Page 16 of Painted Truths

These ladies have blown my once innocent eyes wide open, and I’ve never been so grateful to be the proud owner of noise-cancelling headphones. So, let’s just leave it at that.

The voices stop suddenly before I hear a thud, then silence. Hoping the thud was a door closing instead of a dead body hitting the apartment floor, because yes, their arguments could get that volatile, I slowly slot my key into the lock. I twist it quietly before entering on almost silent feet, relieved at having had the foresight to remove my trainers before entering.

My mum had never allowed shoes to be worn indoors. Mum hadn’t allowed a lot, to be fair. Years of repression can be hard to change, but I’m proud of this person I’m becoming now that I’ve been given the chance to spread my wings—as awful as that sounds.

Even so, some habits are hard to kick.

Rounding the corner at the end of the hall, which opens into our open-plan living area, I spy Josie with her back to me at the island in the centre of our kitchen. Her head is down, and I can hear her whimpering softly.

My heart goes out to her. The thought of how bad the fight must have gotten for her to show such emotion when she never cries makes me feel all twisted up inside.

“Are you okay, Jo…?” Trailing off as I walk closer, I freeze, realising Nola is at Josie’s feet, on her knees with Jo’s short skirt roughly gathered and held up in a fist. She has Jo’s leg haphazardly thrown over her shoulder, as she loudly feasts on her lover.

Both women are oblivious to my intrusion, as focused as they are on each other.

Josie grasps at Nola’s long red hair as she throws her head back, eyes clenched shut and panting desperately. “Yes. Yes, baby, that’s it. I’m coming. I’m…”

A shock goes through me as I slowly and silently back away toward the safety of my room just off the entry hallway. Closing the door with a quiet click, I let out the breath I didn’t realise I was holding, and instantly, I’m flooded with the absolute certainty that I am so utterly jealous of what my friends have. I want it too.

Not them. I want that spark. That connection that these women have.

That passion.

That all-consuming fire where you’d prefer to let the world burn than go without having them in your life. Even for just one night.

Dropping my old, used-to-be-white-once-upon-a-time trainers to the floor, I fall onto my single bed and let myself soften enough to remember Henry, that beautiful liar. The one who made me feel like he promised me the sun, the moon, and the stars, only to toss me into dark despair in one callous act.

Unfortunately, to remember Henry is to remember everything that had come so rapidly after the loss of my naivety. Despite the passing of time since losing my parents, the grief mixed so potently with guilt never faded.

After Henry’s no-show, I spent the night at the apartment Nola and Josie shared. It was smaller than the one we currently rent, so I had wrapped myself up in a blanket on their sofa bed, wearing a white t-shirt Josie had given me that ended up smelling like the elusive Henry just from being draped over my body. Hours passed as I ran the gamut of emotions from sorrow for myself to desperate hatred for both of us.

The next day, I’d surreptitiously shoved the t-shirt in my overnight bag, hating myself while doing so and still unable to force myself to stop. Then, after having a quick breakfast with the girls in their local greasy spoon, I’d made my way home.

If only I had known what awaited me.

As I walked closer to our neighbourhood, a feeling of such horrible foreboding washed over me. A wretched smell lingering in the air seemed stronger with each step homeward I took.

Rounding the curve onto our street, I saw two ambulances, a massive fire truck, several police cars and, what appeared to be, the entire neighbourhood.

Before any of it could really register with me and the implication of why these people were all here, I was swamped by the entire hoard, and snippets of sentences from different voices penetrated my hazy mind.

The words “fire,” “parents,” and “dead” stood out above all else, and I began to feel lightheaded in the face of the onslaught. Thankfully, two plainclothes detectives had chosen that moment to take it upon themselves to clear the crowd, each gently grasping an elbow to steer me closer to what had been, up until that day, my childhood home.

Now it was just some burnt, blackened, crumbling walls and a whole lot of ash and smoke.

Taking in the devastation, I felt something switch inside of me. It was almost as though I went into autopilot and stayed there for several weeks. Pulling myself out of the haze of guilt that gnawed at me daily took a strength I didn’t know I possessed. But I did it.

The fire turned out to have been caused by a candle one of my parents had left burning in the kitchen, so the house and life insurance pay-outs were minimal, to say the very least, but just enough to put towards going to university.

I opted to get a qualification in office management, something the girls and I agreed definitely played to the strengths I’d developed during my time at St. Fintan’s. And even if it’s not something I’m overly passionate about, it will pay the bills.

I’m grateful to be where I am now, having graduated only a couple of weeks ago, so I’m finally at a place in my life where I can begin to apply for positions, to stand on my own two feet.

To live the life I so desperately wanted before my parents had died, even while knowing that this life wouldn’t be possible if circumstances were different. If my parents had remembered to extinguish the candle before going to bed. But that’s a guilt I’ve had to learn to live with, just as I’ve learned that their expectations of me were borderline abusive, according to the girls and Alex.

They’d been astounded to learn the manner of my upbringing, but it was in disclosing some long-held truths to my best friends that I was able to grow and embrace this new me with all I am.

I’ve even started to get out on the dating scene—not that it’s all it’s cracked up to be.