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Day 12
Reeva was alone again. Her mum had left the flat earlier that morning in an expensive flurry of luggage, chauffeurs, and Le Labo. It had been a scene worthy of one of her movies; she’drefused to get into her illegally parked car unless Reeva got in with her, all while cars in a growing traffic jam honked their frustrations. In the past, Reeva would have acquiesced purely to avoid the drama. This time she stood her ground, refusing to go to her dad’s kriya.
She couldn’t. It was all too much. She was still trying to process how she felt about what he’d done thirty years ago. It might have been an accident, but her dad had almostkilledher. It was the stuff of Greek tragedies, not lawyers in London. Every time Reeva thought about it, she felt like she was watching a movie rather than tapping into her own memory. It didn’t help that her memory was warped and had somehow made it all about Catty. In a weird way, things had been easier to process when she’d thought the victim was her cat. She could just feel pure concern for the little animal and total fury toward her heartless dad. But knowing that it had been her and not the animal had flipped everything around and twisted up her emotions. She still felt empathy when she thought about a younger Reeva, but it wasn’t so simple. There was another layer of pain there—a dark, heavy feeling Reeva couldn’t place. And her anger toward her dad wasn’t so straightforward anymore. It was less intense and more... sad. She was starting to miss the uncomplicated rage she’d felt at his funeral.
She wished she had someone to talk it through with, but there was no one she could call. Her sisters, Lakshmi, Nick. They’d all gone—even though in the case of the latter, it was admittedly because she’d told him to. Reeva still felt desperately alone. Even her therapist was away. She could practically feel her abandonment issues throbbing into life again, and with them came the familiar self-pity. Maybe this was all her fault. She was the only common thread in all her recently ruined relationships.What if she deserved to be abandoned? What if her dad’s actions were her fault too? Her mum had said that Reeva never left them alone and always put herself in the middle of their fights. No, that was ridiculous; she’d been only five years old. Nothing was ever a five-year-old’s fault.
Reeva squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to think straight. She needed to find her own Reeva in this situation—someone who would listen, understand without judging, and then say the right thing. Of course—Satya Auntie! Reeva jumped up to grab her phone, then paused. If she turned her phone on, she’d be breaking her self-imposed silent retreat. She’d get caught up in all the drama of her life again, thinking about Nick and Lakshmi and even the Sherwood-Brown case, and would end up even further away from processing everything that had happened to her. No. Reeva needed to stay with herself. Everyone else might have abandoned her, but she refused to abandon herself.
With a newfound determination, she stood up, grabbed an unused notebook from her desk, and sat down to write.
Dear Diary? Is that still a thing? I don’t remember the last time I journaled, but whatever, I’m back. I just need to get this all out.
What Dad did to me.
I should probably write it out properly.
How my dad accidentally pushed me down the stairs and I ended up in a coma.
I know he didn’t mean to. He was gesticulating and didn’t see me. But he was drunk. And I was in his way. I fell all the way down the stairs. Oh god, I’m crying now.
My dad was an alcoholic and his problem almost killed me.
I always thought he was the good parent. With Mum being so... Saraswati, the one I idealized was Dad. The number of times I dreamed about what it would be like if he were still here! I thought he’d be my savior. I always imagined him to be this calm, stoic presence. And the more I found out about him in the last week, the more I began to feel that my fantasy of him was true. He had a normal, stable job, he cared about us enough to have kept track of us over the years, his friends loved him, and people said he was kind and caring. Funny even.
Only—it was all a lie. Because he had a dark side too. Where he drank to escape his feelings and hide from his regret and disappointment and struggles. And when he drank, he’d become volatile—that’s the word Mum used—so volatile that I ended up in a coma.
You know, this journaling is actually quite helpful. The more I write it out, the more it’s sinking in that my coma was my dad’s fault. And that it was very much me who was hurt—not the cat. I think I made it all about the cat because it was easier. I’m not very good at feeling sorry for myself. I’m not like Jaya—I find self-pity awkward. That’s why it was easier to feel sorry for the cat. But all along,I was the cat.
I guess all the love I felt for the cat needs to go to me instead. Basically what Satya Auntie’s been saying all this time: I need to be compassionate to myself.
Why does that make me cry so much? Why does it feel so hard to be nice to myself?
Part of me feels like I don’t deserve it. Which doesn’t make sense. But I guess as a child I didn’t let myself cry or feel grief—I just repressed it, and somehow that’s led to me thinking it was all my fault. I don’t think I even cried when Mum missed my flute recital and I spent that night at school alone. I know I wasdevastated—but I just swallowed it all down and distracted myself with a book.
Did I cry when Dad “died”? Maybe. But I don’t even remember. The only tears I remember from childhood are Jaya’s. Even Sita cried more than I did.
But I’m making up for it now. I cried for weeks—months—when Rakesh left me. I cried after every shitty online date that made me feel more alone than ever. I cried when Nick left—yes, because I made him leave, but what was the point of trying when it was all just a fantasy? I’ve opened up more to this cheap notebook in two pages than I ever did while I was with Nick.
I don’t know why I’m like this. But I suppose it doesn’t really matter. I just need to be kind to myself. Oh god, I’m crying again. But fuck it. I’m not going to stop myself this time. I’m going to let myself feel it all. To make up for all those years where I forced my feelings away. All the times I tried to be strong when I really just needed to sob and wail about how let down I felt. How let down Ifeel.
By Mum. By Dad. By my sisters. By my weeklong boyfriend. By my past.
I’m sad, Notebook. I’m really, really sad.
CHAPTER 22
Day 12
“Thank you againfor coming to my flat on such short notice,” said Reeva, her face swollen from all the tears she’d shed.
“Oh, you’re welcome, honey! Any friend of Jaya’s is a friend of mine. And you’re her sister, so you get extra-special treatment.” The brunette Australian sitting on Reeva’s sofa beamed at her. Reeva smiled back hesitantly. She wasn’t sure she was ready for hypnotherapy to make her as upbeat and positive as Marissa.
She still couldn’t believe she was doing this. But after the last twelve days in Reeva’s life—particularly the last twelve hours—she was ready to do things differently. She knew that the key to her healing lay in that memory of what her dad had done, and the only way she was ever going to access it was if she faced it head-on. Which was why she’d temporarily broken her retreat rules by logging onto her e-mail and getting in touch with Marissa. “So, um, what exactly do I need to do?” she asked. “Do you need a cup of tea and a spoon? Or is that just in horror movies?”
Marissa let out a delicate tinkling laugh. “Oh, you’re so funny!This isn’tGet Out! I’m not a racist who wants to lobotomize you; I’m an Australian who wants to heal you!”
“Uh, great!”
