The Problem With Crazy (10 page)

My knees raised higher, my feet hit the pavement faster. I felt a light breeze tickle my neck.

How many other people like me had come in here and freaked out? How many others had this disease?

My legs moved triple time and I could feel the burn start to creep over me. I pushed, pushed harder and kept going, determined to run until it was no longer a possibility.

When I felt the sharp pain move from my thighs to my chest, I turned a corner again and slowed to a stop, my hands on my knees, my breath coming short and sharp through my mouth. I gulped down hungry mouthfuls of air, as my legs shook and my heart ached, ripping through my chest.

It feels so good to hurt.

So freaking good.

“You’re—you’re crazy.”

I shot up and turned around. Jogging over to me was the guy from the tree, cigarette still in hand. Sweat circled his white T-shirt under his arms, and I could see the sheen of dampness on his collarbone. The veins were popping out from his thin, yet lightly muscled arms.

“I’m crazy?
You
followed
me
.” If I’d been unsure of his weirdness before, this confirmed it. You don’t follow someone on a jog around a counselling facility after checking her out. It just wasn’t normal.

Says the girl with a potential neurodegenerative disease.

The stranger held up a single finger as if to say “one minute”, then flopped down on the grass, flat on his back, and stretched his arms and legs out as far as they could go. He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling in dramatic peaks and troughs. His left hand was raised, the cigarette hovering dangerously close to the grass.

“You shouldn’t smoke.” I stared disdainfully at the offending item, orange embers still faintly glowing.

“I’m not … I’m not a smoker.” The guy gave me a tiny smile before turning his head to the blue sky above.

“You’re clearly smoking.” I crossed my arms.

“I’m just trying it,” he said, eyes locked on a marshmallow puff of a cloud in the distance. “It’s important to try new things.” His breath was more controlled now, slowing down to something like a normal rate. So was mine. I focused on not breathing at the same time as him.

“When people say that, I don’t think they mean try things that can kill you.” I snorted. I eyed the patch of grass next to him. I was exhausted, physically and mentally from the emotional rollercoaster of the past few days, and I wanted to join him.

Or I would want to join him, if he wasn’t a creep who had checked me out, and then followed me.

A cute creep.

“On the
contraire
.” The stranger grinned. “I think that’s exactly what they mean.”

I furrowed my brows and turned away. “Look, it was nice to meet you, but—”

“What about ‘What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’?” he interrupted. I widened my eyes in disbelief.

“What about it?”

“Well, surely the things that make you stronger have to stand a chance of killing you, hence the distinction in the sentence.”

“So you think the more you smoke, the stronger you’ll be?”

“No.” The boy turned his head and locked his dark eyes with mine. “I’m just saying I’m going to try everything once, and if it hurts, or it gets hard, it’s going to be worth it. It’s about living in the present. Having no regrets.”

I flitted my eyes skyward and turned away. He was “one of those.” I knew the type; moralistic, optimistic and incredibly annoying, all rolled into the one Disney-movie package. Next he’d break out into a chorus of “Don’t Stop Believing.”

“Do you have a list of things you need to try
for the first time
?” My voice was laced with sarcasm.

“Nope.”

“Then how do you remember what you’ve done, and what you need to do?”

The boy pulled something out of the back pocket of his jeans, a small pad of white paper. He waved it in my direction like it was of great importance.

“I capture the image of the best part of the new thing I tried.” He waggled the notebook enthusiastically. “And the way the drawing goes, the way it looks—if it’s rushed or delicate, soft lines or hard—then I remember the experience, and if I regretted it or loved it.”

Right. Because that was normal.

“Well, I hope you don’t regret smoking while jogging,” I said as I walked away. I didn’t look back, but I couldn’t hear any sounds that would indicate he’d moved from his grassy bed.

“I won’t,” he yelled. He sounded like he was smiling.

He was cute—seriously cute—but I had just been dumped, and wasn’t interested, anyway. I thought about my lack of career, my new title of single late-teen lady, my weird family situation and my potential time-bomb-till-diseased future status.

I didn’t look back.

W
HEN
I arrived at the airport, the first thing I saw was Stacey’s blonde ponytail, bobbing amongst the crowds of other teenagers with their oversized bags and print-out tickets. The Coal tour manager had chosen the most popular time of year for our visit to the Gold Coast, an area famed for being Australia’s version of Cancun.

Not ‘our.’

Their.

A few of the girls were wearing matching hot-pink or black velour tracksuits with diamantés on their bums, spelling out words like
princess
or
bitch
. I shuddered. Thank God I’d never felt the slightest urge to wear one of those.

“Stace,” I called out, and pulled my wheelie bag over in her direction. She was leaning against the flight-information desk talking to a very cute male flight attendant. She looked gorgeous as ever in her simple white tank and denim shorts combo.

“Kate.” She threw her arms around me, as if we hadn’t seen each other in months, instead of days. “It is
so
good to see you. I was just telling my new friend Alex here about your stressful day at graduation, what with your dad and all. And about your loser ex-boyfriend.” Stacey’s face turned sombre as she shook her head in Alex’s direction. “Dave & the Glories: never listen to them.”

Now that I knew the truth about Dad’s little outburst, I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. At least, certainly not with Qantas-employee Alex, who looked a little like he thought Stacey’s eyes were located somewhere between her shoulders and her waist. And I’m not talking about her bellybutton.

“Stace, let’s go check in.” I grabbed her arm, hoping to pull her away before the parent talk escalated.

“No! Alex is going to help us with that. He was just saying he wants us to have the best possible start to our trip, especially after—well, you know.” Stacey’s eyes softened as she looked at me. “It’s been a big week for you.”

“Which is why it’s my pleasure to upgrade you two ladies to first class.” Alex hit a final button on the computer and flashed us a giant smile. The guy must have had a whitening treatment; his teeth were so bright, they could have burnt ants if the sun reflected off them at the wrong angle.

“Eek! That’s so exciting.” Stacey gave three tiny jumps up and down and clapped her hands, thanking Alex as she took the two tickets from him.

“My pleasure. I hope you have a lovely flight, and I look forward to seeing you on your return to Sydney.” The words were barely out of his mouth before Stacey had turned and started charging her way through the throngs of people to the baggage check. I quickly followed suit, although I found it a lot more challenging than I’d expected. Stacey expertly navigated her way into the gaps, whereas people seemed to deliberately step in front of me, causing my bag to clip the edge of a chair. Or another bag. Or a little old lady.

We reached our gate with thirty-five minutes to spare and stopped at the end of the very long line.

“I think our tickets give us access to the lounge.” Stacey tapped some letters into her phone to investigate. She perched delicately on the edge of her suitcase while I held mine firm, in case my attempt at “perching” ended up with my body in a scrambled mess on the floor.

“Bitch.”

As soon as I heard his voice my body tensed, fists tightening and my chest seizing up. Two seconds later I felt a firm grip around my upper arm, bony hands digging into my flesh.

“Let go.” I turned to shrug Dave off. He was right up in my face, anger dancing in his green eyes.

“I know you’ve kept the suite,” he spat. “I called to check, and they said you’d transferred it to another hotel.”

“I paid for it.” I pried his fingers from me and gently massaged the area he’d clenched. “And you have another room, one with the boys. What’s the big deal?”

Don’t cry
.

Don’t.

“So what? You paid for it and booked it knowing
I’d
sleep in it.” Dave’s voice was raised, and I saw a few heads turn to look at us. Apparently eavesdropping at the airport was a non-discrete activity.

“Dave, you have a room to stay in, anyway. Look, I’m sorry it’s not …” My voice faltered as he took a step closer. I’d never felt physically intimidated by him, but right here, right now—I was glad there were a lot of people around. Even if they were pretty much all looking at us.

“Maybe you can sleep with one of the girls you flirted with at the show the other night.” Stacey stepped in front of me, acting as a physical shield between Dave and me.

“Of course you’d be here.” Dave snickered. In the background I heard screams; the sort of screams that signalled Lee Collins and Coal had arrived.

“Oh, look, the main event is here.” Stacey smirked. “Why don’t you go offer to carry their luggage or something? You know,
support
them.”

Dave glanced back. He was tall, rising above the crowd, and I saw him make eye contact with Lee, who was being protected from the masses by four security guards.

“This is
not
over.” Dave’s eyes shot daggers into me. He grabbed my hand and dug his nails into my wrist, pulling me close to his skinny chest. “You crazy fucking bitch.”

He whispered the words gently, but they had their desired effect. When Dave released my wrist I felt my knees go weak, and I gripped my suitcase for support.

I wasn’t crazy. Even Dad wasn’t crazy. Sick, he was sick, and—

“So, don’t look now, but Lee Collins is looking at you,” Stacey spoke under her breath. She grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet, throwing back her head and laughing uproariously.

“Laugh, I’m pretending you just said something funny,” she whispered. I managed a weak smile. I tried not to fall apart.

“Just—I need to go.” I grabbed my suitcase handle and started navigating my way through the airport crowds again, Stacey hot on my heels. We made our way to the executive lounge. Thank goodness Dave had been booked into economy class.

I slid into a stool overlooking the tarmac and nodded my thanks to the waiter when a tall glass of water was placed in front of me. I threw it down my throat in one, big gulp, swallowing so hard it hurt.

“So, when do you want to talk?” Stacey asked. I looked around. Hundreds of anonymous heads bobbed around us, different colours, shapes and sizes. Their expressions were tense, as frustration and anger filled the air. The line to board wound its way around the terminal like a shoelace.

“Later.” My voice was somewhere in the soles of my boots.

I flipped my phone out from my pocket and checked it. No new messages. A pang of nostalgia shot through me as I realised I’d expected to hear from Dave, maybe an apology text for overreacting.

Maybe I was wrong about him.

Maybe he was just a jerk.

A girl to the side of us was twirling her long, brown hair around her coral-pink painted nail, chatting away in a high-pitched tone to her friend about their upcoming trip.

“It is going to be great.” She nodded, batting her mascara-clumped lashes. “We are going to be, like,
so
drunk every night.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. I felt the dizzying waves of a migraine coming on. Was this really such a good idea?

“Excuse me, ma’am?”

I looked up. A waiter was hovering next to me, black round tray teetering in his hand. Two glasses of sparkling wine glittered on it. He stepped to the side and placed one drink on a folded white napkin in front of me, and then did the same for Stacey.