Falling Away (18 page)

“Sam!” a voice squeals. “I didn’t know you were coming!” Emily rips me from Jack’s arms and enfolds me in an embrace of her own. When I draw away, Gemma’s standing like a translucent ghost beside her.

“Gem,” I say, trying to hide my horror. Pale-skinned and gaunt, her lacklustre chestnut hair falls threadlike around her face. She gives a smile that hints of familiarity. Is she even the same girl?

Gemma reaches for me, hugging me to her and kissing me lightly on the cheek. But it’s different. I haven’t felt this from her before. Her warmth. And possibly her need.
But for
what?
When I wrap my arms around her I feel bones. Her shoulder-blades are mountainous. I don’t want to react. She can’t know what I’m thinking.

Jack stands beside me, waiting for an introduction.

I come to my senses. “Oh, Jack, this is Gemma, a friend from work. Gem, meet Jack.”

When she greets him I pick out the remnants. Her smile remains intact but it lacks her confident sparkle. They kiss awkwardly on the cheek.

“Lovely to meet you, Gemma,” Jack says.

Emily places her arm protectively around Gem’s tiny waist. There’s nothing of her. “I thought I’d get her out for the evening. She’s spending way too much time in the ... I mean, at home. I’ve missed my flatmate,” she says, smiling carefully. She glances sideways at Gemma as if worried she may have said the wrong thing.

Emily and Gemma hide a secret. It pulses from them. And it’s not hard to see what’s really going on here.

“You guys gonna dance?” I ask, smiling in the lantern-glow. I try to keep it positive, because hell knows, I need to.

Gemma laughs weakly. “You’re not actually dancing, are you Sam? What’s happened?”

“Jack happened,” Emily says eagerly, her face alight. She glances up at Jack and he gives her a grin, pulling me in even closer.

I can’t help but smile. It’s hard to believe that he’s here with me. I see how other girls look at him. He’s desirable to females.
Very
desirable.

“Think I’ll give the dancing a miss.” Gemma looks wistfully at couples grinding against each other on the dance floor. Unsurprisingly Tim’s nowhere to be seen. I think back to the dance party. How happy she was. Healthy.

“I’ll get us some food, Gem. Back soon,” Emily says, threading her way through the crowd.

Gemma just nods and smiles uncomfortably. “But don’t let me stop you guys from dancing.” She gestures weakly at the dance floor dismissing it with her hand, then finds a spare seat and slumps into it, waiting for Emily. Too tired to stand.

Just a shell of her former self.
I’m kind of lost for words but want to shake her. Shake sense into her. Tell her how ridiculous she’s being and that if she just ate, she’d be okay. But I understand it goes so much deeper than that.

Jack shrugs his shoulders, questioning me with his eyes.
Do you want to dance?

I shrug indifferently. Our moment has gone.

When Emily’s back I watch them eat. I can’t help it, my eyes magnetised to Gemma’s plate. She picks at the food like a scrawny sparrow, secreting it under the serviette. Does she think we don’t see? Perhaps she no longer cares. Afterwards she flees for the bathroom, her thighs so thin my bare hands could encircle their circumference.

It’s too much to bear. “You want to go?” I yell into Jack’s ear, tipping the last dregs of beer down my throat.

“If you want,” he replies. “Better wait till she’s back though.”

Gemma eases her way through the crowd with a frightening fragility. She smiles weakly at us.

“Gem, we’re going to go,” I say, dragging her frail body into my arms. She hugs me back, stronger than expected. I pull back to look at her and speak before thinking. “And can you eat, please? You don’t look so good.”

Her face drops and she releases me. “Thanks, Sam. I didn’t know you cared.” Her sarcasm drips like slow-streaming honey. “I don’t have an eating disorder,” she says glibly, but it just doesn’t wash.

“Okay, then,” I acquiesce, smiling.
Just a serious case of denial.

Emily shoots me a
don’t say anything else
look, frowning at me discreetly. I regret my words instantly, putting it down to four beers and my alcoholic blood. Saying things I wouldn’t otherwise, with blurry lanterns and the rolling ground beneath my red havaiana’d feet.

We say our goodbyes awkwardly. Jack reaches for my hand and guides me through frothy melodies and flimsy lights. We can’t find Matt so we head for the boat, without looking back. At the wharf I want to giggle.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Jack’s lips meet mine, devouring them hungrily in the dark. I hitch my leg over his hip, eliciting a soft groan from deep in his throat. His hand slides up to rest on my breast, circling my nipple. First one, then the other. They react instantly, coming to life in his fingers. He shifts his body, his hardness pressing against me and the ache ignites. I want him.
Now
.

“Want to go on top?” he asks with a grin, kissing me harder. More urgently.

Flopping onto his back he rolls me on top of his hard chest. I give an inebriated giggle, the room spinning sloppily. I’m on a high speed merry-go-round minus the loud gaudy music.

“You didn’t wait for my answer!” I protest, laughing at him.

He shakes his head with lips locked on mine. “I know how you like it,” he chuckles, kissing me softly down my neck and across my collarbone. The place that dances shivers down my spine. He pushes me upright, his hands gripping my hips. He’s ready and I can’t help rocking back and forth across the top of him.

“You ready, baby?” he asks.

Ready? Too bloody right
. “Mmm-hmm,” I nod, easing myself over him. His rigid warmth is all-encompassing and immediately he’s requisite, essential to my being. He pulls at my hips to meet his rhythm, slowly at first, then faster, his hands cupping my sides. I lean down. He covers my mouth with his, rolls me over and fills me so deeply my breath hitches, snagged in my chest. In the dark I watch him smile, breathless and beautiful. I don’t know how I got here, but I’m ecstatic I’ve arrived.

He slides himself into me, over and over. Each time deeper, and he feels so good and I’m greedy. For him, for more, for his urgency, because that’s what he does to me.

I run my fingers down his arms, feeling the strength. He picks up the pace, holding me tight in the dark like he’ll never let go. I feel the depth of it, his urgent need. Like if he lets go I won’t be there, figmented in his imagination like a sweet illusion.

He runs his tongue across mine. I grab for the skin on his back, pushing him forward, into me, closer, because I need him. I lift to meet him, arching my body so my skin touches his and we stick like glue, peeling away when he finally pulls back. The pleasure builds and he picks up the pace. Pushes further, his breathing elevated to catch the air that we lack, with windows gaped wide to welcome the sky.

With one last thrust he lets out a groan. I splinter away, rupture and fall, coming apart like a free-falling star. I cling to him and he draws me closer, kisses the tip of my nose. The emotion’s so tangible I could grab it. Bottle it and save it.

“You are not allowed to leave,” he says, pressing his forehead onto mine.

I laugh. “What? Ever?”

“No. Not ever,” he says seriously, beneath dark hooded eyes.

“You have absolutely nothing to worry about,” I whisper, kissing his chest. It’s salty and I want to lick him.

He cuddles me in his arms and I rest my head on his shoulder, tucked in the crook of his neck. The familiarity of him soothes. Calms me and makes me forget.

“You know what? I think I love you,” he whispers.

My heart stops briefly at his declaration, then smiles. “I love you too, Jack,” I reply quietly, snuggling closer. Feeling loved.
Totally
loved. A feeling I’ve not felt so completely before.

His arms wrap tighter around me.

I look up, finding his gaze locked steadfastly on mine. “So … you only
think
you love me?
Think
?” I tease.

He sighs happily. “Sam, that was the first time I’ve said those words to someone I care about. Ever. I was nervous.”

I giggle playfully. “Jack Foster? Nervous? I can’t imagine it,” I say, running a hand over his stubbled cheek.

“It’s all an illusion,” he says softly.

My sweet illusion.

***

I’m woken by urgent banging at Jack’s glass doors.

Thump thump thump. Thump thump thump.

What time is it? It’s
getting louder. I want it to stop, go away. Leave me in peace. I’m here in Jack’s arms.

Thump thump thump. Thump.
“Sam!”

Jack rolls out of bed. He pulls on some boardies, staggers to the door and draws back the blinds, rubbing at his eyes. It’s Ben looking white, frantic, like he’s spooked. Jack heaves open the door.

“Shit, man! This better be an emergency.” He glances back at me, dragging the sheet up over my naked body.

“Yeah, sorry mate. I need Sam. We couldn’t raise her on the phone. It’s Dad.”

My heart beats faster. “What do you mean? What’s happened?” I sit up, feeling sick, my heart dropping several beats.

Jack stands aside as Ben forces himself into the room. “We called an ambulance. Mum and me.”

“What? Why? Tell me, Ben!”

“He had a heart attack.” He pauses, remembering, and I watch his face pale.

Jesus Christ.
“Is he ...?”

“We don’t know. It took a while to stabilise him, before they took him in.”

Stabilise him?
“Took him where? Where, Ben?” I demand.

“John Hunter Hospital. I don’t think it’s good, Sam. You need to come. I’ll drive you,” Ben says, throwing last night’s discarded clothes at me from the floor.

“Hang on,” Jack says, grabbing for Ben’s arm. “I’ll take her. We’ll meet you there.”

Ben glares at him, then at me. “All right. Thanks, man. But turn your phone on, Sam. And keep it on.”

Usually I’d take him to task for brotherly bossiness, but right now, I’ll let it slide.

My brain won’t think. It’s disintegrating. I can’t focus on what I need to do, or take, or get. I need to get there, to the hospital, I know that much. It’s five in the morning. Dawn hasn’t broken the dark cloak of night, and I need to get dressed. One step at a time. Just do it. Do one thing.

Fuck. This isn’t happening. He didn’t look good, but not this. This isn’t right. It’s not what Ben’s saying. I just have to get there. To see.

Ben leaves. I throw myself into Jack’s arms. He holds me and the bulk of him stops it. Stops the pain from settling in my chest. Stills my rapidly beating heart.

“You need to get dressed, babe. It’s an hour from here. We need to move.”

All I can do is nod. My legs feel weak and I want to cry. It’s the fear. For him and for me. For what this might change.

Jack helps me. Hands me the clothes and I put them on. Mechanically, like a robot. Because I can’t think. If I think too much I might cry.

“Are you okay?” Jack asks, grabbing my bag. “Come on, we need to go.”

I follow him outside.

***

In the car I cry. I let the tears fall, coursing over my cheeks. I want to be strong and hold it together, for Dad and for me. For Jack. I feel silly, like someone who falls apart too easily. Breakable.

On the expressway Jack holds my hand. He reaches across and rests his hand gently in my lap. His fingers cover mine with warmth that envelops the fear. Shrouds me in comfort. I need him to prop me. Stand for me. Stay with me. My legs shake.

“Nearly there,” Jack says, squeezing my hand.

I watch the trees rush past, blurring. The sky is silver now, ribboned with light on the horizon. I can’t look. Instead I look away, cover Jack’s hand with my own. I clutch at it. Waiting for it to pull me from the nightmare that seizes me. Cleaving me. Refusing to let me go.

We pull into the car park. The sign for Emergency blinks red and white. I push out of the ute, hearing the metallic groan.
Oil, Jack. The door needs oil.

“Come on,” Jack says, reaching for my hand. “This way.” He leads me to enormous glass doors that release the stench of disinfectant. They slide open automatically, welcoming us into the glare. I see fluorescent lights and glossy floors. The tap-tap of our feet on it; the way it shines.

Emergency is empty. Rows of blue seats stretch to the pale-washed walls, with posters of nurses and promotions for Medicine sans Frontier covering them like a teenager’s bedroom. Looking like they’ve seen better days. They curl at the corners.
Someone should take those down.

“You need to sit down and wait,” the triage nurse says from behind her protective glass screen. “The doctors are with him now.”

Jack guides me to a chair. I’ve only just sat down when Mum and Ben arrive, bursting through the doors. Mum flurries at the triage counter, busying herself with looking important until the nurse returns.

“My husband, Mick Norris. I need to see him.”

“Just take a seat. The doctors will be with you shortly.”

“But how is he? Can you tell us anything? Please,” she says.

The nurse shakes her head. “Sorry. You’ll have to wait. Just take a seat.”

Mum’s shoulders slump. She turns and walks to the waiting area, sitting with Ben in the corner. She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t acknowledge Jack, or me. It’s like we don’t exist. We are clearly invisible to her.

I want to know. I need to know.
At least he’s alive
. That’s all that matters. That he’s alive.
He’s still alive
. Otherwise we would have heard.

“I need the bathroom,” I say to Jack, lifting myself from the chair.

“You want me to come?” he asks.

“I’ll be fine,” I say. “Be back soon.”

I find it, round several corners near the kiosk. The place is empty. It’s so early. The toilets are bereft of life too. But they’re clean. I choose my cubicle and sit. Stare at the ceiling, the bubbling concrete, and cry. Plead for him to be okay. To let him go if he won’t be. To not let him suffer. To let him be fine, or just let him go. I wipe away my tears.