Absolution (25 page)

The anger she had wanted to unleash on Callum earlier had faded. In its wake was a morbid acceptance. All Jack had done was ask a question – that’s all – and she was unable to answer it without lashing out. None of that was Callum’s fault. It was hers. The weakness was hers.

Frustration and embarrassment mingled with the overriding fear that he might not be able to handle it – handle
her
. How could she be honest with him when she didn’t trust his reaction? And why should he be honest with her in return? Honesty was a two way street and she was throwing up road-blocks and detours. Her heart felt physically heavy, as if it might fall out of her body altogether and smash into a million pieces on the floor right in front of her.

The phone rang again. Irritated, she turned slowly and wheeled over to the studio door, pushing it shut. Silence engulfed her and she turned, rolling toward her iPod on the workbench. She scrolled through until she found what she was looking for – Pearl Jam’s
Ten
– and slotted it into the dock, turning the volume up to the max. Something had to drown out the voices in her head. The opening bars of
Once
filled the space around her and she closed her eyes, trying to give herself over to the music. She rocked backwards and forwards slightly in her chair as the music took her away from her thoughts, then turned around in circles as the first verse slammed into her senses.

Rocking harder, she turned in the other direction and pushed herself backwards, hanging on to the fantasy of being somewhere – anywhere – but here. She crashed into something. Her eyes flew open as she turned again and saw the unfinished canvas land face up on the ground. She stared at it for a moment. Frowning, she rolled forward for a closer inspection. Anger building out of nowhere, she tilted her chair backwards and slammed her front castors down on top of it. The music masked the sound, but she stared down at the ripped canvas with a sense of satisfaction.

Tilting her chair to remove the castors from inside the frame, she spun in a half-circle and clumsily knocked the easel to the ground. She watched it fall with a muffled sense of detachment. Curiously, she rolled over to the workbench and swiped her arm across its surface, sending tubes of paint, brushes, bottles and supplies flying to the ground. Again, no sound except the chorus of the song blaring through the room.

Jack stared at the phone he had slammed down on the mantelpiece earlier. He itched to pick it up and hit the redial button. Ally didn’t want to talk to him. He should understand that. He had given himself a million reasons over the past several hours that would explain it, so why couldn’t he just let it go? He spun on his heel and paced back across the room.

She deserved to know everything that had happened, from the night of the accident to now – God knew, she had every right to ask. He owed her that, and so much more. He stopped, sinking down into the couch. Where to begin, was the question. She didn’t trust him, he didn’t trust himself. Where did that leave them?

“You want to know where I’ve been?” he mumbled into the empty room. “Well, here it is: I’ve been everywhere but here. I’ve been hiding because I hate myself for what I’ve done to you and I can’t fix it or forget it.”

Pent-up frustration escaped in a huff of breath that left him feeling light-headed. He looked up, his gaze settling on the framed photographs on the mantelpiece. Dragging a hand down his face, he hauled himself to his feet and walked over to stand in front of them.

Looking over the photographs as he had several times in the past couple of weeks, he had never felt more alone.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts and he practically ran to the door, hoping it was Ally. Instead, Maggie stood on the doorstep.

“Hi.”

He couldn’t help but feel disappointed. “Hey.”

“I need a favour. Your Dad has a key to Ally’s place. Can I have it please?”

She had a frown line between her eyes, just above her nose. That couldn’t be good.

“What’s going on?”

“I just need it.”

Okay. Not budging.

Maggie followed him down the hall to the kitchen, to the keys that hung on a series of hooks next to the doorway.

“So, are you gonna tell me what the deal is here, or am I expected to guess?” he asked, over his shoulder.

No answer.

He sorted through the key rings until he found one with Ally’s name on it. He had no intention of releasing it to her just yet, though.

She reached out to take it from him.

“Not until you enlighten me.”

“I don’t have time for this,” she snapped.

“Then I suggest you start talking.”

The tension mounted as she appeared to think it over. “She’s having a meltdown.”

He frowned, shaking his head.

“A bad day, or whatever. Y’know, not answering her phone, or the door. I’ve just come from her place, she’s got music blaring so loud I’m surprised the neighbours haven’t complained.”

Ally’s penchant for drowning out the world with loud music when she was upset came flooding back. The wound inside began to fester, breaking open. Was this because of what happened between them last night? He slid the key into the pocket of his jeans.

“We had a fight last night.”

“I know, Callum told me.”

“So maybe she just needs some time out?” 

“What the hell would you know? Give me the key,” she snapped, holding out her hand.

“What’s the big deal, what am I missing?”

“Y’know what? Keep the key. We don’t need it.”

She turned on her heel and marched back down the hall.

“Hey!” He jogged after her, grabbing her by the arm. “I don’t know what the hell’s going on here, but I’m coming with you.”

She glared at him. “If you –“

He felt as if his lungs were sitting in his throat. “If I what?”

She shook him off and they eyeballed each other for a moment, before Maggie turned her back on him, making for the front door. “Just stay the hell out of it. We’ll sort it out. You’ve done enough.”

He stared after her, fear rapidly obliterating the confusion from moments ago. What the hell was going on? What had her so frightened?

“I’m coming whether you like it or not,” he said, with more courage than he felt.

Three Years Earlier

Callum paced Ally’s kitchen, wrestling with his instincts. It had been two weeks since the overdose. The only way he could get any sleep at night was to move in with her, to keep an eye on her. She hadn’t even argued about it. In fact, she hadn’t said much at all. She had withdrawn into herself, blocking everyone out, including him. Every attempt they had made to reach her, to get her to open up, had so far been met with silent resistance or total apathy.

He and Tom had met with Ally’s new therapist last week, shortly after her discharge from hospital. Doctor Saunders was in her early forties, a brunette with a kind smile and a quiet way about her that they hoped Ally would respond to.

But he was getting impatient. Tom reminded him that this wasn’t going to be a quick fix – it had taken her twelve months to reach this low, she wasn’t going to just bounce back within a few weeks.

Callum glanced at his watch irritably. Oversleeping was one of the danger signs they had been warned to look out for. She usually got up around six, six-thirty. It was now after eight. He picked up the cup of coffee he had prepared for her and walked along the hall to her bedroom.

“Hey, you awake?” he called through the closed door, straining to hear sounds of movement from within.

He opened the door and peered around the corner. Like the image of Jack bending over her still form on that chilly evening a year earlier, he didn’t think he would ever forget finding Ally lying unconscious in her bed in the dark two weeks ago. A chill crawled up his spine as he tried to banish the memory.

She lay on her side, facing away from him. He pulled the curtains back and mid-morning sunshine flooded the room.

“Pills,” she croaked, voice laced with pain.

His heart leapt into his throat and he covered the distance between the window and her bed in seconds, almost dropping the coffee cup on the bedside table. She stared up at him, sweat beading her brow.

“Shit! Why didn’t you call me? Just… hang in there, I’ll be right back!”

He ran out of the bedroom and across the hall to the living room, reaching up onto the top shelf of the bookcase on his tiptoes and grabbing the bottle of painkillers. Sprinting back to her room, he skidded to a halt next to her bed. He fell to his knees, fumbling over the lid of the bottle as he elbowed her wheelchair aside.

“One or two?”

“Two.”

He tipped two pills out into his palm and grabbed the small bottle of water on the bedside table next to her, opening it and discarding the lid. She groaned quietly, her face twisting into a grimace as she reached with trembling fingers to take the pills from him, slipping them on her tongue slowly and taking a sip of water, spilling some on the pillow.

She closed her eyes and he sank back on his heels, anxious for the pain medication to take effect. He smoothed her hair away from her clammy forehead.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know, I thought you’d just overslept.” He took her hand and she breathed out carefully. “Can I do anything? Do you need anything else?”

She opened her eyes and he could see the pain embedded within them. “Stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” He squirmed into a more comfortable position on the floor beside her bed. “Just hang in there. The meds will kick in soon.”

The minutes ticked by slowly. She lay perfectly still in the quiet room, eyes closed. The grandfather clock chimed in the hall.

Finally, the pain eased enough to allow her to sit up, and he helped her, carefully lifting her legs over the side of the bed.

“Sorry,” he winced as she took a sharp intake of breath. “Maybe you should just give it a few more minutes?”

“It’s better when I’m up,” she mumbled.

He sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed beside her as she held onto the mattress, breathing out through her teeth.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “We’re gonna have to rig up some kind of system so this doesn’t happen again.”

“Give me back my meds and it won’t.”

“I can’t do that, not yet.”

Her fingers dug into the mattress. “I’m not a child. I don’t need babysitting.”

Callum fought the nerves that seemed to cloak him, afraid of saying the wrong thing. “I know, and I’m sorry if it feels shitty right now, but it’s for the best. We’re just worried, that’s all.”

They sat beside each other in silence for several long moments. His heart boomed in his ears.

“I’m gonna take a shower. The warm water helps.”

He pulled her wheelchair closer to the bed. “Do you want me to help you transfer?”

“No, I can do it.”

She took hold of the chair and repositioned it, applying the brake. Slowly, she transferred her pain-wracked body into it and made her way to the bathroom.

Sighing, Callum ran a hand down his face. When were things going to get better? Just when she was starting to get things under control, this happens.

Where the hell is Jack? He should be here!