Repercussions Read online

  Edie sighed. Faina had been pushing her to go out.

  Not tonight, sorry, she texted back.

  Faina’s response was immediate.

  You are ready. I’ll pick you up at 10 before.

  Edie shook her head and smiled. English was Faina’s fourth language along with Arabic, Russian, and French. Describing time really messed her up.

  Fine. A few songs. One drink.

  Faina texted back a happy face and Edie shoved her phone into her pocket. She no longer felt the spring sun on her face as she crossed the final, ugly stretch of the campus to her car. She was nervous about going to a bar, with its combination of lights and sounds and music, movement and percussion, the effort to decode body language and decipher words amidst a chaos of noise. But her hesitancy wouldn’t surprise Faina, who had met Edie at a really low point in her recovery.

  Edie remembered that day very clearly. Six months post hospital discharge, and Edie had insisted to her family that she was ready to start going to appointments on her own. She wasn’t. She sat in the physiotherapist’s waiting room with a headache that threatened to physically knock her down. Light had streamed through the wall of windows to her left. She wanted to close her eyes, but the bloody pink of her eyelids made her nauseous. The TV behind the reception area blared news Edie had no hope of tuning out.

  So she sat half-lidded and humiliated until Faina, the only other person in the waiting room, had rescued her by asking the receptionist to find an empty treatment area so Edie could lie down. Edie still remembered the feeling of relief at Faina’s gentle and determined intervention. They had been friends ever since. Faina had chronic pain from an injury that had never been treated properly when she was a girl in Syria. She understood how pain could run your life. With Faina’s friendship and support, Edie had learned to exist outside of pain. Faina had even insisted Edie try a massage / meditation clinic that specialized in treating pain patients, which had turned out to be a life saver. Faina had always understood.

  That was why Faina’s recent push to get her out to this bar made Edie uneasy. She had already seen a pattern in Faina’s behavior. Some days she would be relaxed and being around her felt effortless, but sometimes she was tense, fearful, and even demanding. Edie chalked it up to the whiplash of pain. She could relate. Until recently, that had been her life.

  Edie increased her pace as she took the last long, empty path toward her car. Evergreens crowded in from both sides, and Edie felt an unusual sense of claustrophobia. She’d been having that feeling of eyes on her back more and more recently. She thought she heard footsteps behind her but didn’t want to turn and look to see an empty path, confirming her paranoia. Edie walked with hunched, tight shoulders, wishing Faina was walking with her, wishing they had made plans to sit in her apartment and talk and listen to music tonight. Wishing she could straighten her spine and walk with the confidence and ease she’d taken for granted before the accident had stolen it all.

  Chapter Three

  Faina smiled when Edie opened her door, but Edie could tell something was wrong. Faina’s slightly wavy black hair was tucked behind her ears, and she was dressed simply in jeans and a black T-shirt.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?”

  Faina looked at her with dark, blank eyes, the half smile still lingering as if in afterthought. She shook her head slightly.

  “Nothing, no. I mean, hello.”

  Faina stepped into Edie’s apartment and kissed her lightly on both cheeks. Syrian born but raised in the UK since she was a teenager, Faina’s accent and mannerisms were a mishmash of cultures Edie loved to explore when Faina was open to talking. Tonight did not seem like one of those nights.

  “You ready?” Faina said, a smile too firmly in place.

  “Sure. But tell me what’s going on. You look a million miles away.”

  Faina just shook her head again as they walked out of Edie’s apartment and down to the street level. It was a perfect, warm night and the bar was only a ten-minute walk.

  “You look nice,” Faina said. “Maybe you will meet a nice girl tonight.”

  Edie snorted. “Thanks. But it would be hard to meet someone and explain why I can only handle one drink and three songs from the set list before scuttling home again.”

  Faina let out a breath and looked away from Edie. “You will be fine, I think,” she said. “Yes. You will be fine.”

  A band was already onstage and tuning their guitars, fiddling with amps and cords and mics when Edie and Faina walked in. The lead singer, a guy in head-to-toe black, greeted the audience, and Edie’s stomach lurched at the answering cheer along with a piercing wolf-whistle and boots stomping. She was suddenly very unsure if she could handle this.

  “There’s an opening act?” Edie tried to yell in Faina’s ear as they found their way to the bar.

  Faina glanced at Edie over her shoulder. Her expression was a confusing mix of guilt, frustration, and concern. Then Faina just shrugged and kept pushing her way to the front of the bar like she was on a mission. Edie tried to think her way through Faina’s odd behavior, but the band launched into their first song, a frenetic cacophony of electric guitar, bass, and drums. Edie, who loved all forms of music, unconsciously separated each component even as she heard them all together. As Faina ordered gin and tonics from the heavily tattooed and baby-faced dyke behind the bar, Edie felt her skin come alive. She’d forgotten how good live music could feel. She could do this.

  Edie didn’t think they’d find an empty table in this crowd, but she followed Faina’s rigid back to a dark corner. Two men had just vacated a table, and Faina and Edie slipped into their chairs as they walked away, one of them nodding at Faina. Edie grinned at Faina, already forgiving her for pushing this. But Faina avoided eye contact, sipped her drink, and nodded halfheartedly along with the beat.

  When the first song ended, Edie cheered along with the crowd. She also took stock. The muscles in her neck felt a little tight, absorbing the strain of this moment. She didn’t know if the fuzziness in her head was the beginning of a migraine or the effects of having downed most of her drink. As good as this felt, she should probably quit while she was ahead.

  “I’ll probably only stay a few songs,” she said to Faina as the band got ready to play their next number.

  Faina only nodded, her lips pressed tight together, her eyes never leaving the stage.

  “You okay?” Edie said, concerned and annoyed.

  Faina finally looked at her. “Yes.” She was very pale.

  “You don’t look—”

  The band started again, their energy even higher than before, the lead singer flinging his head side to side at the opening guitar lick. The sight sank some of Edie’s excitement. She would never again live with the ignorance of how brain-to-bone contact affected your thoughts, memories, problem solving, knowledge, and emotions.

  Edie enjoyed the energy of the song at first, but it bordered on uncomfortable as the song continued. Edie closed her eyes, limiting one stimulus to help her deal with another. The drumbeat bothered her most. The sharp rhythm was out of place. It echoed oddly, like it was bouncing off the wall behind her and hitting her head with almost concussive force.

  Edie shifted in her seat, turning her head from side to side in an effort to relieve the pressure. Nothing worked, and the sensation escalated. Edie opened her eyes. She began to panic as the feeling intensified, locking down each vertebra as it ascended her spine. Edie wanted out, needed to get away from whatever this drumbeat was doing to her body. She blinked and willed herself to move.

  It wasn’t working. Why wasn’t she moving? She felt Faina’s hand on her wrist. Her mouth was moving, as if she was talking. Edie couldn’t even hear the music anymore, just the drumbeat assaulting her from all sides. It ratcheted up another impossible notch and Edie felt the need to scream but the sensation had reached her neck, immobilizing her voice and muscles. As she succumbed to the numbing beat, a hand slipped around her neck and the last thing she remember
ed was a low, commanding voice in her ear.

  * * *

  The sound followed Edie into her dreams but it was subdued now, like a door had been closed. The beat felt comfortable now. It enveloped her, it surrounded and held her like a weighted blanket covering her from head to toe. The beat asked questions and she answered.

  “The savageness of man lies not in the actions but in the echoes of silent history.”

  “Can you repeat it?”

  “Fortune has no will where flowers refuse the fertile soil of deliberate thought.”

  “No, repeat it.”

  “Waves can tell lies as oceans—”

  “NO!”

  * * *

  Edie woke in her own bed. It was morning, the curtains of her windows letting a slant of sunlight onto her comforter. Edie moved her body cautiously. It was going to be one of those days. Her headache was heavy through her body, a deep, low thrum of constant pain. She kept her eyes closed, but the simple act of waking had ratcheted the pain.

  Eight out of ten, eight out of ten, eight out of ten, Edie chanted to herself, as if repeating the pain scale could hold the number steady. Nausea crept in on her next breath, and Edie wanted to cry. Crying will make it worse, nine out of ten, don’t cry.

  Edie didn’t feel like she was in command of her body for a long time. She raised herself slowly, intent only on reaching the bathroom, taking her meds, and coming back to bed.

  “Edie,” a voice called tentatively from the living room.

  Faina. Edie remembered the explosion of images and sounds from the night before. Her heart hammered like the beat of the drum, and panic wrapped itself around her chest and made it hard to breathe. God, her head hurt.

  “Edie? You okay?”

  No, not okay. How did she get back here? Edie ran a hand over her stomach, felt the soft cotton of her favourite T-shirt to sleep in. No memory, and it hurt to think. It hurt to be angry, but she couldn’t help it.

  Edie leaned against the wall and cracked an eyelid. Faina was wearing the same clothes she’d worn to the bar last night. Her eyes were red and tired and guilty.

  “Get out.”

  Edie’s voice had no force. It was too thin and could not convey her anger.

  “Edie, I’m—”

  “Out. Now.”

  Edie was going to throw up. She needed Faina gone.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know they would…I didn’t know.”

  Edie closed her eyes. She heard sorrow in Faina’s voice, deeper than this mistake. She could not, she would not think about it now. Faina hadn’t moved. Edie needed her to move.

  “I’ll go,” Faina said. “I won’t be at the clinic tomorrow. I think you should make an appointment.”

  Her words sounded forced, but the thought was just another assault on her head. The front door closed, and Edie shuffled the last few steps into the bathroom. Her hands shook as she opened a blister packet and put the small pill on her tongue before pressing it to the roof of her mouth. It would kick in quicker, and she didn’t have to worry about throwing up what might be her only relief.

  The nausea intensified and Edie rode it out before shuffling back to her bedroom, one hand on the wall to hold the world steady. The sheets felt itchy on her overly sensitive skin and the need to cry rose up, a pressure against her eyelids. With no willpower to keep them at bay, Edie let the tears leak from her eyes into her pillow. Then she finally slept.

  * * *

  The migraine took three days, and Edie felt hollowed out and weak even after the pain was gone. The anger didn’t help, but Edie couldn’t let it go. Faina kept texting to make sure she was okay. Edie ignored them all. So much for a new friendship she thought she could count on. Faina’s insistence on going to the bar that night nagged at Edie. The fact that her memory of the night was blurred and blanked by the subsequent migraine didn’t help.

  By Wednesday morning Edie knew she needed to get out of her apartment. She had group tomorrow night, plus that date with Skye. A coffee date, but a date nonetheless. She clung to the thought as the migraine ravaged her body, stripping her of thought and will.

  She had to be better for Thursday.

  She forced herself out of her apartment for a meditation / massage appointment, ignoring the fact that Faina had introduced her to her massage therapist, Pino. As usual, he said very little. He chose a meditation track, gently working the muscles in her shoulders, back, and neck.

  She always left with the scent of lavender in her hair from the essential oils they used. Edie always woke alone, her muscles relaxed, the voice replaced with gentle strings. Surfacing from the lethargy of her massage seemed to take so long, but Edie was used to it by now. Even though she was often disoriented, the pain was invariably lessened and Edie would do almost anything to keep the pain away.

  After her massage appointment, Dr. Wallace’s office was another calming space after several tumultuous days.

  “Would you like to start with the reason you’re shaking?” her psychologist said.

  Edie grimaced. “Bad decision followed by a bad few days.”

  Dr. Wallace cocked her head to the side, her nonverbal prompt for more.

  “I let Faina convince me to go see a band the other night. It was fine until it really, really wasn’t. I’m not sure if I passed out, blacked out, or if my fucked-up brain has just decided to redact the part where I got out of the bar and got home.”

  Edie’s temper rose with every word, the anger finally her only focus without pain.

  “Who are you upset with?”

  “Faina, for starters. There was really no reason for her to push me. I mean yes, we’ve gotten pretty close in the last few months, but I can’t possibly be her only friend in the city.”

  “Are you also upset because she is your only friend?”

  Edie opened her mouth to retort, then shut it again. The question made her uncomfortable. Edie had Shawn and his family, and she had friends and acquaintances and connections all over the world. But Faina was her only friend in Ottawa. The only one who would ask her to go out and see a band on a random Monday night.

  “Are we making lists of my BFFs now?” Edie grumbled.

  Dr. Wallace grinned. “That was a terrible attempt at deflection, Edie. You’re slipping.” Her smile disappeared. “You feel betrayed by Faina.”

  “Of course I do. She always seemed to understand my recovery. I could talk to her about not trusting myself anymore, about being afraid that I didn’t know my own limits. When I didn’t feel safe with myself, I felt safe with her.”

  Dr. Wallace sat very still. She was either waiting for Edie to expand on what she said, or she was developing a question that Edie wasn’t going to like.

  “Do you consider her a partner?” Dr. Wallace said.

  Anger always made Edie’s tongue looser.

  “I’m pretty sure she’s straight, and I’ve never felt attracted to her. So, no,” Edie said shortly.

  “That’s not what I asked. A partner is someone who is committed to your happiness and can put your needs above theirs when the situation is warranted. Someone who will share in all aspects of your life, the good and the bad.”

  “Shouldn’t a friend be that for me, also?” The question made her feel vulnerable, like she was exposing an embarrassing lack of knowledge about what being close to someone meant.

  Dr. Wallace took a moment to choose her answer, never a good sign. When she spoke again, her voice was gentle.

  “I think you need to learn to trust yourself. Yours should be the most influential opinion in your recovery. Right now it’s not. A friend should respect that. And a partner, when you’re ready for one, should make you feel safe enough to try and fail. And to succeed.”

  Dr. Wallace’s words followed Edie the rest of the day. By Wednesday night, she still felt low. The headache was long gone, but she still felt drugged. She found her thoughts slipping for no reason, words and phrases drifting like barely heard conversation through her head. Her d
ays had become lethargic, ponderous, and slow. She also felt like she was being followed, the weight of someone’s constant gaze making her edgy. She hadn’t wanted to admit to Dr. Wallace she was feeling paranoid. What if it was the final checkmark on some diagnostic list that meant Edie wouldn’t ever recover?

  Edie knew the thought was irrational. The combination of sluggishness and edginess was nearly more than she could handle. Climbing into bed, Edie vowed to go for a run in the morning, paranoia or not, and get herself back on track.

  Chapter Four

  Dr. Wallace was talking quietly with a couple in the corner when Edie walked in to help set up at the community church. The conversation looked private, so she nodded briefly to her before taking the two flights of stairs to the top floor. Edie’s morning run had helped but she still felt edgy, hearing and seeing things that weren’t really there. Whispers and footsteps and car engines. She had gone for a run, bought groceries, journaled. She had practiced meditative breathing and thought about her coffee date with Skye. It was the only time she’d smiled all day.

  Edie found Skye in the exact same spot as the week before, leaning against the kitchen counter. Tonight she had on jeans and a dark blue thermal shirt. And this time she smiled as soon as Edie walked in. Edie’s heart stuttered in her chest and she took a moment to breathe. She had no idea how much she’d wanted someone just to be happy she walked into a room.

  “You made it,” Skye said.

  “Of course, why wouldn’t I?”

  “I thought maybe you’d change your mind.”

  “About sharing stories of fucked-up brains with strangers while drinking shit coffee? How could I miss it?” Edie heard the bitterness in her voice. She hadn’t meant to unleash it. Couldn’t figure out how to draw it back in.

  Edie searched Skye’s face, trying to figure out how to talk her way out of this.

  “I meant our date,” Skye said evenly. “Is something wrong?”