Finding Technicolour Read online

  We stopped at a set of traffic lights. The heating from the car kept me warm. I stared out at a hooded male figure walking on the footpath. He turned in my direction. It was him. It was him, the boy who stole a part of me. It was him and there was nowhere for me to run. He’d caught me again. Trapped me. It felt like our eyes locked. Remembering the hate in his eyes pierced me, I could almost taste blood. Suddenly, a flash of headlights highlighted his face, revealing a stranger. My muscles remained tense. Deep down I knew it wasn’t him and I knew that stranger didn’t see me. He couldn’t have because of the darkness, the distance. But that didn’t stop the thrust of dread. I detached my gaze and stared through the windscreen. I couldn’t stop my limbs from trembling. My bones continued to rattle. Gingerly, I turned just my eyes to see that the man had continued on his stroll.

  Right in that second, I wanted to be home. I wanted safety. I wanted to feel safe. My mind rushed. I began to remember details. To acknowledge them. There of all places.

  The traffic lights turned green. The car began to roll. I felt Kai’s eyes on me.

  “Peyton are you OK?”

  I couldn’t look at him. “Yeah. Just a little cold … and tired.”

  “Do you want the heat up?”

  “No, it’s all right. We’re almost there.” Almost home.

  “You sure?”

  I nodded.

  My breaths were shallow. My weakening body seemed to only give strength to those thoughts. The night’s sky no longer made things better. I knew that this time I wasn’t going to be able to shake the feelings away. I wasn’t going to be able to bury the memories. I was going to remember everything. Every moment. Every detail. And it was happening that night.

  Kai and I arrived at my house. The drive wasn’t fast enough. Every second felt like torture. I wanted to leave Kai’s side. I couldn’t have him think he was the cause for my outburst. My breakdown. We parked in the driveway.

  “Thanks for tonight.” I smiled the best I could. “It was great to meet your family. It’d be nice to do it again sometime.” I unbuckled my seatbelt and reached for the door handle.

  Kai touched my hand that was closest to him.

  Reluctantly I turned to him.

  “Don’t I get a kiss goodnight?” He smiled sweetly.

  I didn’t want to kiss him. Not when I was like this.

  He leant to me. Our lips locked but I didn’t like the taste. I didn’t feel the passion. His hand moved from the back of my neck and slipped over my breast. His fingers trailed down towards my waist. I stopped the kiss and retreated. I pushed him away.

  “No.” I wiped my mouth.

  “What’s wrong?” Kai’s face was a picture of concern. “Peyton?”

  He reached his hands towards me.

  I knew they were holding comfort but I slapped them away. “No. Stop. Get away from me!” I escaped the car and ran to the front door.

  Kai rushed behind me. “Peyton, what’s going on?”

  My throat swelled. My vision blurred. I reached for the door handle. Clutched onto it as if that was my anchor. I turned to face him, to prove I meant what I was about to say “Stay away from me! Leave me alone!” I stumbled inside. Slammed the door and locked it.

  Kai knocked. I heard him call for me. But I wasn’t going to respond. I couldn’t.

  I rushed to my room.

  Chapter THIRTY-ONE

  I was home alone. The small fraction of me that still felt happiness was relieved that Mum was at work. I wouldn’t have been able to fake it. I wouldn’t have been able to convince her I was anything other than disheartened.

  I landed on my bed. Tears fell down my chin. I was remembering everything. I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t have a chance to cease the memories. To halt their presence. It was too late.

  It felt like the world’s water rushed over my body. I was losing oxygen fast. I closed my eyes and tried to shut it all off, but the flashing memories sparked through my mind. I saw it. I felt it. Skin. Screaming. Begging. Pleading. Blood trickling. His hands locked around my wrists, holding me in place. His black stare piercing my soul. His heavy breaths as he forced himself into me. I opened my eyes but didn’t find relief. I still saw it. I still felt it. Pain.

  I was breaking.

  I could no longer hear Kai calling out to me. I could no longer hear the knocking on the front door. Not that I was going to let him in. I didn’t want him to see me like this. I couldn’t let him see me like this.

  It was morning. My eyes cracked open. I woke with dry eyes. Had I used up all my tears? Somehow I had slept. I woke up with a small fighting chance of hope. But what was the point?

  My phone beeped.

  The echo made me jolt. I almost released a scream.

  I knew who it was. I looked at the screen and saw eight unread texts.

  Kai: Peyton what’s going on? 8:59 pm

  Kai: Please open the door. 9:02 pm

  Kai: I’m going home now. Let me know if u need anything. OXOX 9:33 pm

  Kai: Talk to me. Let me help. 10:27 pm

  Kai: Please call me. 11:00 pm

  Kai: Did I do something wrong? 11:13 pm

  Kai: Do you hate me? 11:15 pm

  Kai: Peyton, this is breaking my heart. Please respond to my messages. 7:14 am

  I didn’t respond to any of them. I couldn’t. That would only encourage him to drive to my house and plea for an audience with me. I couldn’t have him here. I couldn’t handle him here. I couldn’t handle what had happened.

  It was afternoon. I fell asleep, drained of everything. I needed rest. I woke knowing I had to cut Kai off. Cut him off completely. I didn’t want to drag him through the mud with me. A guy like him shouldn’t have to put up with someone like me. Especially given his past with his father. I knew it was best if I just ignored him. Let him forget about me.

  My phone beeped.

  I ignored it.

  Minutes passed and it beeped again. I couldn’t take the risk of not reading the message. It could have been Mum or Liam. I could tell Mum knew there was something going on. That morning I had kept my distance from her. I had locked myself in my room and told her my creative juices were flowing. That I was creating a masterpiece and needed space. The truth was, I was crumpled on the other side of the door with my back against it – ready to push if she tried to open it. The truth was, I couldn’t bear to look at her. I couldn’t look at her beautiful face or be around her kindness. I couldn’t look her in the eye, as I was drenched in the remembrance of my darkness. I wasn’t strong enough to mask myself with bravery. My armour was broken and I knew she would see through the cracks too easily.

  Mum had sent me a message earlier that read: “I love you. XX”

  I knew she loved me. We liked to send random messages to one another – it was a Swift-family thing. But that day, her three-worded text felt like it was coming from a different place. Maybe because I was in a different place.

  The text wasn’t from Mum or Liam, it was from Kai.

  Kai: Can I come over? Y or N.

  I waited several minutes before I replied. I knew my response would bring him disappointment.

  Me: N.

  He replied immediately.

  Kai: Why?

  I wiped the tears that fell down my chin.

  Me: N.A.

  Don’t hate me.

  The house was soaked in silence. The dull sound of the ticking clock was all I heard. I stood in the lounge, compulsively staring at the air in front of me. I couldn’t shake away my past. My long dark hair drooped over me. I felt like a creepy-zombie-girl from a horror movie. My body swayed. I didn’t stop the movement. It kind of soothed me.

  My phone beeped.

  I knew it was Kai. This time, I didn’t even check it.

  In the middle of the lounge, my eyelids grew heavy and my thoughts were searing. Every heartbeat hurt with the moments leading up to the accident. The details of my secret. My pain. The reason why I forced myself to see grey.

  I fo
und myself in front of the door. The door that led to my artwork. My fingers trembled as I reached for the handle. It felt like ice against my skin. I opened the door and moved inside. The strong aroma of paint and pencil sharpenings attacked my nose. My hand found the light switch. My teary eyes searched the space. It was exactly how I had left it. Exactly how I remembered. Two large tables were filled with art supplies and pieces I had been working on. Shelves were stacked with new stock. The overhead light brightened the room. It used to make me feel warm – safe – but in that moment it was just a light. Something for me to see my past with.

  I warily stepped towards the canvases at the easel. There were three. The largest was displayed on the wooden stand and the other two leant against the legs. I glared at the paint-stained squares. It felt like I had been shot in the chest.

  One canvas was attacked with red paint splattered one layer upon another.

  The image on the second canvas was a giant eye. My eye. Blue like the dark layer of the ocean and detailed with patterns showcasing the bloodshot. The eyelids were raw. Crystal-like tears filled the brim and looked like they were about to descend onto the floor, leaving a large puddle that would need to be mopped up. Over the eye were messily painted words, written thin enough that the detailing of the eye colour, and the hurt it embodied, shone past them. The words read everything I had been feeling. Everything I am feeling: Broken. Vulnerable. Lost.

  The third canvas was the largest of the three. It sat on the arms of the easel. As I examined the piece, a horrid taste filled my mouth. It was the portrait of a boy. The boy. His face was drawn from an angle so you wouldn’t know it was him, unless you really knew him. I knew it was him. I hated him. I had painted his dark eyes the way I remembered them. The way his jaw clenched looked like it could cut you. His face was painted decoratively and aesthetically pleasing – and I hated that I had made it look that way: as if someone could actually find it – him – pleasant. Good. Covering the canvas were paint-written words. All honest. All true. The words read: You Hurt Me. Evil. Thief.

  I studied the three paintings. All my thoughts, all my feelings swirled into one. I felt like I was being taken over by a hurricane of raw emotion. I hated myself. I hated what I had become. I knew the moment I stepped into my Art Cave I would feel darker. Glummer. That was something I couldn’t change. I left the cave and curled onto my bed with my dark hair wrapped around me. I was misplaced. Disorientated.

  A couple of days passed. I still hadn’t spoken with Kai. He had left me messages. But I’d never responded. He had come around when Mum was home. I’d told her not to let him in. She obeyed my orders.

  I missed him.

  The dark flashes repeated. But now there was no pause button. They continued to haunt. I was submerged in gloom. Alone.

  I kept my conversations with Mum short and simple. Even the other morning when she made us waffles for breakfast. She decorated mine with a smiley face made with raspberries. From the look in her eyes I knew she didn’t believe my smile.

  We sat opposite each at the table. I could barely look at her.

  “Peyton, sweetheart, what’s wrong? What’s going on? You’ve been …”

  “I’ve just got a bit of a headache, Mum. That’s all. I’ll just drink more water or take some pain medication and I’ll be fine.”

  “Do you need me to call Dr Enderson? Is the headache because of the crash? Because you know …”

  “I know. He said I’d get terrible headaches for a little while.” I shoved a forkful of waffle in my mouth and regretted it, knowing I’d have to swallow it.

  “Well you better get to work, Mum. Don’t want to be late. I can clean the dishes. I’ve got other stuff to do today anyway … I’m going to go brush my teeth now.” I quickly stepped to her, barely pecked her cheek before I rushed down the hallway. I only just made it to the bathroom before tears streamed down my chin. I grabbed my towel and covered my face to mask the sound of my cries.

  I knew I was pushing people away. But I didn’t know what else to do. When Liam called I didn’t answer. When he texted me I hardly ever replied with more than a few words. I knew I was doing the opposite of convincing him I was OK, but I didn’t have the energy to play that game anymore. I could tell Mum was hurting. Consumed with worry.

  I was shutting down.

  I was losing my way.

  Again.

  Mum had tried to give me space. Let me have my time. I knew she hadn’t pushed to get answers from me because usually I found my own way to her. Usually I tell her anything. I saw her concern growing.

  One morning, she gently entered my bedroom. I didn’t fight it. I didn’t force her to leave like I had previously. I stayed covered in my bed – as if my blanket was my shield.

  “Morning P.” She softly sat next to me and stroked my hair. “I know something’s going on. It’s not a headache, and I’m not fully convinced your creative juices have been flowing. Peyton, sweetheart. Talk to me. Let me help you. What’s going on?”

  I couldn’t say anything. I didn’t want any more tears. But I felt them piling up my tear ducts.

  “Is it to do with Kai? Did he hurt you?”

  “No.” I sniffled. “It’s not about him.”

  I could tell she was fighting back her own tears. Trying to be strong. “Is it to do with the accident?”

  I nodded. Tears roll down my cheeks.

  “P, if you don’t want to speak to me about it, it’s OK. I understand. But I really think you should try and speak with Dr Wilson … You like him, don’t you? He’s been helping …” She kissed the top of my head then rested her chin on my hair as she whispered almost inaudibly: “I don’t want to lose you.” She kissed my head again.

  I didn’t want to be lost.

  I agreed to speak with Dr Wilson. I told her he was the only person I wanted to talk to, even though I knew that would hurt her. He was the only person I could talk to. I didn’t know why. Maybe his office was my sanctuary.

  Chapter THIRTY-TWO

  I crumbled in my usual cream chair, with Dr Wilson opposite me. I sat there with full acknowledgement of my past. Full recognition of the details of my secret. The discomfort expanded. I couldn’t change it. “I think I should go.”

  “You’ve only just arrived, Peyton.”

  A rich silence fell. I rose from the chair without another word. Without another glance at his grey eyes. I shuffled to the door. Then froze. I stared at the handle. Something inside me made me stop. A tear rolled down my cheek. My breath became congested. My shoulders dropped. The words spilt from my lips. “I remember … I remember everything … the details about when I was … raped.”

  I turned to Dr Wilson. The look on his face said so much, but I didn’t let that stop me.

  “I know all the reasons for my darkness and my car crash. Because of what happened, I stopped making art. Because of what happened, I am who I am now. Lost. Guarded. Broken.” I wiped another tear that fell to my chin. “Nobody else knows. I couldn’t tell anyone. Not even after I told you … I didn’t want to tell anyone. I never wanted to share this. Not even with my mum. In fact, especially not her. I wanted to keep it a secret forever. I was embarrassed. I am embarrassed. I keep questioning why it happened to me, but I just don’t know.”

  I took a scattered breath and hoped that would recharge my courage. “The memories play in my mind, constantly on repeat. It had been a month and still they never stopped. They never left me. Even when I slept they crept through my brain. I’d wake up drenched in sweat. I’d shower, clean myself up but I still felt dirty. Like I’d bathed in mud. I would scrub my skin until I was raw. Until I felt something other than sadness. I dyed my hair darker so I didn’t look the same. I crawled back into my shell …

  “Hours before the crash I sat on my bed. I could still feel his fingers force their way over my body, my neck, my breasts, my hips. I closed my eyes and I could see everything. I jolted my body around as if he were there with me. He wasn’t. I was alone. But I still
remembered everything, every second.

  “The school day had ended. I’d stayed behind to clean up my desk. My art teacher and I had a good relationship; she trusted me not to steal anything and to close the door when I left. That day, the boy came into the room. He made his way to the windows and closed all the blinds. I asked what he was doing and he pretended he was interested in me; he pretended he was interested in my art. He said that he was jealous of how creative I was. How gifted I was with pencils and brushes. As he spoke he roamed around the room then he closed the door, locked it and edged a chair under the handle. I asked what was going on and without a second thought he said he wanted to fuck me to next Tuesday. I tried to leave. He jumped over tables to grab me. I screamed but everyone had left. I asked him to let me go. But he wouldn’t have any of it. He told me he and his friends had made a bet about who would take my virginity away. He said he had to win. He wanted to win no matter what. He pinned me down on a table. His fingers pressed every part of my body. He shoved his hand up my dress and ripped my underwear off, in between forcing my lips open.”

  My first kiss.

  “I hit him. I tried to make him stop but he was so much stronger than me. He knew his way around a girl’s body and started doing what he wanted. I lay on the table with his large hand locked around both of my wrists; he held my arms above my head. I was like a piece of paper pinned to a board. I twisted and tried to slip from his hold but it didn’t help. His fingers rushed down my squirming body until they were deep inside me. He forced them in and it burned. Tears fell down my cheeks as he roughly moved his fingers around trying to get me ready. I begged him to stop.