Free falling, p.1
Free Falling, page 1
Free Falling
WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF you just let go?
Christie Jones
Copyright
Copyrighted material, by Christie Jones
Copyright © 2023, Christie Jones
All rights reserved. The novel, or any part thereof, may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the author, aside from the use of brief quotations in online reviews, blog posts and suchlike, with a clear accompanying citation.
All characters in this book are fictious. Any similarities to real people living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Independently Published
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 - Bree
Chapter 2 - Bree
Chapter 3 - Bree
Chapter 4 - Bree
Chapter 5 - Bree
Chapter 6 – Bree
Chapter 7 – Bree
Chapter 8 - Bree
Chapter 9 – Bree
Chapter 10 – Bree
Chapter 11 - Bree
Chapter 12 – Bree
Chapter 13 - Bree
Chapter 14 – Bree
Chapter 15 – Bree
Chapter 16 – Bree
Chapter 17 - Bree
Chapter 18 – Bree
Chapter 19 – Bree
Chapter 20 – Bree
Chapter 21 – Bree
Chapter 22 – Bree
Chapter 23 – Bree
Chapter 24 – Heath
Chapter 25 – Heath
Chapter 26 – Heath
Chapter 27 - Heath
Chapter 28 - Bree
Chapter 29 - Bree
Chapter 30 - Heath
Chapter 31 - Heath
Chapter 32 - Bree
Chapter 33 - Bree
Chapter 34 - Heath
Chapter 35 – Heath
Chapter 36 - Bree
Chapter 37 – Bree
Chapter 38 – Bree
Chapter 39 - Bree
Chapter 40 - Bree
Chapter 41 - Bree
Chapter 42 – Bree
Chapter 43 - Heath
Chapter 44 - Bree
Epilogue
Chapter 1 - Bree
“Bree, what made you choose to become a counsellor?”
We were sitting in the lounge of my house, My house! I love saying that, like can you believe that I actually got to the place of being able to say that this is my house? Oh, wait no, you have no idea who I am. My life is messy, and I think the best stories do start with a bit of mess, if there is no mess, how do you go on to appreciate the beauty that life can be. Well, no that is not true at all, some people have it figured out, they just slot into life with direction and drive. I basically came tumbling down the hill, I had sticks and grass in my hair, my clothes torn, and my knees covered in bruises. I never took easy street, if there was a road to take that would make things easier, I basically turned to it gave it the finger and yelled “Fuck You” to it.
Why did I do this? I don’t know, well maybe I do. My childhood was scarred by my mum dying at a critical age. I was 12 and just starting puberty, I was becoming a moody hormonal and hugely emotional teenager, and my guiding star passed away.
I will come back to her story soon, but right now I am sitting in my lounge looking out across my backyard, seeing the dog being a doofus, rolling on his back in the grass.
I had a lady come to chat to me about my counselling, and healing centre. A place that Heath and I started a year and a half ago. We went from doing it out of the spare room in our house to having our own centre and hiring two staff members. Our dream came true.
I could hear the jug boiling and was looking forward to getting a cup of Heath’s Chai. A few years ago, we went back packing through India, after the first cup of chai he had, he knew he had to find out how to make it so we could drink it all the time. I still say, while its amazing, it’s missing something but that something is the atmosphere and vibe you get while drinking tea, in a little clay cup, from a chai vendor on the side of a road.
Christine had come from a health and wellbeing magazine; she had visited our centre after one of her friends had done some counselling with us. She wanted to write about us in her magazine, and well I couldn’t let up a chance for a bit of free publishing!
“Well, my life as an adult I started as a drop out waitress and I was miserable, for so many reasons, I was walking through life not looking where I was going.” I paused as Heath brought us tea. OK I take it back; his chai is pretty amazing.
Christine sat back in the couch, sniffing at the tea, I guess if you have never had it before it would be a bit different.
“Heath, what is in the tea? It is so fragrant!” Her eyes brightened with the first sip.
“It’s a mix of spices and black tea, but really the secret is fresh ginger, that’s what gives it the kick. The rest of the spices you can play with until you find your right balance.” Heath was so proud of his chai. Damn he was cute.
I took a deep breath and got back into the story of how Heath and I ended up where we are right now.
Bringing up my own story was not something I did often, I was always so proud of how far I came. Watching where my life took me, how much stronger it left me.
“I owe my life to Heath, not that he would take claim to that but it’s true.” I reached over and grabbed his hand. He squeezed it back.
“She says that, but she saved mine too, I would have kept just going, like not striving for anything and just doing whatever was put in front of me.” Health was looking in my eyes, I was lucky.
“You two are so beautiful in the way you support each other. I think the fact that you are both so strong together and apart it what helped you get where you are now.” She was writing notes in a book.
“Oh, we had to fight to get here, and work really hard to remove our demons and be thankful for each other.” Heath stood up and pulled a photo down off of the fireplace. He handed it to Christine, it was a photo of the two of us, in London where we met. we were in our early 20’s and living a very unhealthy life.
“I punished myself for everything I did, and everything anyone did to me, I tried so hard to ignore it, push it away but it wouldn’t leave me alone. Something was preventing me from moving forward.” I was looking at the girl in the photo, smile on her face but not in her eyes.
“But I didn’t realise that I could move on from my past and heal. It sat there dwelling in the back of my poor mind, eating away at my subconscious thoughts. I hoped you couldn’t tell from the outside. I tried to look good, my hair is so dark and thick full of curls, I took so much pride in it. I was quite tall and athletic. I danced as a hobby which kept me really active and fit. But if you could hear my thoughts, you would be scared. I know I was.”
We didn’t meet until we got to London, but we had lived a whole life before we met. I needed to leave New Zealand, I always wanted to travel, I dreamed of standing under the Eiffel Tower, coffee in my hand, to experience all the things my family didn’t. I also wanted to run from my situation.”
“I got to do the travelling, I got to see all the things I dreamt of, but I never learned to let go on my past and it kept following me everywhere. I realised that no matter how far away you run away from your problems, they chase you. And while you may get a head start, they will find you. “I stopped talking to let Heath take over for a bit and then I could drink my tea and not get too emotional.
Heath took my cue and continued. “The only way to get through them, is to face them front on. Saying I’m not scared of you. You have been trying to catch up with me. But no more. You aren’t going to hurt me again. While I don’t believe in having regrets, there have been things that have happened in my life I would like to forget about. But now, looking back, I have so much to be proud of, so many great friends, who love me for who I am and don’t worry if I have my little flip outs.” He was so well spoken and so calm.
“Although, if it hadn’t been for Heath’s patience and most amazing nature, I really don’t think I would be here today. Well maybe I would be sitting here in front of you, I don’t know if I would be able to tell you, my story.”
Christine put down her note pad. ‘Do you mind if I record this instead? I would rather listen than think.” She fumbled around in her bag until she found her phone and turned the recording app on.
I shook my head, my hair was falling out of the bun I had put it in to, I decided best to leave it down, then I could play with it, twist it between my fingers and give my hands something to do before I went into the tough areas.
Heath saved me. Honestly, I would have ended things if it hadn’t had been for him. Not saying that my life is nothing without him. But he made me open my eyes, made me realise there was a life to live beyond the drug abuse and self-harming and self-doubting. He made me look in the mirror and see me, not the horrible monster, I had been seeing for so many years.
“Today I am 6 years and 92 days sober and straight, and I intend to keep it that way. I want my kids to look up to me. Not think what a loser. I want my head straight so when problems arise, I can face them. And I don’t run away. The years I spent living in London, were some of the hardest, but they helped me become who I am today.”
Now I am back in New Zealand I have started working helping battered women. Heath said I needed to go through hell and back before I could understand where these women fully came from, and I did a really good job of doing that.
But for me to get here you really have to understand where I am coming from. I’m not playing the sob story; I am doing this to see if I can help other women, to overcome what holds them back.
Chapter 2 - Bree
I was the third child in our family, My mum Jennifer and Dad Joe, and two older brothers, Simon, and Ben. They taught me from a young age how to be rough and not let anyone walk all over me. I have bright red hair; it was wild with curls and never stayed tame. I let it grow long, and hardly ever tied it up. It hung in my face, my Mum would always pull it back, trying to get it in to a ponytail, but as soon as I left her sight, I would pull it out again, shaking out the curls and letting them dance free.
Mum always knew I would pull it out, but never stopped her trying to make me wear it up.
The boys had Dad’s darker features. I acted like Dad, but I looked like my Mum. Dad was always laughing at how much trouble I would get in to, telling me I am going to make his hair greyer than the boys did.
I hated wearing dresses because they got in the way. Yes, I totally see the irony when I let my hair be completely unruly. A lot of the girls I went to school with were into dresses and playing with dolls. Which is why I became friends with Linda and Jess, the two of them had older brothers too, they learnt how to play rough.
The three of us were always together. Growing up we lived on the same street, so as soon as we were old enough our parents let us walk to school together. After school we would go back to Jess’ house and play in the treehouse her grandfather had built for her and her brother. We made swing ropes from the tree branches and would dare each other to climb to the highest branch and throw ourselves off of them. My knees still bear the scars from the multiple injuries I gave myself.
I have one deep scar just above my ankle from falling out of the tree and ending up with a sharp stick through it. I pulled it out and tried to cover it with my jeans so my parents wouldn’t see it. Of course, by the time they saw it, it had gotten infected, and I needed antibiotics to clear it up.
Mum wanted me to be a dancer, when she was a little girl, her mum put her in to ballet lessons, in the few photos I have of her as a little girl she looked gorgeous, her red hair pulled back into a tight bun, wearing a pink tutu and leotard. The photo was sepia so there wasn’t a lot of colour with it, but you could see my Nana had put some lipstick and blush on her sweet little face. If anyone looked angelic it was my Mum. Even as an adult she had a way that looked like air just carried her, she was so graceful, she worked as a nurse at our local hospital, she took care of everyone. When the neighbours were sick, they would come and get mum. She was the guardian for our street.
She often worked nights, so I wouldn’t get to see her until dinner time, when she would be there drinking her coffee, watching us kids racing around, loud yelling voices. Dad losing his temper with us, bellowing at us to shut up and behave.
Dad didn’t have the patience that Mum had, he was a bigger man, when he was young, he had thick black hair and a full beard. His laugh was as big as he was. He played rugby as a young man for the local team and continued playing into his adult years. He cared so much for us kids, we were his first priority, but only after mum.
Dad loved my mum so much, they were always laughing and singing together. Dad had an amazing singing voice, and he would always sweep mum up into a dance and spin her around the living room.
His Jennifer was the light in everything for him. I loved watching him looking at her. His face lit up whenever she walked in the room. For years I have wanted the relationship that they had, the love that was between them.
When I was 6 my mum enrolled me into a ballet class, I know she wanted me to go down her footsteps, become graceful. I can’t stop laughing at the thought of me being a graceful ballet dancer. I loved dancing, I just didn’t have the airiness that my mum or the other girls had. I vaguely remember going to a few classes, and doing dance recital, but I only wanted to run and leap.
Mum told me when I was older that the teacher came to her and gave her a suggestion of me joining a different dance class, that while I had rhythm, ballet wasn’t quite where I should be. Mum sadly took me out of the ballet class and got me in to the hip hop class.
To say I flourished was an understatement, all the movement and heavy stomping I was in my element.
I continued dancing all through school, my group performed in competitions all over New Zealand, we won so many trophies and it helped keep my energy in check.
It was fast paced high energy and lots of fun, when I was dancing, I felt free, I could put all my anger, anxiety, and fears into dancing. When I stomped around it felt like everything was seeping out of me onto the floor where I could jump on it and wish it away.
The group I danced with were amazing, very determined people. Quite a few of them went on to be professional dancers, I always envied their determination to get far.
While I had my friends at school, I felt so safe with my dance friends, they didn’t know me, they didn’t know everything I struggled with. In Dance I could be the person I wanted to be without fear of someone pointing out how I was an imposter.
When things got hard with mum being sick, I would go and dance, or put on my favourite song and work out some choreography, even if I wasn’t feeling good afterwards, I would feel exhausted so I would lie on my bed and sleep. I had every teenage girl’s obsession with trying to fit in, trying to be the prettiest and not stick out too much as well.
Dancing was the one thing I kept doing no matter what. My Dad was always so proud to come and see my performances. We had a group approach us after one of our street performances and ask us if they could use us in their music video as the dancers. So exciting, we practised night and day, ended up taking two weeks off work to get ready and film the video, we looked amazing, all the practice really paid off.
Chapter 3 - Bree
I don’t know when I first noticed mum getting sick, she was always busy making lunches for my brothers and me. She was still working as a nurse, doing shifts at all hours. When she worked the early shift Mum would get up when everything was dark and quiet. She would sneak into my bedroom and lay a light kiss on my head. I always pretended to be asleep, I didn’t want her to worry that she woke me.
It’s like when you fell asleep in the car on the way home from dinner, and your dad would carry you to bed. I was always awake, but I loved that he would carry me, it made me still feel like his little baby. As with mum, it was our little peaceful moment, where time stood still for us.
I remember the smell of her uniform like starch and cleaning products. The coolness of her hand as she swept the hair from my face.
She would whisper to me, “Be your best, be the girl I am so proud of.”
She would close my bedroom door so quietly, and I would drift back to sleep to the smell of her coffee.
Of course, when my alarm went off for me to get up, anything that was that calm or peaceful was well gone. My brothers were normally running around rough housing with each other. Dad would be in the kitchen yelling at us to get our butts moving. You would have thought with my mum’s wee morning wake up, I would be a morning person, well furthest from the truth. I am the grumpiest shit. Even at age 12 it took me forever to get going, I don’t think I started to pay attention until at least ten am, and by that time it was morning tea.
Ben was in his last year of high school, and Simon was in his second year of university. I was the accident that came along later in life, Mum and Dad thought they were finished with kids, but I had other ideas.
I remember my Mum very well. I remember her face, the smoothness of her cheeks because they were so full and round. I remember the brightness of her green eyes. The way her forehead screwed up when she laughed too hard, and how she would always break into a coughing fit after laughing too long. I remember always wanting to brush her long hair. But most of all I remember her hugs the way she always made me feel so safe when I was sad or scared.
My last happy memory of mum was taking her to the beach about 4 weeks before she died. Dad came into my room in the morning. I remember being very upset he woke me up from a deep sleep.
“Come on pumpkin, time to get up.” He shook me gently. I pushed him away with all my might, which wasn’t that strong.
