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Something sinister made its way over Alex as she considered where she thought this story was heading.
“Mason started acting up. He went from being this funny, happy little kid, to a defiant ball of trouble. Mum and Dad didn’t know what was up with him, but it meant their time was taken up with dealing with him. I realise now that this was the period where I began to feel rejected, not part of things anymore. Abandoned to my own devices, I guess. It was always Mum and Dad dealing with Mason. By the time I was fifteen I was pretty self-sufficient in many ways, but I needed validation, and the only place I got it was at school. I was a swot, I played up to teachers so that I became the teacher’s darling, because it was the only attention I got from adults.” She looked away, embarrassed. “As I got older and things with Mason came to a head when he turned ten, my need for validation changed into guilt and shame.”
“Why?” Alex couldn’t stop herself from asking.
“Because Mason was—” She felt the tears begin to roll down her cheeks. “His coach, the man my parents thought waslooking out for him, the man they trusted, had been…he’d been—”
“I understand.”
“For four years, Alex. Four years and none of us knew. We all just blamed him for being such a little shit, and he was, he was awful, but now we knew why, and the guilt ate at us all. My parents became over-protective. I went from being virtually ignored to being suffocated, and it took having to leave and go to university and then med school for me to find the therapy I needed to work through all of that.”
“That must have been a very difficult period.”
Morgan nodded. “The thing is, as you know, therapy doesn’t cure things, it just makes us more aware so we can deal with it differently. I still find myself needing validation at times, and I can struggle with feelings of rejection, of being left out, and I’m working on it, but sometimes it’s going to be triggered.”
“Like today?”
“Yes, like today,” she agreed. “I knew it was ridiculous, but I couldn’t shake it.”
“Come here.”
Without another thought, Morgan stood up and crossed the rug to sit beside her, letting her hand be taken and soothed.
“The reason I am keeping you at arm’s-length in front of the press is not because I am rejecting you, far from it. As I said earlier, this attraction is real for me also, but you were right. This is a situation out of the norm, and neither of us would usually meet someone under such circumstances.” Edging closer, Alex reached for Morgan’s cheek, her fingertips lightly brushing. “Ilive my life in the public glare, but there are some things I want just for me. Things I’d prefer to keep private.”
“Like me.”
“Like us,” she reiterated. “Whatever ‘us’ is, whatever ‘us’ becomes. I don’t want to see you picked apart in the press because of me. Because if at the end of this you decide to walk away, I want you to be able to go back to your life without the damage being with me might cause you.”
Morgan considered that. “And if I decide not to walk away?”
Alex smiled. “Let’s get this tour done and then see where we’re at.” She patted Morgan’s knee. “I’m not rejecting you. Behind closed doors I don’t want you at arm’s-length.”
“Okay.”
“So, are you alright now? Do you need anything, to talk more or—"
“I don’t want to travel in a car being hidden. I know what I signed up for.”
“Alright. Maybe we can compromise on that.”
For a moment, silence descended between them in a comfortable, easy way that allowed them to finally relax and unwind from the journey.
“You said downstairs you were going to show me where my place is…” Morgan smirked.
“I did, yes.” Alex sat back again, opening her arms wider. “How about right where you are now?”
“Perfect.”
Morgan snuggled in, and for a moment, they sat together in silence before Alex spoke again. “You know, you’re right about therapy. It doesn’t cure anything.”
Now, it was Morgan’s turn to stay quiet and just listen.
“I live with survivor’s guilt,” Alex admitted. “People think that I was the lucky one. That’s how they always describe me in the papers. It’s the part I hate most, even more than the images of the coach. They think that because I wasn’t physically injured that somehow, I escaped unhurt, but they forget that I might have been strapped in, but I was awake. I felt the jolt when the car we hit put the coach into a skid. I was awake when the coach began to tilt and turn onto its side, and everything moved into slow motion. I was awake to watch as my friends were tossed around like a tumble dryer. I watched as Sarah hit her head off the cabinet. I saw Mikey’s arm virtually ripped from him.” Her voice choked and Morgan squeezed tighter, fighting the urge not to cry herself. “I’ll never not hear the sound of the coach as it screeched along the road on its side, glass shattering, the screams, and then the silence. Just for a second, as though everything had come to a halt along with the bus.”
“Alex…” Morgan whispered with empathy.
“When I’m triggered, all I see is Nicky’s lifeless eyes staring at me, and I can’t move, I can’t get to her, help her. I hear Lucy screaming, the sirens, it all floods back.” She kissed Morgan’s head. “I used to see that every time I closed my eyes, every time I tried to sleep, that’s what therapy helped with. It gave me back my life, enough to enjoy it again. So that it only affects me when I’m triggered.”
