The Story of Me (12 page)

And then it hits me.

Oh, shit.

The Valium.

My eyes shoot up and meet Jackson’s.

“I forgot,” I whisper.

“Forgot what?”

“I forgot that I took the Valium when I first got home. I drank the wine and my heart was still racing after I spoke to Cam, and my brain was just…” I shake my head as I try to think of what exactly was going on in my head last night, but I come up with nothing. “My brain just wouldn’t shut up.”

“And?”

“I took two Valium and went to sleep.”

“Two more Valium?”

I nod my head and close my eyes in shame. How could I have been so stupid? Well, I was, and now I have to face the consequences. I look back up at Jax; his shoulders slump, and I’m not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed.

“Fuck, George: weed, coke, Valium and wine; you could’ve killed yourself, darl.” I could. That easily, that stupidly. I could still be lying in my bed now; cold, dead, alone, but would that be any different to living? Then a thought strikes me.

“Why did you come over? What made you come to my place?”

“Bailey rang me. It must have been Cam who rang Bailey, said he had spoken to you on the phone and you didn’t sound right, but he didn’t know where you were so he couldn’t go and check on you. It was about six in the morning when I got to you. I broke the door down and all I saw…” He stops talking and rubs his hand over the stubble on his jaw. His eyes fill with tears, and I feel so guilty at what I’ve done; what I’ve once again put people I love through.

“Your arm was hanging off the side of the bed, you were at a horrible angle and there were pills all over the floor.” I cover my mouth with my hand and shake my head, trying to get the image from my brain. How must it have looked to Jackson? What must have been going through his mind when he walked in and saw me like that? “I slapped you, George. I slapped your face. I dragged you into the bathroom. I threw you into the shower and ran cold water on you. I stuck my fingers down your throat to make you vomit.” He stands up and paces the room as he talks then he stops and turns to look at me. “I don’t think I have ever been so angry in my life. After everything, George, after all the loss, all the devastation and heartbreak we’ve both been through, I couldn’t believe you would be so selfish and put me and your family through that.” He takes a few deep, calming breaths. “I probably slapped you harder than I should, so if your jaw or face hurt, I’m sorry.” I run my hand over my jaw and my cheek; they actually feel okay. I shrug and shake my head, trying to let him know it’s fine.

“I’m so sorry, Jackson. I’m sorry I put you through that, but please believe me, it was an accident; in no way did I intend harming myself.” I have so many thoughts running through my dysfunctional brain, so I stare blankly at him for a few seconds while I try to get them into some sort of order.

“How did I get to hospital?”

“Emily drove, while I held on to you and tried to wake you up.”

“What did you tell Bailey; have you rung him back?”

“Of course I rang him back; he was frantic, George. You’re fucking lucky he didn’t tell your Dad and they’re not all on their way here now.”

“But what did you tell him?”

“I told him you were pissed and sleeping it off. I didn’t wanna scare anyone until I knew exactly what was going on. I didn’t want to tell him bad news until I was sure it was bad news. George…” He sits down on the side of my bed and lets out a big sigh. He closes his eyes and rubs at his temples with his fingertips. “I thought you were gonna die; I thought lots of things. You did a stupid thing, babe.”

I cover my face with my hands. How do I apologise for this one; another Georgia fuck-up. “I think it’s time for me to go back to England.”

He pulls my hands from my face.

“You fucked up, George. We all do it.” I can’t help but laugh.

“D’ya know how many times I’ve heard that, Jax? I’m always fucking up. Everything about me is fucked-up. I am just one big fuck-up.”

“Now you’re just feeling sorry for yourself.” Before
any more can be said, Nurse Eve and three doctors walk in.

* * *

By six on Sunday night, I’m back in my apartment above the bar. My blood pressure is still a little low, but apart from that, my stupidity has left me reasonably fine. It took a while to convince the doctors I was also mentally fit, but once they were reassured Jackson would take care of me, they let me go home.

Brooke is back from Sydney and just going to work a shift in the bar when we get home. Her hands are on her hips, eyebrows raised and foot tapping as we walk through the battered door.

“Ten seconds, ten seconds to start explaining to me what the fuck has gone on here before I call your brothers.”

“I’m sorry,” is all I can think of saying.

Emily had dropped myself and Jax off and driven home, so it’s just the two of us bearing the brunt of Brooke’s wrath.

“Are you lying? Did you do it on purpose? Were you trying to
not
wake up?”

“No.” I shake my head emphatically. “It was a stupid, drunken accident, but I swear to God, that’s all it was.”

She looks from me to Jax. “You believe her?”

He nods. “I do now, but I thought the worst when I walked in here last night.” We walk into the apartment, and I put water in the kettle and switch it on. I need a cup of tea; a cup of tea, a McVities dark chocolate digestive biscuit and a cuddle from my mum.

“Where was Roman while all this went down?” I look straight at Jax. I know he’s pissed off with Rome but this wasn’t really his fault, and I can’t let him take the blame for this.

“Don’t even go there, Brooke. I’m gonna kill the cunt when I see him.”

“Jax, it wasn’t his fault; he just... I told him to go. I didn’t want him to come in…”

“That’s not the point, George.” He turns and looks at Brooke. “He took her to fuckin’ Narnia last night. He let her smoke some of their
homegrown shit, then he gave her a line of coke. Then he sat back and watched while nut-job Skye Turner cracked on to her.” Brooke looks wide-eyed between Jax and myself.

“You have got to be kidding me?” She walks over to the kitchen bench top and leans her hip against it. “Why the fuck would he do that?” I’m getting pissed off with the pair of them now. I wasn’t helpless or innocent in last night’s events, and Roman was just trying to help me.

“Will you both please just shut up and listen?” I cross my arms and look between both of them. “This wasn’t Roman’s fault, not in any way. He took me there so I would chill out and relax. Someone recognised me in the bar earlier and I freaked out, so he took me somewhere where no one would recognise me. Even if they did, they wouldn’t give a fuck about who I was.” I pause and pour hot water over the teabag in the cup I have set out. Jackson has already helped himself to a beer and I don’t blame him; I could use one myself right now, but alcohol is probably the last thing my poor body needs.

“Roman didn’t smoke the weed; he did a line but he didn’t smoke the weed. He stayed straight and he told me just to go with whatever felt right, that I could trust him. If there was anything I didn’t want to do, I just had to say.” I go to the fridge and get the milk out, adding a dash to my tea.

“He shouldn’t have—”

“Shut up, Jax. Let her speak,” Brooke says to her brother.

“He was just trying to show me that I can trust people. He just wanted me to have one night where I could forget everything: forget the pain, the hurt, the fuckin’ big hole I live with inside me, all day, every day. He just wanted to help me forget it all.” I’m crying now and I so didn’t want to cry. I continue anyway as I need them to understand what Roman was trying to do for me. “When it all got too much, when Skye got too heavy and I told her to stop, he made sure she did. When I asked to come home, he brought me home, and when I told him I wanted to be on my own, he left me on my own.”

“And that’s where he went wrong,” Jackson says.

“He shouldn’t have given you all that shit then left you, George; I’ve gotta say, I do agree with Jax on that one. But the rest of it, I understand what he was trying to do.” Brooke comes around the bench top and gives me a cuddle. “I’m glad you’re okay. I have to go to work, but we seriously need to get away from here next weekend. You’re coming to Sydney with me, no arguments.” I nod. Perhaps Sydney isn’t such a bad idea after all. Perhaps I should pack up everything and fly straight home to England from there; it would make sense, if I’m planning on leaving anyway.

“Sounds like a plan,” I say to Brooke as I give her a hug.

“Go shower. You look like shit and smell like vomit. I love ya, darl, but you stink.”

* * *

I finally convince Jackson to leave around seven. I clear up the mess in my bedroom, clean the vomit from my shower, jump in and scrub myself clean. Finally, washing the smell of the hospital from my skin, the smell of death, and the smell of loss. I just wish I could wash it away from my life as easily but I can’t. I just have to live with it, so instead, I slide down the tiled wall of the shower and have a good cry. It’s moments like these that I miss Sean so much. He was more than just my husband; he was my other half, my conscience, my best friend. It’s times like these, when I fuck up, that the ache in my heart, in my gut and my bones is just that little harder to bear.

I wrap my hair in a towel, dry off my skin and pull on my jarmies; it’s not cold by any means but I have a chilled feeling inside me, and I just can’t seem to warm up. I put my phone on charge and  make myself a hot chocolate, take it back to the bedroom and get into bed. I have a plug socket next to the bed, so I can switch my phone on and use it while it charges.

I have dozens of missed calls, voice mails and texts from Jackson, Bailey and Cam and a text from Roman sent a couple of hours ago, asking how I was feeling. I delete all of Jackson’s; I’m too ashamed to listen to his worried voice. I don’t really want to listen to my big brother’s messages either, but at least I don’t have to face him any time soon.

“
Little sister Georgia, how are ya, baby girl? Can you give me a call back please? I need to speak to ya, and it’s pretty urgent.”

The next message was left about seven minutes later.

“George, I ain’t fuckin’ about now, pick up the phone. I’ve had Cameron King on the phone. He reckons he spoke to ya and you sound pissed or stoned and weren’t making sense. Can ya ring me, please, George? Love ya.”

The time of his next message is just three minutes later.

“George, I swear to God, if you’ve done something stupid, I swear, I’ll knock seven kinds of shit out of you. Now pick up the fuckin’ phone now, George.”

My big, bad brother Bailey is sobbing his message into the phone, and I’m sobbing as I listen. I blow my nose and calm myself down before hitting call on his number. It only rings twice.

“Bails?”

“Don’t you ever, ever fuckin’ pull a stunt like that again.”

“I’m so sorry, I got drunk and then I just fell asleep. My phone was on silent, and I just slept through it ringing.”

“Do you know how worried I was? Do you have any idea? Fuck, George, do you know what was going through my head, what I thought was happening?” He sounds just like my dad when he’s pissed off and I start to cry; not because I don’t like being told off—well, I don’t like it but I deserve it—but it’s because the sound of Bailey’s voice is just making me so homesick. I really want to go home; I want to be around my family, but I’m scared, so scared of going back to England. I’m scared of being back around people and places, around anything that’s going to remind me of Sean. I want to go back, I’m just not sure if I’m ready to. Up until last night’s disaster, my reclusive little life in Australia had worked out well for me. I could be normal, just a normal person with no past of any importance. I know it’s running away from the truth, and I know I’m just hiding from things that need to be faced, but I just don’t know if I’m strong enough to face it all yet: people, the press, the public. I know it’s been a year now, but the ache’s still there and it hurts as much as ever.

“I’m sorry, Bailey. I
am
really sorry for making you think that. I’m sorry for the things I’ve done in the past that would make you think I would do something like that.” I wipe my nose on the back of my hand as I speak into the phone. I can hear my brother crying. “I love you, Bails. I’m so sorry you got me for a sister.”

“George, I wouldn’t swap ya for the world, babe. I might sell ya for a few quid, but I wouldn’t swap ya.” I laugh a little at what he says. My dad used to threaten to sell us to an Arab in the desert when we were little; it’s a saying I haven’t heard in a while.

“Well, you wouldn’t get a lot for me; I’m damaged goods.” I meant it jokingly, but in all honesty, that’s exactly what I am.

“George, you’re not damaged, babe; you’re just…” I can hear his brain tick down the line as he tries to think of a polite way of saying I’m a bit touched in the head. “You’re a beautiful young woman, trying to find her way in life after having the most devastatingly, fucked-up thing happen to her.” I’ve never heard my brother speak so eloquently. Lennon yeah, Marley, occasionally during interviews, but Bailey, never. Because of our age difference and the fact that he wasn’t involved with the band, he is the brother I am least close to. It doesn’t mean I love him any less; I just haven’t shared as many experiences with him.