No amount of swallowing down on my nerves could prepare me for the seven second video—yes, seven seconds was all the time needed to destroy my world—let it crash around me with a gut-wrenching ferocity that left me struggling to sit upright.
Staring at the video, I kept hitting the play button, not believing, not breathing. More importantly not understanding.
Cold sweat erupted on my skin, my palms, under my breasts, under my arms, across the nape of my neck, over my lip. Goosebumps followed quickly then came the shakes. It started with just my fingers trembling. Then my knees, until my whole body shook. I clutched my throat trying to curb the acidic tickle erupting inside.
Miss Anderson grasped the phone from my hand. “Are you all right, Levana?”
A blast of dizziness rocked me forward and without warning, my breakfast surged up from my roiling gut. I bent over, vomiting all over Principal Steven’s bottle green rug.
Miss Anderson scrambled to pull my hair back and unwittingly the memory of Saint holding my hair back while I puked into his toilet, flashed between my hurling. Tears blinded my vision as I gripped the table trying to force calm back into my body. When I finally sat back, Miss Anderson handed me tissues.
Wiping my mouth, chin and hands, I heard Principal Stevens asking his secretary to call for the janitor.
“I’m sorry,” I sobbed when he returned to his seat.
“It’s quite all right, Miss Singh. Shall I call your father to fetch you?”
My tear glazed eyes met his and the genuine concern on his made me cry some more. I shook my head. “Dad’s traveling and I brought the car to school,” I stumbled through the words then picked up the glass of water and took a few sips.
“Well, you’re in no condition to drive,” he replied, his blueish green eyes watching me intently. “Miss Anderson will take you home in your car and I’ll have one of the other teachers follow to bring her back.” His voice was soft yet leaving no room for argument. I nodded.
Five minutes later, I slid into the passenger seat of dad’s car while Miss Anderson fiddled with the seat and mirrors, adjusting it to her satisfaction.
“Buckle up,” she said quietly. Two minutes into the drive, the counsellor in her came to fore. “Did you suspect anything?”
Slowly, I shook my head, the images of the video playing like an incessant loop behind my closed eyes. I remembered every minute detail.
Saint laid on his bed, naked beneath a black sheet edging that deep ‘v’ I’d traced with my fingertips. Eyes closed, his left arm folded around his head on his pillow. His right arm curled around the waist of a woman on top of the same sheet but pulled up to just over the curve of her breasts. Her head resting on his chest, her hand clearly cupping his cock hidden by the sheet. The camera catching her just as she dropped light kisses to his chest before she stared straight at the lens, laughing. Giving me a solid view of her face and brown eyes that told a thousand lies.
Brown eyes filled with mirth I’d never witnessed before. Brown eyes that had only reflected hate for me. Brown eyes that belonged to a woman I called mother.
As if she sensed my reluctance to speak, Miss Anderson didn’t say another word until we reached my home. I heard the other teacher, pull up behind us as Miss Anderson manoeuvred the car into the garage.
Once parked, she followed me into the house. “Shall I make you a cup of tea?” she asked, glancing around.
Wanting to be alone, I shook my head. “Thank you, Miss Anderson. I just want to take a shower and sleep.”
She looked at me, her gentle eyes assessing before she nodded. Reaching for the pen and paper next to the phone in the kitchen, she scribbled something down. “This is my mobile number. Please call me if you need anything. And I do mean anything, even if it’s to cry.”
I took the piece of paper she held out. “Thank you.”
She turned to walk away then stopped and looked at me. “A broken heart can never be mended with a quick fix, Levana. It will take time and it will hurt. The question you have to ask yourself is, can I be strong?”
Broken heart?Did she know about Saint and me? I might be wrong, but her expression seemed to convey more than just words of advice. I was sure of it.
Closing the front door behind her, I leaned against it for a second before the flood gates opened. Slowly, I slid down to the floor, letting my pain out through my tears. Drawing my knees to my chest, I hugged them, rocking my body to the tune of my sobs.
How could Saint do this to me? Where was he? Did he know about the video? Why hadn’t he called yet?
The questions poured through my head while I felt the sting of a lost ache in every other part of me.
“Lee, hey, are you okay.” Eliana’s gentle touch to my shoulder had my eyes flying open.
Disorientated, I stared up at my sister. She was crouching in front of me, her brow etched in a deep frown, her eyes filled with worry.
I shot upright, glancing around. “I must’ve fallen asleep.”
“By the front door,” she asked, her voice floating with caution. “What happened?”
