Tabula Rasa
Chapter 14
Previously:
"What do you want?" Sophie demanded. She adopted a bored stance and folded her arms across her chest in a fruitless attempt to hide her lack lustre left hand beneath her forearm.
"Just got a little message for you, Serge, and then we'll be off. Jake," he paused, a sadistic smile gracing his tanned face, "Jake just wanted you to know how…happy it made him that you were all fixed up."
"Yeah," the surfer intoned, "And he wanted you to tell Darryl that this means that they're not even. Darryl is still ahead and Jake, well Jake, doesn't think that is exactly fair."
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It was happening again. His hands were on her body. Her arms were pinned by her side and her thighs were being forced apart. Brown curly hair dangled in her face. Laughter pierced her ears. She felt the fight leaving her body and her mind floating away as he overpowered her and delved unwanted and uninvited into her body. She squeezed her eyes shut and shut out the pain.
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"He keeps coming back. They keep coming back. I can't make them stop." Charlie mewled. She turned further towards him, her hands grasping the arm that still held her. "I don't want to remember," she told him, fresh tears spilling from her eyes. "If that's all there is, I don't want to remember."
He pulled her roughly to him. She allowed herself to be pulled into his lap, her face warm and wet against his bare chest. He wrapped his arms tightly around her and just held on. He buried his face in her neck and rubbed her back. He felt her hands come up and claw at his skin, seemingly attempting to pull herself all the way into him, trying to disappear. He cradled her while she sobbed.
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Charlie woke up slowly. Her head throbbed slightly and her eyelids felt heavy. She felt a warm body pressed tightly to her back, an arm draped heavily on her side. It wasn't until she tried to move her arm that she realised that her hand was encased in another, almost lost inside it. She clasped it tightly and pulled the entwined hands to her chest. She felt Brax shift in his sleep behind her and tighten his grip on her. His breath was hot on her neck and she turned slowly to face him. She teetered on the edge of the couch and only succeeded in coming to lie on her back.
Brax shifted with her movements, his arms grasping her side and holding her to his body. His breath was coming in long, even breaths that skated across her face. She blinked the warm air away and tilted her head so she was looking up at him. His face was so familiar to her and yet so unknown. She longed to run her fingers across his skin, and feel the stubble against her skin. But she couldn't. One hand was pinned at her side and the other was enveloped by him. So she watched him. Watched his chest rise and fall beside her. Watched his eyes flick around beneath his closed lids. She smiled as a soft snore escaped him. She didn't know he snored.
She needed to leave.
She slowly finessed her hand out from his and inched her body over the edge of the couch. She felt the cushion slip beneath her and shot one leg out to support her. She felt it quivering under her weight. She stared at Brax for a moment. Her breathing was harsh and laced with panic, but he was still laying contentedly, his body appreciating the extra room. His body slipped, pushing her lightly off until she was sitting awkwardly on the lounge room floor with his hand barely brushing her own. She carefully laid his hand down on the edge of the couch and snapped hers back. She used the table to haul herself up and crept to the door. She cringed as the grating of metal announced her imminent departure. She barely had the door open before she held her breath and slipped though the crack. She left it hanging, unwilling to push her luck any further.
Charlie hurried up the street, the sun already beating down on her. She was surprised to see the sun already high in the sky. The asphalt was warm beneath her bare feet. How long had she slept?
Shit. Phillip.
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She didn't hesitate in opening her hotel room door. She looked down as she entered, letting the door slowly close behind her. She flicked her replacement key card onto small table in the room.
She turned and leant against it. She tucked her hair behind her ears and finally looked up. Phillip was sitting on the edge of the perfectly made bed. His phone was next to him. The screen black. Piles of neatly folded clothes were behind him. He wasn't looking at her. His elbows rested on his knees and his hands, wrapped around each other, propped up his chin.
She watched him. The familiar planes of his face, the familiar tattoo poking out from beneath his shirt, the familiar expression. A man she knew so well. The only thing she had been sure of for better part of two years.
"You know what's funny?" he finally asked, his voice flat and emotionless. "I thought this trip was going to bring us closer together." He scoffed out at humourless laugh and pushed himself off the bed.
"You could stay," she offered quietly.
Charlie flinched as the bathroom door slammed.
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Brax stretched out along the couch letting out a soft mewling noise. His arms searched for her but found nothing but off kilter cushions. He sat up confused and looked towards the kitchen, fully expecting her to be sitting at the table with the paper in one hand and a piece of toast in the other. He was greeted with nothing but an empty chair.
He scrubbed his hand over his face and glanced at the still open door.
"One step forward," he muttered, letting the thought hang in the air.
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God, she needed a shower. Her face felt like it had been hit with a meat cleaver and her eyes felt raw. But more than that, she could still smell him on her clothes. But Phillip was still in the bathroom so she settled for a change of clothes and an extra spray of perfume. She was just roughly pulling a brush through her hair when Phillip emerged. His toiletries bag was in hand and she could see the toothbrush sticking up through the zip.
"You could stay," she repeated.
"I have a house and a mortgage and a business to run," he said softly, barely acknowledging that she was in the room with him. "I can't afford to stay here. I've already passed on a few jobs back home."
"But you can bring your business here," Sophie argued. "Summer Bay is beautiful."
He wiped his hand across his forehead but refused to meet her eyes. He was looking in her direction but wouldn't look at her. "Yeah but there's not exactly a call for a magazine photographer, weddings maybe, but nothing high end."
"Not a hell of a lot in Queensland either," she snipped.
He ignored her and started towards his suitcase. He picked it up and let it drop to the bed. It bounced slightly. He unzipped it quickly, snapping the top half back. Reaching out started to pack his belongings away.
Sophie stayed on her side of the room, leaning against the wall. "We're close to Sydney," she tried again, "You could freelance."
He continued packing. He bent down beside the bed and picked up his shoes, stacking them neatly on the empty side of his case. He squeezed his toiletries in beside them.
"Come on," Sophie said, exasperated. Her arms fell by her side and she pushed herself one step off the wall. "I have a job in Yabbie Creek, you could work here and in Sydney and it'll work."
Phillip froze mid pack, a shirt held limply in his hands. He dropped the shirt, not caring where it landed. He turned slowly to her. "You have a job?"
"Well, yeah," she admitted uncomfortably. She wrapped her arm around her waist and looked at the floor. "For a local PI firm in Yabbie Creek."
"Were you going to tell me?" he asked.
"I only got it yesterday," she defended. "And I don't start for another few weeks."
His jaw trembled and he shook his head. He pursed his lips and took a deep, sniffing breath. "Where-" He stopped suddenly, as if he was afraid of what the answer would be. "Where are you going to stay? We're only booked till this afternoon."
"The Caravan Park," she said with a shrug of her shoulders. "I rang Mr Stewart earlier and he said I could stay a few weeks rent free."
"You're going to stay in a caravan?" he asked, floored.
"A cabin," she corrected. "There are some long term residents too… Like Colleen," she said, grasping at anything to fill the silence and force him to look at her. Every time she stopped talking he dropped his gaze. At least when she was talking he slowed down for a second.
"Sophie, after everything we've been through…" He rubbed his hands over his mouth and stared at the ceiling. "You never intended to come back, did you?" he asked sadly.
Sophie remained silent. She didn't know what to say. It wasn't that she had lied to him, she just hadn't remembered. She never meant to hurt him. Phillip scrubbed at his eyes, fiercely. "I'm going for a walk," he muttered and left the hotel room. The door swung closed behind him, barely making a sound.
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He only came in once a week now, but his eyes sought her out. Her sessions overlapped his. Had done for the past three weeks. He stood at one end of the rehab room, leg extensions coming easily to him now and he could just make her out from out of the corner of his eye.
"Come on, Phillip, three more," his therapist encouraged him. Phillip looked away from the tanned, too thin woman and back to the task at hand.
"You're doing so well," his mother praised, happily. His mother clapped her hands and pressed her fused palms against her smile. She had never missed a session.
He looked behind him to the woman. She was all by herself. Everyone else had a friend, a partner, a parent by their side or at least sitting impatiently on the uncomfortable plastic chairs. But not her. She was alone with a therapist, not a cheerleader in sight.
"Oi, Nick," he said, grabbing the attention of his therapist, "Who's she?"
Nick looked over as the woman was helped into a standing position in between two parallel bars. They wrapped her fingers around the bar and held her waist. She shuffled forward. Her right arm shook as she threw her left forward. Her therapist uncurled her fingers and wrapped them around the bar again. She shuffled forward again, moving no more than a few centimetres. Phillip noticed the bracelet around her wrist as she struggled to shift her hand forward. She was an inpatient.
"Um, Sophie?" his OT clarified. "Sophie Maxwell. Got a long haul ahead of her."
Phillip nodded. "Family help?" he asked, casually.
"Nope," Nick said, "Just her. Never seen anyone come to see her. So ten more," he instructed.
"That's so sad," his mother said, her eyes locked on the woman who had barely made it thirty centimetres in the past ten minutes.
He finished his session and left, but not without promising himself that he would be back tomorrow.
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The next day he caught a bus into the rehab centre, passing out cupcakes to the nurses and receptionist as he moved through the halls. He read each name on the doors as he passed, forfeiting the occasional cupcake to them. He started to worry that he was going to run out when he found the room he was looking for. 'Sophie Maxell'. He hoped she like chocolate, because that was all he had left. He took a deep breath, suddenly feeling nervous. He knocked on the half open door and waited a moment before he stuck his head in.
His eyes found her quickly. She was sitting up in bed with a manilla folder on her lap and the TV humming gently in the background. He could just make out Bert Newton's voice on some morning show or another. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun behind her head and seemed just a little bit on the greasy side. She had a grey top on with a bright pink jacket over the top. Her legs were covered by the sheets. She flipped the folder closed and craned her neck to look at him.
"Cupcake?" he offered brightly.
She smiled crookedly and nodded. "Thank you," she said slowly. "What's the occasion?"
He moved further into the room and came to stand beside her bed. He proffered the box to her and she studied the few cupcakes. "Just a thank you to all the staff here," he told her, "Without them I wouldn't be walking." He shrugged.
"Only chocolate left," he said, helpfully. He watched as her eyes travelled over the cupcakes. She reached in and her hand hovered over a cupcake with chocolate icing and multicoloured sprinkles, before she picked one with vanilla icing and a blue star.
"I'm Phillip, by the way," he introduced himself, holding out his hand. She placed the cupcake carefully on the manilla folder before reaching over to shake his hand.
"Sophie."
"It's nice to meet you, Sophie," he said with a broad smile. He noted happily that a light blush appeared on her cheeks. She pulled the edges of the patty pan down awkwardly, trying to simultaneously balance the sugary treat in her hand and work the paper off.
"Want a hand?" he offered, casually.
"Please," she said relieved. Phillip grabbed the cupcake and quickly pulled the paper off. "'Scuse fingers," he said as he handed the now naked cupcake back to her. She accepted it with gratitude and took a small bite. "Good," she murmured through a mouthful of cake, cheers-ing him with the confectionary. Crumbs were falling around her lips and she raised her left hand absently; her curled fist swiping at the wayward chocolate.
"So what happened to you?" Sophie asked. It wasn't a strange question in here. Everybody had a story about how they were hurt, why their body stopped responding to them. It was almost like a badge of honour to some. What level they were, how far they had come, how long it took them to achieve a particular goal. A gory tale of how your limb had been severed from your body or detailed just which part of your brain your stroke had damaged, was more of an icebreaker here than 'how are you?'.
"Drunk driver," Phillip told her. He placed the near empty box on a chair to the side of her bed and straightened himself back up. He moved closer to the bed so his finger tips were just brushing the sheets. The side was warm and he wondered how long she had been sitting there.
"Arg," she said with disgust. "I can't stand them."
"I was the drunk driver."
Her eyes widened and a deep red took over her features. He could see the apology forming slowly on her lips.
"Don't worry," he assured her, "I didn't hurt anyone but myself. Wrapped my car round a tree… and I have now been sober for 77 days."
"That's great," she said, genuinely. He noticed that the words were slightly slurred. They rolled into each other, each syllable indistinct from the next.
"So what about you?" he asked.
"Got shot," she replied simply.
"Wow," he said, taken back. His eyes were wide. Whatever he was expecting it certainly wasn't that.
"I'm a cop," she explained. "They said it was some kind of drug deal gone bad. I don't really remember," she said quickly. She shifted uncomfortably in her bed, her gaze dropping from his for a moment. She focused intently on the cupcake, pulling her finger slowly through the icing.
"Might be a blessing," Phillip said, trying to assuage her discomfort. "I can remember every second of my wreck and trust me, it's not a great feeling."
Sophie smiled awkwardly. "Well thanks for the cupcake."
Phillip nodded, knowing a dismissal when he heard one. "Maybe I'll see you tomorrow then," he said, confidently.
"Maybe," she repeated, not seeming convinced.
He turned and picked up the last of his cupcakes. His back was to her when he thought of it. He turned back quickly and took the few steps back to her bedside. Her brow furrowed as he moved closer to her, but her protests died on her lips as he presented her with the sprinkled cupcake. He placed it on her folder.
"One for the road," he said with a wink.
She smiled at him. "Thanks."
He nodded and was almost out the door when he heard her voice. "See you tomorrow."
He smiled and walked down the corridor with renewed vigour. He placed the last two cupcakes on the nurses' station, eager to leave so tomorrow could come all the faster.
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Sophie slid down the wall and felt tears welling behind her eyes and a lump stick in her throat. She didn't think he was going to come back. He always came back before, but this time, this time she thought it was different. A sob curled its way out her body of its of volition. He was gone.
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