Authors: Carys Jones
*
“Reporters,” Carol repeated over breakfast the following morning. “From the local paper, they want to run a story on you. You’re a local celebrity.”
Marie grunted and rolled her eyes before clenching her mouth shut so that she couldn’t receive the spoonful of porridge which Sebastian was carefully manoeuvring towards her lips.
She couldn’t even eat unaided. Her assortment of broken limbs meant that she needed constant care from the moment she woke up to the release she found when she fell asleep. Someone had to wash her, dress her, feed her, help her go to the toilet. Prior to the accident Marie had been a fun, outgoing girl, trying to find her way in the world. Now she didn’t know what she was. At least not here.
In Azriel it was different. In Azriel she could move her arms and feed herself. And she was a princess.
“It’s a positive thing,” Sebastian nodded towards Carol before making a second attempt at feeding Marie the porridge.
Already she had diminished considerably. Before she had been a healthy weight. Marie enjoyed her food and was never one to shy away from the lure of the dessert menu. But now she appeared gaunt, her cheek bones becoming more pronounced beneath her paper thin skin.
“You have to eat,” Sebastian pleaded with her. “You have to eat get strong and heal.”
Strong. It seemed ludicrous to even use the word in association with Marie. She was so weak and helpless, so impossibly fragile.
“No reporters,” she announced sternly before reluctantly eating the spoonful of porridge. It tasted repulsively bland as though it had been formed from cardboard rather than oats.
“But they are interested in your story,” Carol explained. “They want to see your miraculous recovery.”
Marie shot her mother a hostile glance which made Carol gasp in surprise.
“There is nothing miraculous about me,” Marie told her, contempt coating each word. “They want to see me as I’m a side show oddity.”
“That’s not true,” Sebastian said sternly, his cheeks flushing. Marie glanced away from them both, tired of seeing the mixture of pity and remorse in their eyes. No matter how many times they each replayed the events of that night in their mind the outcome remained the same. Marie was left like a bird with broken wings, resigned to the nest. Except in the wild, such a bird would have died, unable to survive.
Marie didn’t want to meet any reporters. They didn’t care about her. She didn’t matter here. In Azriel when people came to see her, they truly cared. They were joyous about her return. Here, she was just another story in the Sunday paper for depressed housewives to read and in doing so feel comforted about the mediocrity of their own lives. Because after all it could be worse, they could be Marie, unable to even pee in private anymore.
“No reporters,” Marie echoed her original objection.
“Oh, Marie, don’t be like that,” Carol looked pained as she spoke. “Besides, I already okayed it with them, they will be here in half an hour.”
Angry shot through Marie like an uncontrollable fire. She felt it burn upon her cheeks, reddening them.
“You did what?” her eyes narrowed in to vicious slits.
“Don’t get angry,” Sebastian whispered to her, “don’t risk hurting yourself.”
Marie almost laughed at his comment. She couldn’t possibly hurt herself any more than she already was. She wanted to get up and leave the room, leave the house and get away from the prying reporters and their sadistic interest in her condition. But she couldn’t move, she couldn’t even get up from the table unassisted. She was a sitting duck, waiting to be poached. Her only release came from sleep. When she slept she could finally return to Azriel, to Orion. She could be truly free there.
“Why don’t we go put your favourite purple cardigan on?” Carol suggested as she helped Marie up. At first Marie tried to resist the assistance but then she gave in, too tired to fight what was out of her hands.
*
Forty minutes later and Marie was awkwardly positioned on the sofa, surrounded by a mountain of cushions to keep her propped up. Opposite her were sat two reporters, each clutching a freshly made cup of tea courtesy of Carol.
The first reporter was male and had a camera hanging around his neck. When he’d entered the living room he’d explained that his name was Nick and that he was the photographer. The second reporter was a lady in her early thirties with a bright blonde bob who spoke a little too loudly and carried a notepad. Her name was Ellen.
“So, Marie, how are you feeling?” Ellen asked, leaning forward expectantly to receive the answer.
Marie glanced down at the casts. It was surely pretty obvious how she was feeling. Lousy.
“She’s sore but she’s healing well,” Carol stepped in and offered a response.
“Right,” Ellen didn’t even make a scribble in her pad. “Do you remember much of the accident?”
Marie thought for a moment. Recently her memories had become a tightly wound ball of moments without a beginning, middle or end. Events seemed to have just been, not occurring upon a standard timeline. She remembered arriving in Azriel and she reasoned that the accident must have occurred before then but she couldn’t recall anything about the crash. She couldn’t even remember being in her car.
“No,” Marie shook her head slightly, not wanting to strain her sore body too much.
“I’m not surprised,” Ellen flashed her a false grin. “I reported on the accident it was pretty grim.”
“Didn’t the lorry driver die?” Carol asked.
“Yes,” Ellen confirmed. “He died at the scene.”
“Well, there’s some justice in that,” Carol raised her cup of tea slightly, toasting the demise of Tommy Wiggins.
“No, there isn’t,” Marie snapped, feeling angry sparks begin to dance up the base of her spine, igniting within her and sending her whole body up in a blaze.
“It should have been me who died that day; the lorry driver didn’t deserve to die. He made a mistake, he shouldn’t have paid for it with his life!”
Ellen raised her eyebrows and scribbled something on her notepad whilst an awkward silence settled over the room.
“You shouldn’t talk like that,” Carol whispered nervously to her daughter.
“But it’s true!” Marie insisted. She looked around the small living room, taking in the pale green walls, the grey carpet and the faded grey sofa on which she sat. Everything seemed so dull, so lifeless. Azriel had awakened her and being back here felt like regressing to some degenerative state.
“She’s been through such a lot,” Carol apologised on Marie’s behalf to the bemused reporters.
“It’s understandable to have these sorts of feelings,” Ellen looked directly at Marie when she spoke.
“Survivors guilt is normal.”
Marie scowled at the blonde stranger. She wasn’t a survivor, she was an evacuee. She belonged back in Azriel, back amongst the golden bed sheets and emerald green grass.
“We heard that the family of the Tommy Wiggins, the man who’d been driving the lorry, sent flowers?” Ellen delivered this question to Carol who nodded.
“They did, a big bouquet of lilies. It was the least they could do.”
Ellen nodded with understanding as Marie struggled to control her temper.
“Mum, it was a kind and gracious thing to do! They lost somebody that day. He was a husband, a father. They don’t owe me anything, not even an apology.”
“But Marie-” Carol was about to say, “look at the state of you” but she stopped herself. As much as they all tried to put on a brave face about Marie’s current condition it was obvious to them all how gravely she’d been affected by the accident, not just physically.
“That’s very gracious of you to say,” Ellen commended, adding yet more scribbled notes to her notepad.
Marie forced a slight smile. Of course she was gracious. She was a princess. And as a princess she had to rise above certain things. She couldn’t hold a grudge against Tommy Wiggins. After all, if it wasn’t for him she may never have been able to go to Azriel.
“Do the doctors know when you’ll be able to return to your normal routine?” Ellen asked as Marie drifted away from the conversation, letting her mother provide the answers which the reporter sought.
Marie looked out of the bay window in the lounge on to the small street where numerous cars lined the road. The sky was leaden and heavy, promising an afternoon of rain. The dense darkness was reflected in the grey of the pavement and driveways, even the brickwork of some of the homes. Everything was so dreary, so devoid of colour.
Beneath the casts Marie’s arms and legs itched furiously and she closed her eyes shut and tried to block out the uncomfortable sensation. Whenever she needed to find release from pain or discomfort she thought of Orion. The second he appeared in her mind’s eye her body was flooded with a wealth of positive emotions and butterflies began to somersault in her stomach.
The kiss they’d shared still lingered on her lips. It had been unlike any kiss she’d had before. There was longing there, but beneath it something deeper, something unifying which she couldn’t yet comprehend. Were they destined to be together?
Marie pulled her gaze back in to the room and glanced at Sebastian who was sat in the corner looking at his iPhone. He must have felt her eyes upon him as he looked up and gave her a brief smile.
He didn’t look at her like Orion did. He didn’t see her as something wonderful to be cherished, he saw her as something broken to be mended. When he spoke to her Marie sometimes sensed an element of disdain. He’d correct her posture or inform her when she’d used a word incorrectly within a sentence.
Unable to untangle her memories from one another, Marie was unsure if this behaviour was just noticeable recently or if he’d behaved that way prior to the accident too. He didn’t hold her how Orion did, he didn’t make her feel safe. Yet Marie felt something for him. It dwindled in the far recesses of her heart, reminding her of who she’d once been. But those feelings paled in comparison for how she felt for Orion.
“Wedding plans are currently on hold, aren’t they Marie?” Carol reached out and tapped Marie’s hand to focus her attention.
“Huh?”
“Ellen was asking when you and Sebastian will be getting married,” Carol updated her.
“Yes, will you be hoping to make some of your first initial steps down the aisle?” Ellen smiled falsely, gesturing to the casts upon Marie’s legs.
Marie wanted to burst out laughing. The last thing she’d ever do is let her wedding become a part of the gimmick that was her accident. But the question made her pause. She’d forgotten that she was betrothed. The engagement ring was gone, lost at the site of the accident. She remembered hearing Sebastian promise he’d buy her another, larger one, but at the time she’d been in a drug fuelled haze and unable to respond.
“Wedding plans are on hold,” Marie answered with sickly sweetness. “My main priority it just to get back on my feet.”
“Well, everyone at the Chronicle wishes you a speedy recovery,” Ellen smiled, extending her hand to carefully shake Marie’s as the interview drew to a close.
“You’re certainly an exceedingly brave young woman,” she enthused a little too eagerly. Marie smiled politely in response.
As Carol showed the two reporters out Sebastian came to her side and looked at her with concern.
“Are you feeling alright?”
“I’m just…tired,” Marie admitted. Sometimes her body felt like it had been thrown against a brick wall. At those times, all she wanted to do was sleep.
“Rest sweetheart,” he leant forward and planted a soft kiss upon her forehead as Marie began to doze off.