Read Crossing the Line for Free Online

early on, when I moved in, she spent a lot of time with me, talking and chilling – really listening, especially one day when I was feeling particularly low. Other welfare people I’ve known were snobby or nosy or plain apathetic, but Jan breezes in exuding energy, always cheerful and seeming to be genuinely interested in us. Not like Marie who couldn’t care less. And Jan always brings something with her, not just her bright, friendly self, but a gift – sometimes a bunch of flowers, a home-cooked cake, some incense. She’s special.
    Today Jan has news that makes her face light up. She’s taking long-service leave to travel overseas.
    When she announces this, my hands begin to shake.
    ‘I’m going to India with my friend Nancy.’ She does a little hop as she says India. ‘I’ve wanted to go there ever since we studied the country at school. We’re backpacking for some of the way.’ She pulls out a map and points out the route she and her friend will be taking. I imagine her in baggy shorts and strong hiking boots with a bulging pack on her back – a million miles from care. And me.
    ‘Would you like a cuppa?’ I offer, aching for her to stay longer. ‘I’d love to hear more about your trip.’
    My hands continue to tremble. As I pour the milk, it splatters onto the sink. ‘Damn! Sorry!’ I drop the cup. It splinters across the floor and hot tea splashes everywhere.
    Diving to pick up the broken shards, I wipe a tear from my cheek. Jan sees it.
    ‘Are you all right, Soph?’
    ‘Yeah, sure.’ I manage to smile. ‘Just clumsy.’
    When the mess is cleared and a new cup is poured, we sit on the back porch and eat the zucchini and raisin cake I made yesterday. Jan is full of the trip and her plans, her long friendship with Nancy, another trip in the future, possibly to Europe. She has no idea how it hurts me.
    ‘Well, my love,’ she says some time later, ‘I could easily spend hours sitting here with you, but –’ She stands and stretches. ‘I really have to get back to work.’
    I smile, but obviously not all that convincingly, because Jan peers at me with concern. ‘You’ll be fine with my replacement, won’t you, Soph?’
    ‘Of course.’ I wave a finger at her, keeping up the jolly act. ‘But don’t you be gone for too long, will you? I might miss you.’
    My voice betrays me as I say that. It cracks. Just a little, but enough for Jan to notice.
    ‘Silly thing. I’m coming back, you know.’
    ‘You better.’
    At the front door she hugs me and I feel like they are Arlene’s arms around me; Arlene who promised she would always be there for me.

    When Jan has gone, I wander around the house, rearranging ornaments, adjusting pictures on walls, and tidying up. I feel adrift. I need to touch familiar objects. I wish I had someone to talk to, to keep me together, but Amy’s away for the day and Matt’s late home. My stomach’s twisted and knotted. I’m happy for Jan and her well-deserved vacation, but I hate the thought of her being gone and maybe never coming back. Sure, she said she would, but what else could she say? I’ll miss her so much.
    I’m in the bathroom. Thoughts and feelings of again being abandoned are spinning in my head. Round and round. Out of control. Why do people always leave me? Why did my mother leave? Arlene? Dutch? Everyone I have ever cared for. Gone.
    In the mirror I watch as I drop my sarong to the floor and survey my milk-white breasts with their pale, strawberry-pink nipples. This body in front of me belongs to someone else. All I have is a mind, mobbed with volcanic, insane thoughts that need to be tamed. There is only one way to do this. The razor.
    The blade rests its silver-sharp edge on my flesh, on the soft inside of my forearm near old, faint scars. Inside my head the jumble intensifies. Images surface. Dutch stroking my head for the last time. My hand clasped in his. Arlene smothering my neck with kisses, soft yet indelible. Then she is leaving too.