A wild encounter, p.1
A Wild Encounter, page 1
Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
To My Lovely Readers
Chapter One - Amelia
Chapter Two - Jason
Chapter Three - Amelia
Chapter Four - Jason
Chapter Five - Amelia
Chapter Six - Amelia
Chapter Seven - Jason
Chapter Eight - Amelia
Chapter Nine - Jason
Chapter Ten - Amelia
Chapter Eleven - Amelia
Chapter Twelve - Jason
Broken Hearts
A Sneak Preview
About Vanessa
Copyright © 2019 by Vanessa Bryce
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
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CHAPTER ONE
Amelia
It was a busy flight back to Sydney, as passengers flooded on board trying to find their seats. I jostled past a mother of three as she stood in the aisle, trying to sort out her kids who were misbehaving and wouldn’t sit down. I slipped past them, in search of my own row, my eyes taking in the sea of unfamiliar faces around me as I walked by.
There were a number of screaming children and crying babies as I made my way down the plane.
I sighed.
This was going to be a shitty flight.
I finally made it to row forty-two. I slipped my travel bag off my arm, and temporarily rested it on the armrest of the aisle seat. I’d made sure to confirm my booking earlier yesterday, choosing the window seat for the flight so I wouldn’t be disturbed by people getting in and out.
The week had been exhausting enough, as I tried to sort out my life and get my shit together. I really didn’t need the presence of annoying strangers trying to get past me every thirty minutes to go to the loo, adding to that.
Hopefully, the people sitting next to me would turn out to be the quiet type. The last thing I wanted was a couple of sticky-beaks pestering me with awkward questions about my personal life and why I was flying back to Sydney.
I hoisted my medium-sized travel bag up into the overhead compartment. Since I had a petite frame, it took me some effort, but I somehow managed without asking for help. Going up on my tippy-toes, I gave my bag one final shove to secure it for good measure, before dropping back down on heels. I dusted my hands and moved into the row, sliding into my seat by the window.
My eyes looked over to the two empty chairs next to me. Maybe I’d luck out and they’d stay unoccupied for the whole flight.
Settling myself in as best I could in such a small confined space, I plugged in the grey headphones hanging from my neck into the plane’s entertainment system. They slipped over my ears easily.
My finger tapped on the in-built screen on the back of the chair in front, navigating to a suitable music channel.
I spotted just the playlist I needed for my sad, angsty mood: who better else to accompany me in my heartache than the Queen of bad-break up songs herself, Taylor Swift?
Before I allowed myself to close my eyes and wallow in self-pity, I made sure to buckle my seatbelt on – safety first my mum always said.
The words were ingrained in my mind; her voice popping up to remind me even when she wasn’t around. With this done, I finally sat back and let the music roll over me.
I was full of stormy emotions. The break-up with David had left me a hot, angry, blubbering mess. There was even a point after the break-up where I couldn’t see myself climbing out of my own pit of despair. Thank heavens for Trish. She had come and kicked some sense back into me. Without her, I wasn’t sure I would’ve made it through my emotional breakdown.
In hindsight I should’ve moved out of the apartment I’d shared with David sooner. But I hadn’t, and it had turned into a warzone: upturned furniture, broken glass, and shattered plates strewn everywhere in the heat of anger. David and I had shouted abuses at each other, each blaming the other for our rocky relationship.
At the time, I couldn’t believe he was trying to make it sound like it was my fault. In a fit of rage, I’d thrown a small vase at David’s head, and called him an asshole. Afterall, he’d been the one who’d cheated on me, not the other way around.
This hadn’t gone down well with him, and he’d jumped up to defend himself accusing me of being a cold, heartless bitch, and justifying his actions without shame or remorse.
“You’re always too busy with work and you never spend any time with me,” he’d said. “Not only that, you never want to have sex, and on the very few occasions we do, you’re like a limp starfish – you’re not even interesting to fuck.”
I’d gasped, and stared back at him in horror, feeling my heart plummet to the ground. His words had been brutal and cruel, stabbing into me like a knife.
“That’s unfair,” I’d croaked out, hot tears streaming down my face.
I’d been working hard to make a better life for the both of us. Yes, that’d meant overtime most nights and weekends, but San Fran was an expensive city to live in, and the two of us were only managing to get by. The most we were able to afford was a shitty one bedroom apartment on the cheap side of town. I’d thought if I got the promotion next month at work, we’d be able to move into a nicer apartment and save to get married in the next year.
All that went down the drain the moment I’d walked into the garage one Saturday morning and found David fucking some young brunette from his workplace in the back of his car.
At first, I thought I was seeing things, as I watched two bodies writhing around behind the glass of the front windshield, their limbs entangled around one another. But then I’d blinked and the image was still there.
An unbelievable rage had filled me and I’d wanted to kill David on the spot.
David, that mother fucker, and his work mistress had both stumbled out of the car, their clothes a disheveled mess; his shirt loose and buttons and zips undone, her dress hanging lewdly off her body, each looking to the other for an explanation to give me. The girl had been smart and sensed the murderous intent emanating from my eyes and excused herself, making a quick escape. She’d run out of the garage without a backward glance.
David had been left standing by himself in front of me, hands fiddling nervously with his buttons, while he tried to straighten his clothes. He’d cleared his throat, wondering how to begin. He could feel the waves and waves of hostility rolling off me as I stood there waiting, barely suppressing the urge to throttle his throat.
In the end, I’d found out he’d been cheating on me for the past four months, sneaking behind my back while I was working late nights in the office and every other chance he got I suspected.
He’d said it was my fault our relationship had fallen apart – I’d been neglecting him so he’d had no other choice than to seek comfort and fulfillment elsewhere – only that elsewhere had turned out to be in the arms and bed of another woman.
That was the moment I’d told him it was over.
From there, everything took a rapid nosedive.
I’d stayed at the apartment at first because I was strapped for cash and there had been no where else for me to go.
This had been a bad idea.
The atmosphere between us became cold and tense. Pockets of silence would settle in, only to explode in outbursts of bottled up rage and resentment afterwards. An argument would ensue and things would get thrown across the apartment from one end to the other.
It got to a point where enough was enough.
As soon as my next paycheck cleared, I packed my bags, and walked out of the house. I booked myself into a hotel in the city, and I spent the next few days and nights on a bender, bawling my eyes out.
Trish, my closest friend had called me at some point and found out what had happened. She’d come over to the hotel to find me sprawled on the floor of my room like some dead animal, a bottle of vodka still clasped in my hand.
After surveying the mess and damage I’d made, she’d tip-toed over the empty cans of beer and bottles of alcohol scattered across the floor, and picked me up. With a grunt, she’d moved my deadweight body to one of the lounge chairs on the side of the room. She’d plonked a bottle of cold water on the side table next to me and forced me to drink the whole thing.
Next was coffee.
This continued along, until I gradually sobered up.
Meanwhile, through all of this she tried to comfort me. She cussed at David a nd called him all sorts of names under the sun. By this time, I’d recovered somewhat and I was able to appreciate her humor. I let out a small chuckle, and momentarily forgot my misery with Trish by my side. But as with most emotional break-ups, this was short lived, and it wasn’t long before I began crying and wailing again.
Trish had stayed overnight to keep an eye on me, worried I would do something stupid. When the next morning came, she shoved me into the bathroom and forced me take a hot, steamy shower to clean off the dirt, grime and sweat from not bathing over the past three days.
While I was in the shower, Trish had picked up the clothes I’d taken off and left on the floor. She’d held them delicately out in front of her, pinching her nose, trying not to breathe in the fumes of alcohol, vomit and sweat. Without a moment’s hesitation, she binned them.
Next she’d gone over to the bag I’d packed and taken with me from the apartment, and pulled out a set of nice clean clothes. She’d made me change into them as soon as I’d gotten out of the shower and dried myself.
“I’m checking you out of this hotel,” she’d said, grabbing my bag to make herself clear. I protested for a few minutes but she looked at me sternly and took my arm. “You’re going to stay with me for a while until you get back on your feet.”
She’d pulled me along and I’d wobbled unsteadily after her out the room, my hands clutching my head due to the effects of a killer hangover. I vaguely remembered entering the elevator and Trish pressing the button for the ground floor.
I stumbled out of the lift behind Trish, who walked with purposeful, measured strides towards the front desk. I hung to the side, massaging my temples, trying to get rid of the throbbing pain, barely registering Trish’s voice as she checked me out of the hotel.
Trish settled my account and I followed her dazedly outside. The next thing I remembered, she was pushing me into the back seat of her car, and buckling my seatbelt on for me. She’d hopped into the drivers seat after she was sure I was okay, and drove me to her house where she lived with her husband Geoff and their two sons.
We entered the house, and it was lucky no one else was home as I wasn’t in any shape to greet anyone, especially Trish’s family who I’d known for several years now. It would have been mortifying bumping into Geoff or her kids in the state I was in. I felt so sick at this point, I was surprised I hadn’t vomited in the car.
Trish guided me through the house, trying to be gentle as she saw I was still suffering from a hangover, and put me up in the spare guest room. Over the next two days she helped me completely sober up.
I’d felt awkward at first, walking around Trish’s house feeling like a total stranger. Once in a while I’d bump into Geoff or one of the boys, but Trish had spoken to them beforehand and told them Aunty Amelia was having a hard time, so they made sure to treat me kindly and give me enough space.
She’d also called up my workplace and told them I was sick and wouldn’t be in for the next week. I’d sat on the bed listening to the conversation, breathing a sigh of relief I had Trish to take care of these things.
After Trish hung up, I thanked her gratefully, my heart too overwhelmed to speak. Trish had hugged me and patted me on the back, soothing me with words like ‘everything’s going to be alright.’
Things got better over the next few days, and I was able to pick myself back up slowly. I think Trish had been relieved to see me start to recover. She’d been worried about my state of mind but had done a good job hiding it.
Late one afternoon, while I sat on the porch out the back sipping a tall glass of ice tea, Trish had come outside from the back door of the house and had sat down next to me. “I’ve called your parents and told them what’s happened. They want you to phone them tonight,” she’d said sipping her mug of coffee.
I’d sat up abruptly in surprise, ice tea spilling all over her hand. “Why would you do that?” I’d spluttered feeling angry and slightly betrayed.
“Because you weren’t going to, and you need to,” she’d stated bluntly.
My brows had creased in consternation, crinkling my forehead. “I’m not ready for this…” I’d frowned, feeling myself getting worked up.
“Yes you are. Stop holding it off. Just call them,” she’d snorted, knowing full well I wasn’t going to do it unless she pushed me. I was too much of a chicken shit.
“You need to do it,” she repeated, trying to hammer the point home as I sat back grumpily in my chair, folding my arms. I’d put my ice tea down on the small wooden table between us, no longer in the mood to drink it, looking the very picture of a big, sulking kid.
Trish rose and kissed my forehead. “I’m only doing this because I love you,” she said, then left me alone to brood over it.
Scowling, I’d licked the sweet liquid off the back of my hand as I thought over what I was going to do. I honestly didn’t want to call my parents and tell them what had happened. They’d never wanted me to follow David when he’d moved to the States from Sydney, in the first place.
I was feeling ashamed and like a failure since things hadn’t worked out. It was like they had told me so, and it irked me they’d been right.
When I picked up the phone later that night, there was a sense of dread churning in the pit of my stomach. I held my breath in as I waited; my parents picked up after the third ring. “Hello. Mum…dad…” I’d started hesitantly, wondering on a scale of awful to disastrous, how badly this call would go.
“Sweetheart,” my mother’s voice greeted me, full of emotion from the other end. I don’t know why – maybe it was because I was an emotional wreck at the time – but I broke down crying then. My dad tried to calm me down, telling me we would work things through together.
Hot tears continued to pour out, and I cried like a little baby. It wasn’t long before I started telling them everything that had happened, although I still had the presence of mind to omit the crasser details of David’s sordid affair. My dad Henry swore over the phone, calling David a deadbeat scumbag. It was the first time I’d heard Dad swear, and I had laughed, brushing away the tears spilling from my eyes.
“You’re coming home,” my mother Susan had then said in a tone of voice that brook no room for argument. “I’m booking the next flight home for you after I get off this call.”
I’d shaken my head against the receiver, swallowing the lump rising in my throat. It had been a long time since I’d spoken to my family like this and I realized how much I missed them. It brought fresh tears to my eyes. “Give me two days so I can wrap things up here,” I finally managed to say.
My mother had made a disgruntled noise on the other end but at last agreed, on the condition I was not to stay any longer than this. Finally, we said our ‘I love you’s’, both my parents telling me to look after myself before we ended the call and hung up.
I allowed myself a few private minutes to wipe my eyes dry and blow my nose before I went to find Trish. She was sitting in the family room with the kids. She saw me approach and noticed my blotchy face immediately.
“Go and play with your father,” she’d said ushering her kids away so she could speak to me in private.
The boys had squealed and run past me with curious looks on their faces, but thankfully hadn’t stopped to ask me any questions. I tried to mangle a smile together so they’d know everything was okay, but was sure it came out strained. They were soon out of the room. I took a deep breath and walked over to sit down next to Trish.
“I’m going back to Australia,” I’d told her, deciding not to beat around the bush. Trish had looked at me gently and taken my hand lightly in her own. “I thought you would. It’s okay. Even though I’ll miss you, I think you’re making the right decision.”
We both hugged each other then, and spent the rest of the afternoon chatting about our lives and recalling the memories we’d made together since I’d come to the States. I knew I would sorely miss her when I left.
That night, I joined Trish’s family for dinner for the first time. I was able to smile and laugh and joke around with the kids as they told me about all the mischief they’d gotten up to at school recently.
