Nothing Matters (Family Matters Book 1) (23 page)

"What?" I barked, with annoyance.

"Magdala said to me once that one day I should hope to have a boyfriend who loves me as much as you love her."  I glared at her, but I knew that was unfair, and again I wondered when Magdala had ever offered Michelle these snippets of advice.  I kept up my act and stormed inside, not annoyed at Michelle anymore, but at myself, at the truth.  Because if I took a good, hard look at myself, if I asked myself in all honesty what fucking matters to me, my heart knew that nothing in my life would ever matter more than Magdala.

Chapter 10

MAGDALA

I wasn't sure if there was a limit to the amount of tears that a body can produce.  Mine seemed to be endless.  I didn't want to spend whole days and nights crying, but that's what I did in those first weeks.  Time heals, I heard, grief subsides, and I nodded and tried to stem the flow of tears, but my body wouldn't co-operate.  Nights were the worst, lying in the dark, Flynn and I holding one another, listening, expecting a sound from her crib, a cry, a wriggle, a sigh which never came.  Everyone tried to tell us to come home, to either my parents or Flynn's parents, but I wanted to be around Cassidy's things.  I wanted to touch her blankets, her soft toys, hold my face in her clothes.

Flynn returned to school, got stuck into his study, maybe as a way of dealing with his grief.  I never bothered, even when they sent me work to do at home, I never opened a book.  Flynn did some science for me, Raff some other assignments.  They thought I cared about my high school diploma, but I didn't, I didn't give a damn.

Everyone wanted to put my grief into stages, into convenient boxes, and explain that I would feel like this now, but with time, I would move on and feel differently.  It wasn't always going to be like this, they said. You're in shock, in denial, you're angry, that's perfectly normal.  Has your daughter died, I snapped.  Did you watch cancer steal your baby?  No?  Well then shut the fuck up, and don't tell me how I feel.  I didn't want comforting words like she's in heaven, she's in a better place, she's free from pain.  Did no one understand that being apart from her, the separation, the sheer loneliness and the unfathomable fact that I would never, ever hold her again caused the greatest ache in my heart, in my very being?. 

Cassian seemed to understand best.  Cassian knew how just to be.  He knew I didn't need words, consoling.  He would just sit with me, hold me, lie next to me, be with me, look at her photo album with me. 

My relationship with Flynn started to disintegrate.  With going back to school perhaps he was able to shift things along better than me.  Perhaps having the support of his school friends helped him.  He would come home discussing soccer and football games and college and tests, and I saw that as disloyal to our daughter.  How could he move on when she was dead?  How could he care about some stupid high school football game or going to soccer training or college applications?  My words became unkind, hurtful.  Vicious.

One late afternoon, after soccer training, he brought home a tub of cookie dough ice cream.  Admittedly it was one of my favorites.  I was doing nothing in particular, watching tv, online.

"A treat for you," he smiled, trying to put a smile on my face, bringing in two spoons with him to the sofa on which I was sprawled. 

"You think I want ice cream?" I said with indifference. 

"Cookie dough?"  He tried to tempt me, sat down next to me and held out a spoon.  I ignored it.  "You don't just want a tiny bit?"  He opened the lid and offered it to me. 

"I don't want your fucking ice cream," I snapped and meant to wave it away from my face, but I waved too vigorously and the tub was knocked from his hand and sailed across the floor.  I should have picked it up and apologized, but I didn't.  I started to rant.  "I'm not interested in your fucking ice cream.  I'm not interested in your fucking soccer.  I don't give a fuck about your school day."

He stared for a moment and then got up and picked up the ice cream.  He replaced the lid on it, and in an attempt at humor said, "You just had to say no thanks."  He went into the kitchen, presumably to put it in the freezer. 

I should have retreated to the bedroom, shut my mouth, but an anger was rising within me.  An anger that he could carry on with life, go forward. 

"You must have forgotten that our daughter died," I called snidely, goading him into feelings of guilt. 

He came back into the lounge.  "Why would you say that?" he asked, and from his tone I knew I'd hurt him.  "You think I didn't love her?  You think I didn't love her as much as you?  Is that it?"  His voice had changed.  His own anger surfacing now.

"Look at you," I said, "carrying on like everything is normal, carrying on like nothing has changed."  My arms waved around, gesturing meaninglessly, but I felt dramatic.  "Oh, hey we won our soccer game, hey let's go to your fucking mother's house for dinner, let's eat ice cream and celebrate our baby's one month death."  I was out of control, my voice shaky, but somehow I couldn't stop myself.  All day on my own, I suppose, staring at mindless tv programs, reading meaningless online quotes, googling how to get over the grief of losing your baby.  "Let's get on with life."  I threw my arms up for effect.  Flynn just stared, his eyes started to tear up.

"I miss her as much as you do," he said calmly, and I felt a surging in my chest, my heart rate rapid like I'd just climbed up a set of stairs.  "I miss her to fucking bits," he reiterated.  "Don't judge me just because I don't fucking sit around all day crying, it doesn't mean I didn't love her."  For a moment we just stared, and tears dribbled down his cheeks.  He carelessly wiped them away, with his stump. "You think it's all about you, Magdala.  But you're not the only one who's hurting."  And he walked briskly past me, to the bedroom, slamming the door on his way.

I should have followed him and apologized, because he was right.  He was one hundred percent right.  And follow him I did, but an irrationality took hold.  I stood just inside the door, he was taking off his training shirt, standing there in just a pair of shorts, and my barrage continued.

"You think I sit here all day crying because I want to?" I shouted, my voice shrill, shaky.  "You think I want to think about her twenty four seven?  You don't think I try to think of other things?"  More than just my voice was shaky now, my whole body felt out of control, trembling, tears falling.  "You don't know what the fuck I'm going through.  Oh no.  Because you're moving on.  In fact, why don't you just move on out?"  I have no idea where the thoughts were coming from, but it was like I couldn't stop.  "You know you were only with me because of Cassidy. Well, guess what?  She's gone."  Again my arms signaled wildly.  "She's gone, so you may as well go too.  Why be stuck here with someone as pathetic as me?  Someone who can't even get out of their pajamas every morning, who just lies around wallowing in grief?  That's me isn't it?"  I cast a scathing look in his direction.  "You don't have to stay now Flynn.  You can fucking well go.  There's nothing keeping you here now."  I finished with a flourish, my head shaking from side to side, my hands and fingers extended.

"Don't Magdala," he said, "don't be like this."  He walked around the bed, towards me.  I backed up, leaning against the door, wiped at my eyes.  He reached out and touched my shoulder, I purposely turned my head to the side, not brave enough to establish eye contact.  "I haven't stopped loving you," he said quietly, and he brought his other arm, his stump up to my other shoulder.  I shrugged it away forcefully, like I didn't want it touching me.  I'd never done that before, never, and his reaction was one of disbelief. 

And I immediately felt regret, and I started to whisper, "I'm sorry," but he had already turned.  He went into the bathroom and shut the door.  I heard the shower turn on.  My cries had turned into sobs and I went back out to the lounge, back to the sofa. He came out about fifteen minutes later.  His hair was wet and he was dressed in jeans and a hoodie.  He carried a backpack and he walked in front of me, picking up his school bag.

"I'm going to go home," he said, not looking at me.  I started to sit up, started to say something, but I was too slow.  He grabbed his keys and was gone.

That was the first night I'd spent alone in the apartment.  I waited for his phone call, his text.  But there was nothing.  I waited for Julie to ring me, but again nothing. I slept fitfully, tossing, turning, listening for Cassidy.  I got up early the next morning, still waiting, thinking he would come home for breakfast, or pop in before he went to school.  He didn't.  I heard nothing throughout the day, and I wondered if I should give in first.  But I thought Why should I?  It was he who had left me.  I drove to the cemetery, sat on the lawn by Cassidy's headstone, the all too familiar tears rolling down my face.  My phone vibrated in my pocket.  It was a text from Cassian:  how u doing?

Me:  not that good

Him:  u want me to come over later?

Me:  no I'm fine

Him:  r u sure?

Me:  yes, but thanks. Love u

Him:  love u 2

I waited for Flynn again, waited for a text, waited for him.  But again he didn't come home.  I felt sick, empty, but knew it was my own doing.  I'd hurt him by physically rejecting him, not to mention all the abuse I'd screamed at him.  Maybe it was better if he did leave me.  Maybe being free of me would be doing him a favor.  My history was abysmal.  I'd already loved and lost.  I was toxic.  For the first time in a long while I thought of Nathan, wondered what he was doing.  No doubt he was thriving without me.  I would have only dragged him down if we'd stayed together, scarred, broken, violated.  He could do way better than that version of me. 

Probably Flynn deserved more too.  Flynn, kind, generous and gentle, a loving and doting Dad.  He didn't deserve my comments about his love for Cassidy.  He loved her, of that I was sure.    And I knew he missed her as much as I did.  But I guessed I was jealous of him, his ability to cope with this tragedy whereas I hadn't found a way.  Here I was accusing him of not loving me, but did I love him, like truly love him?  Would driving him away really be a bad thing?  Without a commitment to me, without any attachment, he could just move on. 

I was awake the next morning, but still lying in bed when I heard the key in the lock.  My heart started pounding quickly, I jumped up and went out into the lounge.  Flynn was at the balcony, unlocking the door.  He looked at me. 

"I'm just getting my boots," he said, bending down to retrieve them, "for training tonight."  He put them into a plastic bag.  He looked back at me, his hand scratching his head, his eyes noticing me still in my pajamas.

"Oh," I said. 

"You okay?"  Said with casualness, no real meaning.

I nodded.

"I better get going," he said.

My heart surged, I longed to say something, but no words came.  He was at the door.

"Are you coming back?" I called, my voice light, desperate, as he was already half way out.

He shrugged.  "I'll let you know."   And the door slammed shut.

I had a double ache now.  And it was all my own fault.  Bad enough that I should pine for Cassidy, now there was Flynn too.  So easily it seemed he could discard me, forget about me too.  I ate some breakfast, and in an act of spontaneity put on my wetsuit and drove up the coast.  I needed some air, some water, some freedom.  I felt heavy, despondent, those old feelings returning, those ones that came after the rape, those ones I'd fought so hard to overcome.  I wondered how my life had come to this, after everything I'd been through, why on earth did I deserve this as well?  Hadn't I suffered enough?  Out on the waves, I didn't have to think.  I only had to paddle and look for the next wave.  There were no thoughts of Cassidy or Flynn, cancer or death.  Just the next wave.  I went home and smashed straight back into reality.

Cassian turns up after five, saying he's had a full day of lectures.  He asks me how my day has been and I tell him how I've screwed up with Flynn.  Cash doesn't usually show much anger, but he is now.

"He's just walked out?  And didn't say for how long?"  He sounds troubled by it.

"He's just gone home for a bit," I say, not really sure why I'm suddenly defending him.  Probably because I know it's my own fault.  Has Cassian misunderstood the fight, how I accused Flynn of not caring about Cassidy.  I try to clarify it, not wanting to make Flynn look like the bad guy, which in truth he isn't.

But Cash doesn't see it that way.  "You're the fucking mother of his child," he says, "you should be the most important person in his world.  You lost your baby, he can't treat you like this."  I try to diffuse his anger, it's strange to see him so worked up.  I tell him about my fabulous day surfing, and he calms down.  He tells me to come home for dinner, but I say I'll just cook myself something, there's plenty of food in the fridge.  So he takes off, and I sit and wonder if Flynn will come home for the weekend.

FLYNN

The look in her eyes, the disdain as she pushed my arm off her, made me cringe in unworthiness, as if I were a leper, a tainted freak, like I disgusted her.  The shower offered some solace, but I couldn't stay in there for too long, and I made my mind up, that it was a mistake to still be here. Words were being exchanged that we would never normally have spoken, but the whole ridiculous situation, the pain, the grief, was bringing out the worst in us, in both of us.  I hated speaking to her the way I did, but it was like I had to stand up for myself, she had to know that even though I carried on with life, I still felt Cassidy's loss as much as she did.  She might choose to deal with her grief by staying a hermit, but I needed to carry on with life, I needed friends around me, familiar faces.  And the whole act of normalcy helped me cope.

When I arrived home that first evening, with my overnight bag of clothes, Mom and Dad had been worried. 

"You've just left Magdala alone?" they asked.  "I don't know if that's a good idea."  They of course knew she hadn't returned to school, knew she spent her days lying around the apartment, still trying to adjust to life without Cassidy.