Aside from me, driving, Katya’s pupils scanned the open road ahead of her. No other cars or obstacles in the way, all she had to do was stay the course. Too, she was lost in thought, probably mulling over the same things as I. Her intransigent father, their argument - just another one of many. Possibly she was reserved after witnessing my acerbity. For a while I had lost control and she had seen it. Her eyes that saw all and told all were on the road, away from mine, and I got to wondering whether it was intentional. This got me to thinking about the novel-in-progress I’d started on the beach during my five hour marathon of words. The story about Owen and Katya. The story about love. That was when my realization hit.

“Stop the car!” I exclaimed out of nowhere, facing Katya with frenzied eyes. Her hasty gaze found mine and instantly knew I was deadly serious. Her foot on the brake, the car slowed to a halt. I pushed my side door open and flew out and to the boot. Katya knew to release the lock on it. I pulled it open harshly and plunged into my bag. Notebooks were littering, filling, sketches, poems, ideas, all in their own home. All these notebooks present, gone was my exercise book. I’d been writing in it for days, penning the novel-in-progress – it had followed me everywhere I went and now I’d forgotten it. Down somewhere, in that house, there it would be.

“FUCK!” I screamed as loud as my lungs would oblige, primitive and wild. Katya, still in the car, watched me through the windscreen. When she saw and heard my howl, she was drawn outside to me. My abluent savior. Standing beside me at the boot, she asked:

“What’s wrong?”

I slammed the boot shut, infuriated. I was pacing away from it for a moment as Katya repeated her question and I took notice of her.

“My book!” I spat, abhorring my words. “I left my fucking book at your beach house!”

Katya’s eyes straight away moved downward, finding the floor, hiding from everything. I watched and waited for a response, secretly dreaming that she’d take me back there to retrieve my work, though also regretting my coarseness. Her demeanor told me that we weren’t going anywhere. She’d stayed relatively strong up at the house, a repeat performance was something she had no interest in experiencing. So she avoided my eyes and I grew so frustrated. Blame flung in all directions by the workers inside me, I needed to release the anger. Turning away from Katya in some stupid vain attempt to protect her from my anger – and to stop her from witnessing any more insanity – I repressed everything. I felt like flailing myself manically, throwing a tantrum. All that work, all that writing, gone. Worse than gone – in the hands of a man I hate, probably. Stuck in a place I can never return to, I thought. But I didn’t lose it. I held all my rage down, pushing it away, likely never to see it again… at least not until I’m confronted by Steven again.

Katya, still eyeing downward guiltily, must have been considering going back. For me. Still, all that consideration could not deny her instinctive need to be away from that place and that man.

“I’m sorry.” Katya said, whether she was simply empathizing with me or whether she was apologizing for not wanting to venture back, I did not know. A thought struck me though, after her words. Since we’d met almost two weeks ago, it had seemed we’d never gone one conversation without apologizing for something. I was sick of it. For fuck’s sake, don’t be sorry. Either change things or just forget about it. Move on.

“It’s okay.” I said, still calming myself, adrenalin and emotion raging inside me like a cyclone. All around me was what most would call nothing. Baron land as far as the eye could see. Seeing this, I began applying an old mantra I once used. Things are only as bad as you think they are. If your perception is that something doesn’t exist, then it doesn’t. Feeling small, engulfed by everything around me, I tried to put the work out of my mind. It never existed, it was never lost. Once I convinced myself that I’d convinced myself, I turned my attention to Katya again.

“Let’s just get back to Melbourne.” Words I thought I never would say. ”Let’s just go home.”

And with that, we were both back in the car, moody and strange. Silently I watched out of my window, reassuring myself of how small I and all my problems were. “Forgetting about it”. Katya drove and I just watched, together yet completely separated. Thinking our own worlds, never to be experienced by the other. All the way into the city: silence. So deep in my own mind ramblings, conversing with the workers inside, I hadn’t really considered that it could be Katya maintaining the silence, deliberately avoiding speaking with me. When my thoughts took me to that idea, everything got worse. So many feelings building up within me, it was only a matter of time before I exploded. I just hoped I didn’t explode in front of Katya. She had so many reasons to want away from me. The violence at her beach house, the coarseness in the middle of nowhere and the multitude of little things I’d done on our trip. It was easier to convince myself of the existence of a fundamental problem between Katya and I than it was to convince myself of the non-existence of my book. Soon enough I’d turned the silence tense. I needed to break it. Why I chose the topic I did is beyond me.

“So who was that girl with your dad?”

I was dumbly curious. Perhaps some hidden recess of my brain wanted to hurt Katya. To make her sad. I don’t know, but the question was posed, awaiting its answer. Katya stared forward, for a moment I thought she wouldn’t respond, that she’d pretend not to have heard me.

“I don’t know.” She interrupted my thoughts, paused, and continued. “He called her a ‘work colleague’.”

Relieved that she’d spoken, temporarily secure yet in strange conversational territory, I struggled to reply.

“What does he do for a living?” I asked eventually. Usually I’d ask this about someone without really caring about the answer, but this I was interested in. He must have worked a fairly lucrative job to be in the financial position he was in; able to buy his daughter a Mercedes, fund her living situation and keep himself within a few hours drive of a huge beach house. So I waited somewhat eagerly for a response, Katya again taking her time.

“He’s a doctor.”

“A doctor?” Shock pushed all overthoughts out of my head.

“Yep. One of the leading, most well-paid surgeons at the Royal Children’s hospital.” She spoke with a stinging appraisal, and I turned away, eyes to the window again, registering the information.

This guy. This absolute prick that has proven he only cares for himself gets all this money by helping children? This despicable purveyor of misery was entrusted with young lives daily despite having fucked up that of his daughter’s. Something about that just didn’t seem right to me, and when I turned to Katya to vent my confusion, she echoed my words before they’d been spoken.

“I know.” She said, “I try not to think about it.”

And as I tried to mimic her denial of the fact, I noticed we were now out of the city, not heading to Carlton, Katya’s house, and definitely not heading to my house in Richmond.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“To my parents’ house.” Katya answered quickly and plainly. Her eyes again fixed on the road. I was set to ask why we were heading there when she continued. “I have to tell my mum where Steven is.”

Her face was full of steam, she was on a mission. All the hatred for her father, the pain he’d caused Katya and her mother, could be relieved, she must have thought, by exposing him. Though I’d never met Katya’s mother, I doubted from what Katya had told me, that she would accept this exposition as the truth right away. But I stayed silent about it, denying the fact like Katya probably was. The hush was short lived though, as Katya turned on the radio. Some community station with some fuzzy under-produced song playing. Usually I’d enjoy it or at least try to get into it. This time though, I was certain that the only reason this music was filling the car was so that there was no need for speech. Whether Katya just wanted for me to shut up or if this prescribed loud-silence was a facet of her denial, I did not know. Still, it weighed me down, silently plunging with concrete feet, drowning, I stared out the passenger side window again. Thinking too much again.

It was dark when we pulled into the driveway of the two-storey house. Surrounding the driveway and now us was a wonderfully maintained garden. Nature fitted to whatever style of garden was in right now. Ahead of us, the house begged for approval. It was big, it looked nice and it was obviously expensive. All things that matter to most people, but not me, and, I figured, not Katya.

She undid her seatbelt and breathed in heavily. I hadn’t really considered the tension of the situation for her. Sure, I knew, I figured, that she’d love to expose her father for the unchanging bastard that he is, but what about her mother? There was no way she wanted to hurt the woman. Despite despising her decisions, Katya loved her mum. I knew that. And that’s why when she went to get out of the car, I asked:

“You want me to come with you?”

Katya turned, almost out of the vehicle, bending to meet my eyes.

“Yeah.” She said affirmatively. Maybe she’d expected me to come along the whole time. I didn’t have time to mull over it as I was suddenly standing at the door, watching Katya’s hand bounce off the hard wood, knocking. Several loud taps preceded our brief wait. In the time it took for our knocks to be answered, I gently took Katya’s hand in mine. Comforting, I hoped. Setting myself as a steady rock for what I thought may become a traumatic conversation. As the door swung open I hoped to all desperation that her mother would just accept the story. I hoped for a Disney ending with a mother-daughter embrace and for Steven to be kicked out of the house and of Katya’s life.

The door now open, a nervous smile turned warm when Katya’s mother laid eyes on her baby girl. She seemed to not notice me, which was fine, as she went to hug her daughter. Katya awkwardly accepted, seeming uncomfortable already. Hello’s and it’s-great-to-see-you’s were exchanged before I was even acknowledged.

“And who’s this?” Katya’s mother asked, eyeing me. Instantly I knew where the pupils I adored had come from. Katya definitely got her looks from her mother, whom was quite attractive. Pale skin and hazel eyes like her daughter, the only difference was the sunken expression that even her smile couldn’t hide. Her capability of masking sadness had been eroded, I guessed, by years of bad marriage. She was like a mirror image of Katya, without the hope.

“Owen.” I replied to her inquiry, clumsily offering my free hand to shake. She seemed not to notice, just watching my face. Though slightly unnerved by her sunken eyes and smiling lips, I continued. “I’m a friend of Katya’s.”

Her eyes watched for a few more seconds before I think I glimpsed a quick smirk to Katya and heard an invitation to come in. Closing the door behind me as I followed Katya in, I saw the creepy cleanliness of the house. Nothing was where it shouldn’t have been. Everything was carefully organized and set in an appropriate place. A manic sterility filled the conditioned air of the house as we found ourselves in the kitchen where Katya’s mother was loading cleaned and dried dishes back where they belonged. Working furiously at it, she asked what had brought us around. That’s where the niceties stopped.

“I have something important to tell you.” Katya said wearily as her mother continued packing shining clean dishes into their cupboard space. “Mum.” Katya again spoke, trying to get her attention, failing, the reorganization of the dishes still the number one priority.

“MUM!” Katya yelled loudly, causing me to jump almost as high as her startled mother who was now attentive, with dish in hand.

“Sorry honey, I’m listening.” She assured Katya, her nervous smile resurfacing. “Tell me what you need to.”

I looked to Katya and could see her summoning her courage, preparing herself for whatever emotions were about to be spent. Knowing her words would most likely crush her mother, but feeling obliged to speak them. Thinking it over as I watched her readying herself, it suddenly dawned on me that this might not be such a great idea. Katya had told me of her mother’s depression after originally discovering her husband’s bigamy – maybe reigniting that depression wasn’t the ideal solution it seemed. But then, I thought, what is a few months or even years of depression compared to a lifetime wasted in a painful marriage?

Thoughts flooding my brain, this must have been near impossible for Katya as she began to tell the story. She told of how we went down to the beach house for a few days, taking her time before finally getting to the point.

“We saw Steven up at the house.” She said as I watched from a few feet away, wanting desperately to go over to her in comfort, but feeling it may seem inappropriate or weird. Instead I stood and watched, just like I always do at times like these. Katya’s mother had a stone cold face, listening but already knowing exactly where this story was headed.

“He was with another woman, mum.” Katya’s pupils met their match. Beautiful sunken eyes reflecting each other. Silence. The tension of the moment brought water welling from Katya’s eyes. Her mother was still stone cold. Katya repeated herself and her mother shook her head.

“No.” She said, feigning a dismissive smile. “No, there must have been a mistake. Your dad’s at work. On call.” And she turned back to her work, ignoring the problem. Cleaning the mess in her house in her mind. Katya looked at me with pleading eyes that drew me toward her. I went and put an arm around her, letting her rest on me gently.

“Mum…” She said softly, nearing tears, “he was there. I… we saw him.” She’d brought me into the picture. Fuck. “There was no mista…” before she could finish, the sound of smashing china on a tiled floor stopped her. Her mother turned back to us with frenzy in her eyes and venom on her tongue. Startled, we watched as she lost control.

“Shut up!” she screamed. “That’s enough of this!” I was lost for words as I felt Katya weaken. “This is just another one of your little attempts to break us apart again! Why can’t you be happy for me? WHY? You saw how depressed I was without your father, yet ever since he’s come back and I’ve been happy, all you’ve done is try to destroy everything!” She was now hysterical and I could feel Katya trembling. I wanted to leave. I wanted to take her with me, but she wouldn’t go. She just stayed, absorbing the screams.

“Mum…” she said weakly, now crying. I tightened my grip, it was all I could do.

“Oh don’t start that!” her mother resumed the tirade. “Whenever you don’t get your way you’re always crying! I won’t fall for it this time Katya! Your father is a good man. He pays for your house and schooling, he bought you a car and all you do is show him disrespect. Well not anymore! Get out! Get out and don’t bother coming back until you’ve changed!” She stood staring rabidly, wild. Katya was now crying so softly and agonizingly that it physically hurt me. None of this mattered to her frenzied mother who continued screaming. “Get out! GET OUT!”

Unable to handle the screaming and crying, I now tugged Katya away. This was useless. Her mother obviously wasn’t going to see sense. So I directed Katya to the door, forcing her along with my arm whilst trying to remain gentle. Her mother’s screams followed us out and to the car. Moving to it, I realized Katya was in no state to drive, so I sat her in the passenger side. Shit, I then thought, sinking, I have to drive.

Slowly I got into the driver’s seat, the thought drilling into me. I have to drive. I was almost shaking at the idea. Sitting next to me in tears was Katya, breaking down. Right there, I thought I just might do the same.