Holding On To Tomorrow ebook

This book contains material that may be distressing for some readers, including:

Sexual assault

Violence

Rape

Cancer

Car crash

Domestic abuse

Miscarriage

Resuscitation

Brain tumour

Assisted suicide

Death

Grief

Drugs

Religion

Self-harm

Blood

Mental health

Homelessness

Orphans.

Please prioritise self-care while reading.

Dive into the soundtrack of this story—a playlist created just for you. Each song was chosen to transport you further into the world within these pages, enhancing your reading journey every step of the way.

PART I

Chapter 1

My ‘Fuck it!’ button

There I was vaping my lungs away, pacing nervously outside The Oakwood Private Clinic, knowing that once I stepped inside, there would be no turning back. Going in and seeing him would put my whole plan into motion. Just as I was leaving Cyprus, after the last few intense months, I promised myself to press the ‘fuck it’ button on this trip and just go for it. At the end of the day, I had nothing to lose. So ‘Fuck it!’ sounded out of my mouth a bit louder than I anticipated.

‘Excuse me, young lady?’ an old man said as he passed me in the doorway, clearly irritated.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, sir,’ I replied with a smirk, then walked in, enjoying the cool air and the friendly receptionist’s greeting at the front desk. After confirming my full name, I was directed to room number seven. As I made my way down the hallway, I couldn’t help but think that things were going too smoothly compared to how I had imagined they would. All I had to do now was open a door and my plan would fall into place. But why did it feel like I was about to climb Mount Everest? With a deep breath and a hand on my racing heart, I slowly turned the handle and quietly entered his office.

There he was, casually standing by the window, lost in his thoughts. He was watching life go by slowly, completely unaware of my presence. No wonder, I shouldn’t be there. I locked the door behind me, and walked in slowly, totally unable to resist the pull in his direction. Stealthily striding towards him, I grazed my fingertips along his ear and neck. He momentarily froze before turning to face me with those mesmerising ocean blue eyes that I could never forget. Smiling confidently, as if he knew all along it was me, he stepped closer, and our bodies were almost touching. My heart began to race, my palms grew slick with sweat. I couldn’t believe what was happening.

Without a word, he pressed his lips against mine. It was a gentle kiss at first, tentative and unsure. But then he deepened it, his mouth moving against mine with an urgency that left me breathless. I felt like I was floating, lost in the sensation of his lips on mine. It was as if we were the only two people in the world, and at that moment, nothing else mattered. His hand came up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against my skin. I couldn’t help but wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer to me.

And then, just as suddenly as it had started, the kiss ended. He pulled away, his eyes meeting mine as we both tried to catch our breath.

‘You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this to happen’ he murmured, his voice low and husky.

I couldn’t reply. I couldn’t even think. All I knew was that I wanted more. And as if sensing my thoughts, he leaned in for another kiss. Our long-awaited reunion finally happening in a burst of passion.

But just as we were about to fully give in to our desires, a knock on the door interrupted us. ‘Shhhh,’ he urged gently, pressing his finger against my lips in a silent plea.

The knock resonated within us, vibrating like a warning bell that symbolised our forbidden love. It was as though sanity had chosen that moment to make its presence felt, cutting through the foggy veil of lust that had clouded our senses. ‘Doctor Pearson, are you in there?’ A voice reverberated from outside the door before subsiding into an eerie silence.

Doctor Pearson? The formal title hung heavily in the air between us like an unwanted guest. Noah ... Doctor Pearson seemed too mature, too grounded in reality—I thought. It was all a bit too overwhelming, and we shivered as if an icy gust had swept through us. Was it anticipation or fear of being exposed that made us tremble?

I found myself gently nudging him away from me, as if physically pushing back against the tide of emotions threatening to drown us both. Reality descended upon us with a jarring abruptness; it felt like being yanked back from a beautiful dream into harsh daylight. Our stolen moment of passion was abruptly extinguished by the looming shadow of responsibility and potential repercussions.

Disappointment etched deep lines onto his face as he moved back reluctantly to perch on the edge of his cluttered desk; a battlefield littered with paperwork and medical journals—the tangible symbols of adult responsibilities that served as poignant reminders of time slipping away from us. I found refuge against a nearby wall and slowly exhaled while trying to mask my embarrassment behind a forced smile.

‘Well, hello there, petal.’ I loved when he used to call me that. ‘I have to say, you are the person I least expect to see here.’ His deep, voice evoked a familiar blush to my cheeks, even after all these years.

‘Just passing through on my way to a college reunion,’ I replied, trying to lend some semblance of normality to this unexpected encounter.

‘Come closer and say hi properly then.’ He winked and licked his lips suggestively.

As I took a few steps towards him, thoughts raced through my mind at lightning speed.

What does ‘properly’ even mean? A handshake, a hug, a high five? Or should I strip from waist down and lay on the bed?! I stopped just inches away from him, feeling my knees tremble as he pulled me into a tight embrace. This feeling washed over me like a reminiscence of one summer afternoon long ago when he shielded me from the rain.

‘You always smell like freshly baked cookies,’ he murmured against my skin.

‘Why change something that’s already good?’ I replied with a small smile. ‘But I guess it’s my vape. I was chuffing away like a madman once I got out of the plane.’

He stood up and ran his fingers through my hair, totally ignoring my words.

‘The things I would do to you ... you wouldn’t be able to walk straight for a week,’ he chuckled, pulling me closer by my hips.

We stood there for a moment, holding each other tightly, as if we were both trying to keep ourselves from falling apart completely.

‘I’m glad you came,’ he said softly.

‘I could really use a glass of water,’ I said quickly, trying to change the subject before things got too intense.

‘Sure thing, one glass of water coming right up,’ he replied with a mischievous grin, turning to the cabinet with the water dispenser. We stood there, silently gazing out of the large window. It was unusual for us to have a moment of silence, as we would normally fill every second with chatter and laughter. But here we were, content in each other’s presence, for the first time in years.

‘You know, I still can’t believe that you’re actually here,’ he chuckled. ‘Standing next to me like a Christmas gift I never thought I’d receive.’

‘A Christmas gift?’ I teased. ‘I should have put a bow on my head then. Didn’t realise I was such a coveted present.’

‘Oh, you have no idea,’ he sighed. ‘I don’t know whether to hug you, kiss you, or just keep my distance for fear of waking up from this dream.’

‘I’m more like a fleeting moment than a dream I guess, I only stopped by for a minute on my way back from the airport,’ I confessed with a sigh. ‘I wish I could stay longer, but I have plans for tonight and a long drive ahead of me.’

Our eyes met in an unspoken understanding that this was not a mere coincidence. After eighteen years of not seeing each other, it seemed too convenient that we would suddenly cross paths again. Yet, here we were, standing in the same room, facing each other full of ambiguous emotions and fond memories swirling between us.

‘Was I just a quick pit stop then?’ I could see the wheels turning in his head as he tried to make sense of this unexpected reunion. His eyes searched mine for answers, but all I could offer was a shrug and a nervous smile. Despite the awkwardness, I couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement at the thought of catching up and reconnecting.

‘So, after all these years of not seeing each other, you can only give me five minutes?’ he blurted incredulously, hoping for a clever response.

I bit my lip, trying to come up with something witty to say, but my mind was blank. ‘I couldn’t forgive myself for not seeing you at least one more time, I explained with a warm smile. ‘But don’t worry, I booked a hotel for two nights near the river in town. Tomorrow night is the reunion, but if you want to catch up during the day over a cuppa and a bite to eat, you’re more than welcome to join me.’

‘Shit the bed ...,’ he muttered frustratedly. ‘You know I can’t just leave my practice or get home late without raising eyebrows. Zoe would kill me for disappearing all of a sudden without an explanation.’

‘Oh crap! I completely forgot about her!’ I admitted, horrified.

‘I did as well when you put your tongue in my mouth ...’ he laughed and shrugged his shoulders, unconcerned.

‘You are an arsehole, Noah Pearson.’

‘If I were fed at home, I wouldn’t even think about ordering takeaway, wouldn’t I?’

‘Wow, you really are something else, aren’t you?’

‘So, what now? You’ll just blow me a kiss and fly off?’ he asked with a grim face.

I walked over and kissed his forehead gently. ‘Better that than nothing,’ I whispered.

‘Save it,’ he laughed bitterly.

‘Don’t be like that,’ I chided dryly.

‘I just can’t believe you’ll disappear again like you’ve never been here,’ he said sadly.

‘But I have,’ I croaked, feeling a lump form in my throat.

Our awkward farewell was interrupted by another knock on the door. Without hesitation, I unlocked and opened it and greeted the nurse who had been waiting outside.

‘Come in, we’re finished here, right Dr Pearson?’ I asked, looking at him as if no one would suspect anything beyond a patient–doctor interaction from my flushed cheeks and watery eyes. ‘Thank you again,’ I said as I shook his hand. ‘Goodbye.’ Then I quickly left without looking back, got into my rental car with tears streaming down my face.

‘Lily Pemberton, you are such a mess!’ I reprimanded myself while looking at my dishevelled reflection in the side mirror. As I drove away from the medical centre, my thoughts were a chaotic jumble of nostalgia, regret, and fear. It had been eighteen years since I last saw him—eighteen years since we said our goodbyes and went separate ways. And yet, those few brief moments of reconnecting made me feel like no time had passed at all.

I couldn’t deny that the sight of him still stirred something deep within me. But it was also a reminder of all the pain and heartache that came with our teenage love.

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, trying to focus on the road ahead and push away the memories flooding back. But every turn and familiar landmark seemed to hold a piece of our past; a bittersweet reminder of what could have been.

I shook my head as if physically trying to rid myself of these thoughts. This was not what I came here for. This nostalgic journey was supposed to be a fun trip down memory lane with old friends, not an emotional rollercoaster brought on by one unexpected encounter.

But try as I might, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that fate had brought me back here for a reason—that maybe this reunion was more than just a simple catch-up with old college mates.

Before I knew it, I was parked outside the hotel.

I was a small-town girl, outnumbered by boys. He lived on the East Coast up North. Our paths crossed at a music festival during a silly dare from a friend who challenged me to talk to ‘that cute guy sporting blue shorts.’ There he was—Noah—the first boy who reciprocated my feelings and noticed the small things about me. The memory of those jittery butterflies I felt during our initial conversation is still as vivid as ever. When we discovered that the sparks were mutual, it seemed like fate kept nudging us into each other’s paths in the days to come, intensifying our feelings with every encounter. His athletic build, chiselled abs and brawny arms made my heart skip a beat every time.

As we spent an unforgettable summer and part of autumn together, our relationship had its unique charm in an era untouched by mobile phones and social media. Our love was pure and innocent, not just revolving around physical attraction, but truly appreciating each other for who we were. Because of living quite a distance from each other and with limited chances to meet up on a regular basis as a result, we never shared a fiery night together.

As the demands of school grew and our lives back home became more and more separate. Our once-close relationship began to fray and fall apart. Like two ships sailing in opposite directions, we drifted further away from each other. Our conversations became sparse and shallow, lacking the depth and intimacy that had once defined us. It was as if we were living in two parallel worlds, connected only by fading memories of a sporadic time we spent together.

When a decade later curiosity led us back to each other on social media seeking closure, we often found ourselves reminiscing about our passionate summer, yet tiptoeing around thoughts of a heartbreak we both felt after the breakup. We were satisfied with what we had built with our current partners and didn’t wish for any changes. Our past relationship was like a well-worn shelf, adorned with faded photographs, handwritten letters, and a piece of green sea glass—tangible relics of our cherished memories together. Each item held a special place in our hearts, evoking bittersweet emotions as we reflected on the time we had spent together.

During the countless conversations we had, we exchanged snippets from our daily lives and found solace in each other’s virtual company. We openly shared our deepest thoughts with each other without fear of judgment.

There was always a lingering desire to meet again in person, a wishful thought that one of us would make the first move. But deep down, we were aware that this dream may never come true—well, until today, that is.

Chapter 2

Silence

My entrance into the world was no different from countless others, a tale as old as time. I was conceived in a quaint hamlet nestled in the East Midlands of England during the era of big hair and neon leg warmers—the late 1980s. My mother found herself expecting after a Valentine’s Day celebration that took an unexpected turn. A night out with her friends led to —what seemed like—a one-night stand with a man who was, up until then, just another face in the crowd.

Upon discovering she was pregnant, my mother did what any self-respecting catholic gal would do—she convinced him to marry her. The wedding itself was but a hazy memory, captured in one lone photograph perched on our fireplace mantel. This solitary memento served as the only hint of joy amidst the stormy seas that were our shared lives.

What followed can best be described as sixteen years of relentless life lessons, peppered with moments that tested our resilience, and an unhealthy dose of fermented grape juice. Our daily routine included regular servings of character-building experiences akin to half-smoked cigarettes left smouldering in an ashtray on our coffee table—impossible to ignore.

I remember it all too well: heated arguments that ended with shattered window glasses; walls scarred by angry fists; and screams piercing through the silence of the night like sirens. I recall scenes where my mother played the unwilling damsel-in-distress, receiving kicks and punches while blood trickled from her split lip.

As a young and naive kid, I couldn’t comprehend the impact these awful events would have on my life. Little did I know they would shape me into who I was today—confident, resilient, and constantly growing. No matter how dark, every experience has a glimmer of positivity if you look for it. And mine were filled with valuable lessons and opportunities to become the best version of myself.

Growing up, I was never spoon-fed the notion that I could be anyone other than a plain Jane, just scraping by with enough pennies to keep the lights on. But rather than being disheartened, this only stoked the fire in my belly to prove the whole world that it was wrong about me. That pushed me to prove that this ‘dull as dishwater’ girl had the makings of someone who could accomplish extraordinary feats. I was like a dog with a bone, unrelenting and focused, always chipping away at my goals with an almost obsessive attention to detail. I threw caution to the wind and put everything on the line in pursuit of evolving into a woman who could juggle life’s curveballs with elegance and aplomb.

Whilst I was still living at home, my mother imparted her wisdom about inner peace and how to wage silent wars within oneself. Over time, this seed she planted grew into an ability to maintain cool composure amidst even the stormiest situations. As a form of self-preservation, I would often retreat into the sanctuary of my imagination—though never daring to physically stray too far from home out of fear for what might transpire if I left her alone with him.

During my tumultuous youth, a small community club became my sanctuary. My friends there were more than companions—they were my chosen family. We spent our free time playing music, cycling through scenic trails, and taking spontaneous day trips. These moments were our escape, brief windows of freedom where we could temporarily shed our everyday burdens and embrace the pure joy of youth.

As I matured, men were simultaneously intimidated and attracted to me—drawn like moths to a flame. I had a talent for capturing their attention, keeping them intrigued just long enough before moving on to my next strategic connection.

My life changed completely on a brisk autumn evening when the leaves had just begun their annual transformation to vibrant hues of crimson and amber. My father burst into my room like a hurricane that had consumed one too many shots of whiskey. He latched onto my wrist with an iron grip and hauled me out towards his rusted old car, tossing me unceremoniously into the passenger seat. I was his captive audience now, sentenced to endure his slurred tirades and toxic taunts. But this ride was destined to be different.

As we navigated the serpentine roads under the dim glow of street lights, I felt something stir within me. It was as if years of pent-up anger had finally found its spark in his reckless behaviour and harsh words. And then, amidst this whirlwind of emotions, he bellowed out a sentence that would alter the course of our lives forever—‘I’ll kill that bitch one day!’

An unexpected wave of emotions swept over me, cracking something deep inside. I shivered as the cold reality dawned on me—time was running out to protect my mother from this monster. Acting without a second thought, driven by raw instinct and fury, I sprang into action. My hands moved in a whirlwind, unlatching his seatbelt and wrenching the steering wheel towards a tree lining the road. The collision was jolting, yet in that split second, nothing took precedence over stopping this menace once and for all.

When I regained consciousness, an acute pain radiated from my chest, making each breath a struggle. With shaky hands, forced myself to inspect the driver’s side, to confront the horrifying consequences of my rash decision. His body lay sprawled across the bonnet; battered and bloody. As the gravity of what transpired sank in, I staggered out of the wrecked car, standing frozen next to him. No cries for help escaped my lips. Instead, I watched with an impassive face as he choked on his own blood, struggling for air. In his dying moments, he reached out to me with a desperate hand, begging for help. I could feel the anger boiling up inside of me, pulsing through my veins like hot lava. My hands clenched into fists, and I leaned in close to his ear, my voice a low growl as I whispered, ‘You’ll never lay a hand on us again.’ His eyes widened with fear as my words sank in, and I could see the power shift between us.

The moment those words left my mouth felt like an exorcism of sorts. All doubts and fears were expelled, leaving behind a newfound sense of power and control. He looked at me one last time searching for any trace of fear or defeat but found none. Instead, he found me standing tall against his tyranny, empowered by his weakening grip on life. As he drew his last ragged breath, it felt like his final exhale gave birth to my first breath of real freedom. It was a moment of emancipation, of shedding the heavy past and stepping into a future full of potential.

After what seemed like an eternity, I managed to flag down a passing by vehicle and blurted out that my drunk father had lost control of our car, hitting a tree. The ambulance arrived swiftly, but all the paramedics could do was pronounce my father dead at the scene. The local cop, who was no stranger to my father’s impulsive antics, didn’t probe too much as he surveyed the wreckage.

In the chaotic aftermath of the devastating accident, I found myself being whisked away in a blur of flashing lights and urgent voices to a nearby hospital. The crisp, antiseptic smell of the sterile environment hit me as soon as I entered the doors. Nurses bustled around me, taking vitals and asking rapid-fire questions as they guided me through corridors lined with medical equipment. The minutes morphed into what felt like an eternity before my mother made her frantic entrance into the emergency room. Her face was ashen, hands quivering like leaves caught in an autumn breeze, as she stuttered her name repeatedly to the indifferent receptionist. A nurse, with a face that spoke volumes of experience, gently ushered her into the clinical sterility of my examination room.

There I was, perched on a less-than-comfortable hospital bed, tethered to an ECG machine that beeped with rhythmic monotony. My mother rushed towards me—a whirlwind of maternal fear and relief—our tearful embrace punctuated by sharp jabs of pain from my fractured ribs and collarbone. It was amidst this sterile symphony of beeping equipment and antiseptic aromas that I clung to my mother like a lifeline.

‘Mum,’ I whispered shakily, ‘We had an accident.’ The words hung heavy in the air between us. ‘Dad wasn’t wearing his seatbelt, they couldn’t save him.’

Her trembling hand found mine in the sea of white sheets as she murmured softly, ‘I know, the police called me. Thank God you’re okay.’ We stood there—two figures frozen in time—struggling with the enormity of emotions that filled us to the brim with hope for change for the better.

The well-meaning hospital staff offered condolences and attributed our stunned silence to shock. They assured us that grief would come later when we fully grasped what we had lost.

It wasn’t until several days after the funeral when we were seated at our kitchen table that reality crashed over us like an unrelenting wave. My mother’s gaze drifted towards the hallway as she breathed out, ‘Do you hear that?’

‘What? I don’t hear anything,’ I replied, my brow furrowed in confusion.

‘Exactly,’ she said softly. ‘Silence.’ For the first time in what felt like forever, our home was a haven of tranquillity.

Tears filled our eyes, but not from sadness. It was a sense of relief and happiness after enduring so much chaos. We finally found comfort in the mundane routine that followed. It was like a dream we had been longing for. We treasured even the simplest moments, filled with laughter and light-hearted conversations.

As I watched my mother’s serene smile unfold across her face, a wave of mixed emotions washed over me. The lines of worry and pain that had etched themselves into her features seemed to soften and fade at this moment of forgiveness. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief and acceptance flood through me. Yet, I knew that our past would always be etched deeply within us. It served as a poignant reminder of where we had been and how far we had journeyed together. Every scar and memory, both good and bad, was a part of our story and shaped us into who we were today. And as I looked at my mother’s face, it was clear that she too saw it all play out in her mind’s eye. Our eyes met, full of understanding and love as the weight of our shared experiences hung heavily in the air around us. So much unsaid and yet so much understood between us.

Chapter 3

Room service

My heart fluttered with a mix of excitement and apprehension as I embarked on this trip. I knew it would be full of surprises, and some of my choices might raise eyebrows. Being morally upright has never been a priority for me. My years have taught me to be shrewd and cunning, and not to waste energy worrying about others’ opinions of my actions.

As I drove towards the city that had been my home during college years, waves of nostalgia washed over me, accompanied by the familiar scents of weekends spent with friends and the sparkling lights of carefree student life.

The peacefulness of driving at night enveloped me as I approached my destination, but my mind was consumed with thoughts of tomorrow’s reunion and the potential run-in with an ex-boyfriend who still lived and worked in our old college town. He must have received an invitation too. Shit! I didn’t think about that earlier ... but there’s nothing I can do now. I need to pull myself together,’ I thought to myself. ‘Que sera, sera as they say, worrying in advance will not change anything,’ I reminded myself firmly.

Arriving at the hotel, I parked my car and made my way inside. The smell of the lobby brought back memories of the old cinema in my hometown—a mixture of stale beer-soaked carpets and the sharp scent of bleach. ‘Good evening, I have a reservation for Lillian Pemberton, please,’ I said politely to the receptionist.

To my surprise, the woman greeted me with an excessive amount of enthusiasm. While normally this kind of behaviour irritated me, I forced a smile in return and played along. ‘Hey, Lily! What are the odds?’ she exclaimed. ‘How are you? Reservation for two nights, correct?’

I nodded, trying to hide my confusion at her familiarity. ‘Yes, that’s correct. Sorry, I didn’t recognise you. It’s been ages, and I’m a little tired,’ I replied sheepishly. In truth, I had no idea who she was. I had a bad habit of only remembering the names and faces of people who seemed important to me, and it didn’t seem she made that cut.

‘Sure thing, no worries. Room number sixty-one,’ she said cheerfully, handing me my key. ‘Did you come for the reunion?’

I nodded confirmedly, thanked her and made my way to the lift, still trying to match her face and voice to a name from my college days. As the lift doors closed, I heard a familiar ping from my phone—a new text message icon appeared on my screen.

‘Hey, have you arrived yet?

What have you done to my head? Since you left, I can’t stop thinking about you.

P.S. I love surprises like that.’