Crossing the Line (13 page)

25

A
my throws opens the blinds and sunlight streams in. It’s a whole new day. Kids ride past on bikes. Their laughter floats up to me and I feel such a pang of sadness for things lost.

‘Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.’ Amy plops herself on the bed. ‘Feel like some brekkie? Matt’s cooking.’

The cuts from yesterday sting, but worse is the guilt I feel, the humiliation.

‘What time is it?’

‘Ten. How you doing?’

‘I feel hung over. Got a huge headache.’

‘Yeah, the doctor said that might happen.’

‘What doctor?’

‘You don’t remember?’

‘No.’

‘You really scared me, Soph. I had to call a GP. He gave you a needle to calm you down. He said the cuts weren’t too deep so I just put some cream on them.’

The air reeks with the smell of ointment. It’s stained the sheets around my chest a dirty yellow colour that almost matches my nightdress, tinged with blood from the slashing.

‘Amy, I’m sorry.’

‘No dramas. Just as well Matt was here, though.’

‘Matt? He saw?’

‘Of course he did. He helped me get you out of the shower.’

‘Oh, shit.’

‘Hey, Soph, you had blood everywhere and I was freaked. As far as I knew, you were bleeding to death. I had to get Matt to help.’

‘I never want to see him again,’ I mutter. ‘Never.’

‘Matt doesn’t think any less of you, you goose. He’s not like that. Haven’t you worked him out yet?’

The knowledge that Matt and Amy care for me brings on a fresh stream of tears. I wasn’t really sure before but now I am.

‘I’m here. It’s okay.’ Amy strokes my hair, on and on.

‘I just want to hide,’ I say. ‘For the rest of my life.’

‘Pity about that.’ Amy pulls the blankets on the floor, then the sheet. ‘You’re getting up and having something to eat. No arguments.’

I struggle out of bed, cursing her under my breath.

‘Hey, Matt,’ Amy calls into the kitchen. ‘Sophie’s awake. And she’s starving!’

I shudder.

After I’ve showered – quickly, painfully – I dress and go out to face the world, or at least my small corner of it. It’s pure hell walking into the kitchen, seeing Matt after the way he’s seen me. He relieves my agony with a smile. I’m sure it’s given out of pity, but then I feel the rough bristles of his unshaved face brush against me as he unexpectedly pecks me on the cheek. And then he hugs me. It’s only for a few seconds but it feels incredibly good.

Amy and I sit at the table and Matt carries in our plates.

‘I’m so sorry about . . .’ That’s as far as I get.

‘Ancient history,’ he breaks in. ‘I’m giving you two eggs. That okay?’

I feel better with each bite. There are no lectures or questions. They both saw me with my body slashed by my own hands, and they still accept me. But then I notice Amy giving Matt a look, prompting him to say something.

‘Sophie.’

Hesitantly he places a hand on top of mine. I sense trouble.

‘What is it? Did I do something bad that I’ve forgotten? I didn’t hurt anyone, did I?’

Amy answers. ‘No, no. It’s nothing like that. We looked in your address book when you were out of it, that’s all.’

‘To get the number of your doctor,’ Matt adds.

They rang Helen?

‘We thought we should ring him.’

‘Him?
You mean Noel?’

‘Yeah. It seemed the right thing to do, since he’s been treating you. You don’t mind, do you?’

‘He doesn’t matter,’ I say, incredibly relieved.

‘Bloody doctors.’ Amy shakes her head. ‘He wanted to put you back in hospital, but Matt talked him out of it.’

Matt grins. ‘I told him to butt out.’

‘You didn’t say that, did you?’

‘Well, not exactly those words but I got the message across. I couldn’t let you go, Soph. You’re the only one around here who likes my cooking.’

But then Amy gets to the sharp end of the story.

‘This Noel guy, he insisted on seeing you today.’

‘Sorry,’ Matt adds, ‘couldn’t talk him out of it. I’ll drive you there.’

‘No thanks. I’m okay to go by myself. I’m a big girl.’

‘You should really let him take you,’ Amy says. ‘You can’t be a hundred per cent after what you’ve just been through.’

Anger flares inside me. I hate it when other people try to take control of my life. They always do it to ‘help’ me as if I’m incapable of making my own decisions. And now Matt and Amy have joined the club, ringing Noel, making an appointment for me, talking about me behind my back.

Now it’s Matt’s turn again.

‘I won’t come into his office with you. I’ll just drive – that’s it. Will you let me do that much for you, Sophie?’

‘No. I won’t. I’m going to bed.’ I push back my chair and stand. ‘I’m sick of talking. I don’t want to talk to anyone – especially not Noel.’

Amy blocks my path, hands on her hips. ‘You owe us, Sophie.’

‘What are you talking about? I don’t owe you anything. Get out of my way.’

‘Yes, you do owe us. We took turns staying with you every minute while you were off your head. Now you can pay us back by getting better. Go with Matt. See the bloody doctor.’

‘Fine! I will! But I’m going on my own. I don’t need Matt to hold my hand. I’m not a child!’

‘Then stop acting like one.’ Amy says it quietly but it hits me hard. She aims a final glare in my direction before marching from the room.

Matt bites into a slice of toast, making sure not to look at me.

‘You’re probably as fed up with me as she is,’ I say. ‘You’d have to be.’

‘No, I’m not.’

‘Come on, Matt. Amy was honest, why don’t you try it? Tell me how you really feel about what I did. Go on, don’t let it fester. Just get it over with and tell me.’

‘That’s easy, Sophie. Repulsed. Sickened. Revolted. When I saw you in that shower I experienced all of those things.’

A wave of nausea washes over me.

‘But I didn’t feel that way because of how you looked.’ Matt comes over and touches my face. ‘It was because I knew how sad you must have been to do that to yourself. No one should be that sad.’

I can write poems for Helen; build them out of air and empty dreams. But the right words to say to Matt scurry away when I search for them. All I can do is lean my head against his chest and let him hold me.

Noel’s voice drones on, filling his office.

‘You’ve been cutting yourself for a long time, haven’t you?’

I’m sitting in my usual chair, eyes closed. Matt is waiting in the car for me. He and Amy, they are true friends . . . but I can’t compare them with Helen. I know it’s not the right thing to do, but I still love her.

‘Self harm is not unusual, Sophie.’

I look up at him.

‘People in emotional pain often cut themselves. Some say that the physical pain relieves their intense, sometimes overwhelming, feelings.’

My tears flow again and he pauses as I pull a tissue from the box.

‘It’s only natural that you’d feel distressed at Doctor Marshall turning you away.’

That stuns me. I’ve been so careful not to let Noel into my life, and now he knows everything.

‘I got a call from her. She told me what happened.’

‘She said she’d call the police.’

‘You must be feeling very angry with her.’ Noel’s voice is so soft I strain to hear what he’s saying.

‘No, no. I’m not angry.’

‘Would you like to tell me how you are feeling?’

I stare at the floor, shutting him out, but eventually his words intrude.

‘Do you know why she would want to call the police?’

‘There was no reason in the world for her to say that. She knows me better than anyone. I would never hurt her. Never!’ I jump out of my chair and stride to the door. Noel walks over casually to see me out, as unruffled as ever.

‘Are you quite sure you want to leave? I don’t mind at all if you don’t feel like talking. We can just sit here. It’s your time.’

‘No! Not today. I have to go. Please let me go.’

‘You’ll be all right? You won’t harm yourself?’

I shake my head. ‘Matt’s waiting for me in the car.’

‘Good. That’s good. I spoke to him on the phone. He seems like a very nice young man.’

He doesn’t get as much as a sideways glance from me as I brush past him.

Matt opens the car door and his smile – so full of hope – breaks me in two. In tears, I say, ‘I’m sorry, Matt. I’m so sorry.’

Days pass. I live on my own island, all but cut off from Matt and Amy. We talk briefly and sometimes eat meals together but my heart is always with Helen. Swirling above all else is the memory of her sending me away. I see the anger and coldness in her eyes, hear it in her voice. The image won’t go away. I feel so wounded, yet the thought of forgetting her is too painful to consider. Instead, I spend every moment thinking of how I can turn it around. How can I stop Helen from being angry with me? How can I find my way back into her arms?

Matt is Mr Patient. He understands that I need space and he gives it to me: perhaps he needs space from me, too. Greta comes to visit but I tell her I’m sick and send her away. I send everyone away, including Amy. She jumps at the chance when Mick, the new boyfriend with the Harley – suggests a holiday with him.

‘You don’t mind, do you, Sophie? I’ll be back in two weeks.’

‘Of course I don’t mind,’ I say, blank-faced. ‘Have a great time.’

It’s just me and Matt then. He hasn’t given up on me. One night he suggests we go to the movies and I haven’t got the heart to turn him down. This is a movie hand-picked to make me feel happy; lots of laughs, dancing and singing. I really do try to enjoy it but everything is too loud and shrill. I close my eyes and block my ears. We’re out of there after twenty minutes. Matt doesn’t say anything on the way home; he just holds my hand.

In the morning I resolve to keep busy. Helen told me that once. I remember everything she ever said.

If you’re feeling depressed, you have to fight it. Get on your feet. Work up a sweat. Physical activity alters brain chemistry and can promote feelings of wellbeing.

I vacuum the carpets and clean the floors –
Helen, Helen
– I sit at the kitchen table with a pile of school-work in front of me, determined to make a dent in it –
Helen, Helen
.

There is nothing I can do to keep her away. So I go to her again. This time in words.

Dearest Helen
,

I came to you in peace. As a friend. I can’t understand why you said you would call the police. I can’t get you out of my mind. It’s impossible to forget you. Please don’t be angry with me. And please please please let me come and see you again. This time in your office. Would you please make an appointment for me? I desperately need to see you, to talk to you, even if it’s only to learn how to live without you. Sophie x

As I write that last line, tears run down my cheeks and plop onto the page. I walk to the corner letterbox and post it.

‘She’ll write back,’ I tell myself. ‘I know she will.’

I spend the next few days anxiously waiting to hear from Helen. Every time the phone rings I dive for it. She doesn’t call. I wait by the letterbox for the daily delivery. Nothing. The new term has resumed: I’m supposed to have returned to school. I contemplate not ever going back; I can’t face anyone there. In my sessions with Noel I weep continually, telling him how sad I am at not hearing from Helen.

‘Sophie,’ he says in his ever-neutral tone, ‘you may have to accept that Doctor Marshall doesn’t want to be in touch with you.’

‘No! I don’t believe that. You’re wrong!’

Again Noel opens the door for me to escape back into the real world, except for me there is no escape.

I spend hours writing about Helen in my journal, and then a poem begins to form . . .

Inside me you crouch

Like a bruised shadow

Forever haunting;

You whisper my name at night
,

Through the endless hours
,

Daily I feel your rhythms
,

Smell your skin
,

The imprint of your body.

Every moment

I attempt to tiptoe

Away from you
,

Yet here you are
,

Galloping across my mind

With footsteps

Heavy as my aching need of you.

26

T
he postman arrives on the fifth day. No word from Helen. I can’t stand it any longer. I simply have to see her.

Today she will be at her city practice. She talked about it once. I feel more confident about seeing her there. She works with three other psychiatrists so she won’t be as busy as she is at the hospital. She’ll have time to talk to me. We’ll sit in her office and I’ll give her my new poem. This is my final chance. I know I’m risking everything, but I tell myself that when she reads it, she’ll know how desperate my need is to be with her. Once she really understands, she won’t turn me away.

Matt is ironing his clothes when I announce I’m going out.

‘Where are you off to?’

Lately he’s become so protective, it’s like he’s my guardian – my unwanted bodyguard.

‘Nowhere.’

He switches off the iron. ‘You shouldn’t be on your own when you’re like this.’

‘Like what?’

‘You know what I’m talking about, Soph. Let me come with you.’

‘No!’

‘Sophie!’

‘Get out of my way!’

He grabs me by the wrists.

‘Let’s just bloody talk about this! You’re acting stupid!’

‘You bastard!’

I kick him in the shin, as hard as I can.

‘Christ!’

The second he drops his hands I storm out of the house, slamming the door behind me. It opens again and Matt is yelling. ‘Come back here! Now!’

‘Go away!’ I shout. He slows to pull on a coat but keeps coming. I run down the street and, turning back, I see him running, too. Breathless, I reach the train station. I’m scrabbling through my pocket for coins to buy a ticket when Matt touches my arm. ‘Soph. I’m tired of chasing you. Come back home.’

I pretend he’s not there and walk away from him. He doesn’t try to talk to me but when I catch the next train, he gets on it, too. Seething, I watch as he moves from seat to seat, until he’s sitting across the aisle from me.

‘For the last time, Matt, stop following me!’ Other passengers turn and stare. He fiddles with his shirt sleeve.

‘Didn’t you hear me? I said, LEAVE ME ALONE!’

‘Sophie, I’m your friend . . .’

‘I’ll jump off the train. Is that what you want? I’ll jump off the train!’

‘Okay, I’ll go. Calm down. I’ll go.’ He moves away into the adjoining carriage. And I stare down every prying eye that glances at me.

At Helen’s station I’m the first out of the train, the only passenger who runs up the steps. Through the ticket barrier, I’m out onto the street – and there’s no sign of Matt.

Helen’s waiting room.

‘I need to see Helen,’ I tell the secretary. ‘Doctor Marshall.’

‘Do you have an appointment?’

I shake my head. ‘It’s urgent.’

‘She won’t be able to see you.’ The bitch doesn’t even consider it.

‘Thanks a lot!’ I snap at her. ‘You could at least have tried to help!’

‘Sophie.’ Suddenly Helen’s at my elbow.

I smile at her. Hopefully. Pleadingly.

‘I need to see you. Did you get my letter? Helen, I miss you so much.’

‘Go into my office,’ she says curtly.

I obey. I have the poem open in my hands, ready to thrust it at her: it’s the only thing that can save me.

Helen appears a short time later and sits at her desk, staring at me unrelentingly.

Finally, ‘Sophie, I am becoming very, very annoyed.’

‘I’ve got this poem for you . . .’

‘Be quiet, please. I want you to stop pursuing me. It’s harassment. I do not want to ever see you – anywhere. Not at my work. Nor at the hospital. Nowhere near my home. I don’t want to see you, period. Should I write it down? Should I make a list for you? I don’t want there to be any misunderstanding.’

I feel heat rise up my neck and into my face.
She doesn’t want me. She doesn’t want me.
The sentence swells in my head till it feels like my brain is going to burst.

‘You can’t treat me like this!’ I yell. ‘You hugged me! You loved me! You! You! You!’

My eyes blur with tears and I storm out of there, swiping a hand across her desk as I go, sending pens and papers flying. All I’m aware of is Helen’s rejecting eyes, carved into my mind forever like the slash marks of a razor.

I feel as though I’ve been in a train crash and need to escape. Can’t breathe. Need to get into the open air, as far away as possible. Out on the street I push past people but I don’t know where I’m going. There is nowhere to go.

‘Sophie. Wait.’

Matt stands in the middle of the street, a stream of cars stopping him from crossing over. I run away from him again and find myself in the front garden of a block of units, hiding behind an overgrown shrub. My breathing is scrambled and so are my thoughts. I know there’s someone after me, but it isn’t Matt, it’s some kind of monster. I feel him tearing at my skin and dash out, looking for someone to help me. But there he is, racing up to me, reaching out, grabbing my arm. I scream and scream. A passer-by rushes to my aid. ‘Call the police!’ I beg her. ‘He keeps stalking me!’ I run without looking back.

Some time later – minutes, hours – I find myself inside a complex of offices. A security guard is questioning me. I have no idea where I am, hardly any idea of who I am, or how I came to be here. Then I hear myself swearing at the man. I flee from him, and only stop running when I jump into an unoccupied elevator. All I can think of is Helen, pale and slack-jawed as I rushed past. Her words pound in my head –
I do not want to ever see you
–
anywhere. I don’t want to see you, period.

I walk into a mall and take a seat in a coffee shop. I need to find Helen. I need to give her my poem.

A man comes over to take my order. Only then do I realise that I left home without my wallet.

‘Sorry.’ I stand up to leave. ‘I don’t have any money.’

I must look such a sight, my face beaten up by tears, my clothes dirty from some fall I can’t remember. Most people would be glad to see the back of me, but this man is different.

‘Stay there,’ he says gently. ‘I’ll get you a coffee and a sandwich. You look like you need it.’

‘But I can’t pay you.’

He smiles. ‘You don’t have to.’

I cry then for his kindness, for my confused and aching self.

And then there is Matt. He finds me late in the afternoon. I’m slumped in the gutter outside Helen’s office. He crouches in front of me.

‘How you doin’, Soph?’

I lean into him and close my eyes. ‘I’ve been so lost,’ I mutter.

He helps me to my feet. ‘I’ll have you home soon.’

‘But I came back here to give Helen my poem. I just got too tired but I’m all right again now.’

‘Helen doesn’t want to see you.’

‘She does. She does.’

‘No. You have to forget about her.’

‘Matt, please.’ I squeeze his hand tightly. ‘I’ll give her my poem and go. It’ll just take a few minutes.’

‘All right then. But only if I can come with you.’

There’s no more fight left in me – but it’s more than that.

‘Yes,’ I reply. ‘I want you to be there.’

We sit in the waiting room, my arm laced around Matt’s waist, my head on his shoulder. I fall into a deep sleep, for once not tormented by ugly visions.

Then Matt nudges me. I know Helen is there but I can’t bear to look at her. I hang my head and see her black shoes standing near us, hear her saying, ‘Please take Sophie home. You must convince her not to come to see me again.’

I hold out my poem.

‘No, Sophie. I don’t want it.’

And then she is gone.