How To Save A Life (28 page)

You
are so much more than you think.

Jase's words echo in my head as Smith grunts above me.

So much more ...

Is this truly what he'd think if he saw me now?

My eyes snap open. I can't give up. Then I'm not the person Jase wants me to be. And I owe him so much more than that.

"Gonna give it to you, Lady Lia," Smith heaves, his hands grabbing either side of my underwear.

And then I do it.

I fight.

I fight like I've never fought before.

I'm desperate, flailing, throwing my body at him, head butting, kicking, punching, even slapping with the useless fingers that dangle helplessly from my hands.

At first Smith isn't perturbed, continuing his attempt to get me naked. He leans closer to pull on my underwear again.

And I knee him.

Square in the nose.

"Fuck!" he roars, jerking back, his hand covering his nose.

I scramble to my feet and run past him, my hand on the doorknob, and just as it opens and I step out into the corridor, he grabs my ankle. I fly forward, my body making contact with the hardwood floor. Air leaves my lungs in an "oof".

"Bitch." He spits, but I keep moving, kicking to get out of his grip, my nails on my good hand clawing along the wooden floor. Splinters embed themselves under my nails, but
I am so much more than this.

"Get off!" I yell, and give one final kick. It connects with something hard and solid, possibly Smith's head, but I don't stick around to look. Instead, I run down the stairs, grabbing Mum's thin blanket from the open linen cupboard on the way. I hold it in front of my chest with the palm of my broken hand as I race through the lounge room, heading for the front door.

"Stay right where you damn well are!" Smith yells. I turn back, and it's a mistake, my downfall, because he throws his body on top of mine. I don't know when I started crying, but at some point I did, and this time I truly don't know how much fight I have left in me. I've given it everything I have, over and over, and I just don't know that I have anything left to give. I close my eyes and pray, pray that this will all be over soon.

"Gonna—"

The rest of the sentence never comes.

Footsteps thunder across the room, coming from the kitchen, and then Smith is being pushed off me. I roll to the side with the impact, and open my eyes to see Smith lying beneath Jase, Jase throwing punches to Smith's face. Each impact makes a sickening crunch under his knuckles, and it sickens me to my stomach, even though I know he's a monster and he deserves every hit he gets.

"Run," Jase barks as his fist connects with Smith's face again, but it seems those words jerk the monster back to life. With drunken strength, he shoves against Jase's chest, and even though Jase is big, Smith is bigger. Jase flies backward as Smith starts laying into him, punches to the face, the chest, then he grabs his head in his huge killing hands and smashes it down against the floorboards.

I run to the kitchen, racing for the landline, and Smith thunders after me. I stop at the back door, clutching the blanket to my chest. I can't just go and leave Jase lying there. He came to save me. That means everything.

"Don't you dare leave this house."

Smith.

I spin around, one hand on the back door handle. Smith hulks in the doorway to the kitchen. His eyes are manic, and the blood oozing over his face only makes him more terrifying. He's a formidable, imposing figure, and I guess he's banking on the fact that I always do as I'm told, or maybe the fact that running outside naked is humiliating, and embarrassing, and people will laugh at me.

What he doesn't realise is that I'm better than that. I know that if I run outside, he'll follow. He'll leave my Jase alone.

And I'm not sacrificing myself for the sake of appearances any more.

I open the door, then turn back just as my foot hits the street. "I—"

"Don't you take another step, you arsehole."

Smith raises his hands in the air, inch by inch. He shuffles, and I see the knife held to the side of his throat.

By my
mum
.

Sirens sound in the distance, screaming through the night, and when I look over my shoulder, I can see blue and red lighting up the night sky, getting closer at breakneck speed.

"You don't touch my baby." Mum's voice is menacing and dark, and in that moment, she's scarier than I've ever seen her. She's eerily in control. There's nothing weak, shaken or drunk about her. "Or I'll gut you."

I blink, the blanket still held close to my chest.

Shock sets in, and I can't move. My heart aches from pounding so hard.

And then it's over.

The sirens are so loud they hurt my ears. Police officers storm the house, thundering through to the kitchen. Mum drops the blade and guns are aimed at the half-naked Smith. Blood is smeared across his face, and his nose is twisted at an unnatural angle. His head hangs low. With the power of fear stripped from him, he actually looks small and rather pathetic.

When he's cuffed, I shoulder past Mum and race through to the living room. Two paramedics are tending to Jase, sliding a yellow board under his back. A neck brace is wrapped around his neck and fear grips around my heart.

"Jase," I whisper, as I run to his side.

"Please, ma'am, stand back." The female paramedic places a hand on my arm, then seems to take in my half-dressed state. She grabs her radio and calls in for another ambulance then says something else to me in her calm, clinical tone, but I don't register the words. My focus is entirely on the face of the man lying before me.

Dark purple is already spreading around one of his eyes, and blood snakes from his lip down the side of his face. His eyes are closed, his chest breathing shallow, in and out, in and out, and my heart breaks because I did this to him. I lied, then I hoped he would rescue me.

And now he's paying this horrible price.

"Jase," I breathe, and I grab his hand with my good one and squeeze it.

He doesn't squeeze back.

"Hi, my name's Maddie. I'm going to check you out." Another paramedic appears, and I shake my head because the first two have picked Jase's board up and placed it on a trolley, taking him toward the ambulance.

"No," I cry, my arm outstretched, as if that will help me reach him.

"They're taking him to be treated, sweetheart. You want him to be okay, right?" the paramedic stands in front of me, blocking my view of Jase.

I blindly nod, tears blurring my vision. I just want him to be okay. It's all I want in the world.

Mum runs toward me from the kitchen where she's been talking to a policeman. She wraps her arms around me, engulfing me with her love. "I'm so sorry, baby," she whispers. Her tears wet my hair. Her grip has never felt so strong in all her life, and I relax into it. Right now, I need someone else to be strong for me. "I'm so, so sorry."

***

When I surface, Mum isn't anywhere. My head flicks from left to right, left to right, and my long hair whips my cheeks as it does. All I see is lake. Lake, and about ten people on the shore, pointing and shouting.

Sirens cry in the distance, and I know that if they've had time to get here, that Mum must be running out.

I suck in a deep breath.

Then I dive back under.

This time, I stay close to the surface, forcing my eyes to open again and feeling the harsh salty water sting them. But my eyes don't matter right now. Nothing matters except
finding her
.

I kick up and swan dive down, the murky green around me making it hard to see, hard to even see my own hand as it moves in front of my face. I look left, I look right, and then the burning in my lungs forces me to the surface again.

"Don't! Stop!" someone on shore screams, but they don't understand.

I don't have a father anymore.

I can't lose her too.

I duck back down underneath the water, and it's as if the lake is taunting me. Something slithers past my ankle, and I open my mouth to scream, only gulps of salty nastiness sneak in, choking me. Straight to the surface and
breathe
.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Dive.

The water isn't so icy cold now. It's still brittle, though, a monstrous force so much greater than myself. I'm about to go up for the third time—I can hear the shrill sirens even underwater now—when I see it.

A flash of white.

I move, short, fast strokes, propelling me toward her, toward what has to be my mother. As I get closer, it becomes clearer, and I see her white body, her dress billowing out around her, her eyes open in wide-eyed panic or maybe wide-eyed heartache—I can't seem to tell the difference.

I grab onto her dress at the shoulders and pull, kicking up with everything I have. She's heavy, a deadweight in my grip, but I won't let go.
I can't let go
.

Looking up, the surface seems so far away still. There's a roar of something loud in the distance, making the particles in the river in front of me shake, and I don't have time to worry about what it could be because my lungs are angry, my heart begging them for air, and I don't have any to give.

I let go of Mum with one hand, using it to scoop the water out from in front of me, as if I'm trying to pull my way to the surface.

And then, I do.

Sweet fresh air smacks me in the face, and I thrust my hand into the water again to bring Mum up, too. I shiver, the cold I'd somehow shaken off before now back in full force. My blood races through my body, and I truly understand the meaning of the term bone cold.

The roaring I'd heard before grows louder. A boat is by our side, four men in uniform inside it.

"Give me your hand." A man offers his arm out kindly, but I won't take it.

"Her." My teeth chatter as I jerk my head toward my mother.

Thankfully, he doesn't argue. He reaches over and grabs her frail body, pulling her over the lip of the boat. Seconds later, they pull me up to join her.

Lying there, I stare up at the clear blue sky. It's so still and serene and
nice
. On shore, I hear people talking. The man beside me is still chatting away, probably trying to keep me calm but I tune him out. I'm floating. I'm free.

And I'm happy I'm alive.

Hospitals sound so clinical. It's all beeps and hushed voices, rushed padded footsteps and shrill alarms.

I lie there in my bed, staring out the window. Somehow, I wrangled a view from my room. Maybe it’s a special privilege they give to all attempted rape victims.

At first it's a sea of white roofing, the hospital creeping out below me. Beyond the grounds, trees dance in the soft breeze, their leafy tops waltzing from side to side. And beyond that, when the trees move slightly more to the left in their routine, I see the lake.

And the lake reminds me of
him
.

"Do you want a water?" Mum asks. She's been sitting by my bedside since I woke up, her hands folded in her lap, pinching into her palms. "I can get you a water."

She stands up to get the jug placed on the other side of the bed. She's itching to help me, and while I appreciate the sentiment, it's not what I need right now. "Mum. I'm okay."

"Okay." She sits back down and resumes hand twisting again. I reach out my good hand and place it over her writhing wrists. "Thank you."

She shakes her head. "No, baby. I'm sorry. I'm so—"

"You were there when I needed it."

"I just wish I'd woken sooner."

Mum had been on her third alcohol-free day, but, as she told me when I came out of recovery this morning, without the booze in her system she'd been struggling to sleep. She'd taken a sleeping tablet before bed, which was why she hadn't heard my screams. After a while, she woke with an innate sense that something was wrong—and that was when she saw me lying in the hall, Smith's hand around my ankle. She called the police and then grabbed that knife and raced downstairs. That was when she saw him stalk toward the kitchen.

"You woke." I give her a gentle squeeze. "That's all that counts."

We sit in silence for a while, the soundtrack of the hospital playing its sterile tune.

"No missed calls or anything?" I ask, my fingers crossed. I know it's a useless question. She'd have told me. And besides, it's only been two hours since I last asked, and she's been by my side for most of that time, aside from the odd bathroom break.

"Baby, I'm sorry." She shakes her head.

Jase was discharged from hospital sometime early this afternoon. His injuries, thank God, were primarily surface level, and despite the black eye and split lip looking bad, with painkillers and time he'd be fine. They'd only kept him in for twelve hours to make sure he didn't black out again.

"Did they say how long until you'll be healed?" Mum asks, looking at my wrapped up hand. I was lucky, I guess, in the sense that two of my fingers only had minor fractures. The third, though? That had required surgery, and little pins to piece it back together.

"A while. A few months, maybe?" I said. What I didn't tell her was the surgeon's words when I first was wheeled into the recovery room.

"You might not get mobility back. It may take a long time until you can move your fingers as flexibly as you used to."

I clutch at his jacket with my one good hand. "But ... I'm a pianist."

He licks his lips, gently holding his hands over mine. "I'm sorry, Lia."

The pain of those words hurt worse than the stinging in my cheek from where Smith had punched me, hurt more than the numb ache in my fingers from the breaks.

That pain was too much.

"You know—"

"I wanted to say—"

I laugh nervously. "You go first."

"I wanted to let you know I am serious about quitting this time," Mum says slowly, her mouth rounding each word with care. "I know you've heard it all before, but I really am going to beat it this time."

I smile. I don't know if it's as simple as want. She's wanted this all so much before. It's what she's told me before, too many times to count.

So I answer like I always do. I don't know any other way. "I know."

**

My heart hurts. It aches, and it aches, and it's more intense than any pain I've felt before, deeper than any wound. It's cancerous, spreading throughout my body with its constant sting until it infects every part of me. Until there's very little Lia left.

I can't play for my scholarship audition. My release, the one thing that set me free is now gone, taken away. My escape—it's ruined. My life is tied to this stupid town.

As if sensing my mood, my fingers ache. It's a sting deep inside them that goes more than bone deep. This pain is heart deep, a deprivation of the soul.

I glance over at the scout hall, thinking of my old friend inside it. My feet take baby steps toward the wooden building, and before I know it my key is in the lock and the fluoro light flickers on.

Without rhyme or reason, I'm drawn to the beautiful old beast in the corner. Her shape calls to me, begging me to join her, to make her sing pretty again.

With my good hand, I raise the cover. My fingers hover over the keys, the urge to play so strong now that it's hard, the hardest thing I've ever done to not risk ruining my broken fingers even more by pressing down on those keys. Even though, Lord knows I want to.

Instead, I crumple. My body slides down the side of the piano, and I huddle on the floor, crying tears for everything. For my encounter with Smith. For my mother, who tries so damn hard. For the scholarship I'll never have. For my future, condemned to end here.

But most of all, I cry for Jase.

Because he thought I could be more, and I've completely proven him wrong. Because he came when I needed him, and all it did was hurt him.

I clutch the piece of paper I've been holding tighter to my chest, as if holding it there will somehow take a part of my heart and place it in the words I've written there by osmosis.

We only knew each other for a few short weeks, but he quickly became my everything. Missing him tears on my heart. Missing him tears on my soul.

Thirty minutes later, I stand outside the bar, staring at it. The lights are on, and a gentle tune plays inside—but it's a Wednesday, and I know they're not open.

I consider my options. I can go in, and apologise. Tell him he's what saved me. The reason why I kept going.

But will that really solve anything? Will that fix all the hurt I caused?

Our relationship was built on lies, and I wonder if I ruined Jase and I before we even truly began.

I clench the piece of paper held tightly in my hand. I came to deliver this and leave. Just because he's here doesn't mean anything's changed.

With slow steps, I walk up the delivery ramp, then push through the plastic flaps. It's dark in here, and the music from the building just a faint echo in the distance. I put the note on the floor, then the door shakes and I run, scampering down the dock and heading for the path that leads back home. I don't want him to feel he has to talk to me, not when he was so clear on ending it before. Before, Smith hurt him so damn badly. Nothing's changed between us. I'm not stupid enough to think it would have.

"Lia!"

I don't turn back. I just let the future swallow me up as I think about the words I left behind.

I WAS BROKEN

I WAS SCARED

THEN I BELIEVED

THIS IS HOW YOU MAKE ME FEEL

***

Now, the dreams are happier …

"You're okay, you're all right."

"Good girl, you did such a good job."

"So proud, she'll be so proud."

All these voices.

None of them I care about.

None of them my mother.

Then I spot her, behind the crowd, being wheeled into an ambulance.

"Mum!" I cry and race toward her, clutching the blanket wrapped around my shoulders. "Mum."

The paramedic stops, smiling at me as I grab on to the silver handles on the trolley, leaning over my mother, the only one relative I have left. "Mum ..."

She smiles and pushes to her elbows, despite the paramedic's gentle shake of her head.

"Baby." Her eyes are so very sad, and I can't tell if it's because of what she's done or what she didn't quite do. "I'm ..."

"Do you mind if we ask you a few questions, Miss Stanton? We can question your mother later." A policeman steps in front of me, his hands behind his back.

I shoot a panicked glance at Mum. Her face is white, ashen, and I know that I have to think quick. I know that I have to do something, because I didn't dive back into that lake just to watch her drown in a psychiatric ward. I need her to be my mum.

It's the most selfish and the most selfless thing I've ever done, all at once.

But I don't have a choice.

"Yes." I nod. My knees weaken, and suddenly everything seems a little blurry at the edges.

“Get her on a stretcher!” someone calls, and soon I’m lying down, and my breathing calms again.

"You can ask her questions after she's checked out at the hospital." The paramedic frowns, and the officer holds his hands up apologetically.

"Of course! Drop by the station." A white matte cardboard business card is placed into my hand, and I flip it between my fingers.

The ambulance ride is quiet, one man driving and the woman from before in the back with us, fiddling with some machines. She takes both of our blood pressure again, and checks all our vitals before we reach emergency.

When there, the woman leaps out and Mum leans closer to me. She grips my hand, her grasp so tight it makes my bones creak. "Tell them the truth, baby. About everything," she whispers. She kisses my temple. "I'm so, so sorry."

"Let me give you a hand," the female paramedic puts her arm out for me. I look at it, then back at the frail figure sitting across from me.
My mother.

"The car skidded when you took the bend too fast."

The lie comes so easily, I don't even have to think about it.

But it's a lie that will bring us closer together.

I hope.