Valerie

6 - Val

TW: Mentions of abuse

'knackered' = exhausted or tired

I stared at the piece of paper in front of me that had numbers scrawled all over it. It was a Saturday, a week after Marcus and Thomas ended up in my apartment.

I was still cringing at the memory of me inviting Thomas for dinner. Of course I didn't want to actually do that but Mable could be very persistent and I wanted to help a friend out.

In all of our classes with Professor Twine, Thomas had been quieter than usual. Thank God. Even though I was relieved that I didn't have to hear that annoying drone of his voice, I still wondered what had changed to make him so silent. Sure, he wasn't a very talkative person in general, I saw how he acted around people, but he still tried to make conversation with me every now and again. Either that, or he looked like he was trying really hard to not look at something. Not that I was paying much attention to him. But this week was different.

I was thrown off balance too. After I got that phone call from my brother in front of Thomas (I was still stifling the mortification of it all) I had been slightly panicky.

I suffer from anxiety and it piqued about four and a half years ago when my mother died. Guilt, mixed with my father had me throwing up around three times a week for two years. Since moving to New York, it had calmed down a lot but that familiar nausea was creeping its way back in.

After hearing what my brother had to say, I felt a rock drop in my stomach, winding me.

He had told me that he wanted to come visit me in New York. With my other two 21-year-old brothers that were twins, George and Hugh, and my father.

As soon as he said my father, I immediately entered that Fight or Flight mode I had switched on whenever I was around him.

From the safety of being 5567 kilometres away, I chose Fight. I instantly said that he wasn't coming and hung up.

I didn't wait for my brother's explanation, I didn't want to hear it. I knew what it was going to be.

Val, I just want to get the family together. We've been so fractured and broken ever since Mum. Dad wants to see you, I know he does. You have to remember, he was grieving too. He still is. We all are. We want to see your life. We're still your family.

I didn't care for his explanation. While Will may not know about all of the things my father did, he definitely knew about some of the things he said and sometimes those hurt even more.

The worst part was, I believed my father. Every time he would say It's your fault, I agreed because deep down, I knew it was true. So did my brothers, even if they never voiced it.

While being in New York, I had somehow managed to push down the guilt. Without having those words constantly shoved into your ears, it left room to breathe. My brother knew this. Which was why I wasn't afraid to say No.

Despite this, a small voice still whispered He's going to hurt you for that.

Every time I listened to that voice, a small bead of dread just grew and grew until I struggled to breathe. Until I could feel his hands wrapped around my neck again.

I had had a total of four panic attacks this week. I'd cry hysterically, rock myself until I found the courage to breathe again and light a cigarette. It was awful and exhausting. I lost sleep and my bones felt rigid from being in a constant preparation for an attack. I was knackered. Which made the figures on the sheet of paper in front of me seem so much more daunting.

Due to the recent news I had received and the reminder of my father's existence, I refused to take anymore money from the sum that was given to me in my mother's will. The guilt was already crushing me to the point where I woke up out of breath so I couldn't in any right mind take anymore money from my deceased mother who's death was my fault.