Spiralling Skywards: Fading (Contradictions, #2)(69)

Luke leant across from the other side of the bed and kissed her forehead.

“Fuck, Sunshine, what did you do? Why didn’t you ask someone for help?”

The guilt that was gnawing at me since I found her took a large bite, and I allowed it to sink its teeth in deep, right down to the marrow of my bones.

I should have seen this coming. If not this, then something, I should’ve realised that something wasn’t right.

And then I remembered, I did. I thought she was having an affair and absolute shame weighed heavy in my chest, comfortable right next to the guilt.

***

I sat with Sarah for the rest of the night. Luke left but came back a few hours later with some decent coffee and a change of clothes for me and toiletries and sweats and a hoodie for Sarah. He then went back to our house to take care of the kids.

I called my parents and my sisters. We could keep this quiet, just between us, but I needed my family, and I thought Sarah would need them, too. My mum booked a flight while I was still on the phone to her and would be in England in two days.

Maggie called me continuously, but other than the few lines I used to deliver the news, I had nothing else to say.

I didn’t have answers when everyone asked me why. I had never known anyone suffering from depression or a mental illness, because surely that was what this must be? Nobody attempted to take their own life when they were feeling great.

While I sat in the chair and waited for her to wake up, I went through Sarah’s bag the hotel had delivered for me. I searched, looking for a clue or something, anything to give me an idea of what she had been thinking.

There was a nappy, a bib, and a dummy. A travel pack of baby wipes. I found crayons and a Superman action figure. A pen, her wallet, her phone, and lipstick—Boots No 7 in Tawny Rose.

I went through her phone, but there was nothing but photos of the kids at Christmas, last year’s birthdays, and lots from our holiday in September.

I opened up her Facebook app and scrolled through that. She hadn’t posted anything in a long while other than photos, so I went through them. That was when I started to see it.

She’d added photos from before she opened her account, photos of us, selfies she took of us in bed, in the car, or out on dates. There were heaps of our wedding, and even more of us in Australia. Then there were some of her growing belly and pictures of Carter and us with Carter on all of our travels. In all those pictures, she was smiling and full of life. The way that she looked at me in some of the pictures took my breath away, and I leant across and kissed her just because I had to.

Then there were the ultrasound photos of the twins and then pictures of the twins when they were born, and then when they came home.

Then there were some of Lucas, some of the boys, and some more with me with the boys. Sarah was nowhere to be seen. The photos that had been added more recently were mostly of the boys, but I was in a few of them. And that was it. From our holiday in September until the last photo she posted, there was not a single one of her. Where did she go? It was as if she vanished. Even within the contents of her handbag, she was barely there. Just one sad lonely lipstick, that was all there was of her. But she didn’t vanish . . . she faded. Faded away right in front of me, and I didn’t even see it.

The longer I sat; the angrier I got. I was angry at myself for not seeing that she needed help, and I was angry at her for not asking for it and for thinking that it was okay to do this, to just checkout and leave me.





2016


I was not sure at what stage I became aware of the fact that I was still alive, breathing, and in hospital, but it was before I was fully conscious that was for sure.

I drifted for what could have been minutes, hours, or days. Noise, smell, and sound all gradually overwhelming my senses until I could no longer ignore or deny the fact that I was living.

My throat felt sore and scratchy when I tried to swallow, and my chest and ribs felt as if they had been crushed, kicked, or stamped on.

I licked my lips and, once again, attempted to swallow before opening and then rapidly closing my eyes.

The white light seared my pupils. It was too much. Far too bright. Far too full of life and all things living. The glare gave me an instant headache, almost like brain freeze from eating ice cream, except it vanished as soon as I closed my eyes and shut out the harsh fluorescent glow, life, and the world.

I left it a few moments before making another attempt, and as I did, I become aware of someone else in the room. My heart lurched against my ribcage before crashing to my stomach.

There was a person in my room.

At least one, maybe more.

People—I was going to have to face people. I was going to have to face my family, my friends, even the nurses and staff at the hospital, and I was going to have to explain my actions. I hadn't brokered for this scenario, I truly believed I had taken enough tablets to do the job. Failure had been neither an option nor a consideration. It was now a stark reality, the bleeping of the equipment, the sensation of a blood pressure cuff tightening around my arm every so often, and that distinct hospital smell assaulting my nostrils were all evidence of that.

I opened my eyes again, but instead of looking up, where I knew the unforgiving illumination was waiting to attack my retinas, I let my head drift to my shoulder so I could see who was in the room with me.

Wrong move, the worst.

Sitting in a chair facing me was my husband. He had his long legs stretched out in front of him, his arms folded across his chest, and his eyebrows drawn down into a frown, hiding the blue of his eyes. Despite this, the intensity of his stare wasn’t lost on me, even in my not quite fully conscious state.