“It’s not enough,” she shook her head, eyes suddenly brimming with tears. “It’s not nearly enough, Jack.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, turning away and stumbling down the front steps towards his car.
He could barely see straight, the road swimming in front of him crazily. He didn’t even remember the drive back to his father’s house, just the desperate need to escape.
CHAPTER 3
“The brave man is not the one who has no fears; he is the one who triumphs over his fears.”
- Nelson Mandela
Pain filtered through Ally’s dream, nudging her awake. The intensity steadily increased, fiery tendrils licking up and down her spine. Holding her breath involuntarily, she lay on her side, blinking in the dim light of early morning. The pain held her physically captive as she mentally struggled to fight off the last vestiges of the nightmare she had been in the middle of when she had been so rudely awakened.
Sometimes she woke with the uncertainty of not knowing if she was awake or still dreaming, the phantom sensations shooting up her legs confusing the two. It took a few moments for reality to crash headlong into her, the sensations giving way to the familiar numbness as disappointment settled in the pit of her stomach like ice. Most nights she was lucky to get five or six hours sleep, often waking with a dull ache where the steel rods were surgically fused to her spine. Occasionally she woke like she did this morning – in agony. She had gotten used to the lack of sleep, but the pain seemed to take her by surprise every time.
This morning was a double whammy. Pain had woken her out of the recurring nightmare she referred to as “the running dream”. It had felt so real – she could actually feel her feet hitting the ground as she ran, her body jarring with the impact. She swore she felt the soles of her feet tingling. Not phantom pain, not some kind of muscle memory, but actual sensation. Adding to the torture, there was usually some twisted reference to the accident. Both of those elements combined to create a disturbingly effective, set-your-teeth-on-edge nightmare.
She steeled herself against the pain squeezing her spine. She had lain awake half the night thinking about Tom and the other half thinking about Jack. She relived moment after moment as they played through her head like a movie, years of familiarity reduced down to snippets and echoes, some clearer than others. Tom was gone. Jack was here. Everything was twisted around again.
She had cowered in her living room yesterday, while Maggie had talked to Jack on her doorstep. She had hidden from him as if she was afraid of him – what was she so scared of?
It was so strange, hearing his voice after so long. He sounded different. Frightened. Unsure of himself. She tried to feel empathy for him but her own fear was too strong. It had taken a long time to convince herself that she didn’t need to see him or talk to him to put all of this behind her. It had allowed her a kind of closure. A truce was borne out of the passage of time coupled with the need to move on.
But now he was back, and he brought the truth with him. She found herself questioning whether the courage, independence and sheer willpower that she had built up over the past few years would be enough. Suddenly it all seemed like smoke and mirrors.
It was so easy to let go – to reject reality and all its limitations and just lose yourself. Occasionally, in moments of weakness, when she was worn out and disheartened, she allowed herself to daydream. Jack had never left, the accident had never happened, and she was still whole – in mind and in body. Because she didn’t feel whole anymore, and deep down she knew it wasn’t just because of the accident. It was because Jack had left and taken a piece of her with him. His rejection cut deep and it didn’t seem to matter how determined she was to ignore it or what she tried to fill it with, that hole had never gotten smaller. In her darkest hours, she was afraid that, despite her best efforts, everyone else could see it too; ugly, ragged, raw and bleeding.
Taking a careful breath, the hot knives digging further into her spine, she mentally prepared herself to move. Counting silently to three, she reached over for the medication and bottled water on her bedside table. Her body automatically tensed against the movement, bringing a new wave of pain down on her. She rode it out, counting the seconds until it eased. Then she opened the small bottle and tipped a pill out onto the covers. She picked it up and slipped it onto her tongue, taking a clumsy sip of water to wash it down. Capping the bottle, she let it fall onto the bed beside her. Then she closed her eyes and waited for the pain to subside.
He can’t see me like this.
Helpless, immobile, slightly nauseous from the pain – this was not the face she wanted to show the world. This wasn’t her. There was a separation, a difference there that she was determined to show anyone who cared to look deep enough.