So Many Reasons Why (So Many Reasons 1)

Chapter One

“Come on man, where the hell are you? I don't give a shit. It's been hours. Fine. Whatever.”

I squeeze my eyes shut.

Don't breathe. Don't breathe. I bite down on my lip so hard I can feel a warm metallic substance begin to pool inside my mouth. Blood.

I feel him lean over me. His fingernail slowly trails down my exposed leg. I try not to react. If I'm unresponsive maybe he will think I am asleep.

Or dead.

My eyes flew open as I gasped for air, desperately trying to focus on something familiar. Something that would break me free from the nightmare. My steel framed bed. The light blue blanket half covering my body. The tree branch gently tapping against the outside of the window panel. I was okay. I was safe.

My pounding heart wasn't listening to my head. No matter how many times I repeated those words, night after night, my body failed to believe me. I wiped the sweat off my face and pulled the blanket off me. The moment the cool air hit my perspiring skin, I shivered. My head pounded. The dreams were so vivid, so real, every night I was locked in the same nightmare. I calmed my breathing, my stomach still churned into endless ball of anxiety and fear.

Propping myself up on my pillows, I couldn't decide if I was hot or cold. I pulled the blankets up around my neck tightly. The feeling of security it gave me was immense.

The nightmares had worsened over the past few months, as the day got closer. There was no way of knowing when it would happen, only that eventually it would. Ignoring this wouldn't change things, just as fighting it hadn't. My constant pleas to the parole board had fallen on deaf ears.

Apparently, my feelings could only be considered 'to a point'. My most recent petition had been replied with the justice systems framework for rehabilitating offenders. Through support and reform, their aim was to release offenders back into society. I didn't give a damn about him, or how well he had been rehabilitated. None of that changed what he did to me, or how he had ruined my life.

Carol clawed at my arm, like every night, trying to lick the salty sweat off my soaked skin. I pushed her away. She glared up at me, like a junkie whose fix I had ruined. She hissed, then bolted out of the room no doubt to hide under the couch. This was her usual post fix behaviour. She'd ignore me for the best part of two hours, then finally when hungry she would try to worm her way back into my affections. Usually it worked too. That stupid cat had me wrapped around her little paw, and she knew it.

I glanced at the clock. 9:34. I grabbed the phone, my fingers shaking. My hands always shook when I made this call. Why should today be any different? I dialled the numbers that were imprinted in my mind. The first day of every month for the last six months I forced myself to make this call. I had to know.

If he had a chance at parole, I needed to prepare myself.

I needed to be a step ahead.

“Any news?” I asked nervously. My heart was pounding. Eventually I knew I was going to hear the words I never wanted to hear. Just please not today. Any other day just not today. Grant hesitated.

Hesitation. That was never a good sign.

“He is up for a parole hearing. In three weeks.” He finally said. Parole. That meant released. Back into the world. Back into my world.

“Emma, don't worry yet. He might not get approved.” The tone in Grant's voice suggested even he didn't believe that. He was just trying to make me feel better. I'd never met Grant. All I knew of him was he answered the phone every fortnight to tell me I was still safe. Until today. Today I didn't like Grant.

“You think he will though.” My voice was flat, void of any emotion. The complete opposite of what was going on inside my head. Inside, my anger was bubbling, my mind was on the verge of exploding.

“You might want to...be prepared.” He finally finished.

I dropped the phone back and fell back onto the bed. This was not good. I felt the hot tears trickle down my cheeks. Not today. How could they do this to me today? Had nobody considered the significance of today? Tomorrow, or yesterday I could have handled this better. It was like some sick joke.

The fact that he been granted a parole hearing was bad, to find this out on the ten year anniversary of the attack was worse. And where were my family? My friends? It was so easy for everyone else to move on and forget, I couldn't forget. I remembered every day.

I texted mom.

Can't do lunch today. Not well. Em xx

I couldn't handle my mother today. I could barely handle her on a good day. Our relationship took effort, and I didn't have the energy today. I turned off my phone knowing she would try and call.

Something in me snapped. I picked up my phone and slammed it into the wall, watching it shatter into little pieces. Tiny broken pieces. Just like me. I was a wreck. I climbed back under the covers and began to sob.

“Em.” I pried my eyes apart. Tom kneeled before me, gently stroking my hair.

“What.” I grumbled. I rolled over and glared at the wall. Of course mom would text Tom. She was probably worried she'd find me hanging from the fan if she came here herself.

“You’re mom texted me. She's worried about you.” He pushed me over in the bed.

“Em, talk to me. Please.” I felt him up against me, pulling me into his arms. Tom. One of my best friends. I let him hold me. He kissed the back of my neck.

“I called Grant.” I mumbled. Tom's embrace tightened. He knew without me saying a word how much my life was about to change. For so long I tried not to think about it. Now, the probability of him being released was very high and I had no idea how to deal with it.

“When?” His voice was edged with anger. Anger he was trying to control in front of me. I rolled over to face him. His eyes looked right into mine. I loved his eyes. So green, so full of love and warmth. Today, the warmth had been replaced with a hardness I'd never seen before. It scared me to see him so angry. Angry over me.

“It’s not definite.” I finally said. “He has a parole hearing in three weeks.” Tom relaxed slightly. Unlike me, he was clinging to the slightest hope parole would be refused. I couldn't think like that. If I let myself hope, I let myself hurt. I'd been hurt so much in the past I couldn't handle any more pain in my life.

“So do something.” Tom reasoned.

“Like what?” The annoyance in me lashed out at Tom.

“I don't know. Write a letter. Put up a fight. Sitting here feeling sorry for poor Em isn't going to solve anything, is it?”

“I’ve tried everything, Tom. Victim impact statements, letters to the courts, what the fuck am I supposed to do?” My voice was rising. “My issues don't matter. Not really. If they think he is rehabilitated, and he is taking his meds, then chances are he will be let out. He has been counselling young prisoners for fucks sake. He is a saint.” I laughed bitterly.

“Fine. You will go crazy thinking about this Em. You need a distraction. A day off.” He

added.

I laughed harshly. A day off? What I wouldn't give for a day off from my life. One day, to enjoy life without the constant worry that everything was about to collapse around me.

“Isn’t every day a day off when you have agoraphobia?” I tried to joke. Tom winced at the sarcasm coating my words. Maybe I should print that on a T-shirt. My Gran would get a laugh out of that. Tom, not so much. He grabbed hold of my hands and yanked me out of the bed.

“Hey!” My protests went unheard as he dragged me down the hall. Before I knew it I was sitting in the bath, pyjamas and all, with the taps running. “What the hell are you doing?” My tangled dark hair stuck to my face as the water trailed down the side of my head, onto my clothes, before finally pooling down the drain.

I struggled to stand up. The sides of the bath were slippery and difficult to grip. Every time I tried to stand the weight of the wet clothes toppled me back down on my arse, which made my anger fester. Eventually I gave up, kicking the end of the bath with my foot, repeatedly.

Shit. I tried to ignore the pain throbbing through my big toe.

“Just fuck off Tom.” I muttered.

“I'm sorry Em, but I'm not going to let you do this to yourself. You are not going to do this. Not today. Do something else. Think about anything but him.” He spat the last word out with disgust. If only it were that easy.

“I think about him every day.” I said quietly. I let Tom help me stand up. I didn't fight him as he peeled off my soaking wet pyjama top and shorts. The hot water hitting my now naked skin did feel good. I began to cry. Again.