Thirty Days: Part One (2 page)

“It’s worth every penny,” they said in unison, gathering around me.

“I know it’s the first dress you’ve tried, but it’s ‘the dress’ and worth the price tag,” Sammy encouraged.

I bit at my lower lip. “It’s too much.”

They could see my hesitation. Sophie stopped me, turning me back towards the mirror. I saw my reflection again.

“Look at you, girl.”

I did.

“Buy the dress, Abi. You’ll regret it if you don’t. Sir Romeo said no price was too much when we talked about dresses last month.” Sammy’s palm rubbed my back. “Hand over your plastic,” she whispered.

I did.

The drive back was just as relaxing, only now the boot contained one expensive wedding dress. I dropped the girls at Sammy’s house and made my way home. He was already there.

“You’re back already, honey?” Surprise lifted my eyebrows halfway up my forehead.

“Yes, it was a quick nine rounds and a few beers.” The newspaper covered his face, his leg crossed over the other. He was comfortable in the leather couch with our tiny pug dog, Bella, curled up beside him. The paper lowered. His eyes narrowed until I could barely see the brown colouration. “You’re flushed, Abi.” It felt like a question.

“Am I?”

“Yes. What have you been up to?” His tone was calm.

“You know…buying a wedding dress.” I bit at my nail, a nervous habit I couldn’t get rid of.

“Oh. I see.”

The atmosphere was tense, but I didn’t see what was coming.

Walking back out to the car, I removed the opaque bag. On my return, the three stairs back to our apartment felt like ten. The wooden floors echoed with each footstep as my stilettos made contact. Finally, the carpet from the bedroom floor stopped the sound.

“Is it in there?” He was hovering behind me, and I almost jumped in fright. “You’re flushed again,” he murmured under his breath
.

“Am I?” I saw my reflection in the mirror, the one taking up space in the corner of our room. I was.

He shook his head, ran his hands through his chestnut hair, and then exhaled with force.

“What’s wrong? Do you want to see it?” My heart began to pound at a frantic tempo.

“No,” he replied quickly. Too quickly. “I…” He huffed. “Why…?” He couldn’t find the words.

“I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have bought a dress yet.” Tears welled up, blurring my vision as his head dropped.

“I can’t do this.” His voice was weak and apologetic.

“Do what?”

“I can’t marry you, Abi.”

My heart stopped beating. My lungs forgot to claim air. The world stopped spinning. The love of my life was no longer mine.

***

“Hey, sleepyhead, get up,” a stern but sweet voice greets my awakening state.

“My head,” I gripe. “Water, please. Water.”

“I’ve got you covered, but you don’t deserve it.”

Sammy’s voice. Shit. Where am I?

“I’m sure I don’t, but please give it to me.” The water cuts through my throat like razor blades.
Kill me.

“
I guess you aren’t coping then?” One strained eye opens. She looks concerned as her long torso hunches over me.

“What would give you that idea?” My throat is dry and raspy.
Did I smoke?

“Probably finding you on the grass out front, drunk
again
. You rambling about something that happened a while ago now—those reasons. Look, Abi, your dog dying and finding out your ex-fiancé is engaged again, in one day, is a lot to go through, it is…but it’s been a month, and you can’t keep dwelling on the past. No good is going to come from this. You need to get it together. Abigail, she was just a dog. It’s not the same as when your dad passed. Get another dog if it will make you feel better.” She gasps for air after her lengthy and uncompassionate spiel.

My mouth drops open. I’m staggered by this lack of empathy. “She wasn’t just a dog. She can’t just be replaced. Bella was my baby. I loved her. Why would you even bring up my dad? God, what the actual fuck?” Anger builds.

“Sweetie. Shit, I’m sorry. I’m tired.” Sammy stands upright, rubbing her fingers into each temple. “Abigail. Please. You need to let this hurt out in a way that doesn’t include a bottle of liquor. You’ll feel better, I promise.”

“It can’t happen. If I do, I’ll never stop.”

She sits down beside me. I’m in her bed—the tacky 1980s yellow curtains are a dead giveaway. “You’re safe here. I love you, Abi. I’m not going anywhere. You’ll always have me.” Playing with the loose strands of my hair, she sighs. My dirty blond locks slide with ease between her fingers. Softly, her voice begins to hum and then sing
Tears in Heaven
by Eric Clapton, the same song they played at my father’s funeral. Salty water slides over my lips. At first it’s a slow stream, but before long I’m sobbing, then crying and what I feared would happen, howling.

“It’s not fair,” I scream in pain.

She continues singing.

My heartbreak engulfs me.

Five Months Later

My life has been one train wreck after another. I used to be the poster child for positivity and belief in the greater good. You know what? Life sucks. It’s cruel and unfair. I’m hexed. I swear this occurred on the day I was born. So many things have happened in my life that would crush even the strongest. But I held brave. Now I don’t believe. Now I realise that each one was terrible. Now I know my life is cursed.
How naive I was.

Apparently, I was in a hurry to enter this world, but why I even bothered making an entrance baffles me. I’m not kidding. My mother tells my birth story to anybody who will stay long enough to hear it.

“Abigail torpedoed out from my crutch at such speed, her father and I thought she was some sort of action hero, desperate to save lives. Luckily for us, the nurse on call caught her before she hanged herself on her cord or went flying through the opposing wall.”

Yeah, my mother has a big personality. She is definitely what you’d call a character, and it’s her story that confirms my belief that I’m indeed hexed. Honestly, I’m convinced that nurse was a wicked witch wielding an evil wand, ready to mess up my life from the beginning.

"Hocus Pocus, you’re cursed, little baby. Enjoy the shit storm that is about to be your life. Let’s see if you will break.”

I’m at breaking point now.

Every day of every year got worse. If that’s even possible. So far, my life has consisted of twenty-four years of crap-a-moley.

Today is the first of November. It started as another crappy arse day, with these crappy arse people. Except Sammy. Sammy is probably the only decent person in my life. If it wasn’t for her, I would’ve probably drowned myself by now. Did I mention the Hex?

So after my grand arrival, I guess I started out just like everybody else. I wore nappies. I learnt to crawl and then walked. My first memory is of being really excited because Mum bought me a pretty pink dress and adorable pink sandals for the first day of preschool. An oversized bow was placed in my hair, which was plaited
perfectly
. Skipping close beside her the entire way to class, my stomach filled with what back then I’d explain as the feeling of bubbles popping. Unfortunately, that day was like all the rest that followed.
Horrible.
Justin Pershouse, a chubby, freckle-nosed redhead, took the scissors from the teacher’s table and cut my hair completely off just under the tie. In two seconds flat I went from having long princess hair to a chin length bob. School was ruined for me from that day forward. The funniest thing about this is I grew up to become a teacher. A job I’m currently on leave from, without pay.
Go figure.

I know you’re thinking, well, yes, that was unfortunate, but I hardly think this is the workings of voodoo magic. Well, you’re very wrong. You’re also thinking I’m a twenty-four-year-old spoilt brat who’s high as a kite. Trust me, I’m not high—I’m as sober as a judge. Really, that saying is probably not a great one to use, considering my uncle Rick got two years in prison from a judge who was clearly not sober and quite frankly, probably high. But that’s a story for another day.

In thirty days I will turn twenty-five. My life sucks. I have no direction, no prospects, no job, and no fiancé. I live in my mother’s house. It’s just the two of us in a house too big for two people. My dad died when I was seventeen. My parents never graced me with siblings. Something tells me my birth and the story that accompanies that day had something to do with their decision.

So here I am, my next birthday is around the corner, and I have another year of misfortunes, unhappiness, and this god-awful hex to look forward to. No wonder the clock reads 10:48 a.m. and I’m still in bed. What’s the point of getting up? It will find me here anyway.

Serenity

“What the hell is that noise? Mum, turn the noise off, I’m sleeping.” I pull the pillow over my head and press down hard in an attempt to dull the sound of what can only be described as short bursts from an air horn. It continues to blast about every thirty seconds, which causes my irritation to increase. “Shit, Mum! Whatever you’re doing, stop it. It’s so uncool.” I squint my eyes and roll my shoulders forward, awaiting the next blast. Nothing.
Thank God.

Relaxing, I’m relieved that whatever she was up to is over. Getting back into a comfy position proves hard at first, but soon I’m relaxed. My eye spots the clock for the second time. Well, that’s a surprise. It’s no longer morning, it’s afternoon. The bright red numbers show 12:02 p.m.

A soft yawn leaves my lips. “I should probably get up soon,” I stammer before deciding that idea is just plain stupid. Suddenly, the door swings open. It thuds into the wall, making another loud sound. I bolt upright in bed, throwing the pillow to the floor in a huff. In a possessed state I scream, “Mum, what the hell do you want? For the love of all things precious to you, leave me the hell alone. I told you, I’m not adulting today.
Go away
.”

“Are you always such a brat? My God, girl, get a grip and get your lazy arse out of bed,” she says in a voice that definitely doesn’t belong to my mother.

Turning my head towards the built-in cupboard, I see a neatly dressed Sammy, frowning with an air horn clasped in her hand.

“Fuck. What are you doing here? I thought you had to work today.”

“I did…I do…I am…some of us get out of bed with the sun, you know.” Her head tilts sideways as a disapproving pout forms.

“Hmmm…I see. Funny, I don’t think my room is your office. There are no breaking news stories to be found here. Anyway, I dislike the sun and the beginning of every day and the end. Oh…and also the middle. So I’m staying put. Go back to work.” I pull the covers over my face.

“How many times do I have to tell you that you’re not cursed?” she says, deadpan. “It’s a state of mind. And you, my friend, are choosing a negative approach. Where did our ‘find the good in every situation’ Abi go, hey?”

I leap up onto my knees and stretch my torso upwards. “Are you trying to downplay yesterday? Let’s see. The guy at the coffee place you dragged me to. Remember that?”

“I do.”

“Well?”

“Well what?” She grins. I can tell by the look in her eyes, her mind is having visuals of yet another crap day for me.