Finding Technicolour

Rebecca Rose

Description

Peyton Swift has a secret. A secret that would be easier to keep if it didn't keep taking over her brain with violent flashbacks. Now she's totalled her Mum's car and all eyes are on her - including a brand new pair belonging to Kai Pearson.Kai's curiosity could be a problem. Then again, could seeing the world through his eyes restore the colour to Peyton's life?

Informations

• Publié par: The Peacock Pen
• Date de parution: 12 août 2017
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9780648037712
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 2 Mo

Extrait

Finding Technicolour

Rebecca Rose

The Peacock Pen
Melbourne
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.
First published in Australia 2017 by The Peacock Pen
Copyright © Rebecca Rose Methley 2017
Cover Design by Aimee Coveney, bookollective.com
  The right of Rebecca Rose Methley to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Australian Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved. This book, in whole or in part, may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.
A CiP catalogue record for this book is available from the National Library of Australia
ISBN 978-0-6480377-0-5 (paperback)
ISBN 978-0-6480377-1-2 (eBook)
Contents Chapter ONE Chapter TWO Chapter THREE Chapter FOUR Chapter FIVE Chapter SIX Chapter SEVEN Chapter EIGHT Chapter NINE Chapter TEN Chapter ELEVEN Chapter TWELVE Chapter THIRTEEN Chapter FOURTEEN Chapter FIFTEEN Chapter SIXTEEN Chapter SEVENTEEN Chapter EIGHTEEN Chapter NINETEEN Chapter TWENTY Chapter TWENTY-ONE Chapter TWENTY-TWO Chapter TWENTY-THREE Chapter TWENTY-FOUR Chapter TWENTY-FIVE Chapter TWENTY-SIX Chapter TWENTY-SEVEN Chapter TWENTY-EIGHT Chapter TWENTY-NINE Chapter THIRTY Chapter THIRTY-ONE Chapter THIRTY-TWO Chapter THIRTY-THREE Chapter THIRTY-FOUR Chapter THIRTY-FIVE Chapter THIRTY-SIX ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS ABOUT THE AUTHOR
1

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness. Only light can do that.
Hate cannot drive out hate. Only love can do that.”
 
– Martin Luther King
2

What’s the point of painting on a page that is stained?
Chapter ONE

Two weeks ago I almost died. That’s what I overheard the doctor tell my mum. Mum sobbed loudly, so I couldn’t hear the rest. I gave up eavesdropping. I didn’t remember falling back asleep. I did, though, because Mum greeted me with tears and kisses as I woke. Those days I couldn’t recall time. The past couple of weeks had been a bit of a blur. A coma will do that to you.
I fell in and out of sleep and didn’t know how long I’d been captured in my sleep spells. I’d wake feeling like an amnesiac, but before I could question my circumstance my eyelids weighed me down. I’d fall into what I can only describe as darkness. Pitch black. Almost serenity. I didn’t know where I went when I went there, but my body wanted me to go. My mind wanted me to. Sometimes I felt myself crave it. I felt better when I was there. Plus, I didn’t like the hospital lights.
I didn’t want to see the light.
I opened my eyes and half expected to see Mum gazing over me, her cheeks stained with tears. That’s what I’d seen every day for the past week – since I’d been awake. But that day I saw my brother, Liam. He looked at me like it was the last time he’d ever see me, as if a secret goodbye swirled deep within his irises. The skin around his eyes was red, like they’d just been roughly wiped. Had he been crying? Our eyes locked. My mind went blank. I didn’t know how to feel. His ocean-blue eyes made it seem that I might drown if I looked into them too long. But I continued to stare.
Silent seconds passed. His glimpse of goodbye vanished and a smile stretched across his face. My feeling of drowning expired. I didn’t know why, but I was disappointed.
“Hey … Peyton, how you feeling today?”
I wanted to speak, but the lump in my throat got in the way. The words were stuck between my gums and teeth. My mouth felt bone dry. I glanced to my bedside table. My brother grabbed the glass of water and positioned the straw in my mouth. I took several sips then licked my lips. A tingle of pain materialised. It came and went so fast that I ignored it.
I thought about Liam’s question, cleared my throat and spoke. “I’m OK …” My voice was hoarse.
I didn’t know if I was OK though – isn’t that what we say to stop people questioning us further? Isn’t that the answer we give so we don’t burden others with our troubles? It’s what we say to move on to the next thing.
Was I OK? I didn’t even know what had happened. Why had I been in an induced coma? It had been a little over a week since I’d woken and my question hadn’t been answered. When I woke, I’d try to piece things together. Every time I opened my eyes, I’d try to remember something new. I’d lock it away somewhere in my mind and hope the puzzle would become clear.
But it hadn’t.
A heavy rush rumbled through my entire body. My mind throbbed. It felt like I was caught in a riptide. I closed my eyes. Forced my lungs to draw deeper.
“P, are you OK?”
Liam’s worried words made a stone form in my chest. It weighed heavier with each breath. I don’t know how, but I managed to centre myself and ignore the thoughts that made my head spin. My veins pumped with slight relief, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had done that before. Like forcing myself to neglect – push feelings aside – was something I had done too much of. I let that unfinished recollection trickle to the back of my mind. The panicked rush stole some life out of me. Like a thief it left me feeling weak. I was breathless. Broken.
Tears welled in Liam’s eyes. I didn’t want that. I couldn’t handle that. I tried to warm my voice, make myself sound convincing, so he didn’t have to worry. But there he was again, asking me something I was afraid I didn’t know the answer to. Was I OK?
“Yeah, Liam. I’m fine. Just a little tired.”
I saw words form on his tongue. He swallowed them. I knew he knew I was lying. He turned to the sound of the door opening. I watched him as he lifted his hand to wipe away his tears.
My doctor strolled in. He wore the usual white coat you see in the movies and a stethoscope draped around his neck, showcasing his broad shoulders. Not your usual doctor – if there was such a thing. I guess I’d call him handsome. Tanned skin, short mousey-blond hair, emerald eyes and dimples that deepened when he spoke or smiled.
“Good morning, Peyton. Wait, is it still morning?” Dr Handsome checked his watch. “11:56, still morning.”
There they were, his dimples, as he smiled at me, trying to lighten the mood. What for, I didn’t know. Maybe there was some bad news he wanted to tell me. It would help if I knew what had happened to me in the first place. But I played along and tried to stretch a smile across my face. My skin tightened, almost as if it should have hurt.
Mum entered the room and hurtled towards me. Tears in her eyes. Since I’d been in hospital I was finding it difficult to picture her without tears. She kissed me on the cheek and told me how much she loved me, then took a seat at my bedside.
I scanned the room. Déjà vu. The same three faces had looked upon me when the first bomb was dropped. I remember being told I had just come out of a coma. My heart plummeted. My body no longer felt like it was mine. I saw myself lying in the hospital bed. Hooked up to machines. My long dark hair swept from my face. The rest of the moment was blurred, like a part of my life had been ripped away without my permission. I had been asleep for five days straight. Almost a full week of lying there doing nothing but trying to breathe with the help of machines.
When the words escaped the doctor’s mouth, the room was spinning. I couldn’t breathe. Memories that weren’t mine flooded my brain. My heart pulsed. My bones clattered. My mind wasn’t strong enough to hear the rest. Tears streamed down my face. I think I screamed and begged him to stop talking. Stop everything.
After the announcement, I dazed in and out of sleep. Fell in and out of darkness. I didn’t want to see the light.
I wasn’t ready.
Chapter TWO

I hated being the centre of attention, but there was nothing I could do to divert it. All eyes were on me – each stencilled with worry. I saw the questions smeared over their faces.
“Will she be able to handle it?”
“Is she strong enough to hear the truth?”
I didn’t know if I was able to handle it. And after that panic attack, my strength – my energy – was waning. But I wanted to try. I wanted to hear the truth.
I breathed but didn’t feel the breath. The oxygen didn’t tickle my lungs. I only knew I was breathing because I saw my chest rise and fall. My body felt heavy. Numb. But my mind rushed. I didn’t feel in control.
It was no longer a want of knowing. It was a need. I needed to know.
“What’s going on? What happened to me? Why am I here? I want to leave.”
“Sweetheart … Calm down, just let the doctor explain everything.” Mum tried to speak the words soothingly, but her unseen crying made her voice shake.
My sight snapped to Dr Handsome. He clutched a clipboard. In his hands he held the answers I so desperately desired.
“Peyton, as you know you have recently woken up from a five-day induced coma.”
As the last few words escaped his lips, the stone in my chest grew heavier. I felt like I couldn’t breathe, and I was so numb, I didn’t know if I actually was breathing. I tried to push away the panic. I needed to focus my attention on listening. Focus on the truth. I needed to know what had happened.
“There is no easy way to tell you this, but you have been in a car crash.”
It took several seconds for my brain to register his words. I found myself mouthing them: car crash.
There it was. The reason I should no longer be on this earth. A tingling sensation took over my limbs, like they were remembering the crash, but the feeling was so faint I almost couldn’t feel it. I should have died, yet there I was.
“A car crash? I don’t remember that.”
“Peyton, you have suffered injuries and a symptom from your harsh head wound can be Post Traumatic Amnesia or PTA.”
“Amnesia?”
“Yes. It’s where –”
“I know what amnesia is.”
“P, let the doctor speak …”
I eyed Mum much more harshly than I meant to. She to