Songbird (Songbird, #1) (2 page)

I tried to smile. “Just taking a final walk down memory lane. A dark, deserted, scary-as-hell memory lane.”

I took one last look around. I couldn’t see any further into the house from where I stood, but I knew it intimately. I had spent many days and long nights rattling around these lonely rooms, making sure it was just right.

And now, I couldn’t wait to leave.

A gentle hand touched my arm. “Are you ready then?” Kelli asked.

Nodding to my best friend, I thanked the heavens for the millionth time for sending her to me. “Yep, let’s go,” I said, smiling.

I had my best friend, my sanity and the chance of a new beginning.

I was a survivor.

Turning off the light in the stairwell, I plunged the house into darkness and closed the front door behind me.

We ran to the car as the drizzling rain came down around us. I threw my overstuffed suitcase onto the backseat and quickly jumped in. It was early September in Melbourne, so the rain wouldn’t last long. If there were one thing Melbourne was famous for, it was four seasons in one day.

As we drove back to Kelli’s tiny apartment, I watched the raindrops make their descent down the car window. I traced the track one had left behind with my finger, as I thought back to when Stephen and I had first met.

It was just over two years ago, when I had been at a bar with some girlfriends who I had studied with at the Victorian School of the Arts. All of us single, just enjoying ourselves, and the attention of a couple of different groups of guys at nearby tables. I had looked over at the bar, trying to catch the barman’s attention to signal for another round, but instead caught the eye of a man who was standing by himself at the end of the bar. He’d been dressed in a smart, expensive-looking suit with an understated tie. He’d looked
polished
.

His gaze hadn’t wavered when our eyes met. It was thrilling and a little disconcerting. I should have listened to my gut back then; it was telling me that something wasn’t quite right, but I’d been intrigued, and had pointed him out to my friends at the table. They’d all turned around at once, and while that may have made some men divert their focus, or at least react in some way, Stephen didn’t. His eyes had never faltered; they’d remained fixated on me.

“Go over to him and tell him to stop staring, it’s creepy,” Jessica said.

I’d laughed and turned to the girls, who’d all seemed to share the sentiment.

“Don’t you think it’s kinda hot?” I’d asked.

“NO!” they’d said in unison. “He’s weird.”

I’d shrugged and had tried to ignore him for the rest of the evening, managing for the most part to not look in his direction, although I’d constantly been able to feel his eyes burning into the back of my head.

As we’d been leaving the bar, the mysterious stranger had finally approached and insisted that I stay for a drink with him.

“Excuse me,” he’d said in a clipped tone from behind me.

I’d turned around as we were making our way to the door, speaking as I did so. “Yes,” I’d replied brightly.

He’d been smiling at me, but the smile hadn’t quite reached his grey eyes. My grin had faltered before I’d slipped into performance mode, and plastered a stage smile on my face.

“I’ve been watching you all night,” he’d said, charmingly, “flirting with these
boys
.” His eyes had flicked towards the guys we had been talking to. “Let me buy you a drink.”

“Oh, um …” I glanced over at Jessica who was still holding the door open for me. “We were just leaving,” I’d said apologetically.

Jessica walked back towards me with her hand outstretched, as if she were going to snatch me away.

“Please, I’ve been waiting all night for a chance to speak to you. Just one drink, all right.”

It hadn’t been a request, more like an instruction. He’d taken hold of my hand before Jessica could reach me, and steered me over to a little table in the corner.

I’d waved nervously to Jessica to let her know I was okay, but she hadn’t looked convinced. She’d come over and told me she could drop me home, giving me the chance to leave if I wanted to.

“I’ll make sure she gets home in one piece,” Stephen had told Jessica politely, and I’d shrugged and grinned at her, totally captivated by him.

After that night, my life changed.

Looking back on our first encounter, through wiser eyes, he had been dismissive of Jessica; I just hadn’t seen it at the time. I had been fascinated by this mystery man and found his confidence exciting. I’d never had anyone take control and be forceful before, and I’d wanted to see where it would lead.

He had been charming and intelligent, and I’d felt like I could learn so much from him. He had spoken of things I knew nothing about, and seemed more than willing to patiently explain things and teach me.

He was a man of the world, while I had lived a relatively sheltered life, and I grasped his worldliness with wide-eyed innocence.

Little by little, Stephen had moulded me to become the person he’d wanted me to be, and in the beginning I had let him.

I had been spellbound and found Stephen’s air of confidence alluring; he’d known what he wanted and went after it, no holds barred. One of those things that he had wanted was me, and I had been flattered that an attractive, older man was interested in me. I was twenty-two years old at the time, and had only dated a couple of guys my own age. They were still trying to decide what to do with their lives. Stephen, on the other hand, was already successful as a political consultant. But that air of confidence soon showed itself as arrogance, and my awe of him at times became fear. He knew what he wanted and did not have a conscience when it came to achieving his goal.

Slowly his controlling nature started to surface.

He hadn’t liked the way I’d dressed—it was too bright and flirty. He would make disparaging remarks about my outfits until it got to the point where I was asking for his opinion or permission on just about everything. As a
treat
he’d bought me a new wardrobe of clothes of his choosing. My colourful clothes had disappeared from the closet and had been replaced with the very expensive, drab new ones. My heart sank at the monotone options placed before me, but I didn’t want to complain and seem ungrateful, so I’d accepted that if I wanted to look professional, that was how I needed to dress.

He preferred me to be
natural,
so eventually I’d stopped wearing make-up and styling my long chestnut hair, instead favouring a neat ponytail, which had seemed to be the only style he’d approved of.

He’d offered to send me on cooking courses because my cooking efforts
needed improvement
. In his eyes, my passion for music was frivolous and pointless.

“Where is your music going to take you? You’re not good enough to do it professionally. You should focus your attention on something more constructive,” he had advised, so I’d stopped playing my beloved piano.

My only reprieve had been when he’d gone away on business, which thankfully happened more and more often. He would usually call while he was away to check up on me. If I was out and missed the call, a terrible fight would ensue when he returned, so in the end, to keep the peace, I would just stay home. He didn’t like my friends anyway, always finding something else that we’d needed to do on the nights I’d made plans with them.

So over time we’d drifted apart as I’d declined my friends’ invitations for drinks and clubbing.

It’s funny looking back on it now. If it had happened all at once, I wouldn’t have stood for it. I was always a very outgoing, vibrant person who laughed easily and often, before he came along. But when it happens slowly day by day, chipping away at the very core of you, it is less noticeable. Until it gets to the point where one day you look in the mirror and don’t recognise yourself anymore, but are too beaten down to do anything about it. I had morphed into an insecure, shell of myself, the light in my eyes almost extinguished. My hopes and dreams had slipped away and I had lost myself somewhere along the way. The only thing I’d lived for had been his approval, which never came. I’d been constantly trying to do better for someone who it seemed just couldn’t be pleased.

The turning point had come when his infidelities became more frequent and he’d stopped trying to hide them. He’d instead blamed me for driving him to it because of my inadequacy in the bedroom. My inexperience, which he had been pleased about initially, soon became a negative in his eyes. I had tried so hard to make him happy—hell I would have literally swung from the chandelier if it had helped—but it just wasn’t enough. In the end, the act of cheating was something I just couldn’t tolerate from a partner, and I made up my mind to leave.

It had taken only one quick conversation with Kelli for her to declare, “Finally! Let’s do it Friday while he’s away.”

That one sentence had filled my stomach with excited butterflies. “Okay, are you sure I can stay with you?” I had asked, nervously.

Kelli had flung her arms around me. “For as long as you like.” She’d stepped back and held my shoulders. “You are so much better than the life you’ve been living. You’ll see, you’ll have gorgeous men knocking down the door to meet you.”

I hadn’t believed a word she’d said, but that didn’t stop the grin from spreading across my face from ear to ear.

So at last it was Friday and I was making my escape.

A
S SOON
as I entered Kelli’s tiny one-bedroom apartment, I felt a great weight lift from my shoulders.

“Right,” she said, clapping her hands together. “Welcome home.”

She grinned and gave me a hug. “Everything will be fine. You’ve made the first step, and that’s the hardest. Dump your suitcase in the corner of my room while I get us a drink. I’ve cleaned out a drawer for you to use and made some space in the wardrobe for hanging stuff.”

Dumping my bag as instructed, I went back into the living area.

The apartment was small and in need of a makeover, but comfortable and welcoming. There were a few prints hanging around the living room, which added much needed splashes of colour. On one wall was a rogues gallery of black and white photos of Kelli and her long term boyfriend Cooper, a couple of Kelli and her family, who lived in Tasmania, and one of the two of us together. I felt privileged having a picture on Kelli’s wall. I felt like family.

Looking over the photos of Cooper, I couldn’t help smiling. He would have been the class clown at school, for sure; you could just tell from his cheeky grin and the silly faces he pulled in the black and white shots. The only one where he was not pulling a face was the one of him graduating in full dress uniform from the Military Special Forces Training Centre twelve months ago.

Since Cooper had joined the military, he and Kelli had moved around a lot, living in Tasmania, Adelaide and then Melbourne. They had only been in Melbourne for a short while when Cooper had transferred to Sydney. Kelli, having grown tired of constantly having to start again, decided to put her foot down and not move with him. But I knew she missed him every day that they were apart, and sometimes questioned her decision. But that was Kelli. She was the most feisty, stubborn person I knew and I loved her for it, all five feet, three inches of her.

I turned and took a seat on the faded floral couch that, when folded out, would be my bed for the next few weeks. From the couch I could see the entire apartment—three steps to the left was the open-plan kitchen, neat and tidy with colourful cups lined up on the shelf above the bench. I knew from previous visits that the glasses cupboard below the bench got stuck, and needed some encouragement by way of a thump from the inside.