The Bringer (28 page)

I know I need to start moving forward and I have been thinking about the future a lot lately. I can’t spend the rest of my life like this, I can’t keep hanging out for the past, hoping it’ll return. I need to start living for now.

“
You okay?” he asks. I look up from my magazine to find his eyes surveying me.

“
Yeah.” I close my magazine and chuck it onto the table. “Actually, I’ve been thinking.”

He looks at me with interest. “About?”

“
Well I’ve been thinking that maybe Dr Woods is right, you know, maybe it is time I start moving forward and I thought the best way to do that would be to – you know give myself an identity like he said – give myself a name.”

“
Aww, but I like 'Pommie'.” He flashes me a cheeky grin.

I give him a wry look.

“
I’m kidding!” He holds up a hand. “No, that’s really great,” he enthuses. “So, do you have one in mind?”

I nod but then instantly wish I hadn’t. I suddenly feel shy and embarrassed. What if he laughs? What if he thinks it’s a really rubbish name?

“
So what is it?” he asks, pulling a packet of mints from his jeans pocket. He opens them up, pops one in his mouth and offers them to me. I shake my head.

“
You know what, it doesn’t matter,” I backtrack. “I mean I’m not a hundred percent sure that I might go for it anyway, so . . .”

He gives me an inquisitive look. “Why won’t you tell me?”

I look away from him, fully aware of how stupid I’m being and how I’ve now managed to make it more of a deal than it actually ever was.

I begin fiddling with my hair. “You might laugh,” I say quietly, my eyes averted.

“
Why would I laugh?” He crunches his mint. “It’s not like it’s gonna be something horrendous, like Gertrude or –” He claps a hand over his mouth. “Shit, it’s not, is it?”

“
No!” I laugh.

He chuckles and puts his feet down into his shoes, then he leans forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, blue eyes fixed on me. “You’re gonna have to tell me now, ‘cause I’m really intrigued.”

I stare down at my long hair that I’ve started to plait. Why do I suddenly feel so shy around him?

He points the remote at the TV, switches it off, gets up from his seat and sits down on the bed beside me. I glance up at him and meet his eyes. My heart does this weird fluttery thing and my mouth suddenly dries.

This is getting really weird. What is going on with me?

“
Would it help if I told you my name?” he says, pushing his hand through his dark hair.

“
I know your name –”

“
No,” he butts in. “Fen’s not my actual name.”

I stop plaiting. Now I’m intrigued. “Okay,” I say, raising an eyebrow.

He rubs his hand over his mouth. “Promise not to laugh?”

“
I promise.” I begin untangling my hair.

He eyes me suspiciously. I maintain steady contact, widening my eyes. “I promise,” I emphasise, jokily holding my hands up.

He’s quiet for a moment. “Osvaldo,” he finally says, face deadpan.

I laugh.

“
Hey!” He pokes me in the arm jovially. “You said you wouldn’t laugh.”

“
Sorry,” I say, trying to keep a straight face – unsuccessfully, might I add. “Wow, erm, Osvaldo, its erm . . .”

“
Portuguese,” he says dryly. “My mum’s Portuguese. It was my grandfather’s name.”

Okay, so now I feel mean for laughing. “Where does Fen come from?” I ask, feeling tense, worried I’ve offended him. I tuck my hair behind my ears.

“
My surname's Fenn, and it’s what all my mates have called me since school – and anything’s gotta be better than Osvaldo,” he adds grinning, eyes twinkling at me, and I instantly relax.

“
I didn’t realise you were from Portugal,” I say, but now I look at him I can see it.

“
I’m not. I was born here, my dad’s Australian but my mum’s originally from Portugal.”

“
Ah, right. So can you speak Portuguese?”

“
Fluent.” He nods.

I lean forward, excitedly. “Ooh, say something to me in Portuguese.”

“
No,” he says coyly.

“
Go on,” I urge.

He sighs, defeated. “Alright, but on one condition – you have to tell me the name you’ve picked for yourself?”

I purse my lips. “Okay. Deal. But you go first.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. He fixes his insanely blue eyes on mine and says in a lightly accented voice, “Estou tão feliz que você veio em minha vida linda menina.”

A shiver runs through me and my heart does this little flip-flop. “What does that mean?” I ask, my voice suddenly sounding hoarse.

“
Nothing of importance,” he brushes me off. “So, go on then, it’s your turn and I promise not to laugh – unlike some people – scout's honour.” He does a two finger salute.

And something flashes through my mind, like, I don’t know – recognition – a memory – maybe. I close my eyes and try to grab hold of it – but no, it’s gone. Dammit!

“
You okay?” I hear the sound of Fen concerned voice.

I open my eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine.” I rub my head. “I don’t know, just when you did that – that salute, it seemed really familiar.”

“
What, like a memory?” he asks, looking hopeful.

“
I don’t know.” I shake my head, frustrated. “Maybe. Maybe I’ve had this conversation before or I’ve seen someone do that, or – oh I don’t know – argh!” I rap my knuckles furiously on my head.

“
Hey,” he says soothingly, “don’t try and force it. It’ll come if it’s meant too.” He rubs my arm and I suddenly feel really irritated.

“
It’s easy for you to say!” I snap, instantly regretting my outburst when I see the look of sadness on his face.

What is going on with me today? Now I’m picking a fight with the only friend I have.

“
I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

“
It’s okay,” he replies kindly.

I flop back against my pillows. My head feels like it’s going to explode with frustration. I close my eyes.

“
You should probably tell Dr Woods what happened,” he says tentatively, in a soft voice.

“
I will.” I sigh. “Not that there’s really anything to tell him but I’ll mention it tomorrow.”

We lapse into silence. I feel Fen shuffle on the bed and open up my eyes to see that he’s turned away from me and is staring out the window.

I sit up and cross my legs in front of me. “So you were a boy scout, then?” I ask, wanting to go back to how we were before I ruined it.

He glances sideways at me, looking puzzled, but then his face suddenly clicks into understanding. “Only the Joey’s. Didn’t make it further than that. Discovered a surfboard, you see.”

“
Ah.” I nod. “Shame, I bet you looked real cute in your little uniform.” I laugh and tug on his sleeve.

“
I look better in my board shorts,” he grins cheekily and catches hold of my retreating arm.

My eyes are instinctively pulled to his and something passes between us. The air thickens. Everything seems heightened. I feel a pull to him I’ve never felt before and I’m lost for words. All I can do now is breathe. The smile drops from his face and we hold eye contact for several seconds before I finally break it. He releases his hold on my arm but I can still feel his touch there.

He clears his throat. “So, anyway, enough of you trying to distract me from the original convo.” He turns his body around to face me, bending his left leg up onto the bed to rest it lightly against mine. “Tell me what this elusive name is?”

But now I’m finding it really hard to concentrate because all I’m aware of his that his leg is touching mine, and how he’s so close I can smell his aftershave entwined with the scent of the beach. He smells safe and I finally realise exactly just what it is that’s going on with me.

I meet his steady gaze and butterflies take flight in my stomach. I take a deep breath and concentrate on my words. “I was thinking, maybe . . . Lucy?” I bite down on my lower lip, waiting for his approval.

He tilts his head to the side and regards me for moment. My face instantly heats under his gaze. “I like it.” He nods. “Lucy. Yeah, it suits you.”

“
You think so?” I say, feeling secretly pleased.

“
Yup, I think it’s perfect.” He smiles and I realise that I’m actually struggling to breathe steadily.

I wonder if he can tell? Surely he can. I look down at my hands.

There is a silence for a moment between us. He’s the first to break it. “I think you’re doing great, you know.” I look up at his words. His face is candid, sincere. “Better than I ever would. Picking a name is a real step in the right direction.”

I blow out a breath, suddenly feeling aggrieved and very frustrated with myself. Hell, if picking a name is a step in the right direction, then that makes me just about the most tragic person in the world.

“
You know what I think?” I say, rattled. “I think I’m tragic, Fen. I mean, look at me,” I sweep my hands down myself, “I have absolutely no clue who I am and I don’t know if I ever will. I live in a hospital because I don’t know where my home is. I’m like some old lady that’s lost her way –” My eyes are hot with tears. What the hell is wrong with me? And it’s like now I’ve started I can’t seem to stop, and on I ramble, “ – and I can’t stay here forever and I don’t know where I’m gonna go, what I’m gonna do, and the thought scares the hell out of me, and the best I’m getting is what might not even be a teeny tiny glimpse of a memory. Great! Actually, no, its crap and I’m a freak! And I’m all alone in this! I have no one! Absolutely no one!” I pause, breathing heavily. My face instantly flames with embarrassment at my outburst. I daren’t look at him. “I’m so sorry,” I utter, pressing my fingers under my eyes to catch the falling tears.

“
You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. And you’re most definitely not a freak.” I glance up at him through my lashes. His face is turned away from me and he’s staring out the window. I can’t make out his expression. “And you’re wrong, you know,” he says after a moment, his voice deep, “you haven’t got no one,” he turns his head back to look at me and I’m taken aback by the intensity of his gaze, “you’ve got me.”

And I suddenly feel very nervous. He lifts his hand and tucks my hair behind my ear. My heart starts beating like a jackhammer. I’m sure he must be able to hear it. He runs his fingertips down my jaw, his eyes never leaving mine, then he takes my face in his hands, leans forward and kisses me.

And it’s good. Really good.

He kisses me gently, his tongue touching mine ever so slightly. He tastes of mint. He runs his fingers into my hair and I start to lose myself in him. In the kiss. My body floods with feelings for him I hadn’t even realised I had until now. I want this so much . . .

Then, without warning, I’m hit with a sharp stab of guilt, right smack bang in my chest. It literally knocks the wind out of me.

I pull away and push him from me, so hard he nearly falls off the bed.

Fen looks as surprised as I feel. I don’t even know why I just did that. All I do know is that my face is prickling with guilt and I feel like I’ve just betrayed someone by kissing him, by feeling this way about him.

“
I’m sorry,” I say, breathless, my heart pounding, “I just –”I shake my head at a loss for words.

“
Don’t be sorry, it’s me who should be sorry,” he says, voice quickly switching to detached, eyes avoiding mine. “I shouldn’t have done that. It’s far too soon for you – for anything like that. I’m sorry.” He stands up abruptly and walks over to the window, resting his arm up against the frame.

I stare at his back, feeling at a loss. What is wrong with me? I have this wonderful guy here who likes me and I like him, really like him, yet I push him away the minute he gets close. Maybe I’m right, maybe I am a freak

“
I’m sorry, Fen,” I say in a quiet voice. “I don’t know what happened. I really wanted you to kiss me but . . . I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” I shake my head, despairingly.

He turns and rests his back up against the window, crossing his arms over his chest. He looks at me and his tense features soften. “Nothing’s wrong with you,” he says gently, “you’ve been through a lot. It’s understandable.” He unfolds his arms and pushes his hands into his jeans pockets. “I should go, though.” He jerks his head in the direction of the door. “If I’m late for dinner, my mum’ll kill me.” He smiles but I can tell it’s forced.

I feel a shot of dismay. I don’t want him to leave, not like this, but it’s not like I can ask him to stay after what I’ve just done, and I bet he can’t wait to get away from me anyway, and I don’t blame him.

“
Yeah, of course,” I say, trying to sound light, twisting my hands in my lap. “And thanks – for being so understanding.” I force a weak smile.