18

Olivia lay on the ground for God knows how long. The stars above seemed much further away than they had before. Now she felt as inconsequential as a speck of dust. When she tried to stand up, her hands cut by the sharp pebbles, her body felt heavy and in pain. Pain like she’d never felt before. Her heart hurt almost as much as… She couldn’t even put words to it. What had happened to her?

She scrambled to her feet after what seemed like an eternity. She walked through the field, burrs crunching underfoot, her shoes forgotten, her singlet ripped, her panties left in the dirt. She felt like she couldn’t draw enough breath, her lungs refusing to inflate fully. Olivia couldn’t focus on any one thing. She smoothed down her skirt, feeling a lump in her pocket. With fingers that didn’t want to work properly, she reached and found her car keys. She looked at them, then looked at her nails, caked with dirt. What had she been doing?

She stumbled through the large open gate filled with tire marks and saw her car, the only one left, sitting there waiting. Hadn’t anyone seen the car and thought, I wonder if that person needs help?

She pushed the button unlocking the doors, then slid behind the wheel, hissing in pain as her body came into contact with the chair. Gently, she sat back down and turned on the car, her bare foot pressed against the pedal. She accelerated too fast, corrected the wheel, and nearly hit the gate post. With a short sharp scream, she stopped, let out a shaky breath and tried again. This time she managed to get herself on to the road without any further mishaps.

Olivia didn’t remember the drive home. She must have been on autopilot, her body engaging, her mind somewhere else.

The lights in her house were burning brightly. Her dad was still up then. She would sneak through the back and go straight to her room. She parked the car on the street instead of the driveway and walked gingerly through the back door, carefully inserting her key so her dad didn’t hear her. She was later than she normally was, but she hoped he was on the couch after one too many glasses of red wine and not watching the time of her arrival.

Easing open her bedroom door, Olivia took in the scene. Her walls were still covered with posters of nineties boy bands of which she was obsessed, unicorn and cloud pillows, a pink-and-white cupcake comforter and lace curtains. It was the room of a girl. Everything screamed innocence. With a cry torn straight from her soul, she pulled the comforter from the bed, throwing it on the floor. Next, she picked up each cushion and threw them wildly, knocking over her pencils, her plant and crashing her laptop to the floor.

She started to sob as she ripped the posters into little chunks that scattered from her hands like confetti.