Authors: Melissa Delport
“Why don’t you drive?” I offer Adam the keys and he gapes at me disbelievingly.
“Paige, don’t be ridiculous!” he scolds, opening the passenger door and scowling at me over the roof of the Audi. “We could be killed!” he finishes, placing one leg inside the car and my face falls, involuntarily.
“Oh my God,” Adam freezes, catching my eye and then he straightens up, standing and facing me across the car. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?” His eyes widen; understanding dawning in the sapphire orbs.
“No!” I protest, but it is too late, he knows the truth; I can read it on his face. He slams the door shut and I flinch as he takes a few determined strides and comes around to stand before me.
“Tell me you aren't that stupid, Paige!” He sounds panicked and disgusted and he takes me by the shoulders and shakes me. “Tell me!” he repeats, sounding angrier than I have ever heard him, even angrier than he was during last night’s breakdown.
“Adam, I...” I trail off. I do not have the strength to deny it and what would be the point? Lying to Adam would be futile, he knows me too well. Instead, I draw myself up to my full height and meet his gaze head-on. “I will not live without you,” I state, simply.
“You will!” he roars and I jut out my chin like an obstinate child.
“I won’t,” I insist, and his eyes are afire with rage.
“Paige, you will live,” he lowers his voice as an elderly couple walks by, eyeing us anxiously. “You will live. You will go on to get married and have babies and enjoy every single minute that you have, do you understand me?” He is instructing and pleading all at once and I lower my eyes, not wanting to see the desperation in his.
“I can’t, Adam,” I admit, opening my arms wide and shaking my head. “I physically and emotionally can’t! Don’t you understand? I can’t recover from this! I won’t be able to come back again whether I want to or not. And I don’t,” I add, sniffing loudly, “I don’t want to be without you.”
“Paige, look at me,” his voice is so unexpectedly gentle that I raise my eyes. Adam takes a deep breath before he continues, “I know,” he says gently, pushing my hair back behind my ear, “I know that what you’ve been through... what you’ve lost; it hasn’t been easy. Kevin, your dad, me...” he swallows determinedly, “you've lost so much; I get that. But you...” he smiles proudly, “you're the strongest, most amazing person I know. You can get through this!” he takes my hands and squeezes them. “Please, Paige, for me. I need to know that you're going to be okay. Please! Don’t condemn me to an eternity of worry,” he raises his brows in question.
I cover my face with my hands, rubbing up and down, trying to think of the words to say.
“I’m just emotional,” I eventually look up at him, “I'll be fine.” I smile encouragingly and he looks unconvinced. I force myself to smile, placing my hands on either side of his face. “I'll get through this Adam, I promise.” I kiss his lips and then I glance down at my watch and deliberately change the subject, “We’re going to be late,” is all I can manage and I turn away, jumping in the car and starting the engine.
The drive to the Institute is agony and when we finally pull into the parking-lot, I switch off the car and rest my head on the steering-wheel. Adam and I sit in silence for a few moments, we are still slightly early despite my concern about the time.
“Paige,” Adam begins hesitantly and I raise my head, turning to look at him.
“I’m sorry, Adam,” I smile tentatively, “of course you're right. I promise I won't do anything stupid. I love you,” my voice breaks at the last and Adam leans forward, reaching for me. Our lips meet and the kiss deepens, my body responding to Adam’s touch.
“I thought you might have got enough of me last night,” Adam chuckles and I smile despite my sombre mood. “It could never be enough,” I whisper against his mouth, and I kiss him again, letting all my emotions, all my passion and all my love flow through, until it is so overwhelming that I feel dizzy. I pull back slowly, my eyes still closed.
“Remember me just like this, Paige.” Adam’s voice is husky and I can sense that he too is trying not to be overcome with emotion.
“I will,” I promise, opening my eyes.
“I will love you forever,” he promises and I blink back the tears.
“I will love you a lot longer than that Adam.”
Carl is waiting for us in his office. Never before has the room felt so cold, so clinical. There is an ominous atmosphere and I almost feel as though I am about to witness an execution; as if this is the punishment for wanting to be happy; punishment for having loved – the death penalty. Carl regards us both with empathy and I see something in his eyes, a sadness of his own. I suppose this is his cross to bear. In his own way I believe that Carl cares very deeply for Adam too and I realise that his task is hardly an easy one.
“Are you ready, Adam?” he asks gently and Adam meets my eyes across the room, his own blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
“I’m ready,” he answers brusquely, lying back on the doctor’s couch and placing his hands by his sides.
I cross the room, not caring in the least about the rules and settle down on the floor next to Adam, taking his hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“I’m here,” I whisper unnecessarily and Adam gives a brisk nod of his head, squeezing my hand so tightly in his shaking one that I feel the circulation stop. He looks up at me his eyes hollow and anguished but somehow proud, and I am consumed by this brave, wonderful man who would sacrifice everything to do what is right. Choking back a sob, I wait until the moment that he finally closes his eyes, before I let the silent tears fall freely down my cheeks as Carl Sheldon begins to speak.
I tune out; self-preservation allowing me to hear nothing but the steady sound of Adam’s breathing which becomes calmer and calmer as time goes by and he succumbs to the hypnosis. Carl’s rhetoric is white noise; and I search Adam’s face, trying to remember every single detail, from the tiny scar on his forehead, to his long, black lashes sweeping his cheeks; his beautiful mouth so soft in repose and the full lips which have brought me so much pleasure; his strong jaw; the dimple in his chin; the beautiful tanned curve of his neck and the hollow where it meets his strong chest; his broad shoulders, his beautiful hands. Adam.
All things Adam. My Adam. I close my eyes and wait for the world to end.
I am so lost in thought that I do not even hear Carl bringing the session to a close. I feel peaceful as if I might have died and almost as if, even if I never open my eyes again, it will be okay. Adam’s hand is suddenly snatched from my grip and a thunderous voice festering with hatred booms through the room.
“Don’t touch me!” Simon roars, wiping his hand on his shirt as though it might be contaminated. I resist the urge to meet his eyes. I will not look at his face. “Don’t you ever touch me!” he hisses and I hear Carl clear his throat.
“Paige, it might be best if you leave,” he says gently, his eyes filled with compassion. I nod, still refusing to look at Simon. I will not let my last memory of Adam be the sight of Simon’s hateful gaze. I rise slowly to my feet placing a hand on Carl’s arm as I pass and smiling sadly up at him.
“Take care, Carl,” I murmur, heading towards the door.
I smile sadly at
Lizzy who is sitting on a chair just outside the office in the hall and I nod quickly, to let her know that she can go in. She spares me a sincere, sympathetic look and then, in a flash, she yanks open the door and rushes inside. I stifle a sob and turn to make my way toward the parking-lot, away from my future, away from my soul.
“Paige, wait!” Carl races up to me, his face stricken.
“I’m so sorry.” His eyes are sparkling with unshed tears. “This is my fault, Adam was my patient. I made a mistake, I don’t know how I never picked it up.” He pauses, shaking his head, and then he takes hold of my shoulders. “I hope that one day you can find it in your heart to forgive me. I never meant to cause you any pain. If I had known, if I had suspected, please believe me I would never have dragged you into all of this. That day at your house, when I asked you to help...I genuinely believed that there would be a happy ending for both of you.” His voice breaks slightly and I bite down hard on my lip to keep from breaking down. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you this before,” he continues, “I had to be harsh, I was worried that you would run again, that you wouldn’t let me finish it. As much as I care deeply for Adam, I have a professional obligation to Simon.” He sounds almost regretful; as though he wishes this was not the case. “Anyway, I understand entirely if you want to report me to the Medical Board.” The last words stun me, and I stare up at him, flabbergasted. The thought had never crossed my mind, but I suppose it makes sense. A mistake of that magnitude would not be taken lightly. Of course I would never do that. I know that Carl was not neglectful or derelict in his duty. And besides, it would not bring Adam back. What would be the point? To punish someone who is obviously punishing himself enough.
“
It’s okay, Carl. You were right. And I probably wouldn’t have brought him back if I’d thought I could get away with it.” He smiles sadly and then presses a small bottle of pills into my hand.
“Please, take them. They’re mild antidepressants, they’ll help.” He nods encouragingly, “and I would like to offer you counselling.
No charge, obviously.” He attempts a joke, and I thank him before I turn around and head for the car.
“Paige, I can get somebody to drive you,” he calls, but I shake my head and I wave away his offer.
I have only taken a few steps when I feel something inside of me cave in; the pillar of strength that I have been hanging onto finally falls away and my soul seems to shear in half, in a blinding, torturous moment of pain so bad that I realise that this is truly something I will not come back from. The world is empty without Adam; a cold, barren, wasteland that I want no part of. I will not live in a world where love does not exist. I refuse. Promise or no promise; this is my choice, nobody else’s.
I don’t know how I make it to my mother’s house but I find myself parked in the driveway, my face wet with tears.
“Paige!” My mother’s squawk rouses me from my reverie and I turn as she yanks open the door, her face appearing a moment later, panic etched all over it. “Paige! Honey! What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“I didn’t know where else to go,” is all I can manage before the blackness that has been threatening to overcome me finally wins, the darkness engulfs me and everything mercifully turns to black.
When I come to I am lying in my old bed surrounded by memories of my childhood. For some reason, it only strikes me now, that although my mother converted my step-sisters' rooms at the first chance she got, she has not changed a thing in my own bedroom. Even my faded Paula Abdul poster is still stuck on the far wall and the pink dream-catcher is still hanging from the ceiling.
Before I have a chance to ponder what this means, the door opens and my mother bustles in, a tray of tea and biscuits in her hands.
“Oh good, you’re up!” she announces before placing the tray on the bedside table next to my old clock radio.
She sits down awkwardly on the edge of the bed, smelling of White Linen and slightly of cigarettes. I smile; I bet the stress has her puffing away like crazy. I start to giggle and then find that I cannot stop. Soon, tears are streaming down my cheeks and my mother, looking suddenly afraid and regarding me with all the concern one would a psychiatric patient, only serves to fuel my laughter. I laugh out loud, long and hard, clutching my sides, a stitch forming in my stomach. Slowly the laughter gives way to tears and great choking sobs wrack my body. I gag suddenly and my mother reaches for the plastic dustbin under my desk, bringing it to my mouth just in time. I heave, throwing up what little I have in my stomach.
“There, there,” my mother rubs my back as I vomit again and again until there is nothing left and I am gagging and spitting up nothing but bile. She rises, taking the soiled bin with her and returns a moment later with a warm facecloth which she uses to wipe my face and neck. I feel so cold and my body is shivering. She helps me to sit up, propping me up with pillows behind me and then pulls my duvet over me, adding my old crocheted blanket for good measure.
“Now,” she hands me a steaming mug of tea, “get this down Paige, you’ll feel better,” she orders and I smile, thinking how often I have used tea as a remedy for any bad situation. I take a small sip, grateful to be rid of the terrible taste in my mouth. My mother hands me a ginger biscuit and I nibble on it, my thoughts a whirl of confusion in my head.
“Paige,” she sounds so worried that I finally meet her gaze, surprised at the raw emotion on her face. “What's going on love?” she asks gently and hesitantly, as though unsure of her reception, and I realise for the first time in my life, that the distance between us may not have been entirely her fault.
“I can’t...” I whisper, not knowing how to tell her the story, where to even start.
“You can,” she instructs, her tone leaving no room for argument, “you can and you will.”
Once I start I cannot stop and the whole story pours out of me, hurting me over and over again as if I am being tortured by a relentless agony that will never cease. My mother does not interrupt me except to yell at Frank to “get out” when he unwittingly sticks his head around the door to check how I am doing. Reminding me of a lioness protecting her cub, my mother sits still by my side, her hand on my leg, the only sign of any emotion on her part being the supportive squeezing of my thigh whenever the story becomes too much for me to bear. This, and her unflappable, steadfast determination gives me the strength to finish. Exhausted with so much emotional unveiling I flop back onto the pillows closing my eyes. I feel like I could sleep forever.
There is silence for the longest time, then I hear her take a deep breath and I mentally prepare myself for what must be coming.
“Some things are not meant to be, Paige,” she begins, “trust me, I know. Look at me and your father.” I jerk my head up in shock; my mother avoids speaking of my dad at all costs and for her to voluntarily bring him up is very surprising.
“It’s different, Mom,” I insist. “I love him. I loved him,” I correct and my voice breaks. I take a moment to compose myself. “I loved him so much.”
“Do you think I didn’t love your father?” she asks and I frown, sniffing loudly. “Of course you do,” she answers her own question, shaking her head sadly from side to side. “Paige, you judge me so harshly. I know you’ve always held this against me. I know how much you loved him. He was an amazing man. I loved him too; once.” She is right, I realise. I have always held it against her. I know how devastated he was when she left him and how he never got over her. Even at the height of his disease he always remembered her, even more than me. Maybe I was jealous of that and for the first time I feel ashamed that I gave her so little chance. I cast my eyes down to the floor but she notices immediately.
“Look at me sweetheart,” she murmurs, and I slowly raise my eyes to hers.
“I did love your father and he gave me the greatest gift of my life. He gave me you,” she inclines her head towards me and she sounds so sincere that I find that I am smiling, even as the tears are welling in my eyes. “I fell out of love, Paige,” she shrugs helplessly, and now I see that real tears are glistening in her own eyes and she bites her cheek, trying to curb her emotions. This is a side of my mother I have never seen. “I didn’t want to; I tried to see things through but I couldn’t live a lie.” She takes a deep breath.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, in a small voice. Maybe if she had been honest with me I would have seen things differently, our relationship could have been so different.
“Would you have listened?” she asks, a sad smile on her face. “You loved him so very, very much, and you needed someone to blame,” she shrugs her shoulders and I want to cry even more, at her selflessness.
“I couldn’t live a lie,” she continues, “just like you couldn’t,
Paigey.”
She is right. I couldn’t live with Adam knowing it was a lie; knowing that it wasn’t the truth and that the fairy tale was not who he was meant to be, not who we were meant to be. I had to do the right thing. I had to let him go; for him, as well as for myself. I see my mother through new eyes and for the first time I realise that perhaps we are not so different after all. Perhaps my strength is not solely the legacy of my father. I bite my lip trying to hold back my own tears and I nod my head, trying to convey that I finally understand.
“I’m sorry, mom,” I whisper. I'm sorry that I've judged her so harshly. She's silly and she's fickle, but her heart is beautiful and she has always wanted what is best for me.
“Paige,” my mother’s voice is
more gentle than I have ever heard and, as her arms come around me, the dam that I've been trying so hard to keep up bursts. “Some things just aren’t meant to be, my angel; no matter how badly you want them to be.” I close my eyes and sob into her shoulder, clinging to her silk shirt and drenching it in my tears.
“I don’t want you to do anything stupid,” she continues, and I know exactly what she is referring to. She has seen me broken before and that was nowhere near as bad as this. “Promise me you won’t do anything reckless,” she adds, and I wish she didn’t look so earnest, so sincere. I cannot make any promises yet. I don’t know how this story is going to end. Right now I cannot comprehend living; living without Adam. How will I go on? What will I become? I don't have the answers and I am far too tired to try and figure it all out.
I close my eyes and lie back letting my mother’s presence soothe me and, as I cross the line between the real world and the land of dreams, Adam’s face swims in my vision, my favourite smile lighting up his handsome face. He looks exactly as I remember him and he is holding a boring, black umbrella.
“You didn’t really think I would be gone for good, did you?” he asks chuckling.
The following morning I wake up almost wishing I hadn’t. An empty, barren life stretches before me and I want nothing to do with it. Just as I am about to curl up on my side and go back to sleep there is a sharp rapping and Frank’s head pops around my bedroom door.
“Your mum sent me to wake you Paige, breakfast is ready,” he winks and I nod in acknowledgement.
I drag myself out of bed, wrapping my blanket around my shoulders and, pulling on my old purple slippers with the pom-poms on the front, I head downstairs.
Frank is reading the morning newspaper in the kitchen and mom is nowhere to be seen.
“Where’s she?” I yawn, taking in the broken eggshells and assortment of bacon, mushrooms and chopped tomatoes littering the kitchen table.
“Sneaking a puff,” he doesn’t look up from the paper, but points over his shoulder to where my mother's shadow is clearly visible behind the sheets hanging on the washing-line, smoke billowing over the line and its contents. A giggle escapes me and Frank glances up, regarding me over the paper.
“You gonna be okay?”
“I don’t know,” I take a piece of bacon from the plate, nibbling it while I wait. Frank nods and folds the paper tossing it onto the sofa behind him.
“Eat up, she’s really gone to town.”
I start loading my plate, watching my mother who is now taking down the washing.
“She loves you, you know,” Frank interrupts my reverie. “Do you know what she said to me when we were dating?” I shake my head. “She said, ‘Love me, love my child'. She said that if I wanted to marry her I had better be prepared to love you like my own. Surprised?” he asks; my confusion obvious. I had always thought mom married Frank for his money and security and that my wellbeing had not come into the equation.
“A little bit,” I admit and Frank smiles fondly.
“Luckily Paige, you were a very easy child to love; I didn’t need any prompting.”
“You've been amazing, Frank, I couldn’t have asked for a better father figure.”
“Do you know why she never visited your father?”
“No,” I answer truthfully. I have always believed that my mom couldn’t be bothered but now I'm not so sure. I'm not sure if I really know her at all.
“She couldn’t take it,” Frank explains, “she would get ready to go and then she would collapse, crying. It broke her heart to see him like that. It was easier for her to stay away.”
I finish my breakfast which is surprisingly delicious and do the washing up. The mindless chore at least gives me something to do. As soon as I'm finished I head straight back up to my room, burrowing under the covers and closing my eyes, although I know I will not be able to sleep. I lie for hours just staring at the ceiling still adorned with glow stars from my childhood. At lunch time it is my mom, not Frank, who pokes her head around the door.
“Lunch is ready.”
I repeat the same process for two days; heaving myself out of bed, wandering downstairs, eating something, washing dishes and climbing back upstairs and into bed. I am merely biding my time; this is no life, this is simply existence on a plain far removed from the beauty and excitement I had imagined my life would be; my life with Adam.
On the fourth day my mother's head appears around my door, a frown creasing her forehead.
“You have a visitor,” she announces. This is so unexpected that I sit bolt upright in my bed almost decapitating myself on the wooden headboard.
“Who is it?”
“See for yourself,” she instructs and then, just before she closes the door, “and for heaven's sake Paige brush your hair before you come downstairs, you look awful.”