Living on Borrowed Time

Chapter Six

“Urgh!” I woke up, feeling like crap for the second time in a row. At least this time it wasn’t a hangover. It was more to do with the fact that I cried myself to sleep in a pathetic heap at about two a.m.

It wasn’t so much that Bradley and Daphne were together—as much as that did hurt—they were probably way more suited to each other than we ever were. I think it was more the pain that came from the life that I could have had, if none of this had happened. Opening that email had torn open a painful wound in my chest—one that mourned for the life I’d missed out on. Yes, from the illness, but also from my own inability to grasp the second chance that I’d been given. If I really thought about it, it was far from normal; the way that I’d behaved. I was one of the lucky ones. Everyone else had been right about me. I just hadn’t wanted to hear it—any of it.

But how could I change that now? Was it even possible, or was I just too far gone? I was no longer naive enough to believe that one night was enough to transform things. If I really intended to improve my existence, it was going to be a long and challenging journey—one that I needed my eyes wide open for.

Was that something I was willing to do? Or was I too exhausted from living to even bother trying?

Ring, ring...

My phone piped up, shaking me from my thought pattern. The word ‘Mum’ flashed up on the screen, which was really not what I needed, not while I was wallowing so deep in self-pity. I wasn’t sure how I was going to keep up the upbeat act, when I was feeling more dreadful than normal. It wasn’t easy on the best of days!

I sighed deeply, trying to mentally prepare myself, before answering. “Hello?” I croaked, sounding about as dreadful as I felt.

“Hi Lara, how are you?” My mum’s voice was warm and comforting, just like normal. It was familiar, but not as reassuring as I’m certain she wanted it to be. She used this tone to try and invite me in. She was desperate for me to open up to her and tell her the truth about my feelings and my life, it was just so obvious. But I kept on with my little white lies, and she carried on pretending that she believed them. It was just the way we’d become.

I was always close to my mum when I was growing up—or as close as you can be, being the oldest of three children with a dad you don’t know—one that vanished before you were even born. But when I became ill, she changed. She became all efficient, focused only on my treatment and what we could all do to help me. It was kind of a nightmare. She just couldn’t seem to admit that I was dying.

Although, it seems now that she was much smarter than we all thought. Maybe she was the only one that could see that it wasn’t the end for me after all...

All of it took its toll on her marriage to my stepdad. He just couldn’t seem to do anything right by her. The eldest of my stepbrothers, Phil—the youngest is Jack—tried to tell me what was going on, he tried to get me to intervene, but I really was too ill by then. I was spending most of my days with my head over the toilet, bugged out on meds, or sleeping. I was no use to anyone; I didn’t feel like I could do anything to help anyone else. Phil did his best, but he was so young—it was all too much responsibility for him.

Apparently my stepdad had almost walked out more than once, and that was after I was starting to get better. When I’d become kind of a b***h. I was almost the reason for them breaking up, for which I now felt awful for. They were such a good couple, he really made my mum happy, and I nearly destroyed that for the pair of them, selfishly because I had to live. That was a massive part of the reason why I had to move. When mum sprung it on me, I’d already half made the decision to go anyway. She did it out of desperation, and had clearly felt guilty for it ever since, which was why she wanted some honesty from me, and was also the reason that I never gave it.

“I’m good thanks mum, how are you?” I said, sitting up in my bed, yawning and rubbing my eyes, willing the fog in my brain to disappear.

“Do you have a cold?” She replied tentatively, completely avoiding my question.

“Um, yeah. Maybe.” I couldn’t think of any explanation that was better. I certainly didn’t want to say it was because I was crying until some silly hour in the morning—there was no way that would go down well. “How are Carter and the kids?” Phil and Jack were only twelve and eight-years-old, respectively when I left. They really were great kids, but unfortunately they only really knew me as ‘the sick girl that got all the attention’—at least until I vanished. I highly doubted they missed me. I imagined they were glad that I was gone. Not only could they can now have some focus, the arguments between their parent’s had likely subsided too.

I felt like I didn’t really know them anyway, that I was never properly given the chance. Before I got sick, I was never really interested, and afterwards...well, it was too late then.

“Everyone’s great.” She snapped, hurriedly. She never wanted to talk about them; she always wanted to discuss me and would do anything to turn the conversation back around. I didn’t think she understood how good it would feel for the conversation to be more mutual. Maybe she didn’t realise that I was actually interested in their lives too. Maybe she figured it would be insensitive to tell me how good things were, without me there. I wouldn’t have minded, not one bit. I was perfectly aware that the way things turned out was all my fault. “How’s work? What have you been up to?” Her tone was anxious as she spoke, which for some strange reason really aggravated me.

“I heard about Bradley and Daphne.” I spat out, wanting to shock her. I was tetchy from my lack of sleep and also annoyed that we always had to talk about me. I was also pretty wound up that mum must have known about the engagement, but she never told me. There was no escape from that sort of big news in a tiny town.

“I...um...oh...” She stuttered, unable to find the right words. I sat in silence, gripping the phone tightly between my fingers. I could physically feel myself seething; I could feel the rage bursting through me as she stumbled over silly little filler words. She should have told me, she should have prepared me. It should have been her that I heard it from.

Although, maybe she thought I would never find out. She must have noticed how little I talked to everyone back home, and she also knew that I never visited. Maybe she’d had my best intentions at heart, but had gone about it in the wrong way. I couldn’t blame her for that. After all, I’d made enough mistakes of my own.

As those words flooded through my brain, the hot anger flowing through me subsided. I needed to remember that I’d been so difficult to deal with, and she probably had no idea what to say to me. I had to remember to not always blame the rest of the world for every little thing.

“It’s okay, mum.” I finally gave in, blowing air out of my mouth. “I don’t care.” Of course, I was lying, but she didn’t need to know that. “I’m fine, works okay—as normal. I haven’t been up to much.” I paused. “Well, I went out with some friends the other night...”

“Friends?” Mum leapt on that information excitedly, just as I knew she would. This was the first time I’d ever mentioned anything to do with socialising since I’d moved, so it was bound to pique her interest. “Who are these friends?”

“Um, Amy from work, Kimberly, Kai...a few others.” It suddenly hit me that I should probably play it down a bit, in case none of them ever wanted to see me again, but it was too late for that. Mum had smelled a story and she was all over it.

“Yeah? Tell me all about them.” I could hear the nervy, happiness in her voice and I couldn’t help but smile. I was glad that I’d finally said something to make her feel good for the first time in forever. I would just have to hope and pray that it didn’t all go to hell, that I didn’t jinx it by speaking about them.

“I dunno mum, they’re great. Real fun.” I started to ramble, wanting desperately to change the subject. One night out didn’t warrant enough information to keep my mum satisfied. I didn’t even really know if I was in the position to call them friends—it was only a few drinks, after all.

“Okay darling.” Mum paused, probably sensing the uncertainty in my voice. “Do you think you might come and visit soon?” She asked this every time we spoke, and it always brought our chats to a rapid close.

“I don’t know mum, it’s just....awkward. And I’m so busy with work...” I trailed off, unable to even finish my pathetic excuse.

“Well, why don’t I come and see you?” She jumped in, for the first time suggesting that she should come here. Oh God, how was I going to get out of this? The thought of mum seeing the pathetic life that I was leading would send her panic into overdrive. She’d never, ever leave. It would be a nightmare.

“Um, no I don’t...” My brain shut off, offering me no good answers this time.

“Okay, sure.” She interrupted quickly, sounding sad. Fortunately, she gave the subject up instantly, seemingly knowing that she’d pushed me too far. I didn’t think she wanted to pile any pressure on me. I sensed that she understood why I was avoiding everyone in the way that I was.

At least, I hoped she did...

I felt bad about our conversation, long after we’d hung up the phone.