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“I get it,” she finally says. “I do. But accepting that means that I’ve accepted losing you, and I haven’t. I can’t. Not yet.” She presses her lips together. “But I’m always going to be there for you, so you do what you need to do.”
I wrap my arms around her shoulders and smile. “Even if that means shacking up with a guy who’s making me a cat suit?”
Calli throws her head back and laughs. She wipes her eyes and shakes her head. “Seriously, that’s not funny, Ez.”
Calli hangs around for a couple more hours before she finally leaves. As I shut the door behind her, I breathe out. I love my sister, but I also love my own space. Whenever I see her these days, it’s like she can’t bring herself to leave me. I don’t think it’s a conscious thing, but it’s like she’s scared to leave me in case it’s the last time she sees me.
My whole body aches as I make my way into the bathroom. I’m dying for a bath. I make a face and run the water. There I go again. It’s amazing just how much that word pops up in my everyday vocabulary.
Nothing feels better than lowering my body into the hot water. I sigh, the soft scent of vanilla wafting up from the bubbles. I immerse myself in the water, trying to process what was a hell of a day. I get tired so quickly now. It’s barely six and I’m struggling to keep my eyes open. I catch myself slipping under the bubbles more than once, and I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to go just like that. No pain. Nothing. Would losing me like that be harder or easier on my family? I think back to a few weeks ago and that morning by the river. What if he hadn’t turned up when he did? But then again, he was half the reason I fell in the river in the first place. Would I have jumped if he hadn’t scared me? I shiver. Probably not.
I drag myself out from the tub before I can give this any more thought. My head pounds—the way it usually does as the day wears on. I swallow a handful of painkillers to numb the pain, but not enough to do any serious damage. Not that it really matters. It’s not like I’m going to need my liver in a few months anyway.
I pour myself into bed and snuggle beneath the warmth of my blankets. Instantly, I feel a little bit better. I could spend days in my bed, and it has nothing to do with being depressed or feeling sorry for myself. Curled up against my pillow is one of the most tranquil places I can think of. Not long after I was diagnosed, I tried some relaxation therapy to help control the pain. My therapist asked me to think of my happy place. Most people would picture a beach, or a rainforest filled with whispering trees, but not me. I imagined being back at home on a rainy day, curled up under the covers with a book I could lose myself in.
I’m a creature of habit. I have the things that make me warm and fuzzy and I’m okay with that. Or at least I have been up until now. Finding someone on the internet and taking them around the world with me is just not something I would do. I can’t blame my family for being concerned. I’m not the girl who tries new things. So why am I doing this? Because I feel like I’ve wasted my life? If I’ve been happy, how is that a waste? What if I choose to do this and I’m wrong? What if realise that all I want is to be back at home, curled up in my bed with a good book? I close my eyes and try to ignore the pounding in my heart, along with the question that I’m most afraid to answer.
What if it’s too late by the time I realise it?
Chapter Four
Cade
“Cade?”
Shit. I grab the towel hanging on the railing and wrap it around my waist, and yank open the bathroom door. What the fuck is Mum doing here, especially at this time on a Tuesday? Or is it Wednesday? She calls out again. This time her voice is closer, and I realise that she’s let herself inside. Fuck.
Monday’s drinks turned into a two-night binge that ended with me waking up in Chris’s spare room next to some chick I don’t even remember banging. The smile on her face and the way she hung around most of the morning told me I must’ve done something right. Or wrong, depending on the way you look at it. T
urned out it was his cousin. I didn’t even know he had any cousins. Funny how you can think you know someone so well.
I round the corner into the living room, my fists tightening beside me. Mum stands there surveying what has been my only focus for the last six hours. The place is a fucking mess, with empty beer cans piled up on the coffee table and food stains on the floor, along with takeout containers that have probably been there for over a week. But she’s not looking at any of that. All she sees is the racing on the television screen in front of her and the notebook lying on the couch, scribbled with sure bets that I was only able to fund thanks to Chris. He’s one of those guys that will always help you out of trouble, so he had no issues lending me a few hundred when I told him I needed it to fix my car.
Her eyes stray from the TV and lock onto mine. The disappointment I see in them is crushing. I look away. She should be used to it by now, because all I seem to do is let her down.
“A little light afternoon viewing?” she asks, her voice soft.
I keep silent, because what can I say?
“You promised, Cade. No more gambling. Our agreement was I wouldn’t tell your dad if you stopped.”
“And I did,” I finally say. I sit down, defeated. How do I explain to her that my life has gone to shit? I went three weeks without touching a bet, and it felt like a fucking lifetime. I put everything I had into stopping, and things continued to fall apart.
Mum finding out about my problem was the worst moment of my life. I’m so careful with keeping everything hidden; or I thought I was.
The thing about gambling is you convince yourself that you have it under control, when in reality it never is. When I was fifteen, I had been added to my mother's credit card to use only in emergencies. And I never touched the thing. I actually forgot about it until one night a few months ago, when I found it while I was tearing my room apart looking for anything I could sell to make some quick cash. I was desperate. When I saw that little black card sitting in the bottom of my drawer, my heart pounded. I still remember the feeling as I ran my fingers over the raised numbers. Just a few hundred, I told myself. I will pay it back. They won't even know.
It took ten days for me to max out my mother's card and its ten-K limit.
Ten days.
She approached me with her bill a few weeks later, sure it was some kind of misunderstanding. She’d raised me better than to steal from her, right? Apparently wrong. For me to do that to her, the one person who had always been on my side, showed me what kind of person I’d become.
“I’m not here to argue with you, Cade.” My mother sits carefully on the edge of the couch, as if she’s afraid of catching something. “I’m worried about you. You tell me one thing, but alarm bells are ringing in my head. I don’t know what to think anymore. I want more than anything to believe that you’re okay, but…” She looks around the room again, shaking her head helplessly.
I want to reassure her that I’m okay, but I can’t force the words out. She has no reason to believe anything I say, and even less reason to trust me. I run my hand through my hair, wishing I could erase the last year from my life.
“Cade?” Mum prompts. “Tell me I’m wrong—that you’re okay.”
