Nothing Matters (Family Matters Book 1) (12 page)

Even her voice is different, it's hollow.  "Okay I guess," she replies, but she clearly isn't.  It's just a line, a well-rehearsed lie.

"I'm, I'm sorry," I stutter, my mouth unable to form what my mind is thinking, "sorry for not being there -.”   It's a feeble attempt.

"It's not your fault," she says bravely, her eyes scanning mine, but only briefly.  It's like she can't even look at me, doesn't want to look at me.  Antonia's heels on the stairs make me sit back in my chair.  She has a tray of drinks and insists we go sit on the balcony.  Magdala gingerly rises, she looks like she's in pain, and she limps outside.  I want to take her by the hand, I want to scoop her up, but I hang back, watch her ease herself into the chair.  She pours herself a water, offers me one but I decline, my hands feel shaky, I'd probably drop the glass.

"How are your -" I'm not sure what to call them, wounds? Stab wounds? The right word comes, "injuries?"

Her hand goes up to the bandage on her neck.  Was he trying to cut her throat?  Did he want to kill her?  Who was this psycho?  How could he hurt her like this?  I want to know all the details, but I don't think I would want to hear it, don't think I could handle it.

"Your eye is a lot better."

She almost smiles, and indicates with her hand how large it had been.  "It was so swollen, and purple."

She takes a drink of water, then sets the glass down.  I'm within touching distance, I just want to connect with her, I want her so much.   I reach my hand to hers, I just want to touch her.  She pulls away, sharply, angrily.  She retreats, pulling and hugging her knees up in her chair, making herself small.  Her body language says it all.  She doesn't want me here.  Not now, and I fear, not ever.

"You should go," she whispers.  I stand, but I feel dazed, she lowers her head, she won't look at me.

"You know I love you," I say, the words soft, sincere, but I flee, not looking back, distraught.  Antonia is there at the stairs.  "All right?" she says, and I just nod.

"Give her time," she says gently, reassuringly, "she just needs more time."

MAGDALA

I'm sitting in the armchair in the lounge, still in my long stripy pajama pants and its matching pink top.  I haven't brushed my hair in days, I've just tied it back, and when I looked in the mirror my cheeks were hollow and my face was still yellow from the bruising.  I didn't care.  I was sitting with my knees drawn up.  Antonia answered the door, her heels clicking across the tiles.  I waited, nervous, anxious, unsure of even my own reaction.

"Magdala," Antonia calls brightly, her heels now on the wooden stairs.  "Nathan's here, sweetheart," she arrives, holding a large bouquet, "and look at these gorgeous flowers.  I'll just put them in a vase."  She holds them out towards me.  Nathan is standing right behind her.  I look at him, but I don't move, I don't stand up. "Take a seat here love," she guides Nathan to the opposite armchair, "and I'll get some drinks, shall I?"

Nathan sits, he looks uncomfortable, he looks tired.  "How you doing?" He leans forward in the chair. 

I shrug, grasp my hands around my knees.  "Okay I guess," but my head is singing, 'I'm not okay, I'm not okay, I'm not o-fucking-kay', the My Chemical Romance song.

He's twisting at his fingers, pressing his thumbs together.  "I'm sorry, sorry I wasn't there.  I should have - ". He doesn't finish the sentence.

"It wasn't your fault," I say, surprising myself, because I have been blaming him.  I haven't wanted to see him, or talk to him, because I have told myself that it is his fault.  It's easier that way, I can reject him, deny him, dispose of him.  But if I blame myself...

Antonia returns with a tray.  "I'm going to put it out here on the balcony," she says walking towards the doors and opening them right up.  "You need some fresh air sweetheart."

I stand up to follow her.  Sitting in that position has made me stiff and I stretch my back by leaning backwards.  My core is still tender and bruised.  I limp towards the balcony, but I think I'm putting it on.  My thigh is still strapped, but it doesn't hurt and it hasn't affected my walking - till now it seems.

I continue with the act and make a drama of easing myself into the chair. 

"Be careful, sweetie," Antonia says, "and enjoy the sunshine."

"Thanks," I flash an automatic smile.  Nathan sits on the other side of the table.  We're closer now.  Antonia has put a jug of juice, water and two cans of soda on the tray. 

"Help yourself," I say, but Nathan shakes his head, "I'm fine."  I pour myself a water, just as a distraction.

"How are your -," he pauses, perhaps unsure of what to say, "injuries?"

My hand automatically goes to the side of my neck, the bandage there.  "The stitches came out," I say.

He nods. "Your eye looks much better," he says politely, as if he was talking to his Nan.

I think I drop my guard, "I know, it was so swollen, and so purple."  I've forgotten how easily we talk.

"The bump was huge," and we both almost laugh, and I touch my forehead and push back my hair.  I don't want to feel this way.  I don't want to alienate him.  But everything has changed.  I can't look at him the same, I can't bring myself to feel for him anymore.  I seem to have been stripped of all my senses, devoid of emotions.  Nothing is ever going to be the same for me.  For us.  I know that I will never want Nathan to hold me, kiss me or make love to me again.

I pick up the glass, take a sip and put it back on the table.  My hand lingers there and he reaches out to touch it.  I pull back sharply.  He looks confused, his eyes plead for answers.

"You should go," I whisper, pulling up and hugging my knees again.  My head is down but I can feel him stand up, standing near me.

"You know I love you," he says quietly.  My heart surges. It's more a statement than a question, and I nod.  But he's gone already.

NATHAN

I almost run down the path, cut across the lawn, towards the gate, which is pushed open with Jakey coming through.  I feel relief at seeing him, like talking to him about Magdala will be a good thing, help me with this plethora of emotions racing through my mind.  I see his fist momentarily at eye level, then I hear a crack, and my head jerks back, my arms are flailing by my sides.  It feels like I'm in slow-mo, trying to keep my balance, but my legs give way and I hear the thud as I hit the ground.

His voice is loud, it's pissed, "What the fucking hell are you doing here?" Fierce, a warning, "You fucking stay away from her!" 

There's blood everywhere, pouring from my nose.  I instinctively pull my t-shirt up, try to mop up the drops.  I feel the pain now, radiating across the centre of my face.  That crack was either his knuckles, or my nose - I'm guessing the latter.  I've maneuvered myself into a low squat position, my legs shaky.  The blood is gushing now, I keep my head down, I remember that from health class. 

"What the fuck Jakey?"  It's Cassian's voice.  Where has he come from?

"He fucking shouldn't be here," Jakey spits, hatred in his words.

"You can't fucking hit him," Cassian says, and I'm thinking, Wow, Magdala had said that Cassian never, and I mean never swears.  "Get some ice."

I find my voice, "No," I say, and finally have the courage to look up.  "I'm fine."  I just need to get out of here.  The front of my shirt is soaked, it was a grey t-shirt - now it's red.  Cassian pulls off his t-shirt and rolls it up, shoves it under my nose, "You need ice," he says again.  "You broke his fucking nose," he says to Jakey. 

"He fucking deserved it," Jakey retorts, his voice merciless.

I stagger to my feet, turning Cassian's t-shirt under my nose, trying to find a blood-free spot.  I fumble in my pocket for my keys.  I feel the blood going down my throat.  I lean forward again, spit a load of blood onto the driveway.  I go towards the gate.  Cassian follows.

"Will you be okay to drive?" he asks.

I nod.  I open my door, slide in, readjust the t-shirt, start the car, let down the window.

"I'll get your shirt back to you," I say, as if it's something important, almost choking on the blood going down my throat.

He shrugs it off, "Don't worry, just get some ice on it." I nod again. 

As I start to reverse, he leans in to the window.  "Magdala lost her phone," he says, "I'll keep in touch."

I nod again, not wanting to risk swallowing more blood.  I want to say thanks.  Because that's a big thing, knowing that.  Knowing that Cassian will keep me connected.

The drive home is torture.  The blood hasn't stopped, or even diminished.  Every so often I have to tilt my head to the open window and spit.  And now my head feels woozy too, and there's a throbbing on one side.  Must've been where I fell.  And the disdain, the viciousness in Jakey's tone, it hurts, it cuts through me, confirming that he, maybe all of them, blame me for Magdala's rape.  And worst of all, Magdala's indifference, her loathing of me, the realization that it's over for us.

There's blood, saliva, phlegm all down my front.  There's nothing else in the car I can use to mop up.  Cassian's t-shirt is now soaked, my jeans are getting covered, so too is the seat.  I can't get home quick enough.

I go around to the back door, call out to Mom.  She goes into a state of controlled panic.  She knows what to do.  Grabs some towels, buckets, ice, water.

"You need to go to the emergency department," she declares. 

I shake my head.  "No way."

"What happened?  An accident?  Is your car all right?  Keep your head down!  I need to get you to hospital!"

I readjust the ice.  Now my face feels numb.  I think the blood is stopping. 

Mom dabs at my face.  She motions for me to raise my arms, and pulls my shirt over my head, throws it in a bucket.  She peers under the ice pack.  "It doesn't look good, love.  You need a doctor."

I shake my head, hoping she can't see the tears, hoping she thinks it's just the ice pack and the wash cloth. 

"I thought you were going to see Magdala," she says, confused no doubt.

"I did," I murmur.

"So what on earth happened?" 

I say just one word, "Jakey."  And she is silent.  Then she gets up, handing the ice pack back to me to hold, and says, "I'll ring Colleen."

Colleen is Mom's good friend, she's a nurse at the rest home that Mom works in.  She is over in fifteen minutes.  Colleen knows how to put noses back, Mum tells me, she's done it before.  I wonder who for, but don't say anything. 

"It might hurt," Colleen warns.  I shrug, I don't care.  Magdala was raped and stabbed.  I bet that hurt.  Jakey's punch hurt.  Besides, my nose is numb, my whole face is numb.  Colleen takes me unawares.  She just does it.  It fucking hurts, it fucking hurts like hell.  I swallow some pain killers, jump in the shower and go to bed.

Colleen has put a splint on my nose and taped it in an X across my face.  It looks fucking ridiculous, and I laugh at the thought of Magdala seeing me now, or if we were both together with our banged up faces.  I'm off school for a week and a half.  The headache doesn't subside for three days.  Michelle kept wanting to know what happened and Mum told her I banged my head on the windscreen because I didn't have my seatbelt on.  Jakey wasn't mentioned.  Mum soaked and washed and folded the t-shirts, amazingly all the stains came out.  She recognized that one wasn't mine and asked whose it was.  I told her it was Cassian's, and I just left it sitting on my dresser.  Ben fancied it and started wearing it.  Cassian texted me a few weeks later:  Hope you have recovered, was all it said.  I texted back: yeah, fine.

I was just grateful he was keeping in touch.

MAGDALA

I seem to have the ability to switch on and off emotions pretty easily.  And I wonder if it's being a product of a broken home.  My Mom and Dad didn't last long as a couple.  It was my Mom who left when I was just three years old.  I use to cry when she came to get me, taking me for day trips or weekends, cry because I didn't want to leave Cassian or Dad.  At some point Cassian started coming with me and over the years she came and went, never to a schedule, only when it suited her.  If for some reason Cassian couldn't come, I had learnt to be brave, be tough and not to whimper or cry.  Maybe a psychologist would say I had attachment issues, and maybe they'd be right.

My parents met, of all places, online.  Dad boasted that his profile was wrong, he boosted his age by ten years.  Otherwise why would a thirty year old woman ever be interested in a twenty year old?  My Dad has always preferred older women, but I guess that's his story, perhaps it was because he grew up motherless as well.  Cassian's Mom was twelve years older than Dad when they met.   

Things were so frantic, three days in hospital, police in and out, my mother arriving from Hawaii, family visiting.  I made my bedroom my sanctuary, my place of retreat.   And then the bombshell - the police telling us they had arrested a person for the crime, that I would need to identify him.  The thought of seeing him set me into panic mode, but they assured it would be done by cctv link.  Still, the thought of being just a room away was sickening to me.  My mind was desperately trying to block him out, to forget the mad look in his dark blue eyes, to not remember his bristly mustache touching my face or his fat tongue in my mouth.