Page 9

Chapter Eight

Sitting on the sandstone ledge that separated the ocean from the world beyond, I watched the water form into white peaks before running up along the shore. The chirpy voices of enthusiastic athleisure wearing mums and their strollers passed, cappuccinos in hand as they walked. My hair was flying loose around my face, my claw clip long forgotten beside me as I breathed in the salty misted air.

The beach was always my place of refuge when things were too heavy. A place to stop, pause and reset before navigating whatever was currently eroding my soul – and as an only child, I leaned towards the dramatics which meant the troubles were often and seemed extreme. My eyelids closed as flickers of a day long ago flashed before me like a movie in an old theatre. Dad asleep on the sand, a hat slung across his face, Mum and I close-by building a sandcastle. She followed every one of my instructions with a nod – no matter how ridiculous. Anything to cheer me up after our bird had escaped the day before from a cage I left open. The naivety of a six-year-old who thought birds could roam as freely as our pup did and still return for dinner.

The sound of seagulls pierced my periphery as the next film commenced. This time I was with Arna, surrounded by snacks, sunscreen and the latest copy of our favourite teenage magazine at the centre opened to the juicy questions as we giggled at the things we would never dare to ask but were desperate to seek answers for.

A sudden transition to an overcast day and a movie I longed to forget. My tears mixed with the salt of the water as I washed the filthy words from my skin, hoping if I left them out there I could return to a waiting Lucas on the sand and pretend he hadn’t just told me my thighs were too fat, my arms too big, my bikini too tight.

Too. Too. Too. Never just right.

Leaving the bitter memory behind where it could no longer penetrate, I soaked in the sun, listening to the cacophony of broken conversations with the intermittent crash of waves covering the wet sand. Humming a Beatles classic, I took a lung-deep breath of air and tapped my fingers from my pinky through to my thumb. Suzie would be impressed with my use of her suggested meditative techniques and I couldn’t deny she was right. While I loved humming, she put it down to a learnt coping mechanism to kerb my feelings of anxiety and suggested I couple it with thoughtful breathing. Currently, it was working and I closed my eyes basking in the equanimity of being outside on my own. The brevity of fear which used to accompany that, no longer able to reach me.

Before long, my peace was interrupted as a shadow cast across my closed eyes. A body too close sat next to me. A hand so familiar yet so foreign, grabbing hold of my wrist.

A little too tight. A lot too much. Too, too, too.

The bitter energy drink-soaked breath mixed with stale cigarettes filled my nostrils, replacing the fresh aquatic nodes as his gravelly voice spoke into my ear.

“There you are.”

Panic rushed through me. The blood draining from my face as a silent scream escaped my open mouth.

“Lucas, no!” I pleaded, the fear obvious in my shaky voice, yanking my hand away and feeling it collide with something hard. Pain shot up my arm and I reached for it with my other hand to soothe the ache.

Coming here was a mistake. I'd become complacent leaving myself so exposed.

I was never going to be safe. He would always find me.

“We’re going home,” his grin was sadistic and his eyes held the familiar glazed vacancy they did after he’d been drinking.

“No, no, no!” I repeated, scanning the blank faces of those around me for help. Could no one hear me?

Ignoring my refusals, he grabbed my wrist again, pulling me towards him. I could no longer hear the chatter of the women walking or feel the wind in my hair. Instead, I was consumed by his oppressive heat. Overwhelmed by the compulsion to escape as I'd often felt when he was near.

I needed to get away. Fight, run, anything – I would not go with him…

As I thrashed in an attempt to escape, a deep, calming voice replaced the ashtray-stained chords of my nightmare.

“, wake up. It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re safe.”

I shuddered, sweaty and hot, realising I had never been in danger from anything other than the prison of my own mind. Sebastian’s reassurance slowly bringing me back from the precipice of defeat.

He refused to loosen his grip, holding me tight to his bare chest, soothing me with slow lengthy strokes of my back. His body swallowed mine in the nicest possible way and I did my best to shrink into him. My breathing was still fast and I was shaking as I thought about the strategies Suzie reminded me of only yesterday in our emergency call for times such as these.

Humming. Breathing. Tapping my fingers. But none of them would still my racing heart.

Bring yourself back to baseline and ground yourself in something familiar.

I pictured her comforting face – number one.

Her short grey hair styled with a fringe that few could pull off – two.

Her clear-framed glasses and kind smile – three.

The green and white striped shirt she had been wearing in our session yesterday – four – and the photo of her grandchildren, two boys, which hung in her office – five.

I thought about the things I could feel. The firm strength of the supportive arms that currently held me. The bare, damp chest my face was pressed against. The soft sheets that still covered my legs.

I could smell his masculine ozonic smell and if I wasn’t awake before, I definitely was now. My breathing slowed and I focused on listening to the steady beat of his heart. The sound his hand made as it grazed the fabric of the T-shirt I was wearing.

His T-shirt.

Faint sounds of music I couldn’t quite make out coming from somewhere in the apartment.

I wanted to taste him. To finish my settling activity with the gustatory pleasures that I imagined his skin to hold. Knowing I was so close and could open my mouth so easily was enough to remind me of exactly where I was and who was holding me.

I shot back, needing space to clear my thoughts before I lost myself entirely in something I wasn’t quite ready for. A body which felt oddly like home, like a favourite old jumper, despite how little I knew him.

But he didn’t let me go.

I tried again to extricate myself from his hold but he kept me to his body, his grip firm but safe. Nothing like the feeling of entrapment I felt only moments ago at the invisible hands I’d imagined.

“Are you okay?” His voice was kind. Patient.

“Yeah,” I breathed timidly. “Sorry about that.” I added, still rubbing my sore wrist with my other hand. I looked towards where it hurt, noticing it was a little red. I averted my gaze knowing if I looked up, I first would see the scrunched brows of concern before that jaw and his damn delicious looking mouth. Meanwhile, I was over here looking like Frankenstein’s bride.

“This is nothing new for me. I have super vivid dreams. I often wake in a cold sweat or short of breath. Not usually next to someone who looks like you…” I trailed off, my breathing still faster than normal killing the confidence I was trying to muster. “The wrist is an old injury though, I must have knocked it in my sleep or something.”

He let me move when I tried for a third time and I could feel his eyes boring into me. Fixing the tangle of hair that had fallen out, I dared a brief look at him. Maybe his face was made of clay and would crack if he softened or maybe I was encroaching on his space and he wished I’d gone home because his face was stern, with what I thought was almost forced apathy. But his eyes betrayed him – they held pity.

He reached for my wrist, his soft touch a curious contrast to his glacial gaze as his thumb tenderly traced the red mark. I couldn’t bear to look at him and see concern or anger in his eyes again. I was tired of being the pathetic victim everyone needed to mollycoddle.

Why was I still even here? The last thing I needed was another man to keep happy and while I appreciated his hospitality I needed to get home. Get some space.

“Is it okay if I just call Arna? I can leave. I’m sorry I disturbed you. I really am okay.” My breathing was increasing again and I began to feel nervous.

Flighty. Trapped.

He moved across the bed, not at all worrying about the sweat he was likely dropping on his fresh linen.

“I’m not upset with you. It pisses me off that you are having nightmares – especially while you’re in my bed.” He ran his hand through his short hair, before gently lifting my chin to look at him. The crook of his finger warm against my skin.

“I don’t want you to feel fear when you’re with me and you most definitely don’t ever need to be afraid of me. But if you need to call Arna, don’t ask. You don’t need my permission.” The sincerity in his words took me by surprise and I had to actively school my features as I nodded.

Contrastingly, his mask was firmly in place but the touch of his finger gently caressing my jaw was sending unbidden signals across my skin.

Kiss me .

The thought came quickly and must have shown on my face because his lips lifted, raising slightly higher on the right side and doing unspeakable things to my heart. Maybe it was the sincerity of his words, the genuine feeling of comfort I felt in a man I didn’t know, but felt was safe all the same. Or maybe it was me throwing caution to the wind and taking risks, anything to not be the mess I am - if only for a second.

Because I wanted him to kiss me.

I really wanted him to kiss me.

He moved to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and I inadvertently closed my eyes. I felt his breath linger on my face, minty and cold against my skin. The soft pads of his fingers lightly grazed my cheek and for the briefest second cupped the back of my neck, before his touch was gone and he was retreating with a forced clearing of his throat.

I opened my eyes to him lifting himself off the bed and I was instantly engulfed by embarrassment. I had misread the situation, his words and his intentions. He wasn’t interested; he was babysitting me like a wounded child until Arna came back and he could rid himself of his duty while maintaining a clear conscience. And here I was, practically throwing myself at the first man who paid me heed.

Holy shit – I was a desperate, pitiful loser who had impeded on his entire life and then sought out an amorous distraction. I’d officially hit rock bottom and it was time to get the hell out of here with what was left of my pride.

“I’m just going to finish training, but feel free to take a shower. I’ll cook breakfast soon.” He said, pointing towards the ensuite unable to meet my gaze.

“Rightio,” I replied with fake gusto, making an eeeek face at his retreating form.

For the love of god, somebody shove a sock in my mouth.

Who the fuck said rightio ? And especially after being so tragically rejected.

“I’m sorry,” he added softly, shaking his head and leaving the room without so much as another glance in my direction.

“You’re back early,” I said, startled to see Arna already home.

“Marls! I missed you!” She screamed and I braced myself for the impact of her hug.

“I snuck off early and Andy is about to head into the clubhouse,” lowering her voice she added, “and thank the sweet lord of cheese because I need to know everything. I made a list of questions on my phone. We have an agenda.” I laughed as I pulled out of her embrace. She was everything I needed. Familiar. Hilarious. Light.

“Of course you did,” I huffed, dramatically rolling my eyes for her benefit as well as my own. I had always been the more serious of the two of us, but her warmth brought out the very best in me. It was her ability to bring me back to the present, no matter where my mind wandered, which kept me steady in the rockiest of oceans. Her ferocity and good-nature was prevalent in all of our conversations and she continued talking as if I’d never spoken.

“But we will be starting with the fact you’re still wearing that dress,” wiggling her eyebrows up and down she grinned, “and I am making us apple martinis because – well why not?”

Tapping my fingers on the bench where I paused for a moment, I watched her begin pulling cocktail glasses and a shaker from the cupboards. She was always such an amazing hostess and seeing her so happy in the apartment she and Andy now shared always made my heart smile. It could also not be more removed from the cesspool she had been living in only eighteen months ago with her creepy roommate – who I was certain ate his own toenails.

“Don’t you have work tomorrow?” I called over my shoulder, retreating to my room to change.

“Work, shmerrrrk. I haven’t seen you in almost three days. We are having cocktails, popcorn and cheese. Oh, and liquorice, obviously.” The sound of bottles provided a background to her words. I grabbed my favourite black track pants and shoved my legs through them, accompanying them with a black singlet top and my trusty blue jacket. Bare foot, I moved back down to the kitchen, unfortunately interrupting my best-friend saying a horrifyingly passionate goodbye to her fiancé.

“Ewwww. Lonely, single, horny roommate entering,” half-covering my eyes, I laughed, and Arna’s cackle joined.

“Hey, Marls,” the only man in my life who I trusted wholeheartedly greeted me, palm out, for a high-five.

“Hey! Amazing win last night. How good was Jack’s goal. Bet he let loose in the sheds after the game.” I plucked a red liquorice bullet from where Arna had already poured a bowl on the bench.

He laughed. It was loud and unencumbered, reminding me how lucky we were to have the Andy that not many got to see. The easygoing version that I was certain had only come to the surface after Arna and his lives entwined.

“He didn’t even wait until the sheds. I’m pretty sure he high-fived every single person around the boundary line. We had to drag him from the field, especially after he found a girl from his hometown in the crowd.” His eyes were creased as he spoke, clearly enjoying the memory.

“Like a family friend?” Arna asked, suddenly interested in our football conversation with the prospect of potential gossip.

Andy shrugged. “He says she's just a friend but he didn’t go out with the boys after the game and he always does. Once he saw her, he had eyes for nothing else.”

“Oh this is so cute. Jacky is in love,” I cooed, clapping.

“What’s her name? What does she do for a living? What does she look like?” Arna shot in rapid succession towards a now befuddled Andy.

“Baby, before you ask me another fifteen questions, I know nothing other than her name is Winter. He was like a snarling guard dog anytime anyone went near her. If you want answers, you will need to ask him yourself.” He answered, kissing the top of her head.

“Winter is such a pretty name. We can stalk her later,” I said with a wink at Arns before turning back to Andy. “I don’t blame him for being excited though. Winning the game after the siren is always going to be a highlight. Tell him I owe him a drink.”

I loved Jack. He was the only one of Andy’s teammates who hadn’t tried to hit on me, instead, making me feel comfortable and respected and he always got me laughing by the end of the night. I’d needed someone to make me smile when I first found myself living here, and he was good value. Him kicking my team to victory was also always going to score well in my book.

Kissing Arna on the cheek one last time, Andy grabbed his training bag.

“I wasn’t sure if you would have watched the game at all,” Andy remarked, the insinuation clear in his words.

“You’re a pig,” I said, throwing a liquorice bullet at him, amusement in my tone. “Sadly, nothing happened with your sexy friend. But I was grateful for his help. Thanks for making sure we had eyes, especially some as hot as his.” Grinning, I grabbed the bowl of popcorn and moved to the lounge. He didn’t need to know that said friend was a perfect gentleman despite my advances.

“He’s already called to see if you’re good. Said you left when he ducked out to get milk,” Andy said, eyeing me suspiciously but I kept my face neutral, simply nodding as if that meant nothing. “Never known that grumpy bastard to ask about anyone,” he added, swatting Arna on the backside as he left, his words lingering in his wake.

Arna stared at the door her fiancé had just exited and turned back with a huge, slightly maniacal smile directed straight at me. She took two slices of apple, placed one on each of the drinks and came to sit next to me.

“You left without saying goodbye?” She asked incredulously.

“I left a note,” I explained as if that made it okay. When I realised he'd popped out, courtesy of the note he left on the bench telling me he wouldn't be long and my shower singing was memorable, I'd taken advantage. I was a big, disgusting coward who scrawled a thank you of my own and made my escape.

“Oh my god! Tell - me - everything.”