Finding Technicolour Page 3

  I knew I was blocking something. A little bit of me remembered what it was. But I didn’t want it to be real. It couldn’t be real. That’s why I shook them away. Maybe even why I craved my dark place.

  At the second therapy session I sank into the same cream chair with my legs crossed. Dr Wilson’s magical grey eyes focused on me. I wondered if I stared into them for a certain amount of time, would they hypnotise me to speak my darkest secrets? I looked away before he had the chance to try.

  “Peyton, how are you feeling today?”

  “I’m OK.” Let’s move onto the next thing shall we? Who was I kidding? I knew it didn’t work like that in therapy.

  “You know this hour is for you and if you choose not to talk, that’s up to you. But I’m here to listen. I’m here to help.”

  I sighed. He didn’t know, but this would be our last session together. I knew I had to say something, just in case Dr Enderson or Mum asked if I had given it my best shot. So I decided to talk about the reason why I was there in the first place.

  “A little while ago I was in a car crash, but I don’t remember the accident.”

  “And how does that make you feel?”

  “Really?” The word wasn’t supposed to leave my mind. “Sorry, I just …”

  “It’s fine … When you’re ready.”

  “I actually don’t remember certain days leading up to the crash either, and I don’t like not knowing … I was in an induced coma for five days and I feel like a part of my life, a part of my story, has been stolen. Those days feel like chapters or paragraphs unwritten. Not that I’m a writer, more of a painter and drawer.”

  “An artist; that’s interesting.”

  “I haven’t drawn or painted in a while.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because things with school got in the way.”

  “Well what did you like to paint?”

  “Anything really. You could put a paint brush in my hand and I’d paint what I imagined or what I could see right in front of me.”

  “Do you think you’ll paint again?”

  “What, now that I’ve dropped out of school?”

  “When did you drop out of school?”

  Wow. Nobody had told him anything. “A few months ago, much to my mum’s disapproval.”

  “Did you not want to continue with your studies?”

  There they were again. Those flash memories. I shook them from my head.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” I leapt from my seat and continued to shake my head, hoping the imagery didn’t find a fresh place to latch onto, that it would just seep to the back of my mind.

  “Peyton, are you OK?”

  I didn’t answer. I focused on ignoring the flashes. I had done that before. I could do that again. “I think I want to finish for today.”

  Chapter SIX

  Again, I awoke in a rush of sweat. Still I couldn’t remember the nightmares. I was relieved that I still had safety in darkness. Maybe not remembering was for the best. As I showered I picked at my wet scabs, the ones just beginning to come away from my skin. I knew I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t help myself. I liked the pain. I ripped one off. The sting swelled as the hot water hit it. The blood trickled down my arm, descending with the water to become nothing. It made its way down the drain like it was never mine.

  After being home for two weeks I still felt like a broken puzzle. There was a piece missing but I didn’t know if I was ready to find it.

  I took the pain medication I’d been prescribed and, as Doctor Handsome had ordered, I went for a walk. I wrapped myself in layers covering my scabs and scarring. The injuries scattered across my legs, shoulders, arms and face. They were healing well, but their decreasing presence worried me – I wanted them there.

  My long dark hair was tied in a ponytail. It blew wildly in the winter wind as I walked along the damp pavement, left with my own thoughts. I began to panic. Worried that the memory flashes would begin again. I focused on stepping over the cracks. Focused everything on not wanting to fall through the pavement.

  It was a twelve-minute walk to the local shops. I knew, because I timed how long I could last in the outside world. How long I could last around other people.

  The stopwatch continued.

  I made my way to the coffee shop – the one Liam and I would always go to when we wanted to talk about life. It was the place he told me about his plan to get his sleeve tattoo two days after his eighteenth birthday – to what would be our mum’s short-lived disapproval. It had been over a year and I knew she liked it. The coffee shop was the place where I told him I wanted to travel the world and create art forever. Since Liam’s been at college, I haven’t been in. It didn’t feel right without him. But this was where my feet walked me. And being there helped me almost imagine he was there too. It wouldn’t be as much fun, but I had to get out there. Keep living.

  The bell rang above the door. My nose was attacked by the strong smell of coffee. The place was fairly empty – a few customers scattered around the small tables. I looked at the stopwatch: fourteen minutes and twenty-two seconds in the outside. The count continued.

  Peering around the room, I knew a larger crowd would have made me abort my outing. I made my way to the counter and ordered an iced coffee.

  I hid at a corner table, as far away from people as I could, and scanned the walls bursting with colour. A part of me was unprepared, but my inner artist was tempted to be awed. New original painted canvases hung around the place. I had always dreamt of them showing a piece of my art on their walls, but I was always too scared to ask how I could get it up there. One time Liam was going to ask for me, but I begged him not to. Told him my pieces weren’t ready for public display. I knew he didn’t believe me because he’d seen my work and told me how amazing it was, but he didn’t ask the manager. Now the thought of having my artwork displayed there felt like a distant dream. A little girl’s wish.

  My eyes continued to search the room. Every chair and table was different. Mismatched. But somehow it worked. Everything complimented. Balanced. The coffee shop hadn’t changed that much since Liam and I were last there, even though it felt like decades ago. Unexpected happiness drove through my veins, making me acknowledge that not everything had to change. And maybe I could actually be OK.

  A young guy with light brown hair, which looked like a mop on top of his head, came smiling towards me. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I tugged at my sleeves as my heart raced. My eyes travelled down his lean body dressed in black from head to toe, to see him holding my drink order. I sighed. My nerves abandoned me.

  “Here’s your iced coffee. Was there anything else?”

  He looked right into my eyes. I couldn’t help but stare. His right eye was blue and his left was brown. The soft curls of his hair shaped his tanned face. He smiled at me, his lips stretched across his cheeks.

  “No that’s it. Thanks.”

  “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but what happened?” He gestured across his cheek and lips.

  I assumed he thought asking ‘What happened to your face?’ was a little harsh. For some reason, I honestly never expected to be questioned about my appearance. My injuries. I hadn’t prepared myself for a moment like this.

  He beamed as he waited for a response. A bright picture framed with intrigue.

  I wasn’t in the mood to share with an outsider and hoped our conversation would be over before it began. So I tried to make my answer simple. Short. “It’s just a couple of scratches.”

  “Ah … So they’re your wounds from battle?”

  I didn’t respond.

  “What does the other person look like?”

  The car? Words left my lips before I gave them permission. “Completely crushed. Shattered even.”

  That’s what Mum told me. The old banger of a car was unfixable. Much to Liam’s despair, I imagined. He would never admit losing the car broke his heart a little, but I knew how much he loved it. I felt guilty for ruining i
t. I lost count of the hours he and his friends spent on fixing it, making it roadworthy. I won’t forget the times I helped him with it too. The lessons he gave me about cars and engines. Even though most of the terminology went over my head and what he taught me never really sank in, spending time together was enough for me. The ways he’d get me to laugh. And how we recited our favourite lines from our favourite movies. And when we blasted the radio and sang at the top of our lungs. I won’t forget that. It’s what I hold dear. They’re the moments I want to remember.

  Before I knew it the coffee-shop guy had plonked himself across from me, swivelled a chair and was leaning back. At first I was reluctant to talk, but our conversation almost felt natural. I don’t remember what he said, but he got me to laugh. Something I thought my body had forgotten to do.

  After a while an unexpected silence travelled between us. It probably lasted for only several seconds but it was several seconds too long. He grinned at me cheekily.

  “Well, I better get back to work. Nice to meet you, err … We didn’t properly introduce ourselves, the name’s Kai Pearson. And you are?”

  “I’m Peyton.”

  “Peyton?”

  “Swift.”

  “Well Peyton Swift, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Uh, you too. Bye.”

  Before more words could be exchanged, I fled the shop, sprinting down the pavement almost tripping over my feet. I wasn’t a runner. I looked to the stopwatch – two hours, thirty-three minutes and fourteen seconds. Time does fly when you’re having fun. He did get me to laugh.

  Chapter SEVEN

  Mum had the day off. She wanted to spend time with me. So she came up with the idea to go shopping and grab coffee. A girls day. I went along with the idea. I loved my mum. I’d do anything for her. God knows how much she’s done for Liam and me. But I wasn’t in the mood to shop. Even before the accident it was never one of my favourite things to do. But it was a day to hang out – just the two of us. I didn’t really care what we were doing, as long as we were together. I had survived a car accident that should have killed me. I shouldn’t have been complaining about the luxury to shop. I was alive. I think that’s what I wanted.

  They say “Shop till you drop” and we did. Even though I kindly declined – several times – Mum insisted on the splurge. She bought me a new pair of jeans and a few winter jumpers. They were dark, big and baggy. The way I wanted them. Easier to hide. Mum tried to shove some colour into the pile, but I wasn’t ready. I wanted to be surrounded only by things that took me to my dark place. A place I felt comfortable. A place I still found myself craving.

  On the drive home, Mum said she had a place in mind for us to get something to eat and drink. Even though my appetite was still minimal, I agreed. I wanted to continue hanging out. For the entire day, she had been so comfortable with me. The most she’d been since I’d been home. There were still moments when she treated me like a feather, but I overlooked them.

  She was a young mum. She had Liam when she was nineteen, and me a couple of years later. I couldn’t imagine my brother being a dad. He was so irresponsible. She had sacrificed so much for us to be where we were. We’re not the richest people, or the poorest. We have what we need and usually don’t ask for more.

  I could tell Mum was getting used to driving at a normal pace with me in the car. We almost matched other car speeds. She drove just under the limit, but I could tell she was driving with extra caution. She didn’t know this, but a couple of times I watched her reverse down the driveway, then speed down the road as she made her way to work. Secretly I just wanted her to act like she did before. I didn’t want her to change. I didn’t want her walking on eggshells when she was around me. She used to call drivers “Assholes” or “Scumbags” when they’d cut her off or drive ill mannered. She rarely said something like that now. I felt like she stopped saying stuff like that to protect me. As if her driver’s tongue would trigger me into my darkness or a panicked state. But I wanted things to go back to normal. I wanted to feel normal again.

  I waited for a driver to cut in front of us, or do something stupid for me to shout at them “Douchebag”. But cuss words never felt natural leaving my lips. Mum always laughed at my failed attempts. She was glad her sometimes-vile tongue didn’t get passed down to me. Liam inherited it. The only time I used bad language was when I was angry – really angry. Other than that, it just wasn’t me.

  I gave up waiting for the opportunity to reignite Mum’s driver’s tongue. Instead I gazed at her as we continued our pleasant drive. We have the same blue eyes and heart-shaped face, but she seemed to pull everything off better than me. Her face has light wrinkles and I felt guilty for bringing them out. When she smiled at me, I felt warm and safe. I always loved that about her when I was kid. But now a heavy feeling weighed my stomach because I knew I was keeping a secret from her. I pushed the feeling aside as best I could and continued to admire her natural beauty. She said if she had the money she’d go under the knife, but I told her I’d protest and slap the knife from the surgeon’s hand if it came to that. She had one hand on the wheel and with the other she tucked her light brown hair behind her ear. It waved down just past her shoulders. I smiled. I love you Mum.

  When we pulled into the local shops, my jaw dropped. “Where are we eating?”

  “Here.” She smiled. “I know how much you and Liam like coming here. And the three of us used to come here quite a bit when you were younger. I haven’t been here in ages, so I thought it might be nice if we did.”

  I also hadn’t been in there in ages. Now there I was again – the next day. I hoped Kai wasn’t there.

  Mum and I strolled in. The bell rang overhead and there he was on the other side of the room, dressed all in black, just like the day we met. He gave this small group of girls their orders. They giggled – he must have said something funny. Was it the same thing he had said to me? Not that I remembered what it was. Kai turned around, an empty tray under his arm. Our eyes met. A large smile stretched across his face. I immediately looked away. Mum was looking at the menu board. She linked our arms then led us to an empty table, where we set down.

  “Mum. I think we should …”

  “Hello again Peyton Swift,” Kai said.

  Mum glanced to him and then at me. She grinned.

  This was not what she thought. This was not happening.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Just come up to the counter when you’re both ready to order.” Kai moseyed off.

  Mum leant over the table to me and whispered a little too loudly. “He’s nice. When did you meet him?”

  I snapped around and hoped he hadn’t heard. Kai was nowhere to be seen. I assumed he was somewhere in the back room.

  “I told you, yesterday I went for a walk.”

  “You didn’t tell me about him.”

  “Mum.”

  “What? Don’t you think he’s cute? I do.”

  “Mum … There’s more about a person then their physical appearance.”

  Kai was cute. I wasn’t going to take that away from him. But I didn’t know him. I had known of him for less than twenty-four hours. I didn’t know how I was supposed to feel about him.

  Mum and I ate our food. For a little while we leant back in the chairs, allowing digestion to take its course as we discussed plot theories for one of our favourite TV shows. We looked at the time and decided to make our way back home. Finally.

  Kai approached us. “How was the food? Was it that bad you’re leaving already?”

  Mum liked his joke. She giggled. “No, the food was delicious. Thank you. We really enjoyed it.”

  He looked to me. His blue/brown irises searched my face as if he were seeking another truth. An answer to a question he hadn’t asked yet.

  “Yeah.” I nodded and rushed a smile. “The food was great. But we better get going.”

  “Hang out with me.”

  “What? When?” The second question wasn’t supposed to slip throug
h my lips.

  “Right now.”

  “Oh, um, sorry. I’ve gotta go with Mum.”

  “No Peyton, you don’t. You can go …”

  Why Mum? Why?

  “Are you up for it then?” Kai asked.

  “Yes she is.” I glared at her. A bright smile stretched across her face. She leant in, kissed me on the cheek and hugged me. She whispered in my ear. “You’ve got to get back out there.” She kissed my cheek again, then left without another glance back.

  I looked at Kai. He smiled proudly like he had just accomplished something.

  Chapter EIGHT

  I was left alone. Caught in the shop. Kai told me not to move as he went to the back and signed off for the day. As I stood by myself I prepared my escape, but every direction I thought to take resulted in him running after me or catching up with me too easily. I wasn’t a runner – pre- or post-accident.

  “Ready?”

  I turned around. Kai appeared behind me – a little too close for my liking. He wore a black leather jacket and looked like a gothic surfer. Yet somehow it made him look cooler. I awkwardly twirled, pushed the door open – pushing away the unwanted thoughts of him and me from my mind – then stepped outside. The fresh air whipped my cheeks and the cold stung my lungs. Everything was decorated in grey. Or was that the way I painted it? Either way it didn’t matter. It was the way I wanted it be – the way I wanted it to look.

  “So, where do you wanna go for you to ‘get back out there’?” Kai said.

  “You heard that?”

  “Your mum’s not the quietest whisperer …”

  My heart sank. I hoped he hadn’t heard her earlier whispering. I looked away, embarrassed. What was I even doing here?