Page 47 of Life Lessons

I grasp onto the wooden porch and heave myself the last few steps to the front door. The key is in the hanging basket since there’s no one around to try breaking in, but even locating it myself right now is proving to be a mission. Fishing the little fucker out of the wicker lining, I manage to make it inside and flop onto the sofa before my legs give out all together. This isn’t the usual intoxication. This is my body, heart, and soul giving up on me. This is how it truly feels every moment I’m not with the one person I now believe was made for me.

Her wit. Her smart mouth. Her demons. Her past. Her scars. All of it makes Abbie the incredible woman she is, and the only one who has ever managed to hold my attention. I thought that was the reason for my infatuation, but I was wrong. I love her. Plain and simple. Groaning, I cover my eyes with my arm and sigh with the start of yet another sleepless night.

Being apart is driving me insane, the inner monologue in my head having fully taken over all rational thought. Did I take advantage of my position? Did I lead her on? Should I have done more to stop the inevitable. I mean, we’re both consenting adults and we knew what we wanted, but I’m older. I should have been adult-er. My thoughts spiral as night turns into dawn and my head lolls to the side.

BANG. I jolt upright, a searing headache slamming into the front of my skull. What the fuck? Squinting around the dim cabin, I roll off the sofa and crawl toward the window on my hands and knees. A fully grown man, on his fucking hands and knees like a toddler without any balance. Pulling myself up via the window sill, I peer out into the woods. The trees are dark and still, framed by a reddish hue filling the sky.

Frowning when nothing appears out of place, I turn to head for my actual bed this time when a sound catches my ear. A muffled, shuffling sound. Flicking open the latch on the window, I push the glass pane upwards and lean out. On the side of the porch beneath the window, a small bird is lopsided and desperately trying to fly away, with no avail. My feet are moving while my mind is still catching up and I soon find myself kneeling in front of the frightened, feathered animal.

Its body is darker on top and paler under, the shades of brown blending seamlessly along the outline of its wings. Tail feathers thunk against the wood repetitively and a small chirp leaves its small beak, the rising panic from both of us coiling into something more potent. I know what kind of bird this is.

Cupping it gently in my hand, the rapid vibration of a heartbeat flutters against my palm. I soothe as best I can, stroking my thumb along the bird’s back. There’s no obvious injuries, yet I slowly rest against the cabin and continue to hold it regardless. A little company for us both, I imagine. My shaggy, shoulder-length hair tugs against the wood and my nose wrinkles at the smell of myself, but I don’t move to leave. I don’t want to scare the little bird, after my ancestors inconveniently built a house in its flight path.

“I sincerely hope you’re simply here to mock me, Little Nightingale.” I keep my tone soft, aware that it has only just settled. I can lift my top hand away now and it remains, contently snuggling in my palm. I wish I was that calm. Instead, a mirage of my own Little Bird plays out in the woods before me, her blue eyes piercing out from the tree line. My throat constricts, all the prayers that she’s okay without me fleeting rapidly. Nestling the bird into the wicker hanging basket by the front door, I turn my attention to the rising lump in my throat.

I don’t believe in coincidences, and omens can get fucked. Regardless, a few hours, painkillers, and an icy cold shower later, I’m standing with my hands in my pockets, waiting for the town’s internet café to open. I need to know. I need to check if she’s okay. My ass drops into a seat the second the owner has stepped aside, taking it upon myself to switch the damn thing on.

A flood of emails quickly fill my inbox and I scan the recipients. At least half are from Sam, cursing me out for leaving without saying goodbye. Seems Herb Thornton painted me as the teacher that couldn’t hack it anymore, leaving his students to flounder just before their exams. I scoff, hoping the lot of them fail and then they’ll learn the best lesson of all—money doesn’t buy everything. I delete the emails from Sam, not needing him to tell me I’m a selfish asshole to make me believe it.

Nothing pops up that catches my attention so I slump back in my chair. Well at least no news is good news, but I’m just now realising how much I’d hyped myself up for something from Abbie. My phone was confiscated the night I left campus, barring me from reaching out to her and breaking the NDA. My emails are probably being monitored as well, but fuck it, I won’t live in fear for loving someone. She’s mine, whether we’re together or not.

Logging out of my timed session, I head back to the main counter to pay the disgruntled owner glaring at me. Fishing over a note, my hand freezes in midair when the sound of the TV behind me catches my ear. The owner snatches it from me and walks away but I can’t move. “Willowmead Academy student and heiress tries to take her own life on the anniversary of her twin’s death,” the female reporter reels off. No, no. Fuck Abbie, that had better not be you. Turning slowly, an image on the screen greets me of a younger Abigail Nightingale and her double, hugging and laughing together. My blood ignites to boiling point while a chill claims my bones. “In critical condition in the Royal Alexandra hospital—’

I’m out of the door and running as fast as my feet can carry me back to the cabin. I scare my nightingale friend as I barrel through the front door, grabbing my car keys and causing it to fly off in panic. Whipping back the tarp my BMW has been sitting under since I dragged my sorry ass into the depths of the woods, I kick my foot down on the accelerator and don’t stop until the hospital comes into view. I’m pretty sure I haven’t breathed fully since hearing the news, my lungs constricting and my gut churning with emotion. Anger, worry, guilt.

Parking near the back of the lot and grabbing a hoodie from the back seat, I yank it on, covering my head with the hood. I scan for an army of ridiculously expensive vehicles but can’t spot any. No doubt they’re tucked away around the back, away from the common people. The receptionist seems surprised at my request to see Abbie, which makes my hackles rise further. A billionaire’s daughter is in critical condition and being stalked by her ex-professor—I’d expected a fight with a wall of bodyguards or the police on standby.

Still, I keep my wits about me, all the way up to the third floor and second ward on the left. Permitted entry via a buzzer, I’m still rubbing the sanitizer into my hands when I spot her through the glass panel separating us. Abbie. I heard the news, but I still wasn’t ready for the sight before me. Forgetting everyone else around me, I’m pulled towards her, only pausing to draw the blinds and close the door.

I’ve spent many of the hours since our separation thinking about the day we are reunited, and it looked nothing like this in my mind. I imagined happy tears, her jumping into my arms and then berating me for leaving, which I’d silence with a kiss. A bone-melting kiss that made our anguish worth it. Instead, I’m lowering myself over her still frame and the tears spilling from my eyes are far from happy. My heart cracks at the lack of response from her lips as I gently push mine against them.

Her skin looks ashen against the pool of black hair covering the pillow. Her eyelashes are fanned across her cheeks with the dark smudges of make up shadowed underneath. The heart monitor beeps rhythmically, tubes entering her arms, and a few more disappearing beneath the blanket pulled up to her chest. There’s no obvious bandages or injuries so I can only imagine her sucidice attempt was internal. What the fuck was she thinking?

“You’d better come back to me, Little Bird,” I whisper harshly. I have to fight against grabbing her arms and shaking her awake roughly. How could she do this? Even if she thought I’d simply left her, which I’d hoped she’d have known I couldn’t do, a suicide attempt?! No one is worth her life, especially not me. I remain at her side, thankful for the time I get to hold her in my arms again, but I’m growing increasingly pissed with the lack of visitors she receives. She should have someone stationed in the corner, watching her every move from now on. But even as I think it, I can hear Agatha’s shrill voice in my head. ‘She’s brought further shame to our family name’.

Knowing I’m pushing my luck, I softly place kisses from Abbie’s forehead to her jaw, willing her to pull through. I’ll give her the world, I’ll never leave her side again. She only needs to wait a little longer. “Be strong for me, beautiful. I love you.” Cupping her face for one last lifeless kiss, I drag myself away and don’t look back. If I do, I won’t leave and I’m more determined now than ever. I can’t be sent to prison and be away from her any longer than necessary.

Closing the door softly, I stop suddenly at seeing the Wicked Witch of the West hunched over the nurse’s station. Agatha’s back is to me while she berates the nurses for the media leak, pointing a gnarled finger between them. “I know it was someone in this shambles of a hospital,” she scolds. I slip past, avoiding her peripheral vision and ducking into a nearby waiting room. Blowing out a breath, I turn and find myself facing a man I recognise from the papers. Ahh shit.

“Mr Nightingale.” I approach him boldly. The old man is the opposite of his wife; reserved and quiet. At this moment, he looks decades older than any photo I’ve seen of him lately. His white shirt sleeves are rolled up to the elbow, which are braced on his knees. His white hair is disheveled, his blue eyes dazed as he seems to look past me at the wall.

“Do I know you? Wait, aren’t you from the Academy?” I still, holding my breath. “Yes, that’s right—you’re Arthur’s boy. I spent many a poker games losing to your father, I reckon he was counting cards.” The two of us share a sad smile and I slowly sit down beside him. I remember my father mentioning these poker games with the main investors of Willowmead, saying it was another way to bleed them dry, but he always spoke fondly of Robert Nightingale. It also becomes apparent now he has no idea about what happened between his wife and I, or he’d be having me escorted out of here.

“Mr Nightingale,” I repeat sternly. “Please hear what I have to say.” He twists to give me his full attention and I clear my throat. “I’ve left my position at the Academy due to…a conflict of interest,” I croak, shaking my head at myself. There’s no point being coy now. “I’m in love with your daughter, Sir, and I’m not leaving this hospital until I know someone is going to be by her side every minute of every day until she graduates, when I can retake my place there.”

After this, I relay everything that happened on the night I was forced to leave Willowmead, while the older man listens intently. Finally, I finish and we sit back in silence, letting our shared worry for Abbie’s best interests linger in the air. I can practically hear the cogs turning in Robert’s head, carefully deconstructing the situation so he can look at it from every angle.

“Losing Tillie broke me,” he suddenly says with so much anguish, my own tears threaten to rise again. “So much so, I couldn’t bear to be at home where she wasn’t. But I realise now, I was being selfish in forgetting I still had Abbie, and I abandoned her, too.” His eyes are fixed on the far wall and without anything else to do, I raise my hand to gently pat Robert’s arm. It’s a petty response but it seems to comfort him all the same. Turning his head to hold my eye, a seriousness seizes his clouded vision.

“I won’t let her down again. There’s nothing I can do if you’ve signed a legal document, but I’ll ensure Abbie’s safety until you can take over.” This time a tear does leak from my eye but I don’t try to hide it. The lump in my throat slightly lessens, finally knowing someone will look after the love of my life until I can. I need her to be strong, I need her to be safe. I just need her in my arms so we can start the happily ever after I never thought I’d have.

“Abbie, honey, it’s time to wake up,” I hear a soft, gentle voice whisper into my ear. I know they must be close by because I can feel their hot breath fanning across my face, but their words seem so distant. Almost like I am hearing it with cotton wool stuck in my ears. I try to blink open my eyes, but no matter how much force I use, they just won’t do as I ask.

“Why won’t she wake up? You told us she would be awake by now. Go and fetch me your superior at once.” I groan as the shrill sound reverberates around my empty brain.

Now I know I’m not fucking dreaming. Even my subconscious isn’t cruel enough to bring my mother up right now. That means she is really here. But then…what about the voice I thought I heard before? It seems like a long time ago, and I only heard bits. But I could recognise his voice, no matter what. Only, he had to have been a dream because he left me. Left me alone and this is where I ended up.

It takes me a long time of falling in and out of consciousness, until finally I am able to pry my eyes open. It’s so unbelievably bright and the lights hurt my eyes, but after being surrounded by dark for what feels like ages, I am glad for them. As I listen to the regular beep of the monitor, I try to do a sweep of my body. I’m obviously in hospital, the stark white, antiseptic smell, and the beeping are a dead giveaway, but the more I try to remember how I ended up here the harder it is.

---