The problem with reality was when you took yourself away from it, even for a short time, the accumulation of unreal occurrences combined to make what could only be described as unreality.
And unreality was a world that didn’t follow the usual rules and allowed personal thoughts, the very essence of oneself to change, to evolve or deteriorate, to be that person or become another without reason because unreality was not real.
After several days of distant thoughts, tired emotions and fragmented memories, Helena was unable to process the sudden appearance of her workbag containing her clothes, phone, books and iPad. She had not brought it with her when she had arrived at her parents’ home; all she had brought were the clothes she had been wearing and a sheet of tablets the site doctor had given. Her mother, seeing her empty stare, had brought her in, run her a bath and had said very little. She had given her warm pyjamas and made up the sofa bed before letting her rest. And rest Helena had. Days it had been. Wake, eat, and fall back asleep. The pills helped keep thoughts and memories from becoming real, instead allowing her a drowsy stupor, not letting her know what day it was or even how or why she had come to her childhood home, all she knew was that this was better than the alternative.
Now her workbag sat at the end of the bed, its mysterious arrival causing Helena to sit up slowly. She methodically began checking its contents. The sight of her work clothes had brought her close to panic, the idea of checking her phone felt hazardous, even her iPad might hold some hidden danger and drag her down to a depth from which she couldn’t resurface. So, she left her bag and rested her head back on the cushions and closed her eyes searching for the peace of unreality. What was so dangerous about the work clothes? Why didn’t she want to check her phone—who was she afraid of? Jim? She bit her lip when his name entered her thoughts. Was she scared of him or angry with him or was it something else? Helena didn’t know. All she knew was that if she wrapped the soft blankets around her body as tight as she could, she would be safe. And so she did.
*****
Waking to the dark of night, Helena’s mind battled to make out her surrounds. The ceiling fan hung above her, its three blades highlighted in the moonlight and reminded her she was back at her parents’ home, in the spare room, her once bedroom. Two long frames of family photos hung on the wall with Helena’s old dusty dressing table in between. And then she noticed something strange. A large silhouette sat at the end of her bed. She looked sharply at the shape and startled when the figure moved ever so slightly. Helena could make out a man’s back, square shoulders, his body sitting over the side of the fold-out bed. The hunched figure breathed slowly, though from his positioning she knew he could not be asleep. She didn’t want to startle the person and knew her slightest movement would alert him to her conscious state. She closed her eyes, hoping to fall back asleep only to find her heart thumping too hard and fast.
Was she dreaming? She reopened her eyes. The figure remained. His posture was one of defeat, a tired person at their end, much like herself. It could be an illusion, it may be just another unreality, another moment of declining madness as she waited to be swallowed whole. Only he, yes it was definitely a man, was there sitting at the end of her sofa-bed. Though the darkness hid his face, she knew who it must be sitting there with his head in his hands.
“Jim?” Helena’s voice sounded sick and gravelly, its lack of use obvious. His head turned in the darkness, his expression unfathomable.
He didn’t answer.
“What are you doing here?” She tried to sit up, but found herself bound by twisted blankets. She heard an unusual rustling sound as she wriggled. He had something under his hand that was making the noise. He laughed bitterly then shook his head, “Me?”
“What’s so funny?”
He sounded defeated, “Nothing. How are you feeling?”
She was weak, confused and fatigued, but couldn’t bear to talk about that so she answered, “I’m okay. You?”
Again, he chuckled bitterly, “Yeah, I’m okay, now. You scared me.” He didn’t elaborate.
Helena didn’t understand, but a dim part inside herself sparked to life. “What did I do?”
She saw him stiffen, his head turned as if to speak to her, but then turned away slowly. Again, she heard the rustle. “You didn’t do anything,” he said smoothly. “It’s just… When I didn’t hear from you… I didn’t know you were here, and when I came here looking for you, your mum said you weren’t well.” It was clear Jim chose the words carefully.
“I’m fine.” Helena folded her arms defiantly.
“Oh, well that’s a relief then,” he bit back.
“I didn’t ask you to run around after me.” Her annoyance made her feel better, stronger.
“No, you just disappeared off the face of the earth. Sorry for caring.”
She pointed her finger in his shadowed face. “Since when do you care about me?”
He moved up the sofa bed so that they sat face-to-face. She realised then that it had been a bag of frozen peas that had created the rustling sound, his hand resting on it. Jim struggled to keep his voice low. “What? Are you shitting me right now? You, who didn’t bother to let me know you were going AWOL? Who didn’t even take her phone out to let anyone know where she was, are lecturing me on caring for others?” There was something in what he said that sent alarm bells off with Helena, but she ignored it as a rush of angry energy surged through her. Her response was immediate.
“You care where and when it suits you, Jim. Face it; if Kelly clicked her fingers, you would be jumping for treats. I could be dying of a heart attack and you wouldn’t notice. You only care right now because you feel like caring.”
He scoffed, “Yeah, that’s it, you’ve got me, I only care about you when I feel like it. Forget the past twenty years when I’ve done everything for you.”
“What have you ever done for me?”
“Seriously? Are we going to do this? Fine. Let’s see, I’ve looked after you, I paid the bills and rent for years, I’ve always put you first…”
“When? When have I ever come first?” He was now only inches from her. Helena could feel the heat radiating off him. The bag of frozen peas fell to the floor. Even in the darkness she could see the lines under his eyes, he was unshaven and hadn’t brushed his hair for days. Again, a distant thought tried to gain her attention, but she ignored it, concentrating on his words so she could prepare for her next rebuttal.
“Everything I do, every thought I have starts and ends with you and if you’re too blind or stubborn or stupid to see it, there’s nothing I can do.”
The kindling had done its job, the fire which had been growing inside her burst to life. “I’m not stupid!” she shouted. “If you cared so much, why didn’t you tell me about that ring?”
“What ring?”
“So, you are lying to me as well.” She had used her ace and had gotten the expected result. He turned away from her, his face re-joining the shadows.
“It’s complicated,” he said, all anger drained from his voice.
“I bet,” she couldn’t help but add.
She wanted him to fire back, but he stood up, “I think I’ll go home and get some sleep.”
It wasn’t until he was out of the room and the door clicked shut that her anger and hurt dampened enough for her to put the thoughts and alarms together to realise Jim probably hadn’t slept in days. He must’ve gone and got her things from the mine. He had been looking for her and not rested until he knew she was okay. And then there was the mystery of the frozen peas?
The combination of many realisations crushing in on her all at once made Helena groan as a likely scenario played out in front of her. She slapped herself on the forehead swearing then jumped out of bed. Her leg muscles felt wobbly as she propelled herself out of the room. She trampled through her parent’s home, bashing into several objects before finding the front door. She opened the door and caught a glimpse of Jim’s car making its way down the street.
“What the hell? Helena is that you? What’s going on?” her father’s voice called down the hallway.
She closed the door and turned back, “Sorry Dad, it’s complicated.”