Chapter Twelve - Regina

I think tonight went really well. I like the Nolan's and the entire family, and I am pretty sure they like me too. There was a bit of a weird vibe coming from Emma, like she's upset with me, but I don't blame her for that. I'd be also irritated if I was interrupted and talked over all night long. I did what little I could do to help, but I let myself move on when it didn't seem to work. I had truly lovely evening.

Now Henry and I are climbing the stairs towards bed. My arm is linked through his, a final show of affection before the curtain falls.

I remember walking down the staircase this morning in a sleepy haze. I can't believe I've only been at the manor for little over twenty-four hours. This one day has felt more like a week. The strange warping of time has allowed me to settle down in very quickly. The manor already feels almost like a home away from home.

When we make it to the top floor and Henry opens the door to our room. As soon we step inside, we unlink our arms, and both laugh.

"And …. scene," I say.

"Ha!" Who knew we had such good acting chops?" Henry shakes his head. "Seriously, you were amazing. Thank you so much. And I am sorry again that everyone got here earlier than expected."

I wave his apology away, "it's fine. It was a good thing. Not knowing I was about to meet everyone saved me from overthinking and freaking out myself in advance."

"Well, if you were nervous at all, it didn't know. You hid it very well. Yet another example of your extraordinary acting abilities."

"I'll be expecting my Oscar any day now."

I cross the room to my bed and scoop my PJs up off the pillow. I'm going to have a quick shower before diving into bed. As I head for the bathroom, I start taking my first layer off, pulling my jumper up over my head. I don't feel self-conscious about Henry being nearby. Sharing this room with him doesn't feel strange any more. I got over that silly worry last night.

I am getting over all my worries, actually. I have made my first impression on the Nolan's, and it seems to have been a good one. I behaved naturally and appropriately around Emma all evening. I haven't checked my phone obsessively for more texts from Dianella, instead leaving it switched off and buried in my pocket. I still don't feel tempted to turn the phone back on and see if she's contacted me again; I leave it on the side of the bathroom sink as I pull the rest of my clothes off and get ready to step into a shower with the most phenomenal water pressure I have ever felt.

I am no longer worried about anything.

I am still worried about everything.

I lie flat on my back in the darkness, staring up at the ceiling that I can't see. My phone is planted screen-down on my chest. I don't want to sting my eyes with the artificial light spilling out of it anymore.

I don't want to reread Dianella's most recent texts.

Henry is still talking to me from his bed, continuing the casual conversation we were having before I turned my phone back on. I try to listen to him. He has just finished explaining the reason of business call. I can't help myself and laugh with him about the client. As his conversation went on about comics, life outside of work and so on.

I am glad that Henry is babbling on. It's starting to become soothing to hear his voice in the darkness, even if he is waffling on about unimportant matters that I can't make myself join in with. He keeps talking and talking, seemingly about anything that comes to mind, almost as if he is getting out all the words, he held in around his grandparents all evening. His endless stream of chatter is quite comforting. He should be writer in fact.

There's Taylor's first text: Hey you.

Then, forty minutes later: Hello?

Regina?

Are you there, baby?

Another hour later: What's going on?

Is everything okay?

Another another later: What the fuck?

Where are you?

Why won't you reply to me?!

SERIOUSLY, WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?

Two minutes later: Whatever.

Be llike that.

Even if you won't, someone else will tell me where you are staying at.

One minute later: I am sorry baby.

I want to know that you're okay.

Let's talk tomorrow. Goodnight. xxx.

I flip the phone over and lay it back on my chest. I return to staring up into the pitch-black nothingness. I feel dread wash over my body.

What Dianella has written doesn't surprise me. It doesn't scare me, either. In fact, I'm not sure that I am worried at all. I don't think that the prickly feeling running up and down my body is dread.

It's anger.

I clench and unclench my hands into fists. I feel heat surge through me from head to toe. Normally I would have a sense of relief right now. I'd be shaken, but relieved that things had ended on a good note, with a nice goodnight message and a string of kisses. Now the thought of being so easily won over just makes me angrier. Dianella has no right to manipulate my emotions like this. My ex-girlfriend has no right to know where I am or demand to hear from me, or to send me digital kisses immediately after oh-so-subtly threatening to track down my location after a full month of radio silence. I am overwhelmed with resentment. I do not want Dianella to come crashing back into my life right now, making her presumptuous demands on my time and attention.

"Regina?"

I start, snapping my head to the side.

"Regina?" Henry repeats softly, "are you asleep?"

I let out a big exhale. Some of the tension in my body releases, and I drop my head back on to the pillow. What exactly was I thinking? That it was Dianella calling to me in the darkness? Ridiculous. I am always so irrational when she's involved.

"No. Sorry. I was awake. I was just …"

"Resting?" Henry supplies.

I could say yes. Henry might keep talking then, and I could try find some more comfort in the sound of his chatter or he might decide it's finally time for sleep and leave me alone with my thoughts. I could lie here in the dark for hours, alone with my anger, obsessing with Dianella, letting her take over my brain yet again.

I do not want that.

I do not want to do that.

I do not want to be alone in this.

"I was reading my texts actually. My ex has got back in touch with me," I clench my fists again, "she sent me some threatening messages."

Henry is quiet for a moment. Then: "Would you like to talk about it?"

I squeeze my fists tighter. This is new for me. Dianella and I never used to speak to anyone about our relationship, except for one another. I guess I am naturally private person, and Dianella didn't like our personal affairs being broadcast to anyone else. She hated the thought of every Tom, Dick and Harry knowing our business. So we kept everything just between us, from big blowout fights to tiny disputes about which takeaway to order for dinner. It was the norm for us, and now it feels unnatural and treacherous to talk about her to someone else. It was strange enough for me to tell Henry about our break-up last night, and what I said then barely scratched the surface. Now I can literally hear Dianella's voice in my head warning not to go babbling to people who don't understand our relationship, I hear her asking when exactly she fucking threatened me?!

I don't want to hear her voice anymore. If she absolutely must take up residence inside my mind, then I don't want to listen to what she has to say. She has no right to have that much power over me.

So, would I like to talk about it?

I looked at him again as I unclench my fists, "yes, I would."

I talk quickly, with no particular order in mind and more than a few repetitions and contradictions.

I explain that Dianella has anger issues, and that it isn't her fault because she had a tough childhood. She came from servant home, and a poor one in fact. Her family works for one of the rich family. It is her fault as well because she refuses to go to therapy. I told her the whole story about how it started.

Dianella was my hero at first, she hit a guy in the club that we sneak out during high school and started the fight to defend me. She kissed me right there hard and fast before the security could take her away. I couldn't help but follow her out of the club and take back to her house.

She has her anger issues as long as I could remember. She would scream at me for hours at the time back then; turn up at my house drunk in the middle of the night. She would be raving angry, accusing me of things I didn't commit like fliting with someone or having an eye on someone.

I stress that she never hurt me. I know she never ever lay a finger on me. She would declare her love for me everywhere, in front of people, in strange places. She always does big gesture for me.

Suddenly, as I talk about him, I felt ashamed, embarrassed, I don't know how to explain the threat of Dianella in our relationship. I move away from old memories, and quickly push onwards to describe how much calmer everything was when we met again years later. We both nearly thirty, and Dianella had mellowed out a lot.

She got a job as a horse whisperer; she loves working with horses. She stopped drinking except for one night per weekend. She told me she loved me a week later. Our two whole lives become one, as we moved into our rainbow flat and made our toothbrushes look like they were kissing by the sink and invested in a king-size bed duvet for us to cocoon ourselves in on long, lazy mornings. She still has some anger issues and there are days she loses control.

I accepted all of it. I never once thought about leaving. I was happy.

Now, I pick up my phone, battling against a pang of almost missing Dianella to look at her erratic texts. I want to remind myself of how she threatened to find out where I am staying, weaving the menacing idea in between calmer messages. Were our good times like that? Did they have all the threat of escalation hanging over them?

I have never considered anything like that before. I can't pull on those threats right now. It's too much, but it does feel somehow important to hold on to my anger over these texts.

I read them all out loud to Henry.

There is a deep silence in the dark room once I'm done. I feel discomfort and guilt creeping in, and I rush to clarify that Dianella would never actually track down my location. She was getting my attention, so that I'd reply back to her. Besides, only my mom knows where I am, and she would never release that information to Dianella because the two of them hated one another from the moment they met. Dianella would say that it is normal for two strong women to butt heads like that. I wasn't perfect either.

I stop there. My anger has faded away and I am suddenly completely spent after spilling out so many words and so many secrets, so I let the silence open back up again.

"You are not to blame."

I hear the quiet rustling of Henry's duvet cover, and I imagine he is turning to face me.

"Even if you weren't perfect, Regina. Even if you got angry sometimes, too. You are not to blame for how Dianella treated you. She … well, it sounds like she treated you very badly. That's all I want to say about it, unless you want to say more. Dianella treated you really, really badly. And that is not your fault."

I lie my back spread out like a starfish with this. I imagine a birds-eye view of myself, captured through night-vision goggles, and I almost want to laugh. Then I pull myself together and try to absorb what Henry has just said.

"Thank you," I say that. "And I am sorry that none of that was festive."

"You have nothing to apologize for. I am really glad you spoke to me, and I want you to know that I am here to talk any time you need. I can just listen. Any time."

I consider this. I like the thought of talking to Henry, but I am not sure I can imagine any more vulnerability tonight.

"I think I'm done for now."

"That's okay," Henry says gently.

I pull my duvet up around me. Henry does what he does best and follow my lead; I hear his mattress springing slightly as he shifts into a more comfortable position for sleep.

"Good night," he says a moment later. "Sleep well, Regina. I promise tomorrow will be a relaxing day."