Page 88 of In the Long Run
Extreme tiredness hits me and before I can control myself, I give into my frustration and darkest fears.
That not everything is atonable.
People might forgive but they never, ever forget.
‘Which part was wrong?The bit about me trying to help, or the bit about us being a family?Where do you think I got all that money?Do you think I’m trying to steal your business from you?That despite how hard I’ve tried to be different, maybe I am just like my parents?’
Eugene falters, his eyes widening.‘I didn’t mean …’
But it’s too late.I’m tired.I’m shitty.I can still smell sour milk, and feel the grit of the flour/milk/water mixture under my fingernails.My wounds are opening up.All the old feelings of shame and not being good enough drown out what Eugene’s already started saying.What I know is an apology, but I don’t want to hear it.
‘I was helping,’ I hiss, as I stalk past him, brushing off the hand that tries to stop me.
Nothing good will come from continuing this conversation.
The beach is deserted, which makes sense because it’s miserable out here.
Good.It’s what I deserve.
I pick my way over the rocky seawall until I’m at the end, caught in the misty spray being thrown up by the unhappy ocean.It stings my cheeks and freezes my fingers, but I welcome the discomfort because it’s a reality check.A reminder that I can’t do anything right, no matter how hard I try.
I like you, Knox Watson.
But for how long?
I shake my head, ready to tell the wind where it can fuck right off to, but just as quickly my anger dissipates.I hear Gen’s calm voice, her practical advice to get all the facts first, to look at things objectively.I knew Eugene would be mad when he found out.And I can admit that I’m not the only one with leftover trauma courtesy of my parents.Money’s a trigger for both of us.
My phone rings and I debate answering it for so long that I’ve missed the call by the time I pull it out of my pocket.It’s from a blocked number.Shit.It might’ve been the police.I gave them my number hoping to shield Eugene from any additional stress.
I wait to see if the caller leaves a voicemail message.A minute later my phone chimes with a text, and I hit the button to listen to the message.The connection’s terrible, the words all garbled like the call came from the bottom of the sea.The howling wind doesn’t help either.I plug my other ear and pull my hood up over my head.
‘Career adviser calling about …’ The sound disappears again and I hang up.The last thing I feel like doing is talking to my career adviser.Feigning interest in whatever she’s got to say.Not now.Not while I’m in this mood.
Not when I haven’t thought about the Army for weeks.
Not when I can’t hide anymore from the fact I don’t want to go back to Brisbane.
I kick at a loose rock and watch as it sinks into the swirling sea.
It’s odd not knowing where to go.
I don’t want to go home.
I don’t want to go to Gen’s.
That’s a lie.I do want to, but inflicting my mood on her isn’t fair.She’d probably end things early if she saw what a grumpy shit I can be.
There’s rain coming.Dark grey clouds stretch across the sky, their weight menacing and miserable.I stare out at the horizon, welcoming the bad weather.I’d do a rain dance if I knew one.
Wash it all away,I want to say.
Let me start over.
Let me try again, get it right.
Because I have to get this right.
I sigh and tip my head back as the sky opens.Rain falls against the rocks around me, drops bursting against my skin.There’s a roll of thunder, a warning of what’s coming.
