Fail to Fight (Lessons in Love Book 1) Page 3

  My phone buzzed with a message.

  Trev: Will, where you at?

  It was the middle of the afternoon and I was still hung over from the night before. I chose to drink more often at home now, away from the sympathetic looks of the locals, people who used to look up to me. After moving out of our apartment, I was now sharing with my brother and sister-in-law again. It wasn’t ideal, but I had my own space all the same.

  Trev: The boys are headed down to the Royal for Jamie’s going away drinks. Get your ass here!

  I turned the phone off. I wasn’t interested. The only time I’d been out since Chloe’s incident, I ended up in a fight and barely escaped assault charges. Again. I needed to get a grip on myself. I tried throwing myself into my work and ignoring the world, but those fuckers just wouldn’t let up.

  Every waking moment I spent thinking about Chloe, wondering where she was and what she was doing. Nobody seemed to know where she was staying, or at least, nobody would say. I guessed she was staying with her parents but I wasn’t allowed within a hundred feet of her without breaching the fucking domestic violence order. I knew everyone was looking out for me. The less I knew, the better my chances of staying away from her and keeping out of trouble. But I hated not knowing. Hated that I couldn’t fucking see her. I rang her sometimes from a private number, just to hear her voice on the answering machine. I kept telling myself she would contact me if she had any interest in seeing me again. I couldn’t risk reaching out to her in case she wasn’t ready and decided to press charges. But every day that passed without communication from her, made my days longer and more difficult.

  Jamie visited her after she was discharged from hospital, I heard from another mate she was packing up the apartment ready to move. Jamie didn’t even bother to tell me he’d seen her, and when I asked he told me to fuck off. Apparently it wasn’t my business.

  “I can’t do this with you, Will. You made a choice and you chose wrong.” Jamie’s words burned through the splinters of my heart.

  “Yeah, I fucking did, don’t you think I know that?” I lashed out.

  “She’s not yours to worry about anymore. You never deserved her, Will.”

  I threw the beer I was holding against the wall at the back of the house where we stood.

  “You came over here just to tell me that, Jamie?” I pushed him and I was surprised when he regained his footing and came at me. He wrestled me to the ground and landed a right hook to the side of my head.

  “That’s for Chloe.” I didn’t even fight back; I didn’t have it in me. He was right. I didn’t deserve her.

  A few days after our fight, he called to let me know he’d accepted a transfer up north and that was the last I’d seen or heard from him. I felt shitty about not making an effort to attend his going away drinks, but it wasn’t the worst of what I was dealing with.

  Jamie was a great guy and I know he thought the world of Chloe. Despite my jealous rage I flew into at the party, he had always treated her as his kid sister. He was clearly struggling with my actions and had spoken of his guilt numerous times. He hated that he was unable to stop me from hitting her. The moment my rage took over, he recognized the warning signs and raced toward me, yelling at me to back off. But it was too late, the damage was done.

  I wished more than anything he’d made it to me in time, but nobody was to blame but me. I destroyed everything that meant anything to me, with one cowardly punch. And I was paying the price.

  I was lost. Alone.

  And regret crippled me.

  Chapter Four ~ Broken

  You were a dream. Then a reality. Now a memory. ~ Unknown

  Chloe

  Ten Years Ago – February 2006

  Sleep escapes me. Every time I closed my eyes, Will was there. The pain of waking to realize it was only a dream pulled me further into depression. The doctors said to expect low moods and gave me a heap of prescriptions for pills and numbers for counseling services and psychologists. But nothing they could do or say would change what happened.

  I struggled to understand why Will hadn’t contacted me. Didn’t he care? I thought he loved me, but maybe he couldn’t get past my indiscretions and decided it was the perfect opportunity to walk away. He assaulted me and left me all alone with no explanation. No apology.

  I knew in part it was my fault. There was some weight to the rumors circulating recently, but not as much as he was led to believe. I should have told him the truth. I let him believe the worst. Even still, he’d stood strong in his decision to move forward together. Will had forgiven me for the actions he believed to be true. We’d moved on, or so I’d thought. Then before I knew it, alcohol mixed with insecurity, and I was waking up in the hospital.

  Alone and afraid.

  My jaw still ached and I was on a liquid diet. For me, that consisted of beer, bourbon and tequila mostly, with the odd pineapple juice or smoothie to wash away the seedy feeling from the night before. My appetite was poor and I was rapidly losing weight. I was aware the concoction of pills and booze was dangerous, but it was the only thing that got me through my darkest days. My energy and motivation weighed in at zero. I cared little about moving on. What did I possibly have to look forward to?

  I hadn’t left the house since I moved my belongings into my parents’ home last week. Packing up the apartment where I lived with Will was difficult, but there was little left of our life there. Will had taken all our photos and memorabilia from our time together. He probably burned them. I didn’t need something tangible to cry over, but I would have appreciated a keep-sake to show for the good times. Every day was worth remembering, right up to that detrimental moment in time when he lashed out and left me unconscious in front of all our friends and family.

  Glancing around at all the boxes stacked in my parents’ garage, I ponder whether I should waste the time making it my home for a while. There was nothing left for me in this town. I was yet to step out in public, still waiting for the bruising from my fractured jaw and eye socket to fade. The cuts on my head from where I hit the gravel were healing quickly, but sharp pains were too frequent, each one reminding me that Will was gone.

  I slid down the wall and wept in the darkness, unable to see a way through this.

  I was lost without him.

  Would anger follow if I could move past the heartbreak?

  I wanted to call him but I was warned not to. I was gutted when I heard the police issued a restraining order on my behalf. I never would have done that. Not that he didn’t deserve it, but given the chance I would have forgiven him and moved on. I didn’t know who he was that night, but it sure as hell wasn’t the man I fell in love with. He’d never been aggressive toward me before and I had no reason to believe it would happen again.

  My mind sifted through multiple reasons for why he hadn’t called to check up on me, at the very least. Was he scared I’d report him for contacting me? Did he think I had the domestic violence order placed against him? I wanted to reach out and tell him I forgive him. Tell him I still loved him. My heart ached to be back in his arms.

  But he hadn’t called me either so I hesitated every time I dialed his number. He knew how to reach me but he never tried. Not once.

  A few close friends and my work colleagues tried to keep me occupied with visits, chocolates, corny romantic comedies and plenty of conversation but I was exhausted; physically, emotionally and mentally. I needed time alone to heal.

  *****

  Weeks Later - March 2006

  Taking a bottle of wine from the refrigerator, I head for the shower. I overlook the glass, because let’s face it, it was more to wash up and I just didn’t give a fuck about anything. All I wanted was hot water to soothe my aches and pains and alcohol to mask my feelings. Mixed with the few pain killers I took an hour ago, and maybe a sleeping pill when I was ready to retire, I might manage to sleep a little tonight and avoid seeing his face.

  Undressing, I catch a glimpse of my bare
stomach in the mirror. My heart drops and tears follow as I massage my belly, now shrinking instead of growing.

  Not long after I woke in the hospital, I was pumped full of sedatives to calm me down. Distraught and confused when I came to, I was screaming out for Jamie. I remembered him running toward Will, yelling at him, before darkness took over. My mother returned when she received word that I was in hospital and I woke to find her sitting at my bedside, dried tears on her face. When I was more coherent, a sweet, older female doctor visited and asked mom to step out of the room. When we were alone, she pulled a chair close to my bed, a concerned look on her face, my chart in her hands.

  “Chloe, now that you’re awake and lucid, we should really go through some of your results,” she told me, patting my arm.

  “The doctor has been in to see me already, is there something else I don’t know about?” I asked, slightly panicked.

  The look on her face answered my question and she cast her eyes down my body. “Yes, love, there is something we didn’t want to tell you immediately, well…until the rest of your injuries had been explained.”

  “Oh God, did they find a tumor when they did the CAT scans?” My breath constricts as if hands were gripping my throat.

  “No, no, dear. Don’t panic, there’s nothing wrong with you,” the doctor replies, rubbing her tiny hands over my arm. “You’re pregnant.” She smiled half-heartedly.

  “I’m sorry, what?” That couldn’t be possible, we were always careful.

  “Your blood tests show that you’re approximately ten weeks along.” I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, or if I even knew the difference. I needed to see Will. We were having a baby! I could tell from her posture there was more she wanted to say. I sensed her hesitation. I knew the situation wasn’t ideal, the timing was all off, but I could make this work. I knew I could. “We do have some concerns about the baby, given the trauma you’ve experienced. We’ve been monitoring the baby’s heart rate since we received the tests and it’s very erratic.”

  Confusion overwhelmed me and I felt faint. The doctor stood to turn back the bed sheets to reveal my stomach covered with bands attached to a small machine sitting at the end of the bed, out of site. I had no idea.

  Why hadn’t I felt the straps across my midsection? I struggled to sit up but my head pounded, forcing me back into the bed. “No need to move, Chloe. The best thing you can do is stay calm and rest. Letting your body heal will give your baby the ultimate chance of survival.”

  “Survival?” No! I can’t take any more. This can’t be happening. “Are you saying I’m at risk of losing my baby?” I tried to understand, the panic setting in.

  “Unfortunately, Chloe, that is a possibility this early on in the pregnancy. Our job is to keep you calm and your pain minimal, without the use of any drugs that may cause your baby stress.”

  Now I understood why I hadn’t been feeling well. Why I’d been a hormonal bitch from hell. The fight or flight response, the insanely out of character decisions and feelings of insecurity. My baby had turned me into a hormonal maniac and I never knew. I wasted all that time when I could have been falling in love with a little person growing inside of me, celebrating the news with Will.

  “Will.” I looked around the room for a phone. “I need to call Will. Please can you get me a phone?” I begged.

  “I’m afraid that’s not an option at this time, Chloe. Perhaps later. I’ll be back to check on you shortly.” She spread the blankets back over my body, tucking them in at the sides of the bed, and adjusted my pillows gently beneath my head.

  “Please,” I said reaching for her. “I don’t want anyone to know until I’ve had a chance to speak with Will.” She nodded and replied, “Of course.” And left the room.

  What the fuck was going on? What did she mean, not an option at this time?

  When my mother came back into the room, I never told her about the baby. “Mom, where’s Will?” I broke down in tears when my mom closed her eyes and reached for my hand.

  “Darling I’m so sorry. I know this can’t be easy for you. The police were called when you arrived at the hospital. Because of the nature of the incident, they issued an order restricting Will from making any contact with you. I think right now, it’s for the best.”

  The best for who? I wanted to scream. This was outrageous, there must be a mistake. “I don’t understand. When can I see him? I want to go home, mom, I need to be with Will,” I cried out. My pulse raced and my vision blurred as I contemplated the news.

  The day after I learned about the baby and not being able to see Will, my world shattered again. I woke with dreadful cramps and within a few hours they could no longer find a heartbeat. Will had abandoned me and my baby was gone.

  The news came with one silver lining. Sedation. They kept me well sedated for the next few days, an oasis of peace amidst the clusterfuck that was now my life. Since returning home, however, I struggled to keep the demons at bay. I knew I was dancing on the edge of destruction mixing pills and alcohol, but I didn’t know how else to get through it.

  Next week I hoped to return to work, I needed focus. Structure. I only hoped it helped to deliver me from this hell.

  *****

  Four Months Later - July 2006

  Work had proven to keep my mind off things during the day, but the nights were hellish reminders of the loss. I sat awake in darkness, a bottle of bourbon by my bed and an assortment of pills to help mask the pain and loneliness. Still, no word from Will.

  Physically I’d returned to normal but emotionally I was scarred. Mentally I was a whole lot of fucked up. Feelings of worthlessness, anger and poor self-esteem consumed me. When I walked down the street, people who were once my friends looked straight through me or crossed the street to avoid passing me. I felt like a stranger in my home town. An outcast. Awkwardness followed me, people seemed unsure how to interact with me, like I might break from simple conversation.

  I felt weak. Vulnerable. A far cry from my normally confident self.

  My breaking point was a few days ago. I was walking past a pub on my way back to the office from a meeting with a client, minding my own business, when one of Will’s mates yelled out, “Hey, Chloe, anyone bash you lately?” He and his mates laughed and high fived each other. Bastards! I stormed back into the office and fell into a heap on the floor.

  Hysterical, my boss drove me home where I was left to my own devices in the quiet shell of a home that was not my own. I’d convinced my mom I was well on the road to recovery when I started back at work. I encouraged her to travel around Australia with her sister for a few months. Little did she know, I continued to spiral out of control. Contact with my father since the incident had been minimal. He avoided all questions I had about Will when we spoke and our conversations were always disjointed. Struggling with his own demons, he refused to visit the house he’d not long ago moved out of. I hadn’t seen him since leaving the hospital.

  A few days passed and I hadn’t returned to work. It was impossible to drag myself from bed. I had not showered or eaten, but there were empty bottles of booze all around. Vaguely I knew I should contact the office, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak to anyone. Some colleagues had recently expressed their concern over my drinking habits in the past few weeks after a few late days and no shows. I was bordering on being fired. Still, that knowledge didn’t motivate me. My two bosses had offered to organize and pay for some visits to a psychologist. I politely declined. I simply wasn’t ready to talk about it yet.

  Locked away in my room with the blinds pulled shut, the clock by my bed was the only way to know the time. It was nearly ten o’clock in the morning. Taking another swig from the bottle and popping another pill, I thought perhaps I could attempt to sleep. The neighbor's dog started barking with no reprieve just as I cozied under the comforter. Not long after, I heard a knock on the door. “Go the fuck away,” I yelled out and buried my head under the pillow.

  The kn
ocking grew louder and more persistent. “Ugh, for fuck’s sake,” I murmured to myself as I crawled out of bed, naked except for scanty briefs and a crop top. I opened the door to find my bosses, Ken and Jackie. They were respectable people and had been so understanding of my situation. I didn’t deserve their kindness or offers of help. They stared at me, keeping their eyes on my face, away from the semi-nakedness. “Ah, good evening,” I said sarcastically with a smile. Even I could tell the smile was empty. I was numb.

  “It’s morning, Chloe.” Jackie invited herself in and pushed past me to investigate my living conditions. They failed considerably.

  “Oh, it is? I’m sorry, I hadn’t noticed,” I drawled, my eyes suddenly heavy.

  “Why would you, locked up in here? When’s the last time you cleaned?” She looked me over as Ken took up a seat on the sofa. “More to the point, Chloe, when’s the last time you showered?” I didn’t need her judgment; I was doing a great job of that myself.

  “And who would I have to shower for?” I asked, twirling around in front of her, the effects of the alcohol evident to the most ignorant eye.

  “Okay, that’s it.” Jackie trotted off to my room, never having been there before I could only guess she followed my trail of empty bottles. She came back with some clean clothes and a bath towel. “Come on, kid, we’re taking a shower.”

  I looked to Ken who quickly removed himself from the sofa. “I’ll make myself scarce,” he said and walked outside.

  “Jackie! I didn’t know you felt that way about me?” Thank fuck she was a cool chick because my tongue had a mind of its own today.