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Chapter two
AVA
Eurgh.I am not okay. Has something furry crawled into my mouth and died? I haven’t even opened my eyes yet, and my headache is already thumping at the back of my brain. So, I might have gone a bit over the top with the drinks last night too, but I was determined to have a good time knowing this damn ball was today. I think back to being in the club, dancing with Millie, bass thumping under our feet, and don’t regret a thing. Even the shameless dirty dancing with the stranger. Goosebumps line my arms just thinking about it now. Although this hangover is not fun now, I wasn’t the one bad enough to be puking for a solid hour. Jesus, I need to pull myself together and check on Millie.
I wrench my eyes open and yep, right on cue, my headache multiplies, adding nausea along with it. Millie is still asleep next to me, but it’s already nearly eleven, so I need to go. I squint them to half-closed again so my eyeballs don’t disintegrate and then crawl to the bathroom. I’ll see her later anyway, just in less fun circumstances.
I brace myself to look in the mirror, look up, and wince. My father would flip. My hair looks like I’ve got rats living in it, my eyeshadow and lip from last night is all over my face, and the bags under my eyes are something else. I jump in the shower and get to work, scrubbing my face clean and washing my hair. I put a deep conditioner in and do a face mask before exfoliating my whole body and rinsing my hair, finally climbing out in record time for the amount of grooming I’ve just accomplished, and without throwing up. Thank god for small mercies. I swap the face mask for some eye packs and a ton of serum and moisturise my entire body.
Stealing Millie’s hair dryer, I get to work. I know my father will have people at home to do my hair, but I still need to be presentable. It’s the grooming equivalent of tidying your house before the cleaner arrives. Taking the eye patches off, I have to admit I’ve done well. The transfusion I managed to get last week helped, otherwise I’d be looking a lot paler and the fatigue would be harder to hide, but this is passable. I brush my teeth and pop two painkillers before packing my bag quietly and leaving. Millie knows I have to be home so won’t mind me sneaking out while she’s sleeping. I take the quick, boring route home and keep the roof up—you’re welcome, Dad—and attempt to sneak in unnoticed.
“It’s about time.”
It’s only a quarter to twelve, but I don’t say anything, ignoring his comment. It’s normally easier to get through if I let them sail over me. There’s breakfast out, but I don’t think I can handle food at the moment and definitely don’t want another comment from my father, so I leave it, heading for the stairs instead.
“We’re going to lunch. The team will arrive at three to start getting ready, we’ll be back by then.” So why do I need to be here? Whatever. I say goodbye and retreat to my room to take a blissful nap. Carrie wakes me up at half past two so I have time to rebrush my teeth and try to force some food down. She pops a bowl of greens on the counter as I walk in and I thank her, scarfing the unsatisfying meal down as she grimaces.
“How are you feeling?” she asks me sympathetically.
“Like death warmed up, but it’s my own fault. Thanks for lunch.”
“Oh please, don’t thank me for that.”
“I’ll thank you for everything. You deserve it.” I smile up at her just as the door rings. “Are they not back yet?”
“Not yet. That must be your stylists,” she says as she goes to answer the door. Maybe I’ll actually get to pick my own look for tonight? No such luck, obviously my father’s already briefed them. Two hours later, my hair is slicked back into a bun and there’s way too much cakey makeup on my face, neck and chest. I look twenty years older, and like I have the largest stick known to man straight up my ass. I’ve got no idea how this is supposed to attract any man. No one I’d like to be with would be attracted to me looking like this.
I squeeze into the dress, which, unsurprisingly, I also hate. It’s frilly and lacy and cuts off mid-calf, adding at least fifteen pounds to my frame. What’s the point in starving for weeks just to wear this unflattering monstrosity? When we’re finally finished, I slump on the sofa of the drawing room next to the front door so I’m ready as soon as my parents arrive, knowing if they have to wait for me to get down the stairs it’ll be my fault we’re late. My mood declines rapidly in this itchy thing as I’m forced to wait even longer for them, wishing with all my might that I could get out of this evening.
The sun goes down, and I’m left still waiting. A knock on the door drags me from my thoughts and I listen to Carrie answer it, not paying a massive amount of attention. My parents wouldn’t have knocked, and they’re who I’m waiting for. That is, until the two tall gentlemen in uniform walk in behind her ashen face.
“Miss Ava, these officers are here for you.”
I sit up straight, partly out of curiosity and partly from ingrained manners.
“Ava? Can we have a word?” The one with darker hair speaks and the blond officer hangs back a bit.
I nod mutely and grab Carrie’s hand when she sits next to me, grateful for her support. Why do they want to speak to me? Should I refuse until my father gets back? I have no idea what this is about. They sit on the other formal sofa opposite me with soft looks on their faces. Is that pity?
“We’ve just come from a traffic accident on the IN-47. Your parents’ car was involved.” All moisture from my mouth disappears, and I feel like I see the words in the air before they leave the officer’s mouth. “I’m sorry to tell you that your father didn’t make it. He was pronounced dead at the scene. Your mother is on her way to hospital now.” I can’t speak. I can’t blink. I can’t react in any way, statue-still in my own body, my hand tight around Carrie’s. “Do you want us to take you there now?”
That breaks me out of my stupor and I shake my head vigorously. The officers look at me with matching looks of surprise. “I’ll change first.”
They nod as if that makes sense. “We can wait?”
“No, thank you.” I need a minute to myself. “I’ll drive myself over.”
“If that’s what you want. Here’s my card if you need anything.” One of them passes over a card and I take it on autopilot, dropping it next to me on the hard cushions.
They leave and I sit there in shock, only breaking out of my trance when Carrie softly says my name. I can’t speak, though, I can’t even bear to think. I need to be alone. I rush out of the house and jump into my car with so many thoughts and emotions swirling around my head that I can’t decipher more than the one sitting right at the forefront of my brain. Freedom. I’m free. Once I acknowledge it, that’s all I can feel, like an anvil of anxiety and pressure has been lifted directly from my chest. Before I even register where I’m going, I’m driving the route to Millie’s with the top down, my updo getting well and truly ruined in the wind.
Millie and her family are the people who truly know the real me, who I can process around without being judged and who will welcome me with open arms, even if I turn up unexpectedly. Carrie may have been the only warmth in my house for years and knows exactly what my father is like, but she still knows me as the perfect daughter. I don’t think I can tell her what I’m feeling. But the sense of freedom still surrounds me, and as I pass down my favourite road along the beach, I think about all of the things I haven’t been allowed to do throughout the years. This beach is the perfect example. I drive past it daily, wishing I could lounge on the golden sand, swim in that crystal sea. The water calms me, and I’ve been denied it for years. Our pool at home was bricked up because lounging around in a bathing suit was unbecoming. A day on the beach was positively out of the question.
Before I pass it completely, I turn off at the last minute and park. I get out of my car and walk down onto the sand of the beach, taking my heels off and feeling the soft grains around my bare skin. I’ve stared at this water for years, the glinting blue inviting me in. It’s inky black now that the moon is out, but still just as inviting, and I can’t think of a single reason not to give into its call. What is there to stop me now?
Without missing a stride, I let the water envelop my ankles, then my shins, the lace swirling around my knees as I step deeper, my brain numb to the cold. I walk until the water starts to raise me from the ocean floor before letting my knees buckle, sinking underneath the surf until the top of my head disappears. My eyes burn and I scream, trying to expel the whirlwind of emotions threatening to suffocate me. The water swallows my cry and the first outburst of years of frustration and anger so it can simmer below the surface again.
Belatedly, I wonder if this monstrosity of a dress will get so waterlogged the weight will keep me under, but when all the breath in my lungs is gone, I swim back to the surface and turn towards the shore. I walk back out without a problem, the water receding until I’m striding up the sand again. If only my father could see me now—dress clinging to my body, hair plastered down my back and my makeup probably ruined. None of that matters now. What matters is that I know with sudden certainty, whatever happens from now, I can handle. It’s time to be completely and unapologetically me. A stronger Ava emerged from those waves.
