A Shadow's Breath Read online

He headed inside, Tessa close on his heels, feeling strangely out of body as she watched Nick whisper to one of the bartenders before they approached her table.

  ‘Where’d you go?’ said the arsehole, as soon as he’d clamped his bloodshot eyes on Tessa.

  She bristled, tempted to tell him it was none of his business. Even with all his idiot mates around pretending not to notice, he wouldn’t do anything in public. But there was always later. At home.

  She ignored him. ‘Mum, come with us.’

  Nick reached for Ellen, his hand sliding under her elbow.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ The arsehole stood quickly, and although he was a head shorter than Nick, he was blocky and rough and completely unpredictable.

  Ellen hesitated, pleading with her eyes. Tessa almost caved then, felt the fear shoot through her spine. And then a waiter set down a jug of beer on the table, and Nick took over.

  ‘Why don’t you stay for another, mate?’ he said, like they’d been friends forever. ‘I’ll take the ladies home. Get them off your hands.’

  Tessa would have been offended by the way Nick spoke about them, but she knew he was playing the arsehole’s game. She moved between them, her back to the drunk man, fighting the tremble of her hand as she took her mum’s arm and helped her to stand.

  When they’d stepped outside, the cold air biting their cheeks, Nick slipped his jacket around her mum’s shoulders, and she’d known then that she wanted this boy in her life.

  And here he was.

  Nick entwined his fingers with Tessa’s and they walked through the schoolyard, in no hurry for their time together to end. Nick had kept his job after all and was taking every shift at the pub he could manage, trying to save up before uni. And every day at Carrima seemed to Tessa to drag interminably.

  ‘Did you want to come to my house tonight?’ She hadn’t invited him home since that first night. Never felt confident about what they’d find when they got there.

  ‘I want to, Tess, but I can’t. How about you come to mine Friday night? I’ll pick you up after school.’

  She hadn’t been to his house yet either, and felt such a rush of joy that it took all her energy to force down the delighted grin that threatened to undo all her efforts to play it cool.

  ‘My parents aren’t home,’ he said as he leant in to kiss her again.

  Tessa blinked and stepped back. ‘Oh. Right.’ She nodded, deflated. ‘I want to meet them.’ She let it sit there, like a question.

  He tilted his head quizzically. ‘You met at the footy.’

  There had been so many people there cheering Nick on that she’d been just another face in the crowd. Not the face. Not his girlfriend. ‘For a few minutes. We didn’t actually talk.’ She lifted her chin higher. ‘And I still haven’t met your brother. He’s back from uni, isn’t he?’

  ‘You wouldn’t know it. He’s with his mates all the time.’

  ‘Well, your parents then.’ She touched his cheek, felt the rough of bristle. ‘More than just saying hi.’

  Eyes like molten chocolate. You could drown in them, she’d decided the first time he’d kissed her. After Tessa had seen Ellen to bed that night, she’d emerged to find Nick sitting on the couch in their family room, elbows resting on his knees, in no hurry to leave despite the certainty of another encounter with the arsehole.

  ‘You should go,’ she’d said, hating that she couldn’t ask him to stay. Appalled, too, that he’d seen her life at such close angles. ‘He’ll be back soon.’

  He’d stood then, taken her hand in his, looked so deeply into her eyes that she felt pared back. ‘I don’t care.’

  ‘Please.’ She shook her head. ‘You don’t want to get involved.’

  He lifted his hand to her cheek, ran his thumb across her lips so that she shivered and ached all at once. ‘I already am.’

  And suddenly she was kissing him.

  Nick pulled away, surprise widening his eyes.

  ‘Not sure what just happened,’ she’d breathed, embarrassed but, she realised, not sorry. Not sorry at all.

  Then she felt his arm slide around her, drawing her closer, and they kissed again, but longer, slower, the taste of him sweet and salty, silken and firm.

  That night, as she tried to sleep, with the arsehole’s truck parked in their driveway, she wondered what would happen at school the next day. But when she heard her phone buzz, she was sure it would be him; as sure as she’d been about anything.

  C u tomorrow. x

  His message flashed across the screen, plain and simple, black on grey. She knew then a line had been crossed, a new world opened up, and for the first time in as long as she could remember, she wished away the hours before the first bell.

  As they stood outside the school cafeteria, among a tide of students, Nick ran a hand through his hair, a smile touching his mouth, those eyes pinning her in place. ‘You’ll meet them soon. Next time.’

  She nodded and didn’t remind him that he’d said that last time. And the time before that. It doesn’t matter, she told herself. Because right now she had this, and this was the best thing that had happened to her in years. This was something she could count on.

  ‘We need to get out of here,’ Nick says.

  Tessa nods gingerly. She must have hit her head at some point; pain like a knife presses behind her ear, and she’s plagued by the constant feeling of battling to stay conscious. She feels trapped and helpless, but she knows they can’t stay in the car.

  She tries to shift forward in her seat but doesn’t get far. Her seatbelt is still locked in place. The buckle is under her, and she realises then that the car is tilted on its side, driver’s side down. Up is over, and down is somewhere else. A dizzy, sick feeling overwhelms her. There’s the faint smell of onion.

  ‘I can’t move until you do,’ Nick says gently. His words are crisp and clear, with a timbre that demands she listen. There’s a gash along his hairline, blood everywhere; his broad shoulders are hunched and shrunken. He looks like someone else entirely.

  ‘You’re okay.’ She means it as a question, but her voice falls flat.

  ‘I’m okay.’

  But for how long? she wonders. Even if we get out of the car, what then? We’re miles from anywhere.

  ‘Don’t,’ he says. ‘One thing at a time.’

  Tessa nods, realising she’d spoken out loud. She resets her thoughts and focuses on the task. She lifts her arm and holds it between them. Blood dried and caked around her fingernails as though she’s been clawing at someone – or herself. They both stare at her bloodied hand, its brutal truth impossible to ignore. She tests her fingers, stretches them, then folds them under. Makes a weary, unconvincing fist, the message from her brain to her fingers catching midway. It takes a long time before the feeling returns. The blood pumps evenly through her veins now, throbbing and humming its way to her head, heralding a fresh, blinding pain behind her eyes.

  ‘Okay?’

  She swallows. Breathes. ‘I think so.’

  The pencil moved across the page, its smooth length familiar and comforting. She adjusted the notepad as it shifted under the pressure of her hand, pressed the lead to the surface and continued the wide, sweeping arcs. She frowned at one spot, smudged it with her finger, then cut a line into the blend to give it definition –

  ‘Tessa!’

  She slid the notepad under her legs, tucked the pencil in her pocket and looked up. The principal’s short, squat form was heading straight for her. She stood instinctively, holding the notepad behind her. ‘Hi, Mr Prentice. I was just …’ She felt the pinch of the bench against the backs of her calves, the tingle of pins and needles in her toes, her feet.

  He held up a hand. ‘It’s fine. I used to fall asleep in geography. Mr Clements spoke in a soft monotone. Sounded like a Dalek or a vacuum cleaner.’ He laughed too heartily. ‘A Dalek vacuum cleaner, maybe.’

  He thought she’d been sleeping. Fine. She scanned the corridor to see if anyone was watchi
ng. A clutch of Year 9s hovered by the girls’ toilets and there was a steady stream of Year 7s filtering through the main doors down the passage, but no one within hearing distance.

  ‘Are you waiting for someone?’

  Tessa studied her shoes. ‘Ms Bainbridge. I don’t know why.’

  ‘How are things at home now, Tess?’

  She wiped her palms on the lap of her school dress. Looked up. ‘Good. Fine.’

  He waited, perhaps expecting more, then nodded. ‘That’s good news,’ he said, and glanced along the hallway in both directions. ‘I’m sure she won’t be long.’

  Tessa wished he would just go.

  ‘Phone for you, Don,’ the receptionist called from behind the counter. ‘Shall I put it through to your office?’

  Mr Prentice nodded. ‘Good to see you, Tess.’

  She smiled thinly. God, just go already. She hated how they all treated her like some bloody psycho. Like they didn’t know what she might do. What was the statute of limitations on public humiliation, anyway? It had been months since the fete. And, really, how many kids hadn’t embarrassed themselves in public by the time they were seventeen? She hadn’t meant to get drunk in the first place, and she was pretty sure the beer Paddy Hanson had given her behind the oval was spiked. She didn’t know why she took it – she hated beer. But so much of that day was a blur. Yuki was in bed with gastro, and Tessa didn’t want to deal with the Carrima crowd without her, had no interest in going except to escape the arsehole at home. And then he’d shown up. She remembered seeing him push through the crowd, calling her name as if he had a right to be there. The rest was a series of confusing images, and she’d counted on gossip to fill the blanks. Ironically. She’d started screaming at him, apparently – to get out of her life, to get his disgusting hands off her mum, off her and leave them the fuck alone.

  He’d gripped her wrist, that steady, unblinking stare she knew was a warning of what would happen later, how she’d pay in complicated ways. So she’d pushed him off her and run out the gates, across the highway, rage burning in her fingertips, hatred wild in her chest.

  The shriek of tyres had jolted her back. She was in the middle of the highway when the full horror of what she’d done struck her like a fist to the gut. She’d stood there, fear paralysing her as cars and trucks flew by on either side. She became aware of a couple of cars stopping, the traffic slowing, and apart from the angry cries emanating from the SUV that had nearly hit her, she felt an eerie calm at that moment. An acceptance of whatever happened next.

  Across the highway, a crowd was forming, the arsehole in the middle of them, staring out at her. Some broke away and came for her – Claire Bradford’s dad and some St Katherine’s parents. Maybe a teacher? A blanket wrapped around her shoulders. A hot chocolate in her hand. Waiting for ages, then it seemed not long enough. An off-duty Doug, ashen-faced and teary, hugging her tight. The blanket falling to the ground.

  At least Nick hadn’t been there, Tessa thought, as she watched the principal disappear into his office. She knew he’d heard about it, but it’s not the same as seeing for yourself. She was grateful for the blanks in her memory, the horror of the images that stayed with her almost too much on their own.

  And this was where it had brought her – stuck in counselling, yet again.

  Tessa closed her eyes and leant back against the vinyl chair. If Carrima High graded kids based on how much time they spent in the school counsellor’s waiting room, Tessa would’ve graduated three times over by now. With distinction.

  She looked at the clock on her phone. Ms Bainbridge was running late as usual. She thought about returning to her sketch, but then she heard her name and saw the office assistant signalling for her to come in.

  Tessa tugs at the belt beneath her, searching blindly for the buckle. Her fingers find a sticky puddle and she wonders if there’s more blood. Her stomach turns, and she stays perfectly still while it settles. She raises her hand to her face, sees a brown, gluggy mixture and remembers the chocolate thickshake Nick had bought for lunch. The idea of this is almost as repulsive as a pool of blood. The bitter smell of stale milk mixed with the acrid odour of burnt oil. The heaviness begins to descend, and she has to physically force it away, into the shadows. She focuses instead on the image of the belt buckle in her mind, unable to twist around properly to see it. Her right hand finds the spongy car-seat cushion, a hard, metallic bar, then the cool of the plastic – the depressed square that she knows says Press.

  Easier said than done. She strains to send the message to her fingers. Closes her eyes as if she’s meditating, although she’s never learnt how. Another strategy counsellors had recommended, but that one she’d ignored, not trusting her mind to behave if silenced. Tessa channels all her strength into this action. Her hand shakes, can’t grip the buckle. She gasps with the effort. ‘I can’t do this!’ she says, exhausted. The enormity of what lies ahead overwhelming.

  ‘One step at a time,’ Nick says.

  She nods. Concentrates and tries again.

  Click.

  He smiles. ‘You did it.’

  She laughs – an empty, broken sound. ‘Yay,’ she says faintly.

  She lets the belt retract and it’s only then that she notices her left arm hasn’t moved. Can’t move. Pinioned between the seat and the car door, it’s a mess of blood and shredded shirt. She touches her left shoulder with her free hand, tests it for feeling. For life. There is, she realises, a deep and general ache coming from that side of her, but she can’t be sure if it’s her arm or the entire length of her body.

  ‘I’m stuck,’ she says. Nick reaches out towards her, but she sees his blistered hand and a long, jagged gash along his right thigh, and knows she has to do this alone. ‘Don’t.’

  He blinks, the question in his eyes.

  ‘I can do it.’

  ‘Let me help.’

  ‘No.’ She searches for the words, the pain of her memories surging through her, the monstrosity of her mistake, of believing – and trusting – when every ounce of her had screamed not to. After all that practice, she’d known better but had still surrendered; her weakness laid bare for the world to see. Nick’s betrayal, the final humiliation … ‘I can’t.’

  ‘We have to do this together,’ he says. ‘Or we’ll never get out.’

  She feels the truth of his words. He’s right. She knows he’s right.

  ‘Okay?’

  Tessa swallows. She shuts down the rush of images in her head – nightmares, all of them – and nods. ‘Okay.’

  Ms Bainbridge had the lithe, taut body of an athlete. She was so tall that Tessa had wondered if she played basketball or netball. It turned out she didn’t do either. She’d once told Tessa that she’d always wanted to play a team sport but was so paralysed by her uncoordination that she’d opted to pound the pavement alone, running miles and miles to drive away the voices that mocked her height and gangly limbs. Decided that would be her sport.

  ‘I wish they’d had counsellors back then,’ she’d laughed.

  ‘No, you don’t,’ Tessa had replied, without thinking. That was at the start, when she was too angry to try.

  Ms Bainbridge had smiled and nodded. ‘You’re probably right.’

  That was the first time she’d thought this counsellor might be okay.

  ‘How are things?’ Ms Bainbridge asked.

  Tessa adjusted the notepad she’d tucked under her jumper, arranged her expression into neutral and nodded. ‘Good. Actually, pretty good.’ She told herself she was lying. That she didn’t believe or trust her mum’s efforts any more than she trusted this stupid process. Nothing lasts forever. Nothing good, anyway.

  But still. There was a thing that happened to her heart when she saw her mum awake and alert in the kitchen, making breakfasts and lunches and dinners, dressed for job interviews or heading out to meet a friend for coffee. It was a small thing – a tiny thing – but it happened almost despite Tessa.

  Ms Bainbridge smiled. ‘That’
s great.’

  Tessa looked at the file on the desk in front of them. A thick, growing thing that various counsellors had waved at her, or simply consulted, their eyes scanning a whole litany of missteps and judgements aimed squarely at Tessa and her mum or, technically, her ‘family’ – which she was appalled to realise included, according to the school, the arsehole. Countless unexplained absences, especially when she was younger, when Tessa wasn’t allowed to leave the house until the bruises had faded, the cuts had closed up. The hours – or days – spent holed up in her room, fearful and alone, listening for Doug to show up, which he did a lot, knowing that Ellen would deny anything had happened, would promise that Tessa was okay, would be okay, as long as they didn’t say anything, as long as Doug left now.

  Only for it to happen all over again.

  And everyone knew. The whole of Carrima would whisper or roll their eyes whenever the police cars pulled up. At the start, when the arsehole had first moved in, the neighbours would stand in their doorways, watchful and alarmed. They’d ask Tessa if she was okay, if she needed help. And she would say she was fine, she was fine. Admitting to anything else would mean more and worse. She’d been half convinced that the arsehole could read her very thoughts.

  Eventually the neighbours stopped asking, the drama of squad cars becoming tedious. They’d decided her mum was beyond help. Only slightly less appalling than the fact that Tessa had begun to agree with them.

  Ms Bainbridge looked up. ‘So. What do you think we should do next?’

  Tessa frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  Ms Bainbridge’s smile widened as she crossed those flamingo-like legs at the ankles. ‘I mean, what do you want to do next?’

  ‘Today? Or in life?’

  ‘Either. Both.’

  Tessa blinked. ‘Right now, I’d like to get the hell out of here.’

  Ms Bainbridge laughed. ‘So you should. How about after high school?’

  ‘I haven’t thought about it.’

  ‘I think you have.’