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“Zara,” he answers on the first ring, “What’s up?”
“Sorry to bug you—”
“Fuck, what’s wrong?” I hear the worry in his voice and wish I hadn’t called him. He’s busy in Melbourne; the last thing he needs is me causing him concern.
Doing my best to pull all the fear from my voice, I say, “No, nothing’s wrong. I was just wondering who’s gonna be watching me tonight.”
“Fuck, I should have called to let you know. The threat turned out to be false. You don’t need to worry about any of it now.”
“Oh… okay…. That’s good.” Shit.
“You sure you’re okay? You sound off.”
“Yeah. Sorry, I had a bad day. But I’m okay.”
“Lily told me you had a bad appointment today. When’s your next one?”
“Next Tuesday.” I booked a heap of weekly appointments the first time I went, and as much as I hate them, and as much as today’s was awful, I know I need to just keep showing up. When I’m not in the thick of it all, I can rationally agree that this is the thing I need to do. It’s only when all my feelings are heightened and I can’t think straight that I react by deciding the opposite. Somehow, I need to find the middle, calm ground and make all my decisions from there. But that’s a problem for another day. Right now I just need to get through tonight.
“Good,” he says. “I’m proud of you, Zara.”
Oh God.
When King says stuff like that, it’s huge for me. He’s not the kind of man to give away sentiments, so when he does, it hits me in the feels. He’s told me twice now that he’s proud of me. The other time was the night of my high school graduation award ceremony. After getting terrible grades all the way up until the end of grade ten, I worked hard to pull them up, and I succeeded. In year twelve, I achieved the highest mark in history for our year and received an award for it. I’d been so proud of myself, and couldn’t wait for my parents to watch me walk across that stage to receive the award. Especially my father. After all, I’d aimed to bring my grades up in order to get his attention mostly. When I’d learned he wouldn’t be attending that ceremony, I was devastated. And I’d felt like an unwanted child, which was ridiculous because Mum and King were always there for me, always showing me they loved me. When King pulled me aside right before we left for the ceremony that night and told me he was proud of me and that he’d seen the work I put in for two years, it was the moment I decided he would be the one I turned to as my father going forward.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice wobbly. “I love you, King.”
“I love you, too. Now, tell me if there’s anything I need to be con
cerned about, because if I find out shit’s going down and you’re not doing well, and I don’t know about it, there’s gonna be hell to pay.”
I swallow my emotions. This is King being soppy and it means everything to me. “I’m struggling, yes, but I think I’m starting to get my head around stuff. I promise there’s nothing for you to be concerned about.”
“You call me if you need shit. I should be home early next week.”
“I will.”
He ends the call without a goodbye. He never ends a call with one and I don’t think he ever will. But it doesn’t bother me, because that’s just King.
I place my phone on the passenger seat and put both hands on the steering wheel.
I can do this.
I don’t need anyone with me to feel safe.
Deep breath.
I’m going to do this.
I press my foot to the pedal and drive, focusing on my breathing and my thoughts. It takes some hardcore work to push the paranoid thoughts away, but I manage to make it the cinema complex without turning around and going back home.
Putting the car in park, I kill the engine and survey the car park. Although it’s almost 8:30 p.m. and dark out, it’s well lit. I can’t see anyone around, but my thoughts take me to the mental place where I believe people are hiding behind pillars, waiting to attack me.
Fuck.
Why can’t I just be normal again?
Deep breath.
