Page 35 of Life Lessons

“It’s not like that and you know it,” I warn, my eyes flicking to Musgrove in my peripheral vision. Catching the movement, Abbie laughs dryly and pries her wrist from my hold. I see what she’s doing, because I’ve done it a thousand times. Maybe more. She’s firmly set to self destruct, anything and everyone in her way greeting the brunt of it. At least with experience comes knowledge.

“Abbie, listen to me,” I warn.

“No, you listen to me. I’m not ashamed of my feelings. If it hadn’t been for your precious job, I’d have voiced mine a long time ago. But the first sign of being exposed and you bolted. Don’t worry, your secret is still safe, but mine isn’t, and you were nowhere to be seen. Glad I mean so little to you.”

“Wait, what? That’s not what happened. Harriett—”

“Save it,” Abbie scoffs, flicking her hair over her shoulder. Musgrove opens the door to let Abbie leave, the pair slinking their arms around each other as I see yet another tear stream down Abbie’s cheek. This one, however, is all on me.

“We’re going to talk about this later,” I overhear Musgrove say as she looks at me over her shoulder sceptically. “For now, you’re staying at mine. I have emergency pink gin hidden under my bed.” The soft chuckle Abbie releases is all I’m left with as the pair leave, the door slamming closed and my eyebrows furrowed. Shoving away all thoughts of seeing Harriett out on her ass for now, I lean forward with my elbows on my knees. There’s no chance in hell Abbie could think I don’t care about her, but maybe she’s right. Obviously not publicly, but I should make my feelings clear. I’m falling head over ass for this girl and it’s time I showed her just that. Once she’s cooled off.

The weekend after the sport’s rally passes by in a blur. I barely made it out of my bedroom. I don’t know what I feel shittest about, having my secret come out, or pushing Jett away. Of course he tries to text me, and calls me. I even hear him knock a few times, but I can’t deal with him. He thinks I’m pushing him away because he wasn’t there for me when I needed him, and of course that played a very tiny part, but I believe him when he said only a literal steel door could have kept us apart. No, my reason for keeping him at arm’s reach is much more personal. He can help me to push my demons away, he’s probably the only one who can, but right now, I don’t think I want that. I want to wallow in the darkness until they consume me and return me to the part of my soul that was ripped away. I need Tillie.

Trixie tried to tempt me to her room that first night with the promise of pink gin, but I never went. The last thing I need is drunken Abbie spilling all my secrets. I think maybe that is what Trixie wants. She doesn’t openly ask me any questions, but I see them in the side glancing eyes, or on the tip of her tongue. I don’t openly ignore her and her messages the way I do with Jett, but I do make it clear I’m not in the mood for socialising.

When Sunday night came around, I was still deciding whether I should go to class or not. There’s a part of me that logically keeps saying that the longer I leave this the harder it will be. I have had messages of support from people, and from what I heard Trixie say, Harriett has been suspended pending an investigation. Apparently, she has a lot of secrets she’s threatening to share if she doesn’t get let back in. I, for one, can only imagine the damage she would spread if she could. Bitches like her will always land on their feet.

The other part of me doesn’t want to face anyone. She wants to stay curled up in this bed, rehashing all the shit life has thrown my way and spiralling further into the darkness. This was my familiarity, this was what I knew. Facing up to my fears, and my past, was not something I was comfortable with. Yet it’s exactly what I have been doing. With the help of Jett and Trixie, hell even Harley and Jackson to a certain degree, they have all given me the love and support I need to face my demons. This thought is exactly what was pushing me to go back to school tomorrow and face the whispers. Or at least it was until I answered my ringing phone.

“Hello,” I ask, sounding very unsure of who could be on the other end of the phone, despite the caller display clearly indicating my mother was calling. The only problem is that my mother has never called me, like ever. She always either has me call her, or she gets my father to call. That is why I sound so unsure.

“Abigail Louisa Nightingale, I thought I made it very clear that you could only attend Willowmead if you agreed to not draw attention to yourself. Not only do I continuously get calls from your Headteacher about you getting thrown out of class and getting into arguments with your Maths teacher, I now find out you are the talk of the whole town. Your father has had a call from the local minister, Mr Longstaff, who is insisting that we drop any demands we have over his daughter getting suspended as a result of your actions. Now, what little people in our community that didn’t know our shame, are now very much aware. You are a complete disgrace to our name, and your father and I will never forgive you for this outburst. Having our name dragged through the mud on loudspeaker in front of the whole school and visiting dignitaries, is just a step too far, Abigail. We have a meeting with Mr Thornton on Friday as that is the earliest your father can get into town. He has had to cancel several important meetings. We will decide at that meeting how best to proceed with this horrific event. Until then you are to remain under the radar. You will not draw any more undue attention to yourself. Do I make myself clear, Abigail?”

My mothers vile rant leeches into my brain, seeping through the skin and calling to the darkness that lives there. She voices the words I wasn’t brave enough to say. I am an embarrassment to the family, but for once the fault of this incident does not lie with me.

“Mother, do you even care that I was not responsible for this? Harriett is the one who found out about Tille and she—”

“Don’t you dare speak her name. You are the reason my precious little girl is gone and you have to live with that. If you don’t like what this Harriett girl said, it’s only because you can’t deal with the truth.” Her words are like cold water, hitting me and making all my nerve endings burn.

“She was my sister,” I say weakly, barely even thinking about what my argument is here.

“Yes, and you got her killed. Tillie was always the better version of you. She would never have disgraced us like this. Everytime I look at you, or even just talk to you, I am reminded that the wrong twin died that day. Now, do as I say and stay out of trouble until friday. We will deal with you then.”

She hangs up the phone and I simply let it drop to the floor. I have always suspected that is how she felt, but knowing it and having it confirmed are two different things. I sit there, my mind blank and my heart aching. I don’t even have any tears left to shed. What would be the point? No point crying over a life I lost and can never get back.

I had hoped I had made a new life for myself. Found a new Abbie, one that could stand on her own two feet and didn’t need Tillie to prop her up. I had Trixie to laugh with me, and push me out of my comfort zone. But mostly I had Jett. He helped me grieve, and taught me how to live again. Maybe even love again. Yet all of that has faded away with a few simple words from the woman who is supposed to love me unconditionally.

I don’t know how long I lie there curled up in a ball. I must have fallen asleep at some point as I woke up still from sleeping in such an unusual position. Seeing the sun shine through the barely open blinds, I realise it is Monday morning. Catching a glance at the clock on the wall, it’s almost lunch time and I have missed all my morning classes, including Jett’s Maths class. Not that I care. I can’t face anyone like this.

Moving around the flat, not really seeing or feeling, it’s like I am on autopilot. I can hear my phone beeping and ringing, but I ignore it until it stops. I can only imagine it’s run out of battery. I drink some water, but don’t really taste it. I think I may even eat a sandwich, but I don’t really remember. It’s like the whole time is passing by as a blur. One I am thankful for as it means I am not feeling.

That’s when I remember that I need to feel. Not the joy or love I was starting to feel in my new life. No, I need to suffer. I need to feel the pain of Tillie’s death. I need to be punished. Without really thinking it through, moving around like a zombie still, that’s how I find myself sitting on the kitchen floor holding a sharp yet small knife.

I don’t know when I got it off the cutting block. It’s like my body is acting without the instruction from my brain. When my mind does catch up, it’s slow and sluggish. Barely giving a shit that I am sitting on the kitchen floor holding a knife to my wrist. I feel the coolness of the blade as it touches the sensitive skin on the inside of my wrist. The bright blue veins stand out like an obvious target, but I don’t move the blade. I sit there, unthinking, unfeeling.

I don’t know how long I sit there for, but I don’t move the knife any further than the tip of my wrist. I want to press down and pull it away. It wouldn’t take much. Just one sharp movement in the right direction, but for some reason my body, that is still taking the reins, doesn’t want me to. Instead, I just sit.

I hear the banging on the front door, but it barely registers. It’s like my brain is asleep, but I can tell what is happening around me. The door swings open, and I don’t even question how. Jett runs in calling my name, but I don’t respond. I don’t even look up to him. I don’t want to need him. Maybe if I stay curled up here, and don’t reply to him he will go away.

It doesn’t take Jett long to find me. He crouches down in front of me and I finally look up at him. He is looking at me like I am a timid bird, one loud noise will have me flying away. Maybe he is right.

He places a large, warm hand over my small hand that is firmly gripping the knife and holding it against my skin. His calloused hands are a direct contradiction to his gentle touch. Looking into his eyes, I see a sadness there, but it’s not what I’m expecting. It’s not pity, like he feels sorry for me, instead it looks more like fear. Is he scared of losing me?

“Abbie, baby, please can I take the knife?” he asks, his voice gentle and barely above a whisper. But it’s enough to allow my brain to catch up with my body. I don’t think there is much I wouldn’t do for this man, so I gently drop the knife.

Jett swiftly catches it and throws it to the other side of the kitchen where it is out of reach. His hand comes back and takes hold of my small wrist, his thumb gently rubbing over the patch of skin that was recently covered by the blade. I watch as his eyes make an assessment of all my skin, checking to see if I am injured anywhere.

“Little Bird, are you hurt anywhere?” he whispers and I just shake my head as a no.

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