Dedicated to Shany_56 because she's Shany. Except the dedication isn't working right now so I'll have to fix that later.
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My first instinct was to run away; in a fight-or-flight situation, the latter was always the safest option. At least that was the way it’d been for me.
Like when I was in primary school, on the first day back after the summer holidays. My class was given the task to draw a picture of My Summer: relatively simple, designed to ease us back into addition and fractions. While the other kids scrawled messily in crayon, depicting basic scenes of sandcastles and ice creams in five minutes so they could get to playtime early, I poured my seven-year-old heart and soul into that picture. The memory was as vivid as if it had happened yesterday. The sloping yellow sands, choppy waves, the way the clouds weren’t just blobs in the sky but wispy strips blending into blue: they were all permanently imprinted in my brain. I’d shone with pride the moment the teacher had pronounced it best in the class, pinning it on the classroom wall for everybody to see.
No one else had been bothered. It was only Joey Granger who was jealous, and he was the sole reason I turned up to school the following day to find my pride and joy scribbled all over in thick, black crayon, tarnished forever.
When the teacher had asked me if I knew what happened, I ached to dob him in. But Joey was the toughest kid in our class, with eyes that held permanent threats. He could pound me into a pulp on the playground, and that terrified me into obeying his every silent order. So instead of passing the blame, I’d mumbled something about not seeing anything and ran away at the first opportunity.
That night, I went home and cried, but at least I’d avoided a beating from Joey.
The situation I found myself in now, I thought, was no exception. Yet somehow, standing on the deserted Walden seafront in an angry face-off with Daniel, I found myself frozen to the spot, rendered completely incapable of movement. My brain was too jumbled to focus on anything but the raw pain pulsing through my veins, slicing my heart into sharp, wounded segments. I wanted to run, to put as much distance as I could between myself and the source of my discomfort, but I’d momentarily forgotten how to move my limbs.
Helpless.
The broken features of my teary vision swam before my eyes, but the contours of Daniel’s face remained clear.
He took a single step forward; the movement was enough to shock me into stumbling backward, an automatic impulse to keep a constant space between us. There was something he wanted to say; I could see the words he held back reflected in his eyes. Those eyes, whose hazel colour swum amongst hurt and misunderstanding, blinking back at me with a sincerity that almost melted a fraction of my anger.
Almost.
“Flo,” he coaxed, gentle. His tone was tiptoeing towards me slowly, approaching as if I were a wild animal he didn’t want to startle. “What’s the matter?”
But the question sent a fresh jolt of irritation through me, reigniting whatever his eyes had dissipated.
“What’s the matter? What’s the matter?” I yelled, much louder than necessary. “What do you think is the matter, Daniel? What the hell was that?”
“It…” he trailed off, disarmed by my anger. “I thought you’d be happy when you found out.”
“Happy?”
An overwhelming urge was rising through me, folding in on itself and pressing against my throat. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs – or maybe it’d be more satisfying to fall to my knees and sob. However, despite my trembling legs, I didn’t do either, staring instead into the melting eyes of the boy opposite me.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “I mean, I know that you’d never have had the confidence to do anything like that yourself, and I don’t know… I thought you’d be happy once your incredible talent was recognised.”
“Happy?” I repeated again, the word foreign on my tongue. “How can you…? I mean, how could I… I thought…” I was stumbling over myself now, the message malfunctioning somewhere on its journey from my head to the bitter evening air. “I thought you understood.”
This shouldn’t be happening. Not here. Not now. Not on the street I’d walked up and down countless times, on so many occasions that even the intricate cracks of the pavement were familiar to me. Not on the night of Gram’s exhibition, when everything was meant to be about her.
I shouldn’t have been crying, but I was way past the stage of being in control of my emotions.
“You, of all people, should’ve known. You’ve been through this. I thought we got each other, or at least that’s what you said, wasn’t it?”
The memory, once a gateway to feelings of such elation: it was now cruel to replay. Evidently, it was having a similar effect on Daniel; his mouth kept opening and closing, struggling to decide upon a suitable response to my cutting tone. But did anything count as suitable here? Could anything be right when everything had gone so, so wrong?
“And now that freaking picture’s on display for the whole of Walden to see, I mean—”
“What are you talking about? It was just a picture, Flo.”
“They were my parents!”
The ensuing silence was deafening. My throat felt raw and exposed as the words finally dislodged themselves, tunnelling out into the salty air. I didn’t know why I’d felt the compulsion to shout it so loudly, but it had certainly put a stop to the conversation. Daniel’s features were twisted with despair and painful realisation, ceasing all hope of speech. Even the waves, metres down from us on the beach, seemed spontaneously quieter, shrinking in volume to make room for the aftermath of my colossal confession.
There’d been no way for Daniel to know, of course. Anybody who hadn’t known my mum and dad personally wouldn’t have had any means to recognise the personal features of each figure. Even for Gram, who had known them, the identities weren’t obvious; it was only when you got really close, close enough to take in each glowing feature aligned carefully on the angels’ faces, that you could really latch onto their symbolic meaning.
To Daniel, they’d just been two faceless people: figments of a drawing from which only the quality of the work had been picked up on. He’d stumbled across it accidentally, been impressed, and formed one half of the heads that came together on the idea for Gram’s final showcase piece.
But the pair were convinced I was merely embarrassed by my talent; they had no idea that the reservations about what transferred from my pencil to the page ran much, much deeper.
“Flo…” His mouth was open, frozen in its small o shape. “I didn’t know.”
“It doesn’t matter.” He took another step forward, but I mirrored his movement in reverse, as if his presence had a repulsive effect of its own. A humourless smile creased my crumpled expression. “It’s done now, isn’t it? It’s not like it matters.”
I wasn’t fooling anyone. It did matter, and the way the foundations of my world were crumbling beneath me was adequate proof.
Maybe to other people it wouldn’t be such a big deal. Maybe to people who didn’t pour their innermost secrets into pencil strokes on paper. Maybe to people who hadn’t lost their parents to someone else’s stupid, drunk mistake three years ago.
It just so happened I wasn’t one of those people.
“Flo, listen.” By now, Daniel’s voice was verging on desperation. “I’ve made a massive mistake. Probably one of the biggest mistakes of my life. We both know that. I never should have gone ahead and done this without your permission. I just thought… Well, I don’t know what I thought. But you have to understand that I’m so, so sorry. Please. You have to understand.”
“No,” I said. “I don’t.”
The wind had picked up, nipping at my bare skin with a biting chill that brought me out in goose-bumps. I shivered, the broken shards of my insides feeling like ice.
“I made a huge mistake.”
“Yes. You did.” My eyes fluttered shut, willing the impeding wave of tears to stay back for just a little while longer. “But there are some mistakes that can’t be undone.”
I turned to leave, wetness already brimming between my eyelids, but only managed a few steps before I felt a hard encircle my arm. The gesture only angered me further, and I snatched myself away, recoiling from the effect of the skin-to-skin contact. Where it had previously sent my nerves into a tingling frenzy, I now wanted nothing more than to shrink away, repulsed by the thought of somebody that could misunderstand me to such an extent.
“Don’t touch me,” I snapped.
“Please don’t do this.”
“Don’t do what?” More fuel was thrown in the fire, the biting tone back in my voice. “You want me to forgive you on the spot and go back in there, acting like nothing happened? Is that what you want?”
“I just—”
“That picture was the closest thing I had to my parents,” I cut him off viciously. “Do you even understand that? See, I thought you did, but then you go and do something like this…”
“It’s—”
“This isn’t something you can just take back. All those people in there have seen it now, and that’s not something you can undo. You know, that was the first painting of my mum and dad I’d done since they died. The first time I had the courage to draw their faces again. It was one of the most personal and private things I’d ever created, and now it’s on display to the public.”
“I know,” Daniel said, his voice wavering. “I know that now, and I’m so, so sorry.”
“Yeah, well,” I cut in, cracking on the second syllable, “there are some things that sorry doesn’t make up for.”
I turned around at that point, my steps slow and shaky but in the right direction. I wasn’t looking at Daniel, but I didn’t need to be to see his lost, hopeless expression swimming in front of my eyes.
***
When Gram’s cul-de-sac came into view an eternity later, my eyes were no drier than they had been when I’d set off. The sobs still furiously racked my body, only intensifying every time my mind wandered back to what had happened with Daniel. The subsequent despair and panic left me shaking; it was a wonder I was able to hold my hand still long enough to shove the key into the front door.
Once safely inside the eerie stillness of the cottage, I closed the door and sunk back against it, overcome by a strange feeling of relief. Maybe it was the knowledge that I was finally behind closed doors, shielded from the prying eyes of the rest of Walden by several layers of brick and wall plaster. It didn’t matter that I’d heard nothing but awestruck comments in my swift departure from the gallery; no matter how wonderful anybody thought the painting was, it carried with it the feeling that the innermost regions of my head were under a beaming spotlight, and that would never be a comfortable one.
The relief, however, was incredibly short-lived. Seconds later it paled in comparison to the soul-crushing agony that dominated when it occurred to me once again exactly what had just happened. Not only had my worst fears become a horrible, twisted reality, it was the guy I’d thought could’ve been the one that was responsible.
A huge, gaping hole now sat between Daniel and I, and I was teetering on the very edge, the unconsolidated rocks crumbling beneath my feet. It was only a matter of time before I was swallowed whole myself.
It took all of my energy to drag my heavy limbs up the stairs, but I managed it eventually. Once confined by the four walls that made up my bedroom, I collapsed face-first onto the bed, burying my face in the thick fabric of the duvet and succumbing once more to the ferocity of my sobbing.
I seemed to have left all perception of time back at the gallery; I had no idea how long I stayed there, motionless, before the sound of keys jangling in the front door found its way up the stairs.
Footsteps shuffling on linoleum. The sound of a door closing. My name being called.
It was Nora, her concerned version of my name bouncing off the mismatching furnishings to reach me. The sound of her boots on the staircase followed shortly afterward, their pace slowing noticeably once they got to the door of my room. Tentatively, she pushed it open; I heard the long, slow creak louder than anything else.
She didn’t say a word for what felt like a long time, not until I felt the mattress sink under her weight.
“Flo.” Her tone was gentle, understanding. Above all, familiar.
But I didn’t move. The tears were still seeping onto the duvet beneath my face, blackening its fabric with watered-down mascara. Nora’s hand moved to my arm. “Please, Flo. Talk to me.”
Something hit me then. I couldn’t be sure of exactly what it was, nor why it occurred to me right at that moment, but suddenly the only thing I could think about was how much I missed my sister and her safe, perpetual reassurance. I wanted nothing more than to relive the feeling of being enveloped in Nora’s arms, having her stroke my hair, being told by her soothing gentle voice that everything was going to be okay. She’d been the mum I hadn’t had for the past three years, and right then, I realised I needed her more than ever.
“Oh, sweetie.” She pulled me into her arms the moment I sat up, her free hand moving to rub circles on my back. The sobbing intensified then; I was overcome by a feeling of weakness that being cradled in my sister’s arms had induced.
I’d been kidding myself when I thought I could manage. How on earth could I ever have thought I’d be okay without Nora?
I might’ve thought I’d found someone like her. Someone who could fill the gap that our separation had left. But tonight had only proved me wrong, and now I realised it: the only thing that was ever going to stay constant in my life was her. Nothing else could be relied upon.
It was all as unstable as a sandcastle; it could fool you into thinking that it was strong, especially in that moment when it emerges looking deceivably perfect. It could look like the best sandcastle in the world, cemented together and indestructible. But in reality, all it takes is a gust of wind just a fraction too strong. Someone’s footsteps just a little too close. The tiniest change can send it crumbling.
“Everything’s all wrong,” I sobbed. She was rocking me back and forth now: slow, soothing motions designed for the comfort of a small child. “Everything.”
“Shh.” She pulled me even tighter, so close that I was inhaling nothing but her sweet floral perfume. “It’s just been a rough night, that’s all.”
“I thought it was all okay. But it’s not. Nothing’s okay.”
“I know it hurts, sweetie.” Her hand moved up to my head, high enough to stroke her fingers through my hair, the constant motion extracting some of the tension from my muscles. “I know it does. It was Mum and Dad, wasn’t it? I recognised them the moment I saw it.”
“Everyone saw it.”
“I know they did, Flo, but really, it’s not what you think. Nobody saw what it really meant. All they could see was your talent.”
“It doesn’t matter. They still… I just can’t…”
“Flo…”
“I thought he was it,” I forced out, squeezing my eyes together in an unsuccessful attempt to keep the tears at bay. Without even saying Daniel’s name, the stinging hopelessness was there: the constant, plaguing thought that things would never be the same between us again. “I thought I’d really found what I was looking for. But then something like this had to go and happen…”
“It’s okay.”
“Why do things like this always have to happen to me? What have I done to deserve this?”
“Nothing. You’ve done nothing wrong, you hear me? I know it seems bad right now, but you have to remember that it’s just been a bit of a rough night. Everything seems worse right now while you’re all worked up. Once you lie down, get some sleep, it won’t feel as bad. I promise you, honey. Just try to calm down and sleep.”
“I can’t.” At least not with such buzzing going on in my head, the despair ricocheting right off the insides of my skull. “I can’t.”
“It’s going to be okay,” she repeated. The words had become a mantra; I’d heard them countless times before. So much so that I wouldn’t have been surprised if they were permanently imprinted somewhere inside my head. “It’s what I always say, isn’t it? I said it all those times before. And it was. It all turned out okay. We got through it. And you’ll get through this too; I’ve got no doubt about that one.”
“How can you know?” I whispered.
“I just do,” she answered simply, wiping away a stray tear from my cheek with her thumb. “You know, you’re so strong. I’m beginning to wonder if there’s anything you can’t handle.”
I knew she was only really saying it to make me feel better. Still, there was no denying that her words offered comfort of some sort, lifting my spirits a fraction of a centimetre. At any rate, the tears had dried up when Nora’s grip finally loosened from around me, which I had to take as a good sign. I sat motionless on the bed while she dabbed at my face with a make-up wipe, removing all traces of the salty tears that had sent everything awry. I obeyed when she handed me my toothbrush, sat still while she brushed my curls out of their tight bun. By the time she retrieved my pyjamas from the foot of the bed, I was in a state of mind to dress myself, and there was an almost tangible sense of relief at the feeling of my familiar, soft nightie against my skin.
“You’re going to be okay, Flo,” Nora repeated again. I’d moved into bed now, cocooned in the sheets. She lay beside me, our arms wrapped around each other in a way we hadn’t needed for months. “I promise.”
And in that moment, I knew it: while I might not have had much else, I’d always have the older sister I needed so desperately. I’d never completely outgrow her reassurance; there’d always be points when she was the only person I could turn to. Really, though, it was inevitable after going through what we had. The resulting bond was stronger than anything else.
No matter where either of us ended up, there’d always be an invisible thread tying us together, keeping us tethered to home. That much, I could count on.
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I literally just sat here for the last two and a half hours and forced myself to finish this chapter. It took a lot of determination, and I guess some parts were probably a bit rushed, but I think it's okay. I'll go back over everything in editing, anyway.
Sorry about breaking up Flaniel. And sorry about not getting them back together in this chapter. How was that argument? Intense, huh? It was pretty fun to write them screaming at each other. Love you guys.