Page 27 of Wild Hearts

“It’s not,” she agrees. “And you’ve had to deal with it longer than anyone else. I know that was really hard for you.”

Having Wren understand is giving me a glimmer of hope that maybe there’s something left to salvage.

“Is there any chance for us, Rookie?” I blurt out, cursing myself for being such a masochist. As if I don’t have enough going on, I’m handing her my heart on a platter with a mallet.

My question is greeted with a silence that lasts so long, I pull my phone away from my ear to check that she hasn’t hung up on me.

“I’m – I’m sorry. Ignore that. I just–”

Oh God, I’m such a fucking idiot.

“I don’t know,” she finally says.

It’s not a no.

“Brady, I’m just trying to work through some... things. I need... I’m not sure I’m ready for–”

I interrupt her. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry. I just miss you, so goddamn much. I know I stuffed up. I just hope you can forgive me someday.”

“It’s not that, Brady.” She sniffs, and I feel like even more of a jackass for upsetting her. “I’ve got to go, but please, just be there for Ivy. She needs you more than you realise. Be there for each other.” There’s another long pause before she adds. “For what it’s worth, I know you’re going to be okay.”

That makes one of us.

“Wren?”

She draws in a sharp breath. I never call her by her first name. She’s always been Rookie to me.

“Thank you for checking in. It means more than you know.”

“Always. Good luck tonight. Bye Brady.”

“Bye.”

Wren

I NEVER SHOULD have called him, I know that. But somehow it’s easier for me to talk to him when he’s not standing in front of me. It’s easier to pretend that I don’t still have feelings for him. Tears prick my eyes as I throw my phone on the bed and stare at the ceiling, watching the fan whir above my head. My stomach swirls as I replay his question on repeat like a broken record.‘Is there a chance for us, Rookie?’ Screech. ‘Is there a chance for us?’ Screech. ‘Is there a chance?’ Screech. ‘Is there?’I’m torturing myself with the sadness in his voice. He’s broken, but I’m so much more than that. I’m damaged beyond repair.

Heaviness starts in my legs, slowly spreading up over my stomach and settling on my chest. I try to calm my breathing, but it keeps coming in short, rapid bursts. I pinch my eyes shut.No.This can’t happen now. The stench of stale beer invades my nostrils. My stomach swirls.No.I try to fight it. My body is weightless, unable to move of its own volition.He’s not here. I’m alone. I’m on my own.

There’s a whisper of a hand trailing its way from my cheek, brushing over my collarbone, down my stomach, coming to rest on my hips. The ghost of his voice plays in my head, ‘I’ve waited so long for this. You shouldn’t have kept me waiting, Wren.’

I’m in Blue Haven. I’m in my apartment. I’m in my bedroom.I don’t want to return to that room. To the moment when my trust in the world was obliterated. Tears run silently down my cheeks.

This isn’t real. I’m not in Newcastle. I’m safe. It’s not real. It’s not real...

I wiggle my fingers, my toes. I slide my knees up, forcing myself to roll over on my side. I try to push the feelings back into their box, try to lock that box up tight. I push off my bed, stumbling into my ensuite and turning on the shower. Avoiding the mirror, I strip down to my underwear, dropping my clothes in a pile on the floor. My hands shake as I reach around to unclasp my bra, and it takes a couple of tries before that drops to the ground as well. My breathing is still erratic as I push my underwear down my thighs, stepping out of them. I suck in a slow, deep breath.In for four. Hold for five. Out for seven... Repeat. In for four. Hold for five. Out for seven...

Tears cascade down my cheeks as I step under the scalding hot water. Their salty elixir mixes with the hot waterfall washing away any memories of that night. Sobs wrack my body, and my legs shake. I lean back against the cool tiles, sliding down the wall until I’m sitting. I draw my knees up to my chest and bury my head in my arms. I let myself come undone. I let it all out. The pain. The lack of control over my own body. The embarrassment, the shame, the guilt.

I sit there until the water turns cold. With a shiver, I step out of the shower and wrap a towel around my dripping body. I go through the motions: dry my body, brush my hair, pull on my pyjamas. It’s only four thirty, but I’m completely drained. My gaze runs over my bed, but I can’t bring myself to lay down on it again. Instead, I pull the doona off and drag it to the living room where the air conditioner is blasting. Phoning for a pizza, I settle on the couch to watch my comfort movies –The Maze Runner.

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