Fractured Page 7

  “Sweetie, look at me.”

  Lifting my head, my chest clenches at the look of hopelessness on her face. Her eyes drill into mine.

  “Kate, you’ve got to promise me, right now that you’ll put an end to this drinking. Please.”

  Guilt tugs on my conscience, but this is a promise that I know I’m not capable of keeping. I have to look away again as I duck my head and nod in silent acknowledgement to the lie that my mouth can’t utter.

  ~ 14 June 2011. The next morning. 10:00 a.m. ~

  As terrifying as the events of yesterday were, I learnt something from it. The paralysing fear that grips an overwhelmed mind can be very easily dissolved by a bottle of good brandy. After I bled that bottle dry, I passed out. This was a bonus. For once my head was too saturated with alcohol for the vivid flashbacks that prowl my unconscious mind to gain any traction.

  Mom fussed around me from first light this morning until a few hours back when I begged her to please go home and get some rest. My phone has been spinning in circles all morning, calls and texts from Sarah, Travis and Melanie. I’m just not up to talking much today.

  I’m now facing the hospital psychiatrist, Nina, who’s sitting in a chair opposite me, taking notes. She’s an attractive middle-aged woman with a heart-shaped face and dark brown hair, which is hitched up into a loose bun. Her all-too-knowing blue eyes are trained on me, making me want to squirm under their scrutiny. Knowing that she is probably psychoanalysing each word and every movement from me, I chew nervously on my lip, keeping my eyes fixed on her black and white blouse.

  “Anxiety attacks, nightmares, troubled sleep, uncontrolled outbursts of anger. Usually a patient phases through the stages of grief, which are: Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and finally, acceptance. In your case, crippling anxiety, flashbacks and rapid shifts in your general moods are compounding this; effectively complicating your grieving process and suppressing your ability to pass through these normal phases.”

  I feel a burning anger at how academically she lists my set of “symptoms” that to me, are anything but a neatly typed list of emotions. They’re bulldozing, slamming into me out of nowhere, with alternating bouts of denial, rage and crippling anxiety.

  A far cry from her catalogued set of sequential “phases”.

  “In addition to a course of medication, which I will be prescribing for you, your cognitive goal will be to choose healthier coping strategies.”

  Yeah, like hitting myself up with another six pack of bourbon.

  “By preventing yourself from grieving openly, this only fuels the levels of anger you already have bottled up. Also, your drinking has become a crutch you could well do without.”

  “How do you know how I deal with my grief?” I was on the defensive immediately.

  “I was in consultation with your mum earlier this morning, Kate.”

  Of course she was.

  Leaning back against the stiff pillow, I stare out of the small window, watching the rain drive in from all angles, wishing for this probing evaluation to be over with.

  “I must speak candidly with you. Repressing emotions of this magnitude following such a crippling loss isn’t healthy. I think you must realise this. If I can use the analogy of a pressure cooker as an illustration. You’re bottling up these feelings, forcing them down, but the energy of this unexpressed grief doesn’t dissipate. It continues building and eventually overloads your body’s resources and ability to cope, reaching a point where something has to give, or go, resulting in an emotional breakdown.”

  “I would like you to keep a journal of your feelings, capturing your daily moods. Writing in a journal is a very effective way to express your emotions. Based on your set of symptoms, the alarming spike in anxiety attacks coupled with vivid flashbacks, my diagnosis is Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.”

  My eyes swing back to hers briefly before looking away again.

  Whatever.

  “Kate, the medication I’m prescribing will help with your anxiety levels. Another reason that you need to be free of alcohol as the two cannot be mixed. Do you understand this?”

  “Yeah, got that,” I say, addressing the window pane.

  I hear her sigh. “I understand that my presence in this room is making you uncomfortable, Kate. My hope is that you will appreciate that you’re in a very delicate place emotionally at present. Coupled with the medication and other strategies we’ve discussed, I feel that out-patient sessions with me or another member of my team will assist you further in moving forward and working through these issues. Would you like to make an appointment now?”

  I have to think fast. Turning back to face her, I fake a smile. “Uh, no that’s okay, Nina. If you could leave me a card, I’ll call in to make an appointment at some stage. Thank you.”

  Nina presses her lips together, looking anything but convinced.

  “Sooner than later, Kate. Please.”

  I don’t think an entire team of psychiatrists could prevent the spectacular loss of my sanity, which was sure to follow, as the latest violent quake had left me grappling with my frazzled nerves. I reckon I’m on borrowed time already. Pills were not my thing, neither was facing a firing squad of head shrinks who’d likely pick my emotions apart, piece by cognitive piece.

  Alcohol on the other hand, I could work with.

  * * *

  A while later, a soft knock pulls me from my thoughts, alerting me to a visitor at the door of my single ward.

  Chase.

  As he enters the room, I jerk back, and for the briefest moment, I think he’s Daniel.

  Oh God, he’s so cruelly similar. Just as handsome.

  I clench my fists, now desperately in need of a drink.

  Chase picks up on my reaction to him immediately. Slowly making his way over to me, he sits on the edge of the bed, never breaking eye contact with me. Taking my hand in his, he seems to contemplate what to say. We’ve never been awkward with each other before. So much has changed.

  My eyes skim his face. Sweep over a stubbled jaw so heart-wrenchingly akin to one I used to run my fingertips over. If there were ever a time that I was in desperate need to have a bottle of liquid courage in my hands, it is right now.

  “Hey, sweet cheeks, just got off the phone to your mum, I’m not happy seeing you in a hospital bed again, but I’m relieved you’re okay.”

  “Chase.”

  He hesitates momentarily.

  “There’s something else though, isn’t there Kate? Things have been different somehow between you and me, and I have no idea why, or how to change it. Now with all this you’re going through, I just want to be here for you, but you’ve slowly distanced yourself from me over the past month. Why? Talk to me, babe. Please.”

  His voice is vibrating with emotion. I owe him the truth; this isn’t fair on him.

  After the earlier session with Nina, I feel very raw emotionally and can’t stop the tears that slip from my eyes. I quickly brush a hand over my cheek.

  “I’m sorry, Chase. You’ve been nothing but a supportive big b-brother to me and, and—”

  Chase sits forward, squeezing my knee as he passes me some tissues, concern never leaving his eyes.

  “It’s gonna be okay, babe. Just tell me what it is, you’re worrying me now.”

  I look at the swimming image of him through my tears.

  “It’s nothing you’ve said or done, Chase.”

  I stifle a sob, but this just causes my breathing to hitch, my lip trembling uncontrollably.

  “What is it, Kate?” he pleads, gripping my hand.

  Something inside me cracks open, and I lose my composure, a powerful force of emotion spilling out.

  “It’s how much you r-remind me of Dan. It’s not only the striking physical resemblance, but y-your mannerisms, your sense of h-humour, it’s all s-so—”

  Incapable of completing my sentence, I crumble.

  Without a word Chase gets up and lifts me from the hospital bed, sitting us both down on the v
isitor chair, wrapping his arms around me. I sob into the warm wall of his chest, fisting his shirt in my hands. He grips me tighter. This is only the second time I’ve openly fallen apart since Danny’s death. I’m ugly crying now, as wracking, stilted sobs tear from me.

  “Chase, I’m so s-sorry. I k-know you’re hurting too and I’ve just made it w-worse by pulling a-away. You shouldn’t be com-comforting me. I’m the reason your brother is dead,” I blurt out as I break down completely.

  Oh God, did I just say that out loud?

  Chase goes solid under my hands for a beat before embracing me almost painfully. “Kate, don’t ever say that. Dan’s death is not your fault,” he says softly into my hair.

  “YES IT IS! IT’S ALL ON ME !” I shout into his chest, hitting my clenched fist against it.

  Chase takes my hand, bringing it up to his mouth and kissing it gently.

  “Stop, Kate. Your safety was the only thing on my brother’s mind when that building collapsed. He did what he needed to, to save you.”

  “B-but, he d-didn’t want to w-watch a m-movie, I talked him into g-going—”

  “Enough Kate, please.” Chase is breathing hard, his emotions so close to the surface. I’m upsetting him and this is the last thing I had intended.

  “You’re no more guilty than the daughter who took her mum to a coffee shop for her birthday breakfast, when the roof of the coffee shop they were in, collapsed.”

  His words penetrate, I stop struggling and just give in to the forceful release of my pent up agony; the intensity of the release causing my insides to feel as though they’re cleaving in two as powerful sobs burst from my body.

  “Sshh. It’s okay, Kate. Just let it out, babe. God, I hate seeing you hurting like this,” he whispers into my hair, while stroking my back soothingly. I pull back and slowly look up at Chase. A muscle jumping in his jaw is the first thing I see. Then his eyes meet mine. They are red and brimming with tears of his own. I cup my hand over his jaw, feeling the tension in the rigid muscle under my fingers.

  “You need to let go too, Chase. You can’t continue to stay strong for those around you,” I rasp.

  At my words and gentle touch, his shoulders shake and tears spill down his cheeks.

  I don’t know how long we stay like that, holding on to each other as we fall apart; my wracking sobs slowly giving way to convulsive shudders and sniffs. I’ve released the tension, but the guilt remains; anchored in the pit of my stomach like undigested food.

  Eventually Chase speaks as he continues stroking my back.

  “I’m sorry too, babe. I’m the one who made the idiotic suggestion that you try drinking as a method to cope with your grief. I shoulda known better. I feel that I gave you a kick-start in the wrong direction. I’m sorry.”

  I shake my head, while still leaning against the warm wall of his chest, running my fingertips over the back of his hand. “Not your fault, Chase. I wasn’t a teetotaller who you introduced to alcohol. At the rate I was spiralling downhill, I’d have found this method of coping anyway. It was just a matter of time.”

  He gives me a squeeze, before speaking again.

  “Gotta stop this, babe. The only way you’ll see yourself through this pain is to go through it, face it head-on. Don’t numb your mind with hard grog, we’re in this together, you don’t need it as a crutch. I get that right now, me being around you too much is hurting you, so I’ll give you the space you need, but you’ve got your friends and your family, and when you’re ready, I’ll be here. I will always be here for you.” His voice is rough with emotion still.

  I pull back instantly and face him, resting my hands on his chest.

  “N-no. I want you in my life now, always. I’m not taking time out from you, that wasn’t my intention. I have to learn to see your similarities in a positive light, to draw comfort from them. Please don’t stay away from me. That’s the last thing I want, Chase. Please. Promise me.”

  I hear the desperation in my voice.

  Relief washes over his face as he kisses my forehead. “Sure, babe, if that’s what you want. I’m here. As I’ll always be for my favourite girl.”

  I smile. For the first time today, actually smile. Wiping the moisture from his cheeks, I kiss him on his stubbled chin.

  This man, who is so much like Daniel it hurts, is incredible. I love him, and can’t bear for him not to be a part of my life. I need him. I need him to know how much I care and that I’m sorry he’s grieving so much. He’s lost Dan, too, his beautiful brother. I need to tell him how I feel, what he means to me.

  “Don’t take this as me hitting on you, but I love you, Chase. I really do. You mean the world to me.”

  He chuckles and pulls me close.

  “Ditto, babe.”

  Chapter 9

  FLOODGATES

  ~ Kate, September 2011. Seven months post quake ~

  I’m sprinting towards town, puffing out little clouds of vapour as I run. The chill in the morning air is bracing. I’m still pushing my body to its limits, driving it through pain and fitness barriers. It’s a compulsion that I don’t fully comprehend and don’t fight against. I just do it.

  Three months have passed since my overnight stay in hospital; since my break down of sorts. The days are progressively getting longer, but today the spring sky is as grey and heavy as my heart feels. I’ve been told more times than I care to remember that the sharp edge to my grief would slowly ease with time. That constant ache in my heart has dulled somewhat, but each beat of it still carries the resonance of my deepest loss.

  Rounding the corner into Main Street, still running at a cracking pace, I look down at my iPod briefly to check the pedometer settings and slam into a wall of warm muscle.

  “I’m so sorry,” I pant, totally out of breath from sprinting.

  My hands are gripping the man, side on; one hand over his rib cage, the other resting over a well-defined bicep. Strong hands brace me upright as I find my footing.

  Then our eyes meet, my panting stills, and a gasp escapes me.

  “Dominic?”

  “Kate?” we both say in unison.

  I’m mortified. I’m practically drowning in sweat and completely out of breath.

  “Something chasin’ you, sweetheart? You’re leavin’ a blazin’ trail behind ya.”

  Inhaling his masculine scent, I feel the scrutiny of his gaze, and my skin flushes.

  Wiping at my brow, I chuckle self-consciously.

  “Not quite, just in the running zone, you know? I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Being practically knocked off my feet by a beautiful woman is a good start to the day.”

  My heart squeezes at being referred to as beautiful. Maybe once. But now? Scarred as I am? Not likely. I feel my face flush, but can’t stop a smile from escaping.

  “I, uh wasn’t expecting to see you back in town yet. Chase told me the tender for the B&B extension over at Jimmy’s has been secured, but one of the guys mentioned something about construction being bumped back till early August, though.”

  “Not on this job it hasn’t. We make a start on Monday.”

  “Oh. I must have my wires crossed then.”

  As we continue to stare at one another, something pulses between us, and a pleasurable shiver that has nothing to do with the temperature of the air runs the length of my spine.

  “Nice to see you out of that cast. How is your arm?”

  “It’s almost there, little twinges of pain occasionally. It’s pretty much healed up.”

  “Good to hear.” His eyes roam my face and drift over my body.

  “You lookin’ real good, Kate. You gettin’ much sleep though? You look tired.”

  Free of any makeup, I’m wearing skin-tight black leggings, and a fitted long-sleeved turquoise sport shirt, which could be wrung out with how saturated it is in sweat. What Dominic has found appealing in that, I have no clue.

  “A little,” I answer evasively, really not wanting to get into a discussion about me.
>
  He stuffs his hands in his pockets.

  “Look, why don’t we grab some breakfast?”

  Glancing down at my sweat-drenched body, I pull a face.

  “Um, thanks, Dominic, but I think my need for a shower right now is greater than my need for food.”

  “Where ya stayin’ now, darlin’?”

  I am trying really hard to ignore my body’s reaction to his nearness. I battle to stay focused on his eyes alone. He’s so gorgeous. I find my eyes are involuntarily drifting over his rugged features, trailing down over his broad chest, and flitting lower to the outline of his muscular thighs straining against a pair of fitted jeans.

  I fight to avoid meeting his intense gaze—ogling him like I’d just been doing feels like a betrayal to Daniel—but drawn by the power of his stare, my eyes helplessly find their way back up to his. And his use of the word “darlin’”, so very swoon worthy. Not. Good.

  “I’ve uh, shacked up with my best friend, Sarah. We’re staying in a sleep out on her parents’ property.”

  “Take it that’s not far from here given that you’re out runnin’?”

  “No, it’s not far. About five kilometres away.”

  “Okay, so how about I drop you back home, you jump in the shower, and then meet me back at Vinnies for brunch? Say around eleven?”

  Why am I feeling like I am being backed into a corner? Despite the fact that I feel powerless against my attraction towards this man, I am not going to be badgered into agreeing to something I could regret. Even brunch.

  My red flags are flying.

  My expression must indicate my inner hesitancy as an unreadable emotion flitters across his face and his jaw tenses. He just stares at me a while before speaking again.

  “Darlin’, you remind me of a butterfly, just as beautiful, but just as flighty. It’s just an invitation to a meal. I get where you’re at sweetheart. A friendship, Kate, that’s all I’m suggestin’ here.”