This chapter has time lapses and they're important, so please don't complain about them.
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Katrina Diaz
I had lived more than a decade of my life in fear. Fear that someone may find out about my self-harming tendencies. Fear that I would get locked up in a mental institution, or even worse, in an exorcist's house. Fear that I would be stripped away from everything that I wanted to do.
I had always been self-conscious when my scars were in view. Anxious that people would judge, criticise, and prod. Self-conscious because I couldn't take my watch off lest all my scars would be visible. But ever since my fall, some strange anxiety — strange fear of people, my surroundings, of everything — followed me around. Staying at the hospital, watching and trying to gauge the nurses' expressions, was agonising.
I had begged Hayden to discharge me from the hospital so I didn't have to see their faces, and Hayden had agreed. He had been taking care of me for the past week, feeding me, combing my hair, helping me bathe, changing me into fresh clothes every day, and walking me to the balcony if I wanted fresh air. He had treated me like a newborn with such precious care and gentleness that I wouldn't have expected from someone like him. He hadn't just left me alone nor given my phone to me. He had given me chocolates, set up some web series on his laptop, blast music on speakers, or let me listen to stupid audiobooks, but he hadn't given me my phone.
Today, however, I found my phone in his closet and turned it on, catching up with all the messages and notifications. Reading my mother's unanswered message, I pushed my lower lip between my teeth, pain wrapping its cruel arms around me, Kendra's words echoing in my ears.
Hayden's footsteps snapped my attention to his face. "You're the one who texted her? She has been at this stupid proposition for months now. What does she think of me? That I have access to your credit card?"
"You do now." Velvet and chaos said as a valet landed onto the bed beside me. "Do what you want with it."
"Fuck her and you! I'm done caring and trying to get her approval." I picked the valet of one of London's richest people and threw it in the rubbish bin beside my bed, anger knotting at my nape. "And I don't want to add sugarbaby to my resume."
I felt like a constant failure and burden as it was.
He stilled in his tracks, scrutinising me. "What do you want to add, then?"
My death date.
Training my eyes over the ring that Hayden had slid over my finger, I swallowed my words. Caregiver burnout wasn't a joke and with every kind, patient word Hayden offered me, I felt his kindness multiply the guilt in my chest. I knew I inevitably would let Hayden down one day because those thoughts of hurting myself or putting an end to this misery were like an addiction that had no recovery.
"I asked you something," Hayden lifted my head high with two fingers, forcing me to meet his gaze.
"I want to..." I trailed off, contemplating my words, not finding it in me to throw it in his face that all I wanted was bleakness — death. "Disappear."
After all, my existence was a burden to the ones who had given birth to me. A waste of space. Sealed with a curse. With every passing moment, my heart was cut deeper, every cut stinging with every breath I took. I needed a way out of this; a break from this turmoil. Death. That was my only answer. An urge to find something that sharp that would help me erupted in me like a raging volcano, and I dug my fingers into my palms, remembering Hayden's words.
Your life is gifted.
Gifted? A gift that had bound me to guilt that would only swallow me whole. Guilt. What a wonderful, never-abandoning companion it had been! No chance to undo, no chance to make amendments, no chance to bring life back but to endure. Maybe killing myself wouldn't justify my deeds. I deserved this pain and suffering. This was the retribution that was imposed by the divine judiciary or fate.
A throat cleared behind me, and I lifted my head to catch Hayden staring at me with creased eyebrows. He didn't go to work. It should not come as a surprise since he hadn't gone to work for the past seven days, but strangely, it did.
"How are you feeling?" He asked, studying my face as if that would give him answers.
"Better," I mumbled.
"Can you walk?" He gave me a hesitant look. "You have a doctor appointment—"
"No, I'm fine. The cramping has reduced," I argued, standing up. Ignoring the pain that lanced from my ribs, I tried to shoulder past him, wanting to get away from him. I hated the things I felt in his vicinity. When he looked so concerned, I felt cared for. I was grateful for his helping hand, but I also felt pathetic. I didn't want to become another charity case.
He gripped my arm, stopping me from moving. "Katrina, stop it." Confused, I turned around, and he explained, "I want to know if you will be okay to sail."
"Why are you planning to ship me to Antarctica?" I arched my brow.
"Yes, so you could hibernate."
I gave him a sardonic smile. "That would be lovely, hubs."
_______________
"We are here." A voice rang in the distance and my eyelids fluttered open. Trying to adjust to the bright light, I blinked my eyes, taking in the light. Hayden was already out of the car and holding the door open for me. Sliding out of the car, I stood beside him.
Three days back when Hayden had said he would ship me to Antarctica, I didn't think he would drag me into the middle of a forest where everything around was lush, green and lively. We had sailed all night to this place, which I didn't care about knowing with everything revolving in my head. As soon as the luggage was loaded in the taxi in London and the engine roared to life, I had rested my head against the window, snapping my eyes shut. And I hadn't come out of bed on the ship and I hadn't bothered with reading names when we had landed on the harbour.
"Where are we?" I asked Hayden, lips parting as I recognised the sound of a waterfall.
The evening sun washed over the cobblestone pathway that was spruced with green herbs and shrubs. Huge, tall trees around the house extended their branches, casting shadows on the structure, blending the orche-coloured structure into the heart of the woods.
"A guest house," he said, placing a hand on my waist as he gestured to the footman to unload our luggage. Leading me through a pathway roofed by a pergola system, he steered right, pointing at the open door.
My lips parted in awe as I strolled beside him, entering the three-stored house, hearing the sound of crashing waters intensify. Lifting my head, I inspected the lighting fixtures that were elegantly arranged into ceilings. The slabs of the house were supported by huge pillars (whose surfaces were bedecked with stacked slab stones) and glass walls that featured the whispering woods. Sealed flagstone flooring shone with a golden hue. The furniture of the house was made in shades between copper and tawny, complementing the aesthetics.
Shouldering past Hayden, I ambled across the living room, past the sliding glass doors and moved into the balcony. Hearing the sound of water crashing amplify, I slapped a hand over my mouth to contain my scream of wonder as I gazed down at the sight of water falling from beneath the house onto a series of rocks, whose stream eventually merged into some lake far away in the woods.
"This house..." I trailed off, eyes greedily gulping in the sight of the tall, rocky, lofty hill range that spanned the other end of the lake that ran below the house.
"Is built on a waterfall," Hayden provided.
"What is this place?" A blast of evening air caressed my face while squirrels chattered, branches rustled, and birds chirped high above me in the air.
"Island of Arkney."
My insides froze. "You're kidding. Arkney is just full of gothic architecture."
"The university is. The Island has more than just that," he mused, pointing at the roof. "My suite is on the third floor."
"What do you mean 'my suite'? Are we supposed to share?" My brows bunched in confusion.
"I bought this house in our college days along with a bunch of my college mates. Rodger, Ryan, Liam, Lucien, Nicholas. Back then, each of us occupied a suite. After our graduation, we wanted to keep this house as a guest house. So, technically, yes, we have to share, but it is just you and me for now." His eyes flew to the staircase at the other end of the living room.
"I'm totally not envious of you for living your college life in a place like this instead of a ridiculous college dorm," I complained as the wind blew my hair onto my face.
"You don't have to be." A mirthful smile curved his mouth. "Horny sods made this a whorehouse with their girls."
"Who were the most sexually active?"
"Rodger and Eirlys followed by Ryan and Erika." He tilted his face, a scowl creasing his beautiful features at the buried memory. "Imagine having to hear the doors banging and beds breaking in the middle of the night..."
"While nerds like you were trying to study?" I hiked a brow.
"I wasn't a nerd."
"And I'm not short." A note of disappointment underlined my tone. "I wish I was in college along with you. It would've been fun."
"I'll show you everything that is worth seeing in Arkney." He moved closer to me, bringing in the scent of Cedarwood and White pepper as he dragged me into his arms. He looked down at me, brushing a soft kiss against my lips as he tucked my wild hair strands behind my ear.
"Do I sense an if?"
"But," he corrected. "Tell me, you'll do something for me; go to therapy."
My shoulders stiffened instantly. "Let me explore the house."
"I bailed Juniper out of prison, withdrew my lawsuits, removed her name from the blacklist because you asked. Now, return the favour. Do it for me." His hands held my shoulders, his piercing green eyes roving over my face.
"I—" My throat clogged with a ball of tension before I took a breath and fired my question. "What would you do if they advise I check myself into an asylum?"
Why did it matter if he admitted me into a mental institution? When did it come to the point that being separated from Hayden was like sailing without an anchor? Was this some kind of separation anxiety or something far worse?
"If it comes to that, then I'll change my home into an asylum." His grip on me tightened.
But I won't leave you.
I heard the words he didn't verbalise but still managed to leave an imprint of that silent vow with his piercing stare.
Warmth flooding inside me, I relented. "I'll go, but it won't make much difference."
_______________
Hayden had taken me to Wren Walsh, a psychotherapist, working at the University of Arkney to help the students and its staff. She was a kind woman, I could say without a doubt because, unlike my therapist from childhood, she had been so considerate and supportive.
Still, a niggle of irritation and fear ate away at me.
"Do you feel comfortable talking?" Her brown eyes flew to me.
Gazing down at my scars, I pulled the sleeve of the hoodie over my wrist as my pulse skyrocketed, and nervousness slithered through my veins.
"Yeah.." I said grudgingly, hugging a pillow to my chest like it was some shield that would protect me from everyone.
"When do you wish to go home, Kate?"
My eyes drifted to the door beside my couch. Mrs Walsh had suggested I pick a seat that made me feel safe and I had picked the one closest to the door just so I could bolt out of the room if she made me uncomfortable.
I wanted to leave just now, but I couldn't tell her that and dissuade Hayden that way.
Fiddling with my fingers, I enquired, "Is ten minutes, okay?"
"If it works for you, then ten minutes it is, Kate." She offered me a warm smile. "I want you to know whatever you open up about stays between us. Neither Hayden nor your friends nor family will know anything. Is that okay with you?"
Oh, I liked that. I liked it very much.
"Yes," I replied, mustering my courage.
"Good. Tell me something about yourself, Kate."
Taking a deep breath, I opened my mouth, weaving words into strings to open to a stranger that Hayden trusted to help me.
_______________
Days Passed.
Going to therapy twice a week had become a lifestyle just as much as Hayden taking me out on long walks along the woods. He wouldn't utter a word, leaving me to process my thoughts after a session and gather my pieces. It was the sound of his boots crushing the dried leaves and the scent of Cedarwood and White Pepper that assured me that he was right beside me, watching and guarding me when I went deeper and deeper into the woods.
If a strange whisper summoned my attention, the first thing he would do was push himself in front of me.
Burying my fists in the pockets of Hayden's pullover, I lifted my eyes, gazing at him.
"How long will we do this?" My voice shook.
"Do you want to go back home? Or to Dark Drips?"
Dark Drips was the most famous chocolate house on the campus of Arkney. Hayden had made it a ritual to treat me to a visit to Dark Drips, where he would buy me everything and anything, after our walk in the woods. When I had asked him why he was taking me to Dark Drips only on the days when I went to therapy, he had told me that it was a treat for doing something for him. He articulated those words as if my attending therapy was a huge favour to him.
"I meant London."
"You miss London, now?" He shot me a confused look.
"Why would I? Everyone back in London is arsehóles," I scoffed.
"I'm not an arsehóle," he whined, narrowing his eyes.
"Yeah," I dead-panned. "you're an asswipe. And I mean, when will you go back?"
Something sharp stabbed at my chest. The thought of having to live without Hayden hardened the lump in my throat.
I clenched my eyes shut. "I know we can't stay here forever."
"But you want to," Hayden said, his thumb brushing over my neck, feeling my pulse.
I wanted to. I had dreams to sketch, a degree to pursue, and museums to sell — most importantly art to create, but not at the expense of jeopardising my marriage.
"Yes," I agreed.
"Then, we will stay."
"Your job?"
Something akin to vulnerability flickered in his eyes. "It's my company. No one can snatch it from me, but you.." will slip right through my fingers.
The words were unsaid, but not unheard.
"Your career comes first," I said. The mere thought of him leaving me behind pricked my eyes.
"It doesn't."
Warmth unfurled inside me, and I crashed into his arms, burying my face in his shirt, grateful that he chose me when no one had done that. Not my biological family. Not my adopted one. Not my ex. Not my late friend. No one except Hayden.
_______________
Weeks passed.
"It hurts. I don't fucking self-harm for fun. It hurts if I don't. It's addicting. It's an escape. Therefore, I can't just stop. It feels like I haven't cut for forever. I want to do it again. Even though I hate the way my wrist looks now, I'm craving a cut." I had admitted to Wren Walsh in my session today.
There had been a thunderstorm last night. And although I hadn't heard Diaval's voice because Hayden refused to let go of me, it still brought back memories of smokes and voices. And I waited all night for Diaval to sneak upon me. She didn't, but I still craved the pain. When I had admitted that to Wren, she had asked me to replace a pointed object with ice — to feel the burn but not to cut myself open.
That's what I did. I had refused to go out for a walk and sat in the garden, trailing the cube ice of my scars, hissing as the chills seared my skin.
"Spitfire," called Velvet and Chaos.
Panic slithered through me and I threw the ice on the grass, twisting my neck to find Hayden scrutinising me. His eyes scanned the red welts formed by ice on my wrist, flickered to the tears in my eyes and then to the ice cube on the grass.
He said not a word.
Placing the bags in his hands on the table, he held my face in his palms, standing between my legs. Tears sliding down my cheeks, I gazed at him. Wren had warned me about emotional outbursts like this and she said they were all a part of healing. And it was okay.
"What do you see? A crazy person? Or a damsel in distress?" My vision blurred.
"Neither," he said, thumbs draining the tears sliding down my cheeks. "I see my Spitfire."
"That name means I'm an awfully quick-tempered and highly emotional wanker." I wedged my lower lip between my teeth to stop the tears.
"Like Summer Altice once said, 'I got the nickname Spitfire for a reason —- I burned inside to play volleyball', you get that name because you burn on the inside." Shadows from the tree leaves high above danced on his face. "A damsel in distress you are not, a chaos maker is what you are, Katrina."
"That's another sensationalist rubbish compliment," I whined even as warmth poured through me.
"Perhaps, but it is true."
Content that he thought I had fire — something that wasn't just brokenness inside me, I swung my eyes to the bags on the table.
"What did you bring?"
Releasing my face, he handed one bag to me. Curious, I dragged the handles away and gazed down, surveying the contents, frenzy buzzing through my veins.
"You bought all their stuff?" I asked, fishing out the box of death by chocolate from all the varieties.
"I wasn't sure what you would prefer."
"You're amazing!" I laughed, resisting the urge to hug a pillow and scream into it.
_______________
Months passed.
Wren Walsh had become one of my favourite people. Especially when she had assured me the reasons for me hearing Diaval's voice couldn't all be ghosts and madness. It was something else and she would help me figure my way through it. She had also helped me understand that I had been innocent, and I didn't deserve to be punished or self-harm myself.
When I had told her how Diaval said everything I touched turned to ashes, Wren had smiled, telling me, 'It was time that you believe maybe it was the fire in me that turned things to ashes". Sure, it sounded cringe and lame to most people, but it felt a lot to me when I had to hear the words I was cursed for more than a decade. The fact that there was someone who believed I was strong — that I could do something other than harm myself meant so much to me.
And Hayden? He was my anchor through all my sails.
And I? I had fallen in love. Shamelessly and miserably so.
Growing up with Freya, the silliest thing I had done was wish for a bar of chocolate after blowing a dandelion. While my mum and Cain weren't the ones to fulfil that wish, my dad and Hayden had a strange habit of showering me with chocolates.
And as a grown-up about two twenty in a few weeks, I knelt in the middle of a dandelion field and blew the flower. Watching the tiny umbrella-shaped structures float in the air, I wished once again: Be mine, Hayden.
"Katrina," I heard Hayden call from where he was standing at the white fence. He had been very reluctant when I had told him I wanted to stop by this field.
"Immaturity has no cure." His voice carried through the wind.
"Neither does your senility, Arsewipe," I retorted, raising to my feet. "Give me your keys. I'll drive to Dark Drips."
He shook his head. "I don't want any speeding tickets on my car."
"Guess what? I don't want hypotension, but we all don't get what we want. Welcome to life, hubs." Strolling over to him, I extended my palm.
Dropping the keys in my hands, he warned, "Speed limit is 60 mph."
"120 mph."
He scowled instantly. "No!"
"Fine, 100mph it is. Take it or leave it — as in, find a taxi." I grinned, bolting to the car, not waiting for Hayden to do more bargain, heart pounding with happiness.
I was happy and I was healing.
I will not cut myself again.
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No cliffhanger lol.
Tell me your thoughts about Katrina leaving London.
450 comments? And I'll give another update?