There were no dreams laid aside for me, mere memories played on repeat. But no matter how many times it looped there was still the blank space where I knew my suicide resided.
Faces of people who'd I'd lost or forgotten played in my mind, sometimes once and sometimes twice. The eyes of Kieran, Tom, Devon and Nate went round in a never ending reel, a nightmarish merry-go-round.
Sometimes I would brush against the fringes of memories from my darker times. I recalled visiting my dad before I jumped off the bridge and Dr. Collins lecturing me by my hospital bed replayed itself while I willed for the mess in between to return to me. Somehow I was glad my suicide remained locked in the darkest vaults of my mind because deep down I wasn't ready to see, to remember how it felt to welcome the abyss of death.
Finally the flashbacks and voices ended and I was left alone in the dark, the pounding of poison in my veins the only sound. The origins of the substance in my veins - I didn't know - but I wasn't hanging my hopes upon Mum and Ross finding a cure.
Ultimately I wasn't concerned for myself, the subject of my worries my father. Dad was weaker than me, the accident and years of toil had weakened him in so many complex ways I didn't want to think about what this merciless poison was doing to him. Dreading that prospect, I was propelled it into the unchanging and unpromising darkness.
If I could have tapped my foot with impatience I would have. But in the solitude of my own mind that was impossible. I just waited for the poison to run its course whether that meant death or eventually opening my eyes. Both outcomes had their advantages and disadvantages but I refused to allow Anya to win and that meant fighting and fighting hard.
When the sound of muffled voices, the ruckus of unseen objects and slamming of doors began to ring in my ears I knew I was recovering. I could hear and smell and feel but I was not yet to be allowed to see.
A wet flannel was placed upon my brow but the cool sensation soon dissolved until the moist drops became warm and sticky. I wanted to remove it from my head but as hard as I tried my hand would not obey.
"Hang in there Chris."
Jackson?
I felt a tingle as Jackson gently placed his hand in mine. It was a gesture that, under normal circumstances, Jackson would have thought twice about making. Strangely, I found it deeply comforting.
"Mum hasn't let me see you because she doesn't want me to catch your virus," he chuckled awkwardly. "But she's gone out so I did the only natural thing." At least I didn't have to explain myself when I woke up, Mum already having done everything she could to protect her untainted child. "Dad's in the kitchen though, he took the day off so he could take care of you. He's pretty cool Chris, though you don't think so." Jackson cleared his throat, squeezing my hand. "He cares for you, despite what you might think. I care for you too, though I'd never say so to your face."
In my mind I could picture the cheeky grin on his face and the pride in himself for using my condition to his advantage – clever boy. Still, I would be sure to make some excuse to let him know I could hear every word he was saying.
"That woman was here, the one who was here with Kieran the other day. She wanted to be left alone with you and Ross wasn't sure but she was kinda persuasive."
Well that bloody well explained.
"When I came back in she'd disappeared and you had that freakish mark along your neck and you started getting really hot." Jackson's hand was relaxing in mine, the worries of me waking up and smacking him slipping slowly away. He took the flannel off my head but kept my hand safely in his. "I don't know what it was but she gave me the complete creeps. Is she one of those addicts that live down the street, you know the ones that smoke that sweet stuff?"
If only Anya's grotesque disposition was a consequence of aggressive weed smoking.
"I overheard you and Mum arguing. I think it's totally unfair what she's doing and I'm sorry." Jackson paused, his hand growing a little clammy with sweat. "Dad doesn't agree either but you know what Mum's like, he would have been sleeping on the sofa if he'd said otherwise." Jackson fidgeted with my fingernails. He fell quiet and fiddled with my hands, intrigued perhaps at what had got stuck beneath my nails. Why were boss so gross?
"I er- did something Chris. I know you're going to hate me for it but I thought I was doing what was best by you." There was nothing I could think Jackson capable of doing to make me hate him, but then he was used to be kicking off about just about anything. "If you were awake you'd kick my ass for sure."
We could always take a rain-check.
"But since you're like I might as well get it off my chest, it'll work out better for both of us."
Foolish boy.
"See when you were asleep you were screaming and stuff and Kieran's name was one of the things you said and I panicked. So I called him from you're phone."
Well that was just dandy.
I heard my heartbeat ringing in my ears and a fresh sweat break across my forehead. If only the poison would leave me so I could correct Jackson's most unfortunate of transgressions.
"Don't worry he didn't pick up so I left a message."
Well thank my lucky stars for that...
I hoped this was nothing more than a bad dream, or maybe the poison had just gone to my ears. I struggled to open my eyes or find words but my lips failed to even tremble.
"I didn't say much, just that I thought he should come around and stuff but he hasn't got back to me yet. I think he just doesn't turn his phone off silent or something so don't worry I'm sure he's gonna come."
Jackson James Evans, always looking on the bright side. Well on this occasion there was no bright side, Kieran wasn't going to come just because I'd swooned after a pointless and irrational argument with Mummy. More to the point, Anya was probably keeping him too occupied to even consider me.
No, if I was valuable enough Kieran would come when I'd brought a knife to my wrist, or rope to my neck or if somebody was kind enough to knock some sense into him. Despite the lies and delicious words he'd whispered to me once upon a time, Kieran wasn't going to come for me, not even if a small and helpless boy asked it of him.
"I wish you were awake to kick my aas, this is boring! I get more of a reaction from my football when I talk to it...not that I do obviously. Just wake up you stupid, drama queen," he muttered, pushing me from side to side. Jackson was strong enough to significantly wobble me, I was pleasantly surprised.
"Wake up!"
"Jackson, I let you in here because I thought you were going to behave," scolded Ross. The shaking stopped and Jackson's hand left my side. "If you're not careful boy I'll have your Uncle Alfie come over and sort you out."
"He'll sit on me, won't he?" Jackson grumbled.
"Something like that, now go get a fresh flannel and leave your sister alone," Ross ordered, coming over and putting the back of his hand to my forehead. "Hmm, still a little hot." I heard the creak of a chair as Ross sat down next to my bed. I couldn't exactly chide him for making himself at home.
"What are we going to do with you Chris? You always seem to be getting yourself into trouble." Ross was leaning forward in the chair, I could feel his breath brushing my face; he'd just had a coffee. "Your mother isn't too happy, she thinks you're putting this on but when the limelight isn't on her...well you know how she gets."
Yes I did know. If Mum wasn't the centre of attention there was a war to be had – even if it was her sick daughter.
"Thanks Jacky," Ross said before he placed the wetted flannel onto my head. It soothed the pain throbbing in my temple. I heard the sound of chair legs being dragged along the floor and to the bedside. "Careful Jack."
Once more a small, clammy hand sought solace in my own.
"Is she going to be OK Dad?" asked Jackson.
"Yeah of course Jackson, why wouldn't she?" Ross sounded confused, not quite understanding why Jackson was so flustered.
It wasn't as if I'd developed a terminal illness. There was nothing life threatening about hearing voices in my head and having dreams where my neck was slit. I still had a purpose to serve and that was why Anya hadn't just killed me.
"She just always seems to be ill, or hurt. Is she just slowly dying Dad?" I'd never heard Jackson being so sincere. He wasn't a particularly wise or mature for a twelve year old but it seemed he knew what is was to be compassionate and that was something.
"Well Jackson, there are some people in this world who just seem to always be in some sort of trouble." Ross chuckled, probably ruffling Jackson's hair. "Chris just happens to be one of those people."
If only.
"Yes but Dad she tried to kill herself last year, surely that's more than a little bit of common trouble" Jackson argued. Ross sighed and I felt the coarse brushes of his fingers.
"Jackson, we can't always tell something just by looking at them," Ross said. "And although Chris doesn't always seem the happiest of people, I know she would never again choose death, not willingly."
How well Ross knew me. It was kind of wondeful to know at least someone had faith in me.
"You know Jacky, sometimes I think back to last year and wonder if she'd ever meant it at all," Ross confessed.
And suddenly I didn't feel so alone anymore. I actually felt Ross' hand on mine and didn't dare question his sincerity. How could someone I had so abused stand so steadfast beside me?
"I sometimes wonder if she did it because of me," Jackson admitted.
Why did my heart hurt?
"No Jacky, don't think that. You're and awesome brother and I'm sure that if Chris was awake right now she'd tell you exactly the same."
Yeah...I probably would have...
"No she wouldn't, she'd have me pinned to the floor and told me to beg for mercy," Jackson muttered
Yeah...I definitely would have.
"A strong boy like you? I think you could take Chris in a fight now," Ross wagered.
"You'd be surprised Dad, Chris puts up a good fight, for a girl." Jackson sniffed, a note of pride in his voice.
"You know that doesn't surprise me Jack, Chris is a fighter and always has been. So why are you worrying?"
It was a good question – why was Jackson worrying? Me, the monster in his life, was momentarily paralysed. How I wished the same fate on my own monsters.
"She's my sister Dad. I don't want to lose her. She treats me like crap but is that not what having a sister's all about?" My heartstrings trembled so hard I was scared they might do me the disservice of snapping. I did treat Jackson like crap, far more than a sister should, and it was wrong of me.
"Who are you, and what have you done with Jackson?"
That was just what I wanted to know.
"It's not funny Dad. Chris is a pain in the ass but I can't help but love her, she's my pain in the ass." Jackson almost sounded lovable, to my ears at least.
"Takes balls to admit that Jackson, I'm proud of you."
"Oi! Don't ruffle my hair Dad, I'm not seven." If I could have laughed I would have. I was glad to be part of the joy, part of the fun whether Jackson and Ross knew it or not.
"I know you're not seven Jackson but allow an old man his pleasures." Jackson snorted. He shuffled his chair closer, dragging the legs against the carpeted floor.
"Chris has always been a stubborn so and so, that's why she and Mum never get on, isn't it?" Ross hesitated a moment before turning to his son and imparting wisdom I never knew he had.
"There's a lesson in that Jackson – never marry stubborn woman with stubborn children." Ross slapped his knee and had a hearty chuckle to himself. I had to give the man credit, he knew what he was talking about.
"Even Chris found that funny Dad," Jackson noted. I felt his fingers prod at the corners of my mouth. The boy was getting dangerously close to a toleration line. I would not forget his brave teasing. Young Jackson should have been afraid, very afraid.
"Or maybe she's having a dream Jacky."
A dream would have been nice, something to distract from the fact that no matter how hard I tried to enjoy Jackson and Ross' conversation, there was a small part of me hoping Kieran might come. What if he did answer Jackson's plea, what would I do?
I couldn't run back into his arms. So what else was there?
A door slammed somewhere in the house, sounding suspiciously like the front door which only meant one thing; mother was home. Ross and Jackson both jumped, like soldiers to attention. There was a shuffling in chairs and an uttered curse from Ross.
"I'm home! Y'know I don't think I've ever been shopping where I had to wait in a queue for fifteen minutes but I got an outfit for Monday, Ross. You have booked the restaurant right?" There was a pause. "Ross?"
"I'll be right out Vanessa."
"Are we going to move?" Jack asked shakily, his hand still in mine though it felt as though he'd have rather let go.
"Nope."
"Are we going to die?"
It appeared the men could be just as melodramatic as the women in the Evans household. What babies.
"Yes Jackson, I think we are." I listened out for Mum's footsteps approaching. The closer the footfalls came the more suffocating the tension in the room became. Still, at least I wasn't to be the subject of mother's tantrum this time around.
"How did I know I'd find you in here?" Mum muttered, advancing no further than the doorway by the sounds of it.
"Have fun shopping love?"
"Don't change the subject Ross Evans." Her foot began tapping on the wood flooring of the hallway. Somebody clearly wasn't impressed by the current state of affairs.
"I'm not changing the subject Vanessa. I'm checking on Chris because she is ill. You two were getting on so well lately – don't let your vanity ruin that progress." Ross almost spat the words at her. His forwardness was strange – never did he stand up to Mum so boldly.
"I agreed with you about the restrictions but I will not condone you being indiffferent while your daughter lies here in a sickness she can't help. She may not be my biological daughter Vanessa but she's still a part of this family, a part of you so I need you to get over yourself, please." Ross did indeed sound as if he was spitting in her face, his words about as good as slap. I heard Mum take a bold step forward but then take three steps back. As for Jackson, well he said nothing at all.
I wasn't about to be the subject of another fight. I had done enough damage here and so help me, I wasn't about to let a little poison decide any different.
I willed my eyes to open, another step forward and another victory against Anya. Like Hell would she keep me down. With all the will I could muster I managed to open my eyes and took everyone in.
"Mum," I choked, coughing up saliva and something bitter and like mucus in texture. I had chosen my word very particularly, hoping to diffuse all the tension in one foul swoop. "Mum?" I repeated, calling to her in childlike desperation.
"I-I'm here baby." Jackson's hand was carefully slipped out of my mine and my mum's replaced it. "I'm here."
"C'mon Jack, let's go," Ross murmured, giving up his seat for Mum. She gladly took it, her other hand taking the towel from my head. The flannel had become warm anyway and her hand was cool and soft against my skin.
"How are you sweetheart? I'm sorry I wasn't here," said Mum, her lips kissing my forehead. There was nothing like appealing to a mother's instinct to soften her. In her face I saw nothing that might have suggested she wished to be anywhere else. "There you are baby. We've been so worried about you."
I didn't argue despite knowing her statement was false. While it stung to see her look in my face and lie so easily I couldn't help but dismiss it and savour the moment. Her hand caressed my hair and stroked my warmed cheeks.
"Mmm, still warm. You've got yourself into a bit of a pickle honey."
"I'm fine Mum, please believe me." I coughed, the vile tasting substance rose in my throat and I desperately scrambled at my mum's arm.
"Mum get me a bucket. Now!" After quickly saying the words I clamped my mouth and jaws shut. This was going to be so gross ad oh so deliciously satisfying.
"Why? What's the matter?"
"Just get me a bloody bucket!" I screamed before realising I would be faster running to the toilet. I threw back my covers and stumbled to the toilet. My feet slapped against the floor as I opened the door and made the toilet bowl just in time. The venomous substance poured out of me in a sickening slosh.
"Chris?" Ross was by my side faster than a blink – pulling my hair away from my face. "It's alright love, it's alright." I was too weak to say otherwise so I continued to empty my insides of the poison. The violent shaking began – as I knew it would and I rested my head down by the base of the toilet.
"I'm tired Ross. I'm so tired," I wept, a pathetic, quaking mess on the floor.
"I know, come on, let's get you back to bed." Ross once more swooped me up into his arms and carried me to my bed. Mum stood in the hall with a bucket in her hands.
"Is she alright?"
"I think that's her got whatever it was disagreeing with her out of her system, she just needs to rest now." The phone began to ring, a shill and demanding sound. I snuggled myself into Ross's chest, not realising how spectacularly I was getting my vomit on his shirt.
"I'll answer it – here, take this." Mum put the bucket on top of me and I curled my fingers around the lip. The noise of the phone and Mum answering became quickly distant as my eyes began to shut. Then I couldn't hear anything.
* * * *
"Chris? Chris baby? Wake up honey."
My vision was blurred when I opened my eyes. I didn't know what time it was or what was going on but from the look of my mother's face, it could have been nothing good. Her eyes were swollen and red, mascara marking her cheeks.
"Mum, what is it?" I propped myself up against the headboard of my bed, every inch a strain. Mum hesitated, gnawing her lip and shifting her gaze to anything else but me. "Mum you're worrying me. Just tell me what's going on." This time when I found her eyes she didn't cower away.
"It's your Dad Chrissie, he's...he's in the hospital." Maybe I should have at least faked a surprised face but I couldn't, not when I knew where and how and why.
"Oh," I whispered, slouching back into my covers. I had to remain calm, after all they needed my Dad alive and panicking would get me nowhere.
"He umm... he umm." Her bottom lip was trembling.
"Just breathe Mum, take your time," I said vacantly. Mum peered at me, conflicted as to whether be shocked by my composure or hysterical about everything else.
"He tried to kill himself Christine. I don't understand why you're taking this so lightly. You sound like I've just asked if you want a cup of tea." I regarded her strangely. We had both known Dad was unwell and whilst I could understand Mum's reaction - she knew nothing of what I knew - I couldn't understand why she was freaking out.
"Yes Mum but how can I act like this is news to me? Dad's been ill and considering suicide for few couple of weeks. I've prepared myself for this Mum and not just for my sake." Mum was taken aback, insulted even. But now was not the time for weakness or over reacting.
What I had deduced from the evidence at hand was that Anya must have invisibly slipped into the care home, slit my father's neck and doing so, allowed the poison to seep into his blood stream. There was no need to make it look like my father had been responsible by leaving a blade, the evidence of suicide had been piling up against my father for weeks.
Ultimately, I wasn't worried about my father being in hospital – I was worried because some psychopathic woman was threatening him for unknown means. How long was it before she decided to come after Mum, Jackson, Ross just to get at me? And how could I be sure she would stop there. Nate was now weak so, despite how valiant his efforts, Beth was once more vulnerable too. I couldn't begin to think about Mandy and Jude in danger, how could I?
And Tom, well at least he was thousands of miles away.
I wondered if Anya was a rogue, like Devon...but not like Devon. The difference between the two evils was Anya had Kieran wrapped round her little finger.
Stupid bitch.
"I guess you're right. I saw this coming too," Mum confessed.
"And we can't afford to let it get to us, can we?" Mum gave me an exasperated look but didn't comment. Instead she got up and grabbed the collection mugs that had been placed by my bed.
"I suppose you don't fancy ice tea?" she murmured. I hadn't even realised they were there or how long for. "Don't worry they're not all yours. Ross seems to crave coffee when playing nursemaid." Mum rolled her eyes. "Want anything to eat while I'm in the kitchen?"
"No, I'm OK." The bitter taste I would have imagined after spewing out the substance that was Anya's poison did not linger in my mouth. It puzzled me but then if Ross had been playing nursemaid, maybe he had managed to coax me into drinking. He was a good guy like that.
"Well suit yourself sweetheart. Shout if you need anything." Mum wedged open the door with her foot and let if swing gently shut behind her.
You can only fiddle with the creases in your pillowcase for so long before you get bored. Being ill wasn't fun but had I really been expecting ice cream, jelly and endless supplies of entertainment? If I could have, I would have summoned the energy to work out just where I was in the game, was this just the beginning or the prelude to a dramatic end for Christine Evans?
It was when I twisted myself that I spied my mobile phone. Wishing I was stronger I reached for it, clasping it tightly in my fingers.
Did I dare?
Jackson had left a message but really it might have seemed to Kieran like a cowardly attempt to make him come running. If nothing else, maybe I could set things straight, tell him not to come as I didn't need him. I groaned and swung my legs over the side of the bed and picked up the phone. I brought up Kieran's number in my address book and hesitated before hitting the, oh so seductive, green telephone.
Was I really so desperate for nothing more than the sound of his voice.
I cupped my hand where Anya had sliced my throat.
"Yes Christine, you are." I pressed the green button and held the phone to my ear.
I would not be beaten by the likes of her.
One ring, two rings, three rings...thirteen rings and then answering machine.
Tone.
"Hey Kieran, it's Christine. My brother called earlier and I just wanted to say he wasn't making up excuses for me. I need you Kieran and I'm not afraid to say that. This isn't an apology but the want to talk things over, to work out where we go from here. You and I both know we can't afford to leave things this way. Let me know what you want Indigo Boy, before it's to late." I ended the call and I let my hand fall. My finger's loosened and I let the phone slip from my grasp. I lay back on the bed and stared up at my ceiling – absent of the answers to the riddles of my life.
"Please call, Indigo Boy." I tucked up my legs and willed tears that never came.
* ~ * ~ * ~ *
There you go my lovely Indigogos! What do you think of that? Are you happy or mad that Chris reached out to Kieran?
Mr. Husband and I are away for the next few days so I don't think I'll get the chance to post until Wednesday evening at the earliest. However, don't be surprised if you have your conclusion to this book by the end of the week.
I'm thinking I might finish "Humble," my other book on Wattpad next which I would love for you to check out. This is for two reasons, the first being that I hate leaving projects unfinished and the second being that it will allow me to start posting book 3 much faster!
Until next time!
Much love,
Bekah x