Chapter 2
Tori
Dear Diary/Journal/Whatever bloody hell this is…
This was a stupid idea. Don’t even know why doing it. Therapist clearly loopy because how is writing down what happened going to help? Just want to forget. Blot out everything, make it stop— no, please, hurting me—
Come on Tori, deep breaths. Can do this even if you can’t see point…
Besides, have always loved books and words, made a living telling other people’s stories.
Just turns out writing your own isn’t so easy…
Nothing else has worked though. Will moving over a hundred and fifty miles south make a difference?
Even on drive here, dark thoughts made hands clench around steering wheel, knuckles straining against skin.
Ignored calls and voicemails. No way am I doing it, they can’t make me—
There was a knock on front door earlier.
Shit.
Sound of feet in corridor. Next-door neighbour, old guy with riot of white hair and blue eyes in crinkled face? Looks bit like Ian McKellen. Hope he’s not do-gooder type, always knocking. Last thing I need is Gandalf-the-bloody-Grey making nuisance of himself.
Urgh. What’s happened to me? Don’t like this person.
Used to be social, fun… happy. Now anxiety clouds everything and want to hide behind closed curtains all day.
Not fair, what he took from me, what he did.
Am no longer the Tori who gloried in colour and bustle, flicking black spiral curls, wearing tight-fitting clothes and multitude of chunky jewellery.
Am scared the girl who was part of large, obnoxiously loud Italian-rooted family is gone for good.
Knocking repeated. They weren’t getting the message. If someone doesn’t answer door, they’re out or don’t want to be disturbed. Just WANTED TO BE LEFT ALONE. Didn’t want to go to meeting about weird contract signed when dad helped me buy this place.
‘Hello? It’s time for our meeting.’ A beat. ‘I’m afraid everyone must attend, especially on moving-in day.’ A pause before the voice, well-cultured but with a slight burr continued. ‘It’s exceptionally important.’ A longer pause. ‘Please?’ The last word trembled.
Sighed. I was right. Gandalf.
Huffing, realised he’d only keep knocking. Pretty determined.
Glancing down at sloppy navy joggers and ratty jumper swamping body and hiding scars, touched a hand to messy bun. Wasn’t wearing make-up and breath was probably rank after three-hour journey fuelled by coffee.
Perfect.
An insistent rap. ‘Are you hurt? Should I call an ambulance?’
‘No! I’m coming, for Christ’s sakes.’ Fucking hell.
Okay, could have been bit more gracious, but trust is an issue and even though he looks like harmless old man, mild exteriors can hide dark interiors.
Flung open door and barked, ‘What?’
Gandalf blinked. ‘Hello, I’m Albie, your new neighbour. Very pleased to meet you.’ His twinkling blue eyes were assessing. ‘We didn’t get a chance to talk properly earlier.’
Obvs too polite to say anything about me avoiding his gaze when he gave directions to manor this morning. ‘Uh-huh.’ Values parents brought me up with, prodded conscience. Bit back a swear word. ‘I’m Tori. Sorry, I had a long journey and needed to unpack.’ Lie. Have hardly any possessions.
‘Ah, yes, Tori. Short for Victoria?’
Huffed at having to make small talk. ‘Vittoria, I have part-Italian family.’
‘How lovely.’ Albie shifted on feet, ‘Shall we walk to the meeting together?’
Know he was being polite, but don’t know him. Needed to get to meeting in my own way.
Meeting. Where there’d be people.
Chest tightened, breath constricted in throat, and panic flipped stomach.
Peered over my shoulder into open-plan apartment.
Chose the one with combined lounge-diner-kitchen, and high white ceilings.
Need airy interior as don’t like feeling enclosed.
Peach silk wallpaper is warm and soothing.
Sighed, feeling calmer just looking at it, and knowing deadbolts fitted on bedroom and bathroom doors.
Safe. Need lots of distance between me and him.
Nothing like my old flat, decorated in jewel tones and full of quirky objects, but what I need.
Didn’t want to go meeting. Wanted to stay here. But couldn’t.
Swallowed and forced smile, trying to remember how used to talk to members of public in old life.
In the before. ‘Thanks, but I’m not ready yet.
I’ll be along in a bit.’ Slammed door before he could ask again, or pry.
Or see what am trying to cover up… I ache to re-join the world, but not brave enough.