Don't Hold Back (Love Hurts 4)

She smiles. “I’d like that.”

I’ve been packed for days. Everything I need is sitting by my front door, waiting for me. It would kill Mum if she knew that, but I couldn’t stay here—not without falling apart.

There are too many memories in this house that I can’t handle thinking about right now. Every dream I had for my life, I had under this roof. Being here reminds me of how innocent I was as child, thinking nothing could hurt me, when the truth is that nothing is guaranteed in life.

It’s after midnight when I arrive back at my apartment. It’s a strange feeling, knowing that this might be the last time I walk through this door. I take my jacket off and hang it over the back of the chair. Walking over to the living room window, I pull back the curtains and gaze out over the Melbourne skyline. This might be the last time I ever take in this view. I feel hollow, empty inside. Even though I still have some wonderful memories ahead of me, all the things I am going to miss the most are right here.

And there is nothing I can do about it, except focus on this trip and the two months ahead of me. I undress and place my dirty clothes in the laundry basket, which seems pointless, because chances are I’ll never be wearing them again. Maybe I should’ve just put them in the bin, but I can’t bring myself to do that to the pretty lavender silk blouse I’ve only worn once since I bought it last month.

I climb into bed, my favourite place in the world, and huddle into my doona. As silly as it sounds, I don’t want to sleep, because I don’t want to miss a moment of this. I inhale deeply, breathing in the comforting smell I associate with being safe and happy.

Not a moment goes by where I don’t wish things could be different. I’m embarking on a journey and I have no idea how or when it will end, and I’m scared. I’m so completely and utterly terrified of everything beyond this point, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

“Thanks for picking me up, Dad.” I let him load my luggage into the trunk of his BMW while I stand on the sidewalk and wait.

We are outside my apartment complex. It’s just after three in the morning, and I’m cold, tired, and nervous. He shuts the trunk and opens the passenger door for me. I smile gratefully. My heart pounds. This is it.

“Have you got everything?” he asks. “Your passport? Ticket?”

“Yes.” I nod. “I guess we’re ready to go.” I slide into the seat and lock my seatbelt in place. Dad gets in the car and revs the engine, taking off down the street.

The bright side of leaving at this time of the morning is that there is barely any traffic on the roads. I gaze out the window. It sounds silly, but I want to remember everything, even the forty-minute drive on the freeway to the airport.

“How are you feeling?” Dad’s voice cuts through the silence.

I glance at him and force a smile.

“You’re very quiet.”

“Just thinking, I guess.”

“About?” he gently prods.

“I’m wondering if this is the last time I’ll be in the car with you.” I close my eyes and rest my head back against the headrest so he can’t tell that I’m crying.

“Oh Erin,” he croaks. His warm hand encases mine.

I swallow, and force myself to look at him. His eyes are red. Twice in a week. Things must be dire.

“Whatever happens, you’ll always be my little girl. I’m sorry I couldn’t fix this.”

“It’s not your fault,” I laugh. “You and Mum did everything you could in just being there for me.”

“I feel like I failed you. Parents are supposed to protect their kids. I couldn’t protect you.”

“You couldn’t save me from this, Dad.” I want to make him see how irrational he’s being, but I know nothing I say is going to change anything. I get what he’s feeling, because I’ve been there too. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve blamed myself for this. What if I’d gone to the doctor earlier? What if those two joints I smoked with John Sallanger and Calli behind the gym in year eight caused this? So many what ifs have run through my mind, and the thing they all have in common is that none of them are responsible for this.

We pull into the short-term parking at the airport. I clench my knees together, my hands tightly clasped in my lap. My heart thumps, because saying goodbye to my father makes everything real. This is happening.

“I guess we’re here,” Dad says, his voice thick with emotion.

“I guess we are,” I agree. I don’t move and neither does he. Neither one of us wants to kick this thing into motion. I reach over and unclick my belt. I cave first because I don’t want to make this any harder for him.

Saying goodbye to Mum was hard enough. Without saying it, we both knew that it might be our last moment together. The last time she would kiss me on the forehead. The last time she would wrap her arms around me and tell me things will be okay.

Dad gets out and busies himself with organizing my luggage. He grabs a trolley from out the front of the entrance, piling my bags on top of it.

“Thanks,” I say.