The Fall Ch. 07

He knocked on the door, feeling guilty and stupid.

'What are you doing here?' Lydia asked, slightly panicked.

'I need to talk to you about Dylan. I'm not hitting on you. I don't want to sleep with you. Please, stop looking at me like that.'

She looked wary.

'Please,' he said.

She was uncertain. 'Sorry. It's just the way you're looking at me is more than a little freaky.'

He smiled wryly. 'I can only imagine.'

She softened. 'Okay.'

He stepped inside. 'Good. Thanks. Do you mind if I sit out the back and have a cigarette first?'

She visibly relaxed, the last of the tension leaving her body. 'No. I might join you.'

They sat out the back together and looked at the yards. The grass was overgrown and a gate had been cut open, most likely by kids looking for somewhere new and interesting to ride their trail bikes.

As they smoked, he apologised for scaring her.

'In hindsight, you don't really seem to be rapist material,' she joked.

'Too short,' he agreed.

'It's not that. You're still taller and stronger than me.' She glanced at him. 'You looked terrifying.'

He laughed softly. 'Again, I'm sorry. If a man followed me home without explaining why, I'd be pretty worried.'

She took a draw on her cigarette. 'So why are you here?'

'I need to talk to you about Dylan. I need to tell you why he broke up with you.'

'Oh. I'm not sure I need to hear this.'

'You do,' he admitted. 'He didn't want to break things off. He came over on the day of the storm telling us how great you were, how much he loved being with you, etcetera etcetera. He wanted to know what we thought about relocating for a partner, but neither Alan nor I wanted to talk about it because we were too busy arguing with each other.

You know how it is with Alan and I. You've seen it. If I had a billboard sign around my neck it would say 'Alcoholic, three kids to three women, fights with Alan, has strange sexual preferences'.'

She shrugged. 'Okay, so where is this heading?'

'We got the sheep rounded up and moved. It took hours, but we got it done just as the storm was hitting. We ran up to the big house to sit on the deck and watch it roll over. The wind was insane. It lifted a piece of iron off the roof and flung it into the front yard. It was pouring down rain and the ceiling in the kitchen was going to collapse from the weight of it. I wanted to go up on the roof and put a tarp over it.'

Lydia fiddled with her cigarettes but didn't light one. 'Did Dylan get up on the roof with you?'

'He did.' He glanced over at her. 'I fell and knocked him off the roof. He broke his back.'

'Oh shit,' she swore. She stared at the ground. 'How badly?'

'He's paralysed. He's still in hospital. He'll be there for months.'

She was shaking her head and her eyes were closed. He could see her assimilating what he'd told her. She was understanding the repercussions.

'Why didn't anyone tell me?' she asked.

'Because you're a drunk,' he offered weakly. 'He said he couldn't protect you anymore. We thought, well, we thought he was right. Everyone agreed to keep it a secret.'

Her blue eyes flickered over onto him, and she wore a hard expression. 'So everyone knew but me?'

He nodded. 'I'm sorry Lydia. You don't know how sorry I am.'

'You fucking piece of shit,' she swore softly. 'You fucking pieces of shit, all of you. Why the fuck would you do that? You devastated me and you... oh my God. Oh fuck. You've paralysed him? What's he supposed to do now?'

'I don't know. He won't speak to me.'

'I don't blame him,' she said. 'Oh fuck. I loved him so much.' She stood up and looked around. Then she turned to him, her hands on her hips. 'Do you understand anything about maintaining this property?'

He nodded. 'Do you want me to contact the solicitor? I can give him a program.'

She nodded. 'Yes. Please. I'm going back to Brisbane. I need to see him.'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dylan was sharing a room with a twenty-one year old kid who wrapped his Skyline around a power pole in Sunnybank. Corey had been here three months and wasn't going home anytime soon, but his friends and family still visited every night.

It was different for Dylan. He didn't want to see anyone other than immediate family, and given him family lived nearly three hours away, his weekdays were quiet. He liked it that way. Recovery was a very personal thing. There was a lot to deal with, and he wanted to work through it without having to deal with other people's grief and pity.

He missed Lydia, but he missed her a little less each day. All the same, he retained fond memories of her. The crazy shit she did. The way she'd smiled at him. Talked to him. Loved him.

Michelle had never walked around naked, and he'd never really had a good look at her body, but Lydia had let him look. She'd shower with him, and swim naked in the river. He loved her body, and he knew every inch of it. Her arms and legs and face were tanned, but her feet and torso, where her clothes covered her, where white. Her bright red hair reached her bra line, and when it was a few weeks since she'd dyed it, she'd have dark roots at the top of her head.

There was a tattoo of a panther on her left arse cheek, hibiscus flowers down her left arm, and a girl in a hooded cloak riding a mammoth on her shoulder blade. There were stars on her wrists. A zebra one foot and an elephant on the other. A koi on her right rib cage. She said that one had hurt the most, and she'd almost passed out from the pain.

Her breasts were firm, her stomach was soft, and her bum and thighs were dimpled. She had long, hard toenails, and she swore when she tried to clip them. She had pubic hair. He'd never seen pubic hair on a woman, even Michelle had shaved it off, but he liked it on her. It signified something, that it was hiding something dark and moist and wonderful.

When they'd first started sleeping together, his knowledge of porn was comprehensive, and his knowledge of real women was pathetic. She'd shown him things. She'd taught him how wet a woman could get when she was aroused, and he'd always felt accomplished when he felt her damp underwear and realised she was swollen and sticky with lust.

She'd shown him what it was like when a woman orgasmed. When they'd spent a night or two apart, and they were both stupidly horny, they'd both climax in minutes. She never made him feel bad about it. It was merely something for them to laugh about.

He'd learned how much intimacy and love enhanced sex. He hadn't expected that. He'd never really grasped what it was to make love to someone. He'd always thought of making love as something slow and gentle and boring, but he now understood you could make love to someone while fucking their brains out or sucking on their pierced nipples like you were an infant overdue for a feed.

Lydia had made him feel good. Whole. Like a man. Now he was a fucking cripple, and he knew he'd never get to feel that way again so he was glad he'd got to experience it at least for a few months of his life. It somehow made the future more bearable.

He also had the photos of her he'd taken that night at Cyril's house. He knew that ethically speaking, he should probably delete them, but the reality was that he never would. They made him happy. Horny, too, even though shit just didn't work the way it used to. There was a huge disconnect between his brain and his cock.

In the bed next to him, Corey's family said their good-byes and left. Dylan checked the time. Quarter to eight. Visiting hours ended at eight thirty and by nine the wards were noticeably quieter. He flicked through his phone and looked at the pictures of Lydia bent over Cyril's table, her skirt hiked up around her waist and her underwear around her ankles.

The curtains around his room were opened and he guiltily exited the gallery and looked up to see who it was. He thought it would be a nurse or aid. Instead, it was Lydia.

What was she doing here? How did she know where he was? There had been an agreement. Everyone had concurred that there was no point telling her. He'd only drag her further down than she already was. She didn't need this shit in her life.

'What the fuck are you doing here?' he demanded, trying to sit up.

She went to speak, but either she couldn't force the words out, or she didn't know what to say. He felt suddenly guilty. She looked so beautiful and yet so lost. She was obviously in a better geographic position these days to visit her hairdresser, and her hair was stunning. She was dressed in work boots, shorts and a tee, and her magnificent chest was on display. All the same, the expression on her face was one of utter uncertainty and he thought guiltily that he might have been too harsh.

'Never mind,' she muttered. 'I thought you might want to see me... I wanted you to know I've stopped drinking... bought a house... Really, never mind. I should go. You obviously don't want to know me.'

She turned around and left, her boots thumping along the hallway.

Oh shit. Why had he spoken to her so roughly? This wasn't her fault. He still loved her as much as he always had. He reached for his phone and stared at the messages they'd sent each other. She was the only woman who had been stupid, drunk and deluded enough to call him hot stuff. She'd actually wanted to be with him. Fucking Kyle and Alan.

He texted her.

Sorry Lydia, didn't mean to snap. Just don't want to put you through the hassle. Glad to hear you've stopped drinking.

He sent the message and thought about the last part. She'd stopped drinking? That just seemed impossible. She loved her grog. On her drinking days he'd been almost able to feel her anticipation as she waited until what she felt was a suitable time to start boozing up.

She didn't respond to his message, which he figured was fair enough. He was curious, though, about how she'd found out. Someone must have let it slip, but who? He'd cut off contact with everyone who wasn't family, and he no longer went on any form of social media, so he had no idea who it might be.

Dylan tapped his fingers on the sheet and debated texting a few people to see if they could enlighten him. His heart was racing, and he knew he'd be too agitated to fall asleep anytime soon. He decided to try Kyle's son, Neal. He was the bluntest, most no-holds-barred person he knew.

Neal, just had Lydia visit. Do you know how she found out?

Neal didn't reply. Of course not.

Dylan reached under the blanket and touched his right thigh. Useless. The flesh was already starting to waste away. He'd lost over ten kilos in the past six weeks. He was lightest he'd been in over fifteen years, but he was uglier than ever. He'd probably never walk again. His injury was incomplete, but what little sensation he had left didn't offer him much hope for a decent life.

The staff said he was lucky. His recovery was going incredibly well. He'd mastered the art of bladder and bowel care in record time, and he easily achieved reflex erections. The last point made him cringe with shame. There was a specialist here who liked to talk about sex and relationships. All of the other men were keenly interested in what he had to say. Dylan wasn't. He couldn't imagine anything worse than inflicting himself on a woman.

One of the nurses came in to check on him. She asked him who his visitor had been.

'Lydia. She was my girlfriend at the time of the accident,' he said. 'She shouldn't have come. I broke things off just after the accident, when I realised I couldn't feel my legs. I don't even know how she found out I was here.'

'So she didn't know about your injury?'

'Uh, no,' he replied.

She said 'hmmm' under her breath, and Dylan turned away defensively. They were so nosey in here. There was no privacy or dignity to speak of. Everything he thought, said or did was analysed and questioned.

It was going to be worse when he went home. He'd be stuck at his parent's house for the rest of his life. Anyone they invited over would have access to him. He'd have nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. Nothing to do. And what would he do when his parents eventually passed away? He didn't want to think about it. The future seemed incredibly bleak and depressing.

His phone started ringing and he picked it up and cancelled the call.

'Was that one of your friends?' the nurse inquired.

'I don't have friends.'

She finished checking him over, but paused before leaving his little curtained enclave and stared at him. He glared at her, willing her to leave. Lydia had always said he looked incredibly fierce and angry when he was feeling defensive, but the nurse was older, more experienced, and less able to be intimidated.

'You might want friends one day,' she said. 'If I were you, I'd return that call.'

She closed the curtain behind her and walked over to Corey. The nurses liked Corey. He was a C5 quadriplegic with a complete injury but still he tried. He openly told people that he was no longer a good salesman, and no longer a good lover, but he may as well try and be a good person. He was still good-looking, too, even though he'd had to ditch the artistic facial hair now that he could barely shave without slitting his jugular.

They'd been put in the same room because the nurses figured that Corey's good nature would rub off on Dylan. So far they'd been proven incorrect, although Dylan himself didn't half mind his room mate. They spoke at night, after everyone had gone home and it was just the two of them. They'd both managed to injure themselves out of sheer stupidity. They were both relatively young. They both spent hours replaying their accident, and thinking of how differently things could have turned out.

Dylan picked up his phone. He dialled Neal's number, hoping he wouldn't answer and he'd have an excuse to text him. He had no such luck. Neal picked up almost immediately.

'Didn't think you were actually going to speak to anyone again,' Neal teased. 'How's it going?'

Dylan tried to rummage up a suitable answer. 'Pretty well, all things considering,' he replied. 'How's it going living with Claire? Still good?'

'Mate, I'm loving every part of it except for her parent's visits. They're over right now. They seem to think that because they don't start work until nine in the morning, nobody else does. They won't fuck off until at least ten o'clock.'

'Oh shit, sorry mate. I'll call you another time.'

'No, don't hang up,' Neal demanded. 'If you hang up, I have to speak to them. I got your text before. You said Lydia came in to visit you?'

'Yeah.'

'It was my old man. He was the one that told her. I called him after I got your text, because I had a feeling it was him.' Neal hesitated. 'He didn't tell her because he wanted to hurt you. He told her because he thought it might be good for you both to try and work things through.'

'So he rang her and told her?'

'No,' Neal corrected. 'She came out to look at Cyril's property. Maintenance or something, Dad didn't say much. He just said he'd run into her at the bank. Apparently she bought a house.'

'She said something about that.'

'Apparently she saw it this morning and decided to buy it.'

'Sounds like Lydia,' Dylan agreed.

Neal snorted, amused. 'She was good for laugh, wasn't she? It's so boring without her. Everyone just agrees we should have as many guns as we want. I still remember her telling us men buy guns because it isn't appropriate for us to walk around holding our cocks all day.'

Dylan laughed at the memory. 'I still remember her talking about the pigs.'

'I walked in on her showing Claire her tits during a lunch at Nanna's. I thought they were doing the washing up. Nup. Lydia had her tits out and Claire was feeling them up.'

'You never told me that.'

'I didn't know how you'd take it. I thought it was a bit of alright, but given Michelle's a lesbian, I thought you might take it the wrong way. Claire said she just wanted to know how realistic they were, and next thing she knew, Lydia had them out and was showing her.'

Dylan wasn't surprised. 'Of course she did.'

Neal laughed again. 'So, how did it go? Did you speak to Lydia? What's the go?'

Dylan admitted he'd snapped at her, and the conversation turned serious. It was the first time Dylan had communicated with any of his old friends since the accident. A lot had built up inside him, and it all started coming out. One he started, he couldn't stop.

An hour later, he got a grip of himself and thanked Neal for listening. He told him to tell Kyle he wasn't angry that Lydia knew. It had been stupid to lie to her. He'd get in touch with her and try and clear things up.

'You going to try to rekindle things with her?' Neal asked.

Dylan hesitated. 'Nah, probably not. But I still want to sort things out, you know?'

'I know. Unfinished business is no good. Hey, we might see you this weekend, if that's alright?'

He hesitated again. 'Okay,' he said eventually. 'Only if it's not a bother.'

~~~~~~~

Lydia awoke to the morning from hell. Her landlord was now demanding she move out as soon as possible, her cat had picked up fleas, and one of her clients didn't like the cover she'd designed for their journal but at the same time, didn't know what they wanted.

Why was she even stuck doing cover design? She'd only agreed to do it for them as a favour, because their old designer had quit without notice. Five issues on later, she was still designing covers. She wanted to tell them to shove it. Instead, she angrily did up six new options and sent them through, after which she headed to the vet to buy flea treatment.

'I didn't miss you while I was in the country, Jake,' she said as the animal meowed pitifully. 'Stop whining. I know my parents fed you the premium food, but that ship has sailed. It makes your shit stink so much I feel like I'm living in a sewer.'

She'd just finished with Jake when the phone rang. It was Chloe, her twenty year old property manager, sounding bright and bubbly.

'Did you get my email?' Chloe asked.

'About moving out? Yeah, I did. I was going to respond. I put a deposit on a place yesterday. I was just going to wait until the inspections went through and...'

'...so how long until you're out?'

Lydia gritted her teeth. 'I'll let you know if and when the inspections and finance come through.'

Chloe sighed, as if Lydia was being completely unreasonable. It was as if the young woman didn't actually grasp the concept of leases. Lydia bristled at the attitude but didn't speak.

'Look,' Chloe said, her voice becoming patronising. 'We're trying to help you.'

'No, you're not,' Lydia snorted . 'I have a lease, something you seem to conveniently be forgetting. I'm making an effort to find somewhere else. I don't think I'm asking too much.'

'But the owner...'

'...I don't care about the owner. The owner doesn't care about me. We both know that I'll eventually move out, you'll come up with some farcical reason to send in a cleaner or replace a cupboard or carpets, just so you can get kickbacks from the mates of yours who you send in to do the work, and I'll be lucky to get a quarter of my bond back. You'll never give me a rental reference, and if you do, you'll describe me as 'difficult'. So, given I'm already in the shittier position, how about you fuck right off and if finance goes through, I'll give you a vacate date?'

There was silence.

'Fine,' Chloe agreed. 'That sounds good.'

'Excellent. I'll be in touch.'

Lydia threw her phone onto her couch and went and sat on the balcony to smoke. She'd only just lit up when her phone started ringing again. She swore angrily and loudly, to no one in particular, and walked inside to collect it. She hated talking on the phone, but what was even worse was listening to a voicemail and returning a call. It was better just to get the misery over and done with.