Page 24 of Love Beyond Repair
After I spoke to them, Kelsey demanded we leave. She didn’t say a word on the way home. I asked her umpteen times what was wrong, but she ignored me, immediately locking herself in the bathroom when we got back. Fifteen minutes later, she emerged makeup-free, in fluffy pajamas, with more silence. She climbed into bed beside me and turned her back.
When it comes to Kelsey, this is the part I hate most. Not the silence. Not the cold shoulder. It’s moments like now, when she shuts me out. The times she retreats into her fortress of pride and punishment when things don’t go her way. These are the moments I spend trying to avoid.
We’ve been together since we were kids. Growing up in what some people consider a teenage romance dream. If only they knew how often I considered leaving. How often I ask myself why I’m still here.
Most of the time, we’re happy. We’ve built a life together. A routine. It’s only when she turns distant that I question all the decisions I’ve made for her. The opportunities I didn’t take because she couldn’t bear being separated. When my life choices became ours.
I looked at Bex last night. A new version of herself—laughing, shining, complete—it wasn’t only desire I felt.
It was envy.
She looked free.
And I haven’t felt that way in a long, long time.
Chapter thirteen
Kelsey
Something has changed.
Something massive.
A sense of unease has hung around the apartment since that bloody Halloween party a month ago. The only person completely oblivious to the awkwardness is Amy. She skips in and out from work to the bar, to the gym, and she doesn’t notice the deathly silence.
No one talks anymore. Just Amy, rambling on about all the insignificant crap that fills her life. Today, I want to throat-punch her. Demand peace.
“Do you want sugar-coated cereal or plain?” Amy asksme again.
“Fuck’s sake, Amz,” I hiss. “Neither. I’m on a fruit diet, remember?” She rolls her eyes. “And don’t start with all your lecturing about a balanced diet,” I add to stop her before she starts.
“Kelsey, what you put in your body is your business. But get your ass in gear. We’re on the supermarket run this week. This list is bloody huge, so you’re coming.”
“Can we not just live on pasta this week?” I whine.
“No, get a bloody move on. And put a smile on your face. You look like you’ve swallowed a wasp,” she says, before skipping off in search of bags to bring the groceries home in.
My life is fucking falling to pieces around me. Everything I thought I knew feels off. My precisely planned future is under threat.
Sitting on our bed, the sheets are soft beneath me. I grab handfuls and twist them in my fists. Silent tears run down my cheeks as I quietly fall to pieces. Nothing has happened yet, but carnage is just around the corner. The rising panic of loss takes hold. The necessity to take steps to protect myself from the pain is at the forefront of my mind.
When I lost my mum in my teens, it was the most frightening experience of my life. She was my support system, a constant fixture. To me, she was a superwoman, keeping our home life stable, putting everyone else’s needs before her own.
My dad has never been good at looking after himself, always needing a woman’s influence to navigate day-to-day tasks. He’s capable at work and a clever man, but common sense?not so much.
Mum always said he would have put the laundry soap in the dishwasher, then wonder why the kitchen was full of bubbles. I remember the day he did that, trying his best to help around the house, only to create more mess. Then there was the time he set the oven on fire while cooking toast. The scorch marks were on our kitchen ceiling for years. I smile sadly at the memories, bittersweet, all of them.
When she died, Ben was there for me through the tears and tantrums. He’d hold me close and rock me gently to sleep, never once complaining or running away from the girl falling apart in front of him.
We were so young back then, barely adults, trying to navigate our way between school and university. Without him, I don’t know how I’d have survived. A few times, I did think about ending the pain, weighing up the consequences of the most final decision I could ever make.
But I couldn’t leave my poor dad alone in this world. He needed me. His mental health plummeted without her. He struggled to get up each day.
I remember sitting at the kitchen island with him on a rainy midweek afternoon. He was still signed off work due to stress. We sat and nursed our cups of tea, not speaking,both lost in our thoughts. The house felt incredibly empty with no Mum running around, ordering us about. There was really nothing to say.
Six months previously, she found a lump on her breast and immediately booked an appointment at the local clinic. The doctor took one look at the imperfection and referred her straight to the hospital. My parents attended the appointment together to get the results of the tests. I try to visualize the scene.
They sat across from the sympathetic doctor. He broke the news firmly but with compassion. There was nothing that could be done. Her cancer had spread to incurable levels. We were talking weeks, not months. Two weeks later, she was gone.
