This is very, very different, but I've been thinking about doing this for a while and I just couldn't let it go. It's going to be a two parter- I have about a third of part two written, so if you would like the conclusion do let me know! As ever, your feedback is hugely appreciated. And please do tell me if I'm not writing what you'd like to read, this site is very quiet at the moment! I'm always open to suggestions!
-IseultLaBelle x
November.
That's when it starts.
It's as though she spent the first two months after her rape in a state of shock and suspension, Nicky has come to appreciate now, sleepwalking ever closer to the inevitable total breakdown when reality hits her, and yet they don't notice.
Not until Chloe has lost so much weight that it seems as though any more, and she'll fade away completely, until her collarbones jut out awkwardly and she's no longer even pretending she isn't tipping Nicky and Cam's desperate attempts to feed her into the bin, out for next door's cat, flushing them away down the toilet when she runs out the kitchen and slams the bathroom door, until Cam informs her that he could see Chloe's spine with alarming clarity when he walked past her bedroom, door ever-so-slightly open, when she was changing ready for her run- her new hobby that seems to be verging dangerously on the point of obsession, destructive, part of a bigger picture they should have put together far, far sooner.
Not until there's too much bloody tissue to flush away down the loo in one go, too many plaster packages and antiseptic wipes in the bin to pass off as just a papercut.
Why didn't they notice before?
It doesn't come as a total surprise to Ange, when Nicky corners her in her office to tell her, Cam under strict instructions to keep Chloe occupied elsewhere in the hospital for half an hour, under no circumstances to let her anywhere near her mother's YAU.
She's noticed.
Of course she has.
She's Chloe's mother.
She just had no idea how out of control it had all gotten, and she sobs in her office, works her way through the entire box of tissues until Nicky has to discretely steal another from the supply cupboard, spin a confused Sasha a terrible, blatant lie as to Ange's whereabouts she won't even remember by the time she returns to YAU, slips silently back into Chloe's mother's workspace to find Dom perched on the arm of her chair, arms around her, squeezes reassuringly as she cries and cries and cries.
"I've let her down," Ange wails, and suddenly she's but a shell of Nicky's flatmate's formidable mother, Scottish fire and strength and spirit frighteningly absent, turned to dust. "I've let her down! I should have done more, I should never have let her get this bad! I should have…"
"It's okay," says Dom simply, tears in his eyes, too, as he rocks his birth mother back and forth, shoots Nicky a look of fear and helplessness from dark, dilated pupils. "It's going to be okay. We're going to get her through this, Ange. You'll see."
Ange is round at the flat every night, after that, bringing them dinner, whether she's en route to the hospital for her night shift or otherwise.
Hushed whispers, from Chloe's room, sobbing, soothing tones, love.
She's struggling, Ange tells Nicky and Cam one night, grim curled up on the sofa, head in her hands, while Chloe sleeps on obliviously, exhausted, no energy left.
Chloe's struggling with it all, with what Evan did to her, with the aftermath, and this is how she's dealing with it.
They sit there in silence, for a while.
Ange has 'borrowed' Theo's old baby monitor from Fletch's attic, positioned one half carefully on the bottom shelf of Chloe's bedside table, behind her Julie Fowlis records and several pairs of highland dancing shoes already departed from this world in all but mortal body, where she won't find it, clasps the 'parent' half tightly in her hands, volume on max, seemingly listening out for Chloe's soft snuffling in her sleep as though her life depends upon it.
Nicky finds herself wondering if she did the right thing telling her about Chloe's nightmare-induced hysterical crying fits leading to panic attacks, so severe that sometimes they can't calm her down for hours, that just last week, Chloe's breathing was such a mess, she and Cam nearly resorted to calling her an ambulance.
They both agree to lock their razors away in Cam's mum's old jewellery safe, the kitchen knives, as Ange conducts a thorough search of the flat.
(Two dismantled blades in Chloe's room, another two hidden down the back of the sofa.)
They don't know what else to do.
December.
After Chloe collapses in theatre- no question of the cause, low blood sugar, malnourishment, no need for any medical investigation- Ange scoops her up and takes her home with her.
Just until Christmas, she tells Cam and Nicky, when they arrive home two days later to find Ange in and out of the bathroom, Chloe's room, packing her a suitcase, while Chloe trembles on the edge of her bed, arms wrapped around herself, eyes red rimmed, swollen.
Broken.
Ange takes Chloe home for Christmas, and that's where she stays.
For the next two months.
They make a point of texting her every couple of days between them, Nicky and Cam, huddled on the sofa together in front of one of Chloe's Wild at Heart boxsets, because they refused point-blank to watch them with her while she was living here, but all of a sudden, the flat feels rather lifeless and empty without her.
Chloe.
Sometimes they'll get back short, rushed replies from Ange, telling them that Chloe's okay, thanks for texting.
Other times, they get nothing at all.
January.
Nicky tries her best, at work.
Because Chloe is back in work, thank god- Nicky is trying to take that as a good sign.
She's on ward duties only, admittedly, floats around Darwin as though the slightest jolt might knock her over, as though she's moving through a dream world, dazed, limp, exhausted before she's even started her shift.
Ange appears up from her new home on AAU at regular intervals, or Dom from Keller, bring food and protein shakes that suspiciously resemble those Nicky remembers from her placement on the Eating Disorder Inpatient Unit, back when she was considering specialising in psychiatry, try to coax Chloe into taking them if they have time, leave them with Nicky and ask her to try if they need to rush back.
Sometimes, she's successful.
But sometimes, Chloe looks at her as though she thinks she's trying to torture her, as though she truly believes despite all of her medical training, all of her intelligence and common sense and reasoning have left her, as though she doesn't understand why they're all doing this to her, why they won't just leave her alone, allow her to go back to starving herself.
(That's the one thing that does seem to have changed for the better, since Chloe moved into Ange's. She still looks… haunted, ill, struggling to cope, but at least she isn't as painfully thin as she was a few weeks ago.)
Ange hands Nicky leaflets on refeeding and eating disorders and PTSD and self-harming, when Chloe shows signs of resistance, tells her quietly, hidden away in the Darwin toilets, that she's so grateful her daughter has such brilliant, supportive friends, that she can't imagine where Chloe would be now without her and Cam.
She means well.
Nicky knows she does.
But Ange's gratitude only makes her feel horribly guilty for not doing more.
Because she should be doing more.
Nicky knows she should, and she's perfectly aware that Cam feels exactly the same.
After all, their many, varied failings when it comes to Chloe seem to be all they talk about, nowadays.
The trouble is, Chloe just doesn't want to let them in.
But still.
Nicky promises herself she'll try harder, from now on.
February.
Chloe moves back into her room at the flat, Ange hovering over her with a fierce, uncompromising protectiveness as she unpacks, fusses over her.
She fixes her hair, places her hands on her shoulders, her elbows, her back, follows her around her room, the flat, as though she's afraid that should she take her eyes off her, even for a moment, she'll fall to pieces again.
So much so that when Cam offers to make Ange and Chloe a cup of tea, beckons Nicky away from Chloe's bedroom door and into the kitchen area, he murmurs to her as they wait for the kettle to boil that he wouldn't be surprised if Ange's plan is to move herself in, too, just until she's satisfied that Chloe is coping without her.
The trouble is, both of them know he's only half joking.
But it's more than that.
It goes deeper.
Because while Ange undeniably has a history of being overly interfering when it comes to her children, it's difficult to not see where she's coming from, over this.
"Do you think she'll ever get over this?" Cam asks quietly, stands in the hallway with Nicky after they've taken in cups of tea to Ange and Chloe, sat on the edge of Chloe's bed in a tangle of limbs, pulled the door just about to but there's still a slight gap, just enough to see in, to hear.
Just enough to witness how bad it all is.
"I look fat, Mum," Chloe sobs painfully, clings onto Ange as though the world is ending, child-like, desperate, distraught. "My stomach looks…"
"You are notfat," Ange tells her firmly, presses her daughter tightly against her side. "You do notlook fat, Chloe. Okay? You look healthy. Thank god. This is just your body sorting itself out after… you know. After the last few months. We've been here before, haven't we, sweetheart? Hey? And you told me pretty much exactly the same thing, word for word, when you started getting better, and a couple of months after that you were feeling a lot better about it all, weren't you? Do you remember? Yeah?"
Chloe nods slowly, quietly, accepts the tissue Ange holds out for her.
"See? This is just part of recovery. Alright? You're doing so, so well, Chloe. So well. I'm couldn't be prouder of you. I really, really couldn't. I know it doesn't feel like it right now…"
"No," Chloe admits faintly. "No, it doesn't."
"I know, sweetheart. I know. But you aren't going to feel like this forever, my sweet girl. Okay? It's going to get better. You're going to look back on this in a few weeks and you'll realise you've come such a long way. I promise you will. You've just got to be brave for a little bit longer."
"I just… it's there all the time, Mum," Chloe shudders. "When I close my eyes, when I'm on my own, when I'm not quite focusing on something else hard enough… or sometimes when I am, sometimes when I needto focus on something else, and I try so hard and all I can think of is him…"
"I'm so sorry," Ange whispers, voice breaking. "I'm so, so sorry I couldn't protect you. I never wanted you to know how this feels. Never. I'm so, so sorry…"
Nicky sighs heavily, closes her eyes.
"Which one?" she asks.
It's not a question.
March.
"Jesus, what is that in the fridge?" Cam complains as he reaches for the box of eggs (part of his new mission to enforce proper pre-work breakfast, for Chloe's benefit more than anything else), pulls out a large, glass jar decorated with strange letters instead. "It smells like a colostomy bag. One that needed changing about three hours ago."
"Oh, that? It's kapusta," says Chloe happily, wanders back into the kitchen area in her pyjamas and dressing gown, bowl in one hand, fork in the other.
"Ka-what?"
"Kapusta. Fermented cabbage, basically. And carrot. It's an Eastern European thing, I think, I got it from that Polish corner shop near work. Mum used to give me it when I was a kid." Chloe loads her fork with a large helping of what looks to Nicky alarmingly akin to brain matter, swallows, easily the most at-ease she's been with food in months. "I think she said it was immune-boosting, or something."
"Vomit inducing, more like," Cam remarks in mild horror. "I mean, how can you get past the smell of it? Are you literally just eating that for breakfast? On its own?"
"Umm hmm. I'll admit, the smell takes some getting used to at first," Chloe agrees, stabbing another clump of foul-smelling cabbage with her fork. But it's the best. Trust me. It works well with eggs," she offers, noticing the egg box in Cam's hands. "Hard-boiled egg, roll it in salt, serve it with lettuce and kapusta. Heaven."
"That sounds completely revolting," Nicky agrees. "Is that all you're having for breakfast? That's not going to get you through a double shift, is it..."
"It's my second bowl," Chloe argues. "I was up early. Couldn't sleep, you know? And I've made lunch to take with me."
"Fermented cabbage sandwiches?"
"How did you guess?" Chloe frowns, confused.
"Oh my god, seriously? I was joking! Ewww!"
"What's wrong with a kapusta sandwich?" asks Chloe with an air of eerily calm curiosity, opens the fridge, takes out the kapusta jar, adds several more forkfuls to her bowl.
"You're going to make the staffroom smell of colostomy bag, too!" Cam protests. "We get enough of that on the wards. Don't need it in the staffroom as well."
"It's not that bad," Chloe insists. "Try it! You'd get past the smell if you tried it."
"No thanks. You driving into work today?"
Chloe nods. "Not walking in that rain. Do you want a lift? I'm probably going to leave in about half an hour, if that works?"
"Sure, if you don't mind that would be great. But only if you're not going to be eating that stuff in the car."
Chloe rolls her eyes light-heartedly. "Cam?"
"Great, thanks. You do know you can't go in your pyjamas, right? I mean, you could. But can you imagine Ms Naylor?"
"Hey, I can be ready to go in half an hour," Chloe protests. "No point making an effort for a double shift anyway, is there?"
"Fair point. You still up for a lunchbreak run again? You know, to get the endorphins going, give us an energy boost to get through another ten hours?"
"Do you mind if I don't today?" Chloe finally places her empty kapusta bowl in the dishwasher, wraps her arms around herself, fidgets. "I feel… I don't know. Weird."
"Weird?" Cam asks, expression suddenly concerned, glances across to meet Nicky's gaze and back again. "Weird how?"
"Like…" Chloe trails off, shrugs, stares at the floor determinedly, awkward, shutting down. "I don't know… bloated…. Maybe. It's weird. Like my organs are being crushed, or something."
"And are you still managing to eat…"
"I don't want to talk about food," Chloe insists firmly, turns, makes a beeline for her bedroom door before Nicky and Cam can push the subject any further. "Ready to leave in half an hour, yeah?"
"She's not over all this, is she?" Nicky sighs quietly, as Chloe's bedroom door slams shut. "She's not over it at all."
"No," Cam agrees. "No, she isn't. Well, I think the whole food situation genuinely has gotten a lot better. But still. I think she's just got better at pretending."
April.
It starts after work.
That's the strangest thing about it.
All day at work, Chloe seems fine- better than fine, even, closer to her usual self than Nicky remembers seeing her in months.
It's almost as though none of it ever happened, not Evan, not her mum's revelation over Dom's adoption, none of it.
She seems… happy.
Healthy.
She seems as though finally, seven months on, she might just be able to put everything that happened with Evan behind her.
Then they finish work, come home, and it all goes to shit.
Dom comes back to the flat with them, after work.
It's been too long since he's spent some quality time with his sister, he claims, but they gather together all four of them, that evening. Dom and Chloe drop by Yo Sushi on the way back from the hospital, bring with them teriyaki burgers and more raw fish than anyone could possibility want, and the four of them curl up together on the sofas in front of rubbish TV, Chloe adding copious amounts of kapusta to her sushi and only causing it to smell even worse than it already does.
And for the first couple of hours, everything is fine.
Then Chloe starts to fidget, on-edge, face twists in discomfort as she presses her hand over her mouth.
They try to ignore it, at first.
All of them have learnt over the last seven months that treating her like she's fragile, jumping on her at the slightest sign of a need to be anxious only ends badly.
But half an hour later, Chloe is so obviously in pain that it's difficult to look past it any longer.
"You alright?" Dom asks carefully, adjusts his arm around his sister's shoulders. "Chlo?"
"I'm fine," Chloe insists. "I'm fine, I just… just hurts."
"What hurts?" Dom presses, exchanges worried glances with Nicky and Cam. "Your… Oh, okay," he realises as Chloe clasps her hands over her stomach, moans softly, closes her eyes. "Okay. Have you had any other problems, since…"?
"Since Mum dragged me into the ED kicking and screaming and they told me I had pelvic inflammatory disease from Evan's STIs back in October?" Chloe snaps, irritant. "No, not since then… sorry," she whispers, face relaxes, seems to calm down a little again. "Sorry, I just…"
"It's alright. It's alright, you look like you're in pain," Dom tries sympathetically. "My fault, I should have been less… you know. Do you want some painkillers?"
Chloe nods, defeated, eyes still closed.
"Okay. Okay, we can do that, can't we?" Dom stares at Nicky pointedly.
"Course we can. Do you want your wheat bag thing as well?" Nicky calls, opening the kitchen cupboards in search for the ibuprofen. "Chloe?"
But all Chloe does is screw up her face in agony, fists clench, bites her lip.
"Maybe stick it in the microwave," Dom suggests. "Then she has the option. Chloe? Chloe, talk to me? How long have you been feeling like…"
"About an hour? I don't know, I… it wasn't this bad," Chloe forces out, writhes, grabs onto Dom's hand. "It wasn't… when it started it just felt like cramps, or something…"
"Okay. And was that how it was when you had the…"
Chloe nods weakly.
Cam pales. "Do you think we need to get her into…"
"No!" Chloe snaps. "I'm not going to the ED."
"Chloe…"
"I'm not going!" Chloe protests. "Not… not right now, anyway. If… if it gets worse…"
"Okay," says Dom calmly. "Okay, so we'll give it an hour. Yeah? And if it's worse in an hour, I'm taking you into the ED. Or AAU, if you'd rather, I'm sure we can pull some strings, get Ange to have a look at you. Would that be better than a stranger?"
Chloe nods. "I just… if it's that…"
"I know. I know, I get it. I wouldn't be rushing into that kind of examination either, if it's any consolation. But we're giving it an hour," Dom warns worriedly. "If it's worse in an hour, or even if it's still like this, I'm taking you into the ED. I mean it, Chloe."
"Here," Nicky tells Chloe gently, crouches beside her, painkillers in one hand, glass of water in the other. "Take those. And I'll go and get your heat pack thing out the microwave, okay? You'll feel better."
But it doesn't get better.
Half an hour later and Dom can't remember ever having been more worried about her- and he's worried about his little sister a lot, over the past few months.
She's curled up against his side on the sofa, writhes in pain, alternates between peaceful moments in which she simply lies there, presses her hands over her stomach and almost seems to be asleep, and, sometimes within seconds, crushes Dom's hand in hers and moans in agony, arches her back, trembles, cold sweat, Nicky and Cam looking on worriedly.
It's when she starts sobbing that Dom can't take anymore.
"Come on, Chlo. This is ridiculous," he tells her gently, strokes her hair. "You look like you're in absolute agony, I can't just leave you like this. Why don't we…"
All of a sudden, Chloe bolts, springs off the sofa as though she's been scalded, races across the flat to lock herself in the bathroom.
"Chloe!" Nicky calls, rushing after her. "Chloe, are you alright? Can I get you anything…?"
"Just… need to go!" Chloe shouts back, but there's a strange edge to her voice Dom can't place.
They sit in silence, for a while, waiting for Chloe to return.
Dom fidgets, mind racing, closes his eyes, breathes.
She's his little sister.
She's his little sister, and she's in pain, and he doesn't know what to do.
His hand roams across the sofa to the now-empty space beside him, comes into contact with damp fabric, warm.
"She's wet herself," he murmurs quietly, as Nicky crosses back over to join them. "God only knows how much pain she must be in…"
"We need to get her into the ED," Nicky agrees. "It goes like this with pelvic inflammatory disease, doesn't it? The flare-ups can keep coming back. It must be bringing it all back for her, you know, given… Evan. No wonder she doesn't want to get checked out."
"I think she found it quite traumatic last time," Dom admits quietly. "From what Ange said. She's not going to take another ED visit without a fight."
"Maybe it's worth giving Ange a call," Cam suggests. "She's on the nightshift tonight, isn't she?"
Cam nods. "She's been in there a while now, hasn't she?" he worries. "Perhaps one of us should…"
As if on cue, the bathroom door opens.
Chloe limps out, walking strangely, legs spread, pained.
"Dom," she whispers. "Dom, can you call Mum?"
"Of course." Dom pulls his phone from his pocket, holds out his free arm as his sister staggers over towards him, changes his mind as he remembers the damp stain on the sofa, jumps up to meet her instead. "Of course I will. Why don't we…"
But Chloe leans against him heavily, rests her head against his chest, moans.
"Okay," Dom tells her, trying his hardest not to panic. "Okay. Is this more comfortable? Yeah? I've got you. I'm just going to call Ange…"
"I think I…" Chloe gestures to her maxi skirt, ashamed.
"It's okay. It's okay, you look like you're in so much pain," he soothes. "It's okay. I'm calling Ange, alright? I'm calling her."
But his call just goes straight to voicemail.
He tries again and again, rubs Chloe's back in a desperate attempt to comfort her as Ange fails to answer, as Nicky slips into Chloe's room and offers her a clean change of clothes she refuses, watches his sister's face for signs of a rapid downward spiral as she clings onto him, tries the number for AAU instead.
"I'm just going to feel your pulse, Chloe," Nicky tries, reaches for Chloe's wrist. "Just to be sure…"
"I'm fine," Chloe protests anxiously, bats her off, pants. "You don't understand…"
"What don't we understand, Chloe?" Cam asks now. "Chloe? What can we do, what…"
"I just need Mum," Chloe insists. "I need Mum, I need…"
"Can you take it?" Dom pleads, hands his phone to Nicky as the call finally connects. "It's alright, Chlo. It's alright, we'll get Ange, if you'd feel more comfortable telling…"
"Hi Donna," says Nicky frantically into the phone. "Is Ange there? She's in theatre? It's… oh, okay. Right… yeah, I really need you to get her out of there, if you can, I don't care if she's wrapping up in the next half hour, it's…"
"No," Chloe protests. "No, no, no…"
"Okay. Okay… can you just… can you get her to give me a call back once she's done? Amazing, thank you."
Nicky ends the call, exchanges frightened glances with Dom and Cam. "Chloe? Chloe, you're starting to scare us, now. We really need you to try to tell us what's wrong, is it still your stomach? Or is it down there, is it more like the PID when…"
"Sheena," Chloe whispers faintly, pale, sweating, and yet horribly, horribly cold. "If you can't get hold of Mum… call Sheena. There's a card… on my pin board…"
Nicky doesn't hesitate.
Sheena, Chloe's sexual offense liaison officer, arrives on the doorstep twenty minutes later.
Cam lets her in.
Dom clings onto Chloe as though the world is ending, shot down a thousand times over in his suggestions to just call for an ambulance and get her into the ED, rubs her back, tries to calm her down but she's having none of it, sobbing and moaning and writhing like nothing he's ever seen before, eyes haunted, wide, afraid, for all her exhaustion.
Ange is never going to forgive him, he curses himself.
Maybe he should have just bundled her into his car, driven her down to the ED himself kicking and screaming.
What if it's bad, really bad, what if it's all too late by the time they finally get Chloe seen to and Ange never forgives him…
Sheena approaches carefully, gently, crouches down on the floor beside them.
"Chloe?" she asks softly. "Chloe, it's me. It's Sheena. Your friend Nicky said you were asking for me, she said you looked like you were in pain…"
Chloe writhes, squeezes Dom's hand for several seconds longer, so tightly that for a moment, it feels as though she might crush it.
And then finally, shamefully, she relaxes, stares into Sheena's eyes pleadingly.
"I didn't know," Chloe sobs. "I didn't know, I swear I didn't know…"
Sheena seems to understand.
Somehow, inexplicably so, Sheena seems to understand what Dom, Nicky and Cam, the medics in the room, have somehow missed, just from those simple words, Chloe's demeanour, pained, frightened expression in her eyes.
"Oh, Chloe," she sighs sympathetically, soothing, taking control. "Okay. Okay, sweetheart. It's alright. Can I touch you?"
Chloe nods, closes her eyes, collapses back into Dom's chest.
"Okay. Everything's going to be alright now," Sheena promises, shuffles in closer, takes hold of Chloe's hands gently. "I've got you. You're alright. You're doing so, so well, Chloe, you just need to be brave for a little while longer."
"Do you know what's wrong with her?" Dom forces out, unable to hold himself together any longer. "We can't… Chloe didn't seem to know what was wrong, we were thinking… she had herpes, and then the pelvic inflammatory disease, last September, after everything with… we thought… perhaps…"
But Sheena ignores him.
"This happened to your mum, too, didn't it?" Sheena asks Chloe now, voice calm, calmer than Dom can even recall how to be at this point. "I remember you telling me."
Chloe nods, shudders.
"Okay. It's okay. I'm here. We're all here, Chloe, we're going to get you through this together. And when abouts did your mum…"
"Round about now, I think," Chloe forces out between her sobs. "Only she managed to hold off on this… this part… a while longer. After she realised. She knew, when this… this happened. But I didn't… I promise I didn't know… I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"
"You've got nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart. Nothing. And it's definitely…"
"Definitely. From that."
"Okay. And do you know how far you've progressed, or do we need to…"
"Eight centimetres," Chloe whispers. "I think. I checked in the bathroom… about… I don't know… right before Nicky called you. Whenever that was. But it's… it's different doing it to yourself, I couldn't see, I don't know if I… and it's all happened so quickly, I think it could…"
"Doing what to yourself?" Cam interrupts urgently. "Chloe?"
Chloe just shakes her head.
"Not just now," Sheena shuts him down. "Not helpful. Okay. Can you go and get us some towels, please, one of you? I don't care who. Dom, can you help me get Chloe down to my car. We don't have time to wait for Ange, we need to get her to the hospital and then they can take it from…"
"I think…" Chloe confesses faintly, free hand roaming between her legs awkwardly, wild. "I think I can feel the head."
"Fuck!" exclaims Nicky loudly.