Page 31 of Indigo

I laugh, no doubt that she will, and before I have a chance to reply, she stands on her toes, tugs at my t-shirt, bringing me down to her level, and places a kiss on my cheek. She pauses, lips lingering for a few moments, and as she pulls back, I turn my head slightly, feeling that pull I’ve always felt when Indie is this close to me.

We both freeze, our lips so close together if I moved just a little, I could taste her. I close my eyes for a second, enjoying the moment, and then she sighs, and slowly, she lowers to her heels so that she’s flat on her feet.

“You want some coffee?” She asks softly, making me laugh. I swear this woman’s blood must be brown by the amount of caffeine she consumes daily.

I’m glad that she hasn’t changed as much as I feared she would have. Part of me was worried that when we saw each other again, she wouldn’t bemyIndie anymore.

Thankfully, that’s not the case, and she feels moreminenow than she ever did.

“Sure,” I reply, knowing I won’t be able to sleep, but not caring enough about the fact to turn down the offer to spend time alone with her.

She makes up a pot of the strongest coffee I think I’ve ever tasted, and we take our steaming mugs onto the front porch once she’s rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

As we sit on steps, looking out at the sunrise, I can feel what she’s about to say before she says it.

Indie takes a deep breath, sips her coffee, and then lowers it to her lap. “We need to talk about everything, so I’m just going to lay all my shit out for you, okay?”

I bite my lip and nod, even though her eyes aren’t on me.

“I had this grand plan in my head when I left here. I was going to become this kick ass teacher like Mum, make this massive impact on the education of our younger generations, but then I did my first placement. Turns out you have to be good with kids in order to teach them, and I just didn’t have it in me, so I dropped out a few months later. Mum was supportive, told me she had an inkling that I’d come to the realisation eventually, but wanted me to forge my own path. My dad, not so much. He pushed me, said if I didn’t have a way to pay rent after leaving Uni, then I’d have to find somewhere else to live, so I applied for a tonne of positions, and landed the job as a medical receptionist with Dr Harris. Then I met Michael. He finished up his degree and started working as a physiotherapist. I didn’t realise at the time, because they had different surnames, but Dr Harris was Michael’s father.” She takes a deep breath and lets her head fall back, the rising sun hitting her cheekbones in the most incredible way, making it impossible for me to take my eyes off her as she continues. “We started dating. He was lovely. A little controlling, but I liked that he was so attentive. I thought being with him would help me move on, you know? I had no way of knowing that you planned to come back on the day of our first date. Had no idea you tried to contact me after that. If you just told me you needed time…”

She trails off, and I know what she’s thinking. I’ve had the same thoughts.

Would everything have been different if I’d just told her what I needed? Would she have ever dated Michael if she knew I planned to come back? Would she have waited? If I came back, if she had waited for me, where would we be now? Would we be happy?

We’ll never know.

Indie clears her throat after a moment of quiet contemplation and continues. “Anyway, after a while, it became more intense, I guess. He started telling me what I could and couldn’t wear, that my hair didn’t look professional the way I wore it, that my personality was ‘too much,’ and that when I was around his friends and colleagues, I needed to tone myself down.”

Should have killed him while I had the chance.

Her bottom lip trembles and I clench my hands around my mug to stop myself from reaching for her. She doesn’t need comfort right now. She needs me to listen and to hear what she’s saying.

“I was stubborn for a while. Told him I wasn’t going to change for a man and that if he didn’t like it, then he could leave.” Pride swells in my chest. “But then…” I’m not going to like this part, I can tell, and my heart rate picks up to the point I can hear it beating in my ears. “Then he got angry. We’d fight, and I gave as good as I got. Then, one day, he pushed me.” She pauses and I clench my teeth together so hard they creak in my mouth. “It wasn’t hard. It didn’t hurt me, but it made me realise how much bigger he was than me, and that he… that hecouldhurt me, if he wanted to. I stopped fighting back as much after that and I just, I just got so tired of arguing that I just wore what he wanted when we went out with his friends, and tried not to say a lot. That worked for a while. Kept him happy. Then he’d find new things he hated. The essential oils I used turned into expensive perfumes, my clothes all got packed away and replaced by ones he picked out.”

“Blue,” I whisper, sitting forward and placing my hand over hers, unable to stop myself.

Her glassy eyes turn to me. “The day I realised he’d thrown away the oils Mum mixed for me, we got into an argument. I told him I was leaving him, that I wasn’t what he wanted.” She releases a shuddering breath. “He threw a lamp at me. It hit the wall next to my head and, God, the look on his face was feral. I’ve never been so fucking scared in my entire life. I couldn’t stop shaking and before I knew what he was doing, he’d grabbed my arm and dragged me to the bedroom.” My stomach churns and I hold my breath, hoping this isn’t going where I think it is. “He held me against the mirror and made me look at myself as he told me I was an ungrateful bitch.” She sneers at the memory, and I watch it replay in her eyes as she stares off into the distance. “That any other woman would be grateful for the presents he got me.” Wiping a tear from her cheek, she shakes her head. “It continued like that for so long, I started to believe him. What woman wouldn’t want a man that buys her nice things, right? And I always knew I was a little too much for some people. I’m loud and…”

“You’re fucking perfect,” I hiss, turning my focus to a few random flowers growing by the bottom step of the porch, knowing if I look at her I’ll snap.

“That wasn’t the first time I tried to leave, but the attempts became further apart and before I knew it, over two years had passed, and no matter how much I tried to be who he wanted, it was never enough.” She laughs sadly. “I became so numb that even when he threw things, called me names, grabbed me a little too hard, it didn’t bother me. I gave him so much of myself that eventually I disappeared and became who he wanted standing beside him. Even then, it wasn’t enough. He still fucked someone else.”

Red ebbs at the edges of my vision and I try to breathe through the anger.

In and out, I suck air into my lungs and release it, waiting for the calm to come, but it doesn’t. Not until her voice breaks through the fog.

“Pax,” she whispers, pulling me back to reality. “I’m okay now.”

“Yeah?” I scoff.

“Yeah,” she says in that soft voice she’s always used to calm me down. “Really. I’m just… I’m angry.” She laughs again, but this time with more humour and less sadness. “Is that weird?” I shake my head. She continues before I can get a word in. “I’m really angry that I let him turn me into the person I became. I’m angry that I was weak enough to let him. I’m angry that I could have spent the last few years being happy and exploring the city like I always planned to, and instead, I spent most of my spare time in my apartment, too scared to do anything in case he found out and started an argument.”

Leaning forward again, I take her hand in mine and bring it to my lips. Placing a soft kiss on her palm, I work my way up and she smiles at me so sweetly it melts my fucking heart.

She lifts the hand I’m holding until it’s resting against my cheek and I lean into it, letting out a content sigh, loving the feel of her palm against my skin.

“It’s okay to be angry, normal even, to be pissed that the person who was meant to love you didn’t do it the way you deserved. What’s not okay is letting them convince you that you aren’t worthy of the real thing, that their actions were a result of something you were lacking. Michael’s bullshit wasn’t a reflection of you, Blue. It was all him.”

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