Secrets and Lies
Chapter 21
Life was draining out of her slowly, leaving a growing black hole where she used to be, just as her humanity had drained from her and left her this hollow shell
"So what was it all for, Abby? Another excuse for you to destroy yourself? Yet another person to blame for your wreck of a life?"
There had been a sense of glee in the way Sam had said those words. They rattled around in her head, irritating her as she tried to sleep, tried to ease the discomfort. It would be easier if she could just slip away quietly in her sleep.
"The only person to blame for this tawdry end is you, Abby. You never loved him, but you couldn't bear that she did, could you?"
Sam's vitriol had been never-ending. Blow after blow – vicious and visceral – rained the truth down on her, until she was drowning in a sea of her own lies, her own deceit, her own deep-seated neuroses. A hand gripped the bed sheet, contorted in distress, and her face creased.
"Same way you can still play the victim, Abby. I don't hate you…don't flatter yourself by thinking that…I did for a long time…now, now I just pity you,"
His words now – echoing in the vastness of her skull – a torture she rightly deserved. He had seen right through her – and it seemed they were at an impasse – neither hating the other, neither able to forgive the other.
She turned over in a vain attempt to find a more comfortable position. Her body complained at the movement. She screwed her eyes shut, but was bombarded with images. Images of today intermingled with those of 5 years ago. Bitter, hurt faces, stung by anger, tainted by hatred. Her own, and those of the others she'd tied up in her mess.
The death certificate may read 'Abigail Marjorie Lockhart, M.D.' and give today's date, but in reality, that person has been dead since a cold day in early November 2005. Her life since then has not been living but existing, twisted up by lies, driven mad by selfishness, so determined to hurt others that she ended up killing herself.
This had been designed to be one last twist of the knife, one last chance to see them suffer, but glancing around the room, Abby knew she had failed. Her plan had come unhinged somewhere along the line, and they were here not to suffer, but to make sure it was finally over.
She was dying with no dignity at all – on display like a caged animal – her final, agonising throes being watched, and she thought, no doubt enjoyed by a captive audience.
The only person around her who had any compassion left for her was Susan. Abby opened her eyes, glanced over at the blonde. Her head was bowed so all that she could see was the perfectly straight centre parting. Abby smiled wistfully. Susan always was just so. Her life was just so. That was one of the things she envied about Susan, yet it frustrated her too. Susan was just a little too straight down the line sometimes. She tolerated Abby's deviations, but only because she didn't know the whole truth. The sordid truth shared by the other four people present would horrify Susan. Of that Abby had absolutely no doubt. It would offend her sensibilities.
Abby's eyes travelled across the room, focussed instead on Sam. The nurse stood, in her by now customary hands-on-hips stance, her stare locked directly onto Abby. She flicked her eyes away when Abby looked at her. The expression on her face was vaguely triumphant. What had she achieved today, Abby wondered, that gave her the right to triumph? Surely, there was nothing in this situation that could possibly make her feel that way.
Sam's eyes had been unflinching though, boring a hole right through her. How could she do that? Even Susan - the woman who was supposed to be her best friend, in this room the woman who was her only friend - couldn't do that. Abby guessed that was the reason Susan was still around. She couldn't see how ugly Abby really was on the inside. How twisted up and neurotic she was, and how cruel she could be to her fellow human beings.
Sam knew all that. Sam understood something of human frailties, of the decisions and mistakes that dragged them all here that Susan couldn't. Susan would never understand not wanting a baby, where Sam could. Susan wouldn't tolerate the lies the same way that Sam had for 5 years. Susan lacked something of Sam's passion. Despite the fact that she'd been unbearably angry, Abby had to grudgingly respect Sam. She hadn't been afraid to just come right out and ask the tough questions. Tough questions to which Abby had not, and never would have, any answers.
Susan had been useful for sympathy. For someone who was on her side, no matter what, and she wasn't about to throw that away now. Sam wanted to tell the attending, the words lay just on the surface of her tongue, but Abby knew she wouldn't. Not while she still lived and breathed. Once she was dead, Sam could do what the hell she liked. Abby wouldn't care anymore.
Finally, she'd be free from being judged for the decisions she'd made, judged by the people she had hurt. Free from the glare of secrets that finally lay bare, of the truth of her ugly, disfigured lies being open to the world. The web of secrets and lies she had tied them all into had come spectacularly unstuck – but she wasn't the one who had to deal with the fallout.
The muscles under her eyes twitched, as if she wanted to cry but no tears were there. No tears, just pain and death, and hatred where perhaps once there had been a shred, a flicker of love.
Her eyes passed onto him. He looked uncomfortable, ill at ease in the situation. He met her eyes briefly. Had he always had such startlingly green eyes? Or did they just look like that now because they were so…alive? So vital. His eyes were cold, sharp like cut glass – strong on the outside, but press hard enough and he'll break. She knew that. She knew exactly how much pressure it took to break him.
There was any number of excuses for what happened – bad timing, age, work pressure – but the fact was that it was never real. If it had been, it would be there in his eyes now, and it wasn't.
He was the only one of the three who was looking directly at her and that took some determination. She knew they were long past forgiveness. Long past apologies. She knew that the only way they could really get past this – that he could get past this – was for her to die. And, as luck would have it, that wasn't far away.
Close by, Neela had her eyes ducked to the floor. Abby's heart jumped. Too close to be accidental. It might not have been like they once had been. But they stood close enough to wring out her heart. It was another turn of the screw, another twist on the knife. For her to see that after all this, they carried on. They had a child; they had a future, even if they couldn't see it right now through all the heartache. They had two things she didn't, and never would, have. A long breath escaped her dry, cracked lips. Had her ruined body been capable of jealousy, she would have felt it, but she was too tired.
Pain wrenched her insides, and she twisted against it. Distress strained through her expression, tensing and bunching beneath her paper thin, yellowed skin. Susan looked up in fright, strode to the side of the bed, taking one clammy hand between both of hers.
"We're here, everyone's here, you can go now…"
Susan affirmed quietly, her face pale and tense. Blue eyes streamed with tears she was no longer ashamed to cry. Abby wished she could reach out to her friend, wipe away the tears she wasn't worth, and tell her it would all be alright. That the world would go on turning, and that she would go on living, and things would eventually go back to normal, even once Abby was long gone. But she couldn't. Susan's heart was breaking for a friend she barely even really knew, and that depth of feeling was both gratifying and terrifying.
Abby let the touch soothe her away, rhythmically accompanying her final slide into the great beyond. After a while, the touch became less real, and the room faded away – dissolving into the darkness beyond. The people around her became no more than disembodied breathing, hanging in the air, and reminding her of what she was about to lose. Her last breath felt much like those before it – except that as she exhaled, the weight and the pain lifted. Her lungs stayed deflated, useless, and the monitor shrilled. Susan let out a little high-pitched yelp, but Abby was too far gone to know.
She will be remembered with pity and in bitterness, and in time, she probably won't be remembered at all. Hardly the end she always imagined, but an end entirely brought to bear by one person. Herself.