Saving Amy (40 page)

I’m so fucked up
, I thought as I weighed up my mummified limbs. My arm… I couldn’t believe I went for my arm. Thighs were so much simpler – so much easier to hide. I guessed it was year round long sleeves for me now.
I’m so fucked up.

I hated what I’d done to myself. I hated what I’d done to Richard. The torment clouding his beautiful green eyes was all because of me and I knew I should stick to my guns and free him from all the pain I would inevitably cause if I stayed with him. I knew I should up and leave.
Head to Florida maybe?
Or even another country so he had no choice but to forget about me and move on with his life. I knew I should let him go…

But the thing that was scaring the hell out of me right now was that I also knew I was too selfish to go through with it.

There was a definite pattern emerging. This was the third time in less than a year I had ended up wounded and unconscious – each and every time at a point where Richard was missing from my life. Yet, miraculously, he’d always been the one who saved me. Just like when we were together - granted I was living on a rollercoaster – the turbulence throwing my emotions up, down and around – but I always landed in the safety of his arms before I had chance to hit the concrete. Nothing seemed insolvable when his body was wrapped around mine. My life remained worth living. Whatever feeling was ripping my insides apart, one particular always prevailed – my love for the beautiful man on the other side of the door, and my
need
for him to love me back.

The heavy yellow door swung back open and Richard strolled in unaccompanied. His body was hunched, his eyes strained. He looked so…
destroyed.

“Hey,” I said with a heavy heart.

“Hey.” He tottered cautiously towards me and perched next to me on the bed, taking my hand in his.

“Richard I-” He cut me off, raising a palm in the air.

“I want to go first,” he said, his voice trembling. “I know how much I hurt you, Amy. I lied to you and-” I opened my mouth to tell him this wasn’t necessary, refusing to allow him to take all the blame. But he raised his hand again and started to talk over me.

“I need you to know these have been the worst two weeks of my life. I never knew it was possible to feel such pain… such intense, all consuming
sadness.
That’s how I know I will never,
ever
hurt you again. I will never risk losing you again, Amy. I can’t live without you.”

Oh Sweet Jesus,
the guilt was overwhelming. My cheeks were on fire as it pulsed through my body, incinerating it from the inside out.

“Please say you’ll come home with me?” I contemplated his words for a few dramatically long seconds, thinking of all the different ways I could say yes. In the end I settled for a weak nod. Relief washed over his face, visibly smoothing all the burdened creases around his tired eyes.

“Thank you. Oh, baby, thank you.” Tentatively, he reached across my body to kiss my eager lips. But as he did, his chest clashed gently with my ribs and the slight pressure made me cry out.

“Ow!” I winced at the stabbing pain rippling through my chest. Richard flew off me with the superhuman speed he’d developed while I’d been gone.

“I’m so sorry!” he blurted, surrendering his hands. “What is it? What did I do?”

My mind flashed back to when I was lying on the kitchen floor with my dad’s boot ramming into my side last Thursday. He came home and caught me smoking in the house. It was my first smoke in forever and as I lit it I wondered if I was doing it intentionally. I almost wanted him to catch me… to
finish
me.

I started to wonder how Richard didn’t know. Did he not see the damage when he brought me in here?

“I had a run in with my dad,” I admitted, nodding my head towards my throbbing ribs. “I thought you would have seen it and assumed as much.”

He
must
have seen,
I thought, realising I must have been naked at some point while they dressed me in the faded blue gown I was wearing.

“I wasn’t allowed in while they worked on you,” he said with a shrug. I think that must have pissed him off.

“Jesus, Amy!” he cried as he slid my gown up to my chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“Richard, this isn’t your fault. I
chose
to go home.” He shook his head, dismissing me as his wide eyes bulged with guilt. “Could you fetch me some painkillers, please?” I asked, forcing a subject change. As soon as I asked for them my arms and legs start burning like crazy. It felt like my raw skin was trying to crawl away from my body.

Stupid, fucked-up bitch.

“Sure. I’ll be right back.”

When Richard exited the room I was left alone with my guilt. It was just a tiny bit easier to breathe with only one person’s remorse flooding the atmosphere.
How are we supposed to get past this?
Did we talk… pouring the contents of our heavy hearts out before they burst under the pressure? Did we draw a line and pretend the last two weeks never happened, vow never to mention it again? Or did we start from the beginning, as if we knew nothing about each other?

Richard came back with two little pink tablets in a transparent dispensing cup. He tipped them into my hand and passed me the paper cup of water from the wheeled table at the foot of my bed.

“You should go home and get some sleep,” I suggested as he tried to conceal an impressive yawn with the back of his hand.

“I’m not leaving you. I’m never leaving you again.” His voice was rich with determination and I smiled gratefully. I knew in reality he couldn’t stay by my side forever, but he was here now and in that moment, that was all that mattered.

He settled in beside me on the bed, scooching higher so I could nestle my head in his chest. Christ, I’d missed him. His smell, his warmth, his heartbeat beneath my ear...

“I’m sure there are rules about patients letting hot men climb into bed with them,” I teased.

“Well, as Katharine Hepburn once said, ‘if you obey all the rules, you miss all the fun’.” I couldn’t see his face but I just knew he was winking.

“You badass.” I felt the vibrations of his laughter beneath my cheek. I closed my eyes and savoured the feeling, the sound of his happiness.

“What day is it?” I asked curiously.

“Tuesday.”

“
Tuesday!
”

“You’ve been out for three days. You lost a
lot
of blood.” I flushed redder than my blood stained bandages and I was pleased he couldn’t see the shame spill onto my face.

“That bad, huh?” I asked too flippantly. I regretted it almost immediately, wincing as he described the damage I’d inflicted upon myself.

Apparently I sliced straight through my Rectus Femoris (whatever the hell that was) and required emergency surgery to my left thigh to repair the damage before I bled to death. I had forty-two stitches in my thighs and nineteen in my arm, and as an added bonus I’d had my stomach pumped – seemed like I thought it was good idea to give myself alcohol poisoning too. Oh, and I mustn’t forget the two blood transfusions…

I stared down at the bandages wrapped around the extent of my fucked-up-ness. I’d never felt so disgusted with myself, so ugly.

“You’re beautiful,” Richard whispered into my hair doing that amazing thing which made me wonder if he could hear my thoughts. I smiled bashfully even though I knew he couldn’t see my face and squeezed my arm around him a little tighter.

We fell silent but it was a welcome, comfortable calm. We didn’t need to talk. We were together – everything else was insignificant. I lay, snuggled into his chest, inhaling his scent and cherishing the hum of his healing heart for an immeasurable length of time. Richard’s arm was draped over my shoulder and he circled the small of my back with his thumb until I fell asleep.

**********

“Let’s get you to bed,” Richard said when we arrived at his –
our
– apartment, steering me towards the bedroom with one arm around my waist.

“No. I don’t want to lie down,” I argued stubbornly, pulling against him in the opposite direction.

“You need to rest.”

“Richard, I’ve been resting for five days,” I protested. “Besides, I can rest on the couch,” I tacked on when I saw the worry set in on his face.

“What was that?” I asked. A noise resembling the closing of a door startled me. Richard shrugged looking equally baffled and set off to follow the noise.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I heard Richard say in a rage-fuelled tone. Seconds later Joanna stormed into the living room, stopping dead in her tracks and dropping her jaw to the floor when she saw me.

How the fuck did
she
get in?

“The um, door was left open,” she mumbled, signalling over her shoulder and answering my unspoken question. She tripped on her words, clearly stunned, and maybe even disappointed by my presence.

“That’s not what I asked,” Richard snapped. “I’ll say it again… what the hell are you doing here?”

He seemed so angry with her – something I’d only ever witnessed in my dreams. I wondered if he was only doing it for my benefit or if something went down with them while I was…
gone
.

“Maybe we could step outside? I’d like to talk with you in private,” she asked while throwing me a look that could freeze hell over.

“No. You can say whatever it is in front of Amy.” Joanna shrugged petulantly.

“I came to sort things out. We’re best friends, Richard. You can’t hate me forever.”

What! He
hates
her? Result!

“Finished? Because I’m kind of busy,” he said in full on condescending-bastard mode.

Go on, Richard!

“Looking after
her?
What’s she done this time?”

Woah!
Richard’s eyes widened and his nostrils flared open. Then he took a step back, as though he was afraid he might strangle her.

“Get out. We’re done here,” he ordered, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

“Richard, please. I’m sorry okay? I was out of line.” She tried to pull it back but I thought –
hoped
– she’d pushed him too far. I idly pondered if it was okay that I was secretly pleased (elated even) with the way this conversation was heading.

Richard ushered Joanna out into the hallway. I expected to hear the door slam behind her at any moment but it didn’t come. Instead I heard fraught whispers, though I couldn’t make out what they were saying. I scooted further up the couch and cupped my hand around my ear.

They were right down the hall by the door going off how faint their voices were. I picked up a few jumbled words coming from Richard’s mouth – ‘her father’, ‘love her’, ‘responsible’ and then in her irritating whiney voice – ‘I’m sorry’. I tried to piece the words together to form a conversation but then gave up realising I’d only make it sound worse in my head.

Then I remembered Richard’s conversation in the hospital and how he swore he would never lie to me again. Seeing the anguish obscuring the vibrant green of his eyes, it was impossible not to believe him. Therefore when he returned I put him to the test by asking what the vindictive bitch wanted.

“Let’s just say I saw a side of her I didn’t like while you were…” He swallowed hard, like he was choking on the word, ‘gone’.

About time.

“So, how did you leave it with her, just now? Did you tell her where to go?”

“Not as such. I accepted her apology, gave her a quick rundown on what happened to you and said goodbye.”

“Why would you do that?” I asked
,
sounding more pissed than I intended to.

“Do what? Accept her apology, or tell her about you?”

“Both,” I said, fighting to keep my voice even and the green-eyed monster in its cage.

“Because it was easier, and because she asked,” he answered honestly, warily. His expression was anxious as if he was waiting for me to flip out. Amazingly, I didn’t and I wasn’t sure who was more surprised by the restraint I was managing to possess. In fact, I simply said “okay.” Maybe our time apart really
had
changed us both.

After lunch (grilled cheese sandwiches) Richard called his mom to tell her I was home. Something had changed between them and I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Talking away, he just seemed more relaxed, more forthcoming. I started to wonder what else I had missed. His relationships with everyone he knew seemed to have mutated in my absence.

While he chatted with his mom I called Julie. At first I was pissed that Richard had told her everything while I was unconscious, but then I realised it was because he loved me and
Julie
loved me too… she deserved to know. She offered the obligatory ramblings that I expected – ‘why didn’t you come to me?’ ‘I could’ve helped you.’

But the truth is
,
depression, fucked-up-ness, whatever you want to call it, is essentially a very selfish illness. When you are on a mission to self-destruct you become determined. It’s almost addictive – the urge to find some sense of release, of escape. It consumes you entirely – leaving no room to consider anyone else, and the only person that can help you is yourself.