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Isla pauses in her doorway. For a second, I think she might look at me, but she doesn’t. She retreats inside her room, shutting the door softly this time. I swallow, blinking back the hurt, and take a small step toward her door, but the weight of everything presses down on me. I feel suffocated by her words, the anger, and the tension that’s always between us. My fingers curl at my sides. I want to fix this. I want to make it right, but I can’t. I don’t think she will let me.

Taking a deep breath, my shoulders heavy, I turn toward the stairs. Grant is already at the door and Mum is digging through her bag. Following them outside, I step into the cool air and drag in a breath. It doesn’t help.

The grocery store is loud and bright, the fluorescent lights and crowded aisles a strange contrast to the storm still twisting in my chest. I push the trolley along mechanically as Mum rattles off the list of things we need, and Grant complains about the prices of things as usual, even though he makes more money than he knows what to do with. I try to let the normalcy wash over me, to focus on the mundane, but my mind keeps replaying Isla’s words. I can’t help but wonder where Ash is and what he’s doing. I miss him terribly.

When we finally pull into the driveway, I let out a long, tired sigh. Robotically, I move around the kitchen, packing things away, feeling more depressed as the day goes on. I try to distract myself with TV, flipping through channels half-heartedly, but nothing appeals to me. I pull a book off the shelf, trying to sink into someone else’s world, but the words blur on the page. My thoughts keep sneaking back to Ash, to Isla, and to the fight. I can’t quieten the questions and the what-ifs. Every sentence I read seems hollow. I’m here, but I’m not. Time drags by as I gaze out the window, imagining over and over again Ash appearing and offering to take me away. Then my mind spirals and pictures him with Isla, and my fantasy shatters in pieces around me.

‘Isla,’ Mum calls out. ‘Dinner is almost ready.’

There’s no sound from upstairs. I feel on edge waiting for her arrival, but it doesn’t come.

‘Bryn, can you get her please? She’s probably got that bloody music cranked up to a deafening volume again.’

My stomach knots. I nod, pushing my fear down, forcing myself to climb the stairs. Each step feels heavier than the last, and my heart thuds in my chest. I reach her door and knock softly.

‘Isla?’ My voice trembles more than I want. No answer. I try again, a little louder. ‘Hey … you okay?’

Still nothing. Sighing, I open the door. She’s in her bed, her head resting awkwardly against the pillow, her arms limp by her side.

‘Isla?’ I whisper. I sit softly beside her, and when the mattress dips under my weight, she doesn’t stir. Gently shaking her arm, I wait for her response. Her skin feels cold under my fingers, and her eyes stay closed.

‘Isla?’ I shake her again, speaking louder this time. Panic swells inside my chest. I stumble back to the door. ‘Mum! Grant!’ I yell, my voice breaking.

The sound of their footsteps racing up the stairs fills me with dread. I can’t think. I can’t breathe. All I know is the fear clawing through me and the helplessness pressing down so hard I can barely stand.

Mum and Grant reach her side in seconds, panic written on their faces. They hover beside her, shaking her, calling her name. Her head lolls to one side, and her arm is splayed across the mattress, her body utterly limp. I stand there, frozen, watching in a haze of numbness and horror. It’s like seeing her through a fog; I can see, but it feels unreal, as though none of this is actually happening. Mum’s voice cracks as she yells Isla’s name, and Grant’s hands shake as he lifts her slightly, trying to get a reaction. I press my hands to my face, unable to tear my eyes away, my heart hammering, stomach twisting. Every second stretches endlessly, and I feel like I’m watching from outside my own body, powerless to do anything.

‘Isla! Come on, wake up!’ Mum pleads, and for a moment, the terror in her voice cuts through my numbness.

My knees threaten to buckle, but I force myself to stay, to witness, to be here for her even when everything inside me wants to disappear. My hands cover my mouth, trying to stop the sob that threatens to escape me as Mum’s desperate pleas fill the room. Grant shouts her name again, and I realise with a cold certainty that nothing will ever be the same after this.

38

ASH

Now

The clatter of weights echoes through the gym. I grip the barbell, my muscles straining with each press. The burn is a welcome distraction from the thoughts that refuse to leave me alone. Sweat drips down my face, stinging my eyes, but I barely notice it. Every rep is mechanical and practiced. I push harder, forcing my body to take the punishment my mind can’t. The clang of the weights, the rhythm of my breathing, and the ache in my arms calm me.

I set the barbell down, my chest heaving, and stare at my reflection in the mirror. The gym is quiet, the fluorescent lights harsh. I’m exhausted from my late night at work, but I pushed myself to the gym before heading home for the night. I rack the barbell and take a deep breath, still feeling the burn in my arms.

‘Hey,’ a voice chirps from behind me. I glance over to see the girl from the front desk, clipboard in hand, her hair pulled into a messy bun. ‘Mind if I spot you sometime?’ She flashes a smile that’s supposed to be playful but lands somewhere between too eager and rehearsed, like she’s been hyping herself up to do this for a while.

I shake my head. ‘I’m good,’ I say, returning my focus to the mirror.

‘Oh, come on,’ she teases, leaning a little closer. ‘Don’t be like that. I just want to help you push yourself a little more.’

I glance at her briefly, then back at my reflection, my jaw tight. My expression is flat and controlled.

‘I said I’m good,’ I repeat, firmer this time.

Her smile falters for a second, but she recovers.

‘Oh …’ she trails off as she retreats, her cheeks burning red, the clipboard clutched to her chest.

I exhale sharply, rolling my shoulders. I don’t hate the attention; I barely notice it. My mind isn’t here. It isn’t anywhere near her, because she’s not Bryn.

The gym is nearly empty now. My muscles scream from the last set, but I push through a final one, letting the burn ground me and the rhythm of my movements drown out the thoughts clawing at the edges of my mind. I grab my towel, wipe the sweat from my face, and sling my gym bag over my shoulder.