Page 13 of Love Beyond Repair
Finally, the day arrives. Back to school. My clothes are ironed, hair done, bag packed by seven sharp, I’m ready. I can’t wait to get back in front of my blackboard where I belong. During my suspension, I developed an action plan.
Stage one was cutting alcohol completely from my life.
Stage two was distancing myself from my friendship group.
Stage threewas to take up a hobby.
I’ve managed stages one and two. Stage three is still under construction, but so far, I’ve tried tennis, a book club, and geocaching. None of them hit the spot to complete my goal. Next week, I’m signed up for yoga. Amy says it’s good for the soul, but I’m terrified I’ll rip my leggings at the seams.
Since that fateful weekend four months ago, where I ended up in bed with Ben, there’s been no contact with him or Kelsey. I heard from Amy that she gave birth to a baby boy, Oliver Jones. Both mum and baby were doing well. They’re now a happy family of five.
Ben vanished from Facebook right after our night together or he blocked me. I’m not sure which, but he’s gone dark. After confessing he’s never stopped loving me as his lips grazed my skin, he ran again, choosing her over me.
Arriving at school, I take in large gulps of air to steady my nerves. I’ve spoken to Max about the complications of returning. The possible negativity that will seep from some of my peers.
It turns out the CCTV footage of my indiscretion behind the pub had been submitted to Principal Fraser by an anonymous parent. That, combined with whispers among the school community, had been enough to launch a formal investigation. I had my suspicions about who was to blame, of course. But no confirmation.
Still, I was relieved to learn no one from my current team had spoken outagainst me.
Max assured me that the staff were on my side, that the tension had died down. The idea of walking back into that building and facing judgment had kept me up at night. But today, I’m here. I’m standing tall. I only have to do this initial walk once, then after that, it’s business as usual.
Today is the day. Day one of a clean slate. And I plan to use it to draw a line in the sand, move on, and live the life I want to.
My classroom hasn’t changed; no one has stepped into my shoes. Thirteen-year-olds file in and settle quickly. The expected awkward questions never come. Whatever stories filled the playground, no one asks a thing. It’s as if I was never gone. My lessons go on without a hitch, and my students leave with goodbyes and half-smiles.
By lunchtime, the knot in my stomach has loosened. It’s time to head to the cafeteria. I’m nervous facing my colleagues. Max arrives like he said he would when he called me last night.
“I’m not having you walking in to the snake pit by yourself. I’ve got your back, gorgeous,” he said. His voice a comfort, reminding me I wasn’t alone. After everything I’ve done to push him away, it still floors me that he stays. Always circles back to my side, my friend that I can rely on through every challenge. He takes my hand, and we walk off to lunch together.
***
Three weeks pass. I resume my routine of work, gym, and home. My evenings are spent elbow deep, honing my cooking skills, trying to figure out how healthy foods taste.
Amy checks in a few times a week. Secretly, I know she’s making sure I’m staying off the booze. My caretaker, as always. But, in all honesty, I’ve not been feeling so well lately. Each morning, I wake with a headache, feeling nauseous. Must be stress, I tell myself. New term. Uncertain future. That would take its toll on anyone. Now that I’m back on track, it’s all catching up with me.
Friday night marks my twelfth week sober. Amy appears, non-alcoholic fizz and Chinese takeaway in hand. I’m looking forward to a proper girls' night, one filled with idle gossip and a ton of calories.
“Congratulations!” she sings, dumping the goodies on the table before hugging me tight. “I’m so proud of you, sis.”
My tears fall before I can stop them. “Thank you.” It’s all I can manage between sobs. My sister, she’s my rock. She’ll never know how much I love her.
Our meal disappears too quick, and we’re sprawled across the sofa watching some awful film starring Amy’s latest celebrity crush. She chatters about Terry’s latestscrew-ups. I pretend to listen. Then she pauses, mid-laugh, her expression shifting.
“Are you even listening to me?” she says icily. My eyes flick away to a picture on the wall, guilty at being caught ignoring her. She grinds her teeth impatiently, then leans forward and pinches my thigh, hard.
“Ouch!” She grins, then her attention returns to the television. “I’ve not been great,” I admit, and she switches it off. “Mornings are rough. Sore head. Nausea.” Amy’s brow creases before her face changes to being horrified as I explain how I’ve been unwell for a few weeks.
