I know I have FAR too many stories on the go at the moment, but I've had a few requests to post something and I've been struggling a bit with both writing and finding the time to do it lately. This was all I had ready to post so I hope you don't mind me posting another new one!
The title is from Heather Dale's Choose off her Fairytale album. As ever, this story is not sponsored by Heather Dale. She just writes amazing, thought-provoking, relatable songs.
Reviews always make my week :)
-IseultLaBelle
"Morning. You look terrible," Fletch comments as the front door opens, cold air rushing in through from outside, causing her to shiver.
She can't see him.
She can only see her mum standing in the doorway, dishevelled, still wearing her dressing gown, hair falling out of a messy ponytail, dark circles framing red-rimmed eyes.
Chloe can't help but feel horribly guilty.
"Nice to see you too. Sorry," her mum apologises. "Sorry, it's all a bit of a mess here this morning, we're not really very…"
"That's alright. It's alright, don't be silly. What can I do?"
"If you don't mind making Chloe some breakfast while I jump in the shower, that would be amazing. Just to speed things up. It'll take her a while to eat anything, if she feels like she's under time pressure she'll freak herself out, and I really don't want her skipping breakfast again. We… we haven't been up long. I was up between about three and six am with her, we cancelled the alarms and went back to sleep for a few hours after that. It was way, way too soon for her to be back in work. Way too soon." Ange sighs. "She's exhausted, poor thing. She's completely exhausted, she's in more pain than she was this time last week, I think; I tried to tell her going back to work so soon was a mistake, but she wasn't having any of it. Being on her feet all day's just making it worse. So she's shattered, she's sore, she's not exactly at her most resilient at the moment as it is, and then all of a sudden, the nightmares seem to have gotten ten times worse. I couldn't calm her down last night." She shakes her head, shudders.
"Oh, Ange..."
Fletch steps into view now; Chloe hears the front door slam shut, tell-tale sound of her mum pulling the chain across, double bolting, finally sees her pull her boyfriend into a hug.
It's all her fault, Chloe tells herself furiously, scratches away at the backs of her hands.
Her mum is upset, exhausted, has hardly slept, and it's all her fault.
She stayed at her mum's, the first week after Evan.
After he raped her.
Fletch came to meet them at the SARC, once she was free to leave, drove them back to Chloe's flat and they stayed there just long enough for her mum to help her pack a bag.
Ange took her home, made her hot chocolate, wrapped her up in a pile of blankets when she just couldn't stop shivering, even with the heating on full. She held her when she cried, promised she'd be there when she woke up when at last she managed to fall asleep and true to her word, she was there, every time, stroked her hair, told her over and over that she was safe, that nothing could hurt her now, until finally, Chloe began to believe it.
Her mum insisted she stay with her for that first week, and Chloe wasn't about to argue.
Ange managed to negotiate the week off work, and they spent most of it hibernating, working their way through the DVD cupboard, sleeping excessively, putting back together the broken pieces of Chloe's atrial clip research project, cuddled up together on the sofa, tangled limbs.
But Chloe repaid her by managing just two weeks back in her own flat, back at work, before she fell to pieces again, and now her mum is back to picking up the pieces.
She's weak.
She knows she should be strong, like her mum was, but Chloe just can't quite seem to manage it.
"We got there in the end," her mum murmurs to her boyfriend. "I managed to calm her down again by six-ish, I think she got another couple of hours. I'm hoping she'll be so shattered tonight she'll just sleep through, I don't know if she can take another night like last night."
"What about you?" Fletch asks carefully. "Can you take another night like…"
Chloe shuffles, presses herself up against the living room wall, out of sight.
Just in case.
Fletch is right, of course, she reminds herself furiously.
This is all just as difficult for her mum as it is for her.
She needs to get a grip.
"I can take as many more nights like that as she needs me to," her mum insists firmly, brushes her boyfriend's comments aside. "I'm her mother. She can't cope with all this on her own, she's… I'm worried. I'm worried this is going to tip her over the edge mental-health-wise, if I'm honest. You've seen what she's like when something spooks her at the best of times, but this… I need to keep an eye on her, I can take as much as she needs me to. I need to keep her safe. Anyway. But you're okay to make her some breakfast?"
"Of course."
"Great, thank you. Anything she'll eat, really. I won't be long, just need to make myself look presentable, if we're going to take madam out later. I mean, I know it's only the SARC. But still. Every time I set foot in that place with her, I seem to look like death in scrubs. I'm determined Sheena's going to see me looking like an actual human being at least once. I mean, I know she's not judging, that's probably so far down her priority list it doesn't even register, isn't it? Her job's to support Chloe, she's not going to care if her mother looks a total mess, is she? I've done Chloe's washing, I've got my priorities right. But still. I think everything I own is in the laundry basket. I'll get round to that at some point this week."
"Is she up?"
"My darling daughter? Yep, she's around somewhere. Chloe?" her mum shouts loudly now, and it's only her mum, of course, nothing to be afraid of, but Chloe can't help but flinch. "Chloe, sweetheart, can I borrow one of your jumpers, if I can manage to squeeze into any of them? Only I'm a bit behind on the whole laundry situation…"
"Sure, take whatever you want!" Chloe shouts back, fidgets with her hands anxiously.
Is it her imagination, or are were there definite traces of sarcasm and annoyance in the way her mum uttered the words 'darling daughter?'
She wouldn't blame her if there was.
Her mum had thought she'd gotten rid of her, after all, just a week ago.
You couldn't even last a week back in your own flat without falling to pieces, could you? The voices in her head remind her. Get a grip, Chloe.
"Okay, thanks! Are you going to come and say hi to Fletch in a minute? Yeah? She might be a bit self-conscious, she's still in her onesie thing," her mum explains. "I'm going to go and run her a bath in a bit. It's just easier for her than having to worry about losing her footing in the shower, you know? I know she's been putting on a front at work, but We don't need to be at the SARC until half twelve, we've still got time. Thanks so much for this."
"Hey, you don't have to thank me. It's no problem. So it's just a follow-up appointment?"
"Pretty much. They're trialling offering aftercare through the SARC, we thought it might be a less stressful environment for her than the GP or the ED follow-up service. It should be okay today I think, Sheena's in today- Chloe's SOLO. We like Sheena. We don't like the woman she had instead when we went in to sort her counselling out last week. My god, she was awful."
"You were totally embarrassing, Mum!" Chloe shouts from the living room.
Anxiously, on edge, she turns her hands around themselves, inspects her fingernails, tries to occupy herself.
It's just Fletch, she tells herself firmly, repeats it like a mantra. It's just Fletch. Fletch wouldn't do anything to hurt her.
So why does she feel so on edge?
"Hey, you would have snapped too if you were me!" her mum argues. "Are you going to come and talk to us properly, sweetheart? Please? Fletch doesn't care about your penguin onesie."
Shakily, reluctantly, Chloe emerges from her hiding place behind the living room door, ventures out into the hallway, arms wrapped around herself self-consciously.
She can't stand the look of pity in Fletch's eyes.
"You were totally embarrassing, Mum," she repeats before Fletch can greet her, ask her how she's feeling. "You kept shouting at the support worker until she went and got her colleague for backup. And you stillmade a complaint about her."
"Only because she kept referring to me as your sister! Repeatedly! Even after I'd corrected her half a dozen times! And anyway, Sheena called me to apologise the next day, didn't she? She agreed it was out of order!"
"Did it really matter if she'd convinced herself you were my sister, though? We were only ever going to be seeing her for that one appointment."
"Yes! It does! Do you know how many years I spent taking you places only to be told your parent needed to be there to sign consent forms? I mean, it wasn't even just medical appointments, I had it when I tried to take you to that jiu-jitsu class at the leisure centre the first time, do you remember? I think you were about eight. Being mistaken for your sister just sends me into an irrational rage."
"I think most people would be flattered to be mistaken for their child's sibling," Fletch points out, rolls his eyes light-heartedly at Chloe. "I know I would."
"Well, most people don't have their babies in their teens, do they? Nine days, it took me to convince my mum and Social Services to let me keep this one. Nine days. Come here, my lovely girl." Her mum holds out her arms, beckons to Chloe, pulls her into a tight hug and rubs her back soothingly, almost as though she knows, somehow, just knows. "And then I've spent her whole life having to prove she's actually my daughter, not my sister. You know, that I'm her responsible adult, and everything that comes with that. That part isn't a problem anymore, obviously, but god, the dramas I used to have when she was younger. I wasn't allowed to claim child benefit for her myself until I was eighteen, my mum had to claim it for me. I mean, with Dom, fair enough, but with her it was just ridiculous, I was practically an adult. I wasn't even allowed to take her swimming; can you believe that?"
"Why weren't you allowed to take her swimming?"
"Same reason I wasn't allowed to claim her child benefit. Had to be eighteen. You did back then, anyway, I think things have moved on a bit now. But the looks I used to get, when she was a baby. The looks I still get sometimes when people suss the age gap, come to that. Why do people think they have a right to judge? I wouldn't change her, though." Her mum hugs her tightly, smells of comfort and safety and reassurance. "I wouldn't change you for anything, sweetheart. Not ever. Are you going to help Fletch work out his way around my kitchen, then? Yeah? I really need you to eat something before we go to the SARC, please."
"You're not eating," Chloe points out, pouting.
She's being childish.
She knows she is.
She's just so, so sick of feeling like this, so sick of her mum fussing over her, of knowing, deep down, that she has a point.
Her mum sighs. "Yes. Yes, I am eating. I'm going to jump in the shower first and make myself look human, I'll have some toast while you're in the bath, or something. I'm not the one with a BMI that puts them as…"
"You know as well as I do that BMI calculators are a pile of…"
"I do," her mum agrees. "But all the same. In this particular situation, I don't think it's far off. I did fourteen years of being told you were medically underweight, believe me, I know when to ignore the charts. If you were actually eating, I wouldn't be so worried. And I know for a fact you weren't eating at your place before… you know. Before all this."
"Have you been getting Cam and Nicky to spy on me?"
"Maybe I have. Purely because I'm worried about you. I just asked them what they remembered, that's all, you mustn't be angry with them. They didn't give in easily, if it's any consolation. I may have threatened to tell Jac and Serena I caught them stuffing their faces with Kian's Middle Eastern donut things the other week when I know for a fact they were both supposed to be prepping for theatre. And maybe to tell Jac exactly what they called her when I pointed this out to them."
"Mum, you're terrible."
"Oh, I know. Anything for you, sweetheart. I'd move heaven and earth for you, my lovely girl, that's what makes a mother's love so formidable. But anyway. I know you haven't been eating properly at yours, either, Cam and Nicky have told me. Nicky said you threw out a load of California rolls the other week…"
"So?" Chloe snaps. "I wasn't hungry." She rests her head against her mum's chest tiredly, defeated.
"I gathered. You need to eat, though, Chloe. Okay? I've taken you to enough medical appointments where I've been practically accused of starving you over the years, I'm not doing another one."
"They're not going to accuse you of starving me now, are they?" Chloe points out sulkily. "I'm not your baby anymore."
"You're always going to be my baby, sweetheart. Always. Aren't you? You're my youngest, and I'm not going to be having any more, am I? Not after you messed up my uterus so badly they had to…"
"I don't think your boyfriend wants to know about your missing anatomy, Mum. I don't want to hear you tell your boyfriend about your missing anatomy, come to that. Way too much information."
"Alright! But still. You're my baby. You're always going to be my baby. It's still my job to look after you when you need it, whether you like it or not. And you do. I'm not having Sheena and the SARC medical team thinking I don't know how to look after my own daughter. You need to eat. So, I'm going to go and shower, you're going to let Fletch make you breakfast. Alright? Please? I've got eggs in, Fletch could make you scrambled eggs?"
"We could do that," Fletch agrees. "What do you reckon, Chloe? You up for showing me where your mum keeps the cooking utensils?"
Chloe hesitates.
She doesn't want her mum to go.
Her mum's arms are warm, safe, comforting, and she doesn't want her to go, even if it's only for a few minutes.
"Mum," Chloe protests quietly.
She's too old to be behaving like this, she reminds herself, frustrated, exasperated, downright embarrassed.
She's twenty-nine years old and she's clinging to her mother like a baby, can't bear the thought of being separated from her when she's only going to be upstairs, only going to be half an hour at the absolute most.
It won't even be half an hour, most likely.
Chloe isn't stupid.
She knows her mum now has washing her hair in the space of two minutes down to a fine art, anything to avoid having to leave her daughter on her own for too long, even if she's only in the next room.
You should be stronger than this, the voices inside Chloe's head remind her tauntingly. You're being totally pathetic. Why can't you just get a grip? Your mum can't keep holding you together, that's just pathetic. You're being pathetic, Chloe…
"I know," her mum soothes. "I know, sweetheart. It's okay. You just feeling a bit delicate? Hmm? It's okay. I'm coming right back. Alright? I'm only going upstairs, aren't I? I'll be back in ten minutes. Yeah? Or I can do it in less, if you really…"
"She'll be fine, Ange," Fletch intervenes. "Won't you, Chloe? You can manage without your mum for half an hour or so, let her half some time to herself. Can't you? Come on, then."
A part of Chloe almost hopes her mum will say no, intervene.
She knows she's selfish. She knows she needs to get a grip, that she can't expect her mum to never leave her side for more than a few seconds at a time, needs to allow her at least a little personal space (even if her mum has absolutely no concept of it at times).
She does know.
She just can't seem to pull herself together.
"You can come and hammer the bathroom door down if you need me," her mum promises, squeezes her so tightly Chloe wonders for a moment if she's ever planning on letting go, until the open wounds to her abdomen sting sharply and she has to bite her lip to stop herself from crying out in pain.
Not that there's any point, really, Chloe curses herself now.
It's going to come out at her SARC appointment.
She's sure it is.
And there's no way she'll be able to talk her mum into waiting outside.
"Chloe?" her mum tries gently, strokes her hair. "You come and get me if you need me, okay? You promise?"
"She's fine, Ange. You don't need to worry," Fletch insists. "We'll be fine. Come on, Chloe."
He's extracted her from her mum's arms, gently pushed her into the kitchen ahead of him by her shoulders, before Chloe can protest.