to put on my clothes and how much more fun it would be if I just took his off instead. But these happy thoughts are constantly interrupted by nasty flashes that appear sporadically from the back of my mind. I can’t control how they surface, and I can’t suppress them either.
Nothing plays in sequence. It’s bright; like hurt your eyes, fluorescent-in-your-face bright. A slim, grey-haired woman is standing beside me. She hands me a plastic cup of water, the kind that comes from the water cooler in a waiting room. I take it, but I don’t drink from it. I’m busy watching an elderly man in the distance. There’s something oddly familiar about him – a friend or a past colleague perhaps. He’s facing away from me, but I recognise his physique. I scratch at my thoughts trying desperately to conjure a face, but my mind is blank. He’s speaking to a young blond-haired woman who seems to be crying. I recognise her also, but her trembling posture distracts me from seeing her face. I barely notice the handsome man standing poignantly beside her. He’s upset too, but he’s hiding it better.
The grey-haired woman continues to speak to me, but I can’t pull my stare away from the familiar people at the end of the hall. I’m not listening to a word she’s saying to me. Mark is beside me. He’s concentrating hard; I can see it in his face. He always presses his lips tightly together when he’s listening intently to something. It’s a habit I find adorable.
I notice his lips begin to quiver; he’s shaking his head. He’s shaking his head – hard. His breathing quickens and tears began to fall down his flushed cheeks. Fuck it; why wasn’t I listening? The harder I try to hear what’s being said now, the more mumbled the words become. The hum of background noise is drowning out the words – the distinctive sounds of teacups chattering in a canteen and babies crying in the distance ring loudly in my ears.
I suddenly feel a stabbing pain deep inside my chest. My ribs chattered so roughly with each racing breath that I worry they might snap. And suddenly the teacups rattle no more and all the babies are silent, and the only sound is a dry, piercing scream. And I know that sound. It’s deeps and wallowing and heartbreaking. It’s me. ‘No, please, God no,’ I cry.
I struggled so hard to understand what I’ve been told. Something so terrible that I’ve lost all control of my senses. My knees hurt as they jar in place, and I can’t move.
Darkness is sweeping in from the corners of my mind, and it’s hard to focus on the man in the distance. He’s left the couple at the end of the corridor, and I seem to be his target now. He’s racing towards me. The pound of his racing feet against the floor tiles emphasises his haste. The closer he gets, the more blurred the image of his face becomes. But, in an instant, he’s so close that I can read his name tag that’s pinned to his chequered shirt. It’s definitely him. It’s definitely Doctor Hammond.
~~~
I’m distracted from my eerie thoughts by Mark’s voice as he comes back into our bedroom.
‘Laura, are you getting dressed or what?’ he says. ‘You’ve been here for ages. There’s no point in avoiding things. You know you need to come downstairs. C’mon, you’ll feel better after.’
Mark tosses some grungy tracksuit bottoms and one of his old football jerseys at me. ‘Hurry up. Please?’
I tilt my head a little and wait for Mark to kiss me on the cheek. ‘I’ll be ready in a minute; I’ll call you when I’m ready. Promise.’
I wait for Mark to leave before I pull the jersey over my head, and a familiar smell hits me. Play-Doh? I must have been wearing this jersey recently when I was playing with the kids. A wave of giddy excitement ripples around my belly. I can’t wait to wake up some morning and for all my memories to be clear again. Like finding an old photo album I haven’t seen in years. I’ll reminisce and laugh at bad fashion sense and drastic hairstyles. I can feel myself getting closer all the time, and I know I’ll remember any day now. It will be the perfect pick-me-up to have a head full of memories of fun times with the kids. I lie back on the bed, close my eyes, and savour the smell.
Distant family members shake my hand and kiss my cheek. I concentrate on the familiar smell of the Play-Doh, but it’s slipping away. A new smell is engulfing my senses. Offensive, cheap incense wafts around me. I follow the scent across my mind. It leads into the playroom, where I find some slender white candles flickering on a small, low table hidden in the corner. I expect to find a floor littered with toys, teddy bears, and the occasional broken crayon or two; but a highly polished, squeaky-clean, red oak timber floor stares back at me. I don’t know this playroom. All the toys have been tidied into boxes, labelled and placed too high on the shelf for kids to reach. No evidence that a child has ever played in this horribly melancholic room remains.
The house is full of people, some chatting…some hugging in silence…and some, like me…lost. I shudder as the bitter sting of loneliness clutches at my bones.
I recognise most people. But as I tried to speak to anyone, their image disappears before my eyes. Everyone vanishes one by one until I’m completely alone.
I wander from one empty room to the next, trying to piece together clues to this puzzle that don’t fit my life. I find the back door and race towards it. It’s so hard to breathe. I have to get out of the house. Fresh air has to reach my lungs before I pass out. I burst through the door and inhale deeply.
Mark is standing alone on the patio. His back is turned to me, but I can see his shoulders shudder. Was he crying? I rush to him and slip my arms around his waist, but he pulls away. I try to embrace him again, but he turns around and pushes me away; so roughly I stumble and cut my palm on the rusty, side gate.
I clench my aching fist and watch as blood trickles past my knuckles.
‘It’s all your fault,’ Mark slurs. ‘I hate you.’
Mark’s words spin like a crippling, emotional tornado in my ears, around and around, over and over. It was my fault! What was? What terrible thing have I done? I try to walk towards Mark, but he’s backing away. I edge forward more, but he’s gaining distance. He disappears from my view. I look around. Our small, safe garden has grown to enormity. Our house is a tiny speck far off in the distance. I’m helplessly isolated in a dreary forest, and fallen trees block any pathway home. Dark clouds suddenly fill the sky, blocking out almost all light. The ground beneath my feet trembles furiously as large craters appear all around. I gaze into their never-ending depths and calmness washes over me. The temptation to let go and fall forward is intense and somewhat calming. My body shakes viciously, and I lunge forward.
~~~
‘Oh sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,’ Ava apologises, as she perches on the edge of the bed with her legs crossed. ‘Mark told me to come up and wake you. I think you were dreaming?’
Ava’s hand is on my shoulder, and she’s gently rocking my sleepy body.
‘Yeah, dreaming,’ I stutter, shaking my head, struggling to remember where I am.
‘You were talking in your sleep, apologising over and over. You’ve been doing that a lot lately.’ Ava bites her lip and turns her head away from me.
It’s so unlike Ava to watch what she says, but despite my groggy head, I know she regrets the last words out of her mouth.
‘I’ve been here for ages,’ Ava adds. ‘I have to go back to work in a few minutes, so I just wanted to say bye before I leave. I’ll pop in on my lunch break again tomorrow.’
I rub my eyes and nod. ‘Okay, sounds good.’
‘You have to actually get up this time, though. Much as I love Mark, he’s useless to talk to about wedding stuff,’ Ava says with an embarrassed giggle. ‘I think I bore him with all the talk about dresses and flowers and stuff. He just ignores me.’
My body finally stops twitching, and my eyes settle on my friend. ‘I’ll have a word with him about that. I hadn’t even noticed he was being rude, sorry. I just can’t seem to function properly lately.’
Ava’s voice softens to just above a whisper. ‘It’s understandable, Laura. No one expects you to be okay straight away. Stop putting pressure on yourself.’
I smile, but I don’t feel any better inside.
‘About last night...’ I begin.
Ava quickly interrupts me. ‘Let’s forget about that, okay?’