Page 6

TW: Mentions of abuse

I stared at the piece of paper in front of me that had numbers scrawled all over it. It was a Saturday, a week after Marcus and Thomas ended up in my apartment.

I was still cringing at the memory of me inviting Thomas for dinner. Of course I didn't want to actually do that but Mable could be very persistent and I wanted to help a friend out.

In all of our classes with Professor Twine, Thomas had been quieter than usual. Thank God. Even though I was relieved that I didn't have to hear that annoying drone of his voice, I still wondered what had changed to make him so silent. Sure, he wasn't a very talkative person in general, I saw how he acted around people, but he still tried to make conversation with me every now and again. Either that, or he looked like he was trying really hard to not look at something. Not that I was paying much attention to him. But this week was different.

I was thrown off balance too. After I got that phone call from my brother in front of Thomas (I was still stifling the mortification of it all) I had been slightly panicky.

I suffer from anxiety and it piqued about four and a half years ago when my mother died. Guilt, mixed with my father had me throwing up around three times a week for two years. Since moving to New York, it had calmed down a lot but that familiar nausea was creeping its way back in.

After hearing what my brother had to say, I felt a rock drop in my stomach, winding me.

He had told me that he wanted to come visit me in New York. With my other two 21-year-old brothers that were twins, George and Hugh, and my father.

As soon as he said my father, I immediately entered that Fight or Flight mode I had switched on whenever I was around him.

From the safety of being 5567 kilometres away, I chose Fight. I instantly said that he wasn't coming and hung up.

I didn't wait for my brother's explanation, I didn't want to hear it. I knew what it was going to be.

Val, I just want to get the family together. We've been so fractured and broken ever since Mum. Dad wants to see you, I know he does. You have to remember, he was grieving too. He still is. We all are. We want to see your life. We're still your family.

I didn't care for his explanation. While Will may not know about all of the things my father did, he definitely knew about some of the things he said and sometimes those hurt even more.

The worst part was, I believed my father. Every time he would say It's your fault, I agreed because deep down, I knew it was true. So did my brothers, even if they never voiced it.

While being in New York, I had somehow managed to push down the guilt. Without having those words constantly shoved into your ears, it left room to breathe. My brother knew this. Which was why I wasn't afraid to say No.

Despite this, a small voice still whispered He's going to hurt you for that.

Every time I listened to that voice, a small bead of dread just grew and grew until I struggled to breathe. Until I could feel his hands wrapped around my neck again.

I had had a total of four panic attacks this week. I'd cry hysterically, rock myself until I found the courage to breathe again and light a cigarette. It was awful and exhausting. I lost sleep and my bones felt rigid from being in a constant preparation for an attack. I was knackered. Which made the figures on the sheet of paper in front of me seem so much more daunting.

Due to the recent news I had received and the reminder of my father's existence, I refused to take anymore money from the sum that was given to me in my mother's will. The guilt was already crushing me to the point where I woke up out of breath so I couldn't in any right mind take anymore money from my deceased mother who's death was my fault.

Therefore, when I looked at my bank statement on the piece of paper in front of me, I realised that I desperately needed to get a job.

"What's up?" Mable said, closing the front door behind her. She had a pastel pink duffel bag slung over her shoulder and her baby hairs were stuck to her forehead with sweat. She clearly had just come back from Ballet. I winced at the thought.

"Hmm?" I replied, turning my attention back to my bank statement.

"Your shoulders are all hunched over in that anxious way." Her eyes narrowed. She obviously knew something was wrong. I hadn't told Mable about the phone call because I could barely face it myself. Most of all, I didn't want her asking questions she didn't want the answers to or answers I wasn't quite ready to admit to myself.

"I'm fine." I lied, biting my bottom lip and frowning. "How was ballet?" I attempted to change the subject. This was a mistake as I never talked about ballet so she knew something was up.

"What's that?" She nodded her head to my bank statement.

"Nothing." I lied.

She walked over.

"Bullshit." She said, looking at the piece of paper herself. After staring at it for a while she said, "Oh."

"Yeah. Oh." I sighed. "I think I need to get a job."

"You think?!" She said but then after seeing the stricken look on my face, she quickly mumbled, "Sorry."

"It's fine, I just need to figure something out, that's all." I folded it and tucked it into my pocket.

"You know I could always-"

"Absolutely not, Mable." She always did this. She was just such a kind person that she always offered me her money but I could never take it.

Mable was the opposite to me in that way. She came from an extremely wealthy family and lucked out with parents that both adored and loved her. Being an only child born out of IVF has its perks. In fact, her parents were the ones paying for her school fees, rent and living expenses. They also bought a house in London (in Primrose Hill, might I add) just so she could attend the same ballet school as me. On countless occasions, her parents had offered to buy me something, whether it was my rent or a car for Uni, their generosity was endless but I had always refused.

She sighed, defeated. I don't know why she always offered, I always gave the same answer. "I'll just get a job, it's no problem."

"What about Uni? You should be focusing on that."

"And I will, I'll just put more effort into it. It's really not a big deal." Mable looked unconvinced.

"Well, if you won't accept my money, at least accept my help." She sat down in the chair next to me, taking a swig of my tea. Her face instantly soured, I giggled.

"Tea?! Really?" She said, forcing it down. "I thought it was coffee."

"When have I ever drunk coffee?" I asked, laughing.

"Whatever." She rolled her eyes and turned to face me. "Look, my aunt runs this catering company and she's looking for more employees, I could put in a good word for you?"

"Really? You'd do that?" I asked, genuine.

"Don't be stupid, of course I would. I'm her favourite niece you know. You'll definitely get the job. Pay is good and the hours are flexible." She shrugged.

I beamed at her and wrapped my arms around her in a hug.

"I love you Mable Fernbrier."

"Yeah, yeah, I love you too. Now, down to business. Gossip Girl or Pretty Little Liars?" She asked, her expression suddenly serious.

"Gossip Girl." I decided, Mable nodded in agreement. "I'll put the kettle on."

"Do not make me a cup of tea Valerie Fawkes!"

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"Thanks so much, Auntie Cath. Yeah, she's definitely a hard worker... mm-hmm, I'll visit on Saturday. Yes I'll bring your favourite biscuits. Of course they'll be homemade, what do you take me for? Mm-hmm... yup... okay now... see you soon, buh-bye... yes, love you lots... bye." Mable turned to face me with a grin.

"Well?" I asked nervously.

"You got the job!" She squealed and then ran over to me, giving me a hug.

"I did?"

"Of course you did, just like I said you would." She beamed at me. This girl's smile was infectious and I soon found myself grinning along with her. "And what's more, you have your first gig at some fancy party next Saturday."

We both plopped down on the sofa. I felt like I could finally breathe after a long, hard week of trying desperately to catch my breath. At least one thing in my life was going right. At least I had one sense of security.

I clicked play on Gossip Girl.

"Nate's so dreamy." Mable sighed.

"I don't know, I think I'm more of a Chuck girl." I remarked, taking a sip of my Earl Grey tea.

"I can see that." Mable said.

"Yeah? How so?" I asked, paying more attention to the scene where Chuck was breaking Blair's heart for about the 14th time. I didn't really care though, he loved her. I knew he did.

"Well, for starters, Thomas Verner reminds me of him." Mable had my full attention now. I nearly choked on my drink.

"Do not insult Chuck like that!" I scolded.

"Oh yeah, I keep on forgetting that we hate him." She shrugged.

"Well don't forget it. I'll never get that letter back and he didn't even say sorry. I don't think he even remembers any of it."

"Sounds like something Chuck would do." She smiled smugly at the TV.

"Please stop." I shuddered. "And what about Marcus? He reminds me of Nate." I pointed out.

"Oh don't be ridiculous."

"I'm being ridiculous?!" I huffed. "You're the one that brought up the man I despise."

Mable muttered something incoherent. It sounded a lot like He doesn't seem to despise you. Completely ridiculous considering it's a known fact that Thomas hates everything and everyone. Why would I, the only person I knew of that openly hated him, be an exception to this?

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