Repeat After Me

Chapter 53

Sadly, things started turning bad again. There were new COVID cases in Victoria. Dad was back home and over dinner he announced 'See it's in Darebin. The northern suburbs, highest density of wokes in the country. I bet you it was a bunch of those bloody protestors. I knew it.'

'It wasn't dad, it was a family get together,' I said.

'That's what they're saying now,' he replied. 'Just wait and see.'

The case numbers in Victoria continued rising. Dad was told he'd be going away for three weeks to Western Australia. Geelong and Collingwood would be put in a quarantine bubble over there. It was one of the safest states to be. He was excited to be back in full form work mode again. He packed his bags, kissed us all farewell and left for Perth with joy.

Asten messaged me to say that Alicia had been discharged from the psychiatric ward. 'Hey stranger, just letting you know that Alicia is out. I'll probably be spending a few days checking in with her.' The subtext, of course, of this was don't worry if you don't hear from me for a few days. The sub-subtext was, don't disturb us, I may be lying in sticky, love making sheets for days with Alicia. The sub-subtext was, don't text me, because Alicia will go insane again with jealousy. The sub-sub-subtext was you're not quite good enough that I want to be with you.

And so, it sent me into despair. I was promised 'possibilities', but instead we were a plane stuck on the tarmac, with mechanical faults, unable to take off. He was spending a few days with Alicia 'checking in with her'. Being the nice guy. Looking after her. Kissing and caressing her. Making wild love after being separated from each other. 'Hey, Ivy, look, I've got to take care of the messy one. I got to clean this one up. Before I come and make a mess of you.'

Doubt started to grow like weeds. What if Asten was contributing to making Alicia feel insane? The way that he was making me feel insane? My thoughts marched through my head like a conspiracy theorist, chanting, and angry, making up all kinds of plausible and implausible stories, but so loudly, and with such conviction, I could no longer tell what could be true or not true. And the more maniacal my thoughts became, the more my body was affected, until I was finding it hard to concentrate on anything, finding it hard to listen to anyone speaking to me, and my breathing was shallow, and I couldn't sleep, or eat, and the weariness of my body surrendered to full time thoughts, hard as a blockade inspired by misinformation.