Choices Made

Have you ever noticed that life resembles - albeit a complex and extended version, of a 'pick-your-own-adventure'. Now, I'm not saying it's healthy... but I confess, I spend a considerable amount of time imagining the possibilities, if I had made different choices in pivotal moments throughout this journey. Somebody please tell me that I'm not the only one?

If you'll humour me for just a moment longer, I'll tell you a story.

It's a muggy, humid night in November 2013. I'm a know-it-all 17 year old kid; with a huge ego, sh*tty attitude and crippling insecurities. Delightful, I know. The world is against me, or so I think. I'm constantly arguing with my well-meaning, but less than tactful stepfather, and if I bring one more issue to my mother, she is likely to tear any hair that hasn't yet fallen out due to stress, off her own head.

I've come up with an entirely full-of-it excuse as to why I'll be going out that night. My parents haven't questioned me because they know if they do, it will turn into an argument, and I'll end up doing what I want to anyway.

In actual fact, I'll be attending Schoolies, despite not being a school-leaver yet. I had always made friends with the kids in the Grade above, and they had convinced me to go along. I had reluctantly agreed, knowing the backlash I would receive for being a 'Foolie', which is what they call the younger kids who attend Schoolies before their time.

Can I please just make a side note here - I am genuinely, deeply embarrassed by this behaviour as present-day me. You can expect full transparency from me though, so I'm not going to beat around the bush about my unfavourable past behaviours. I recognise that I was unbearable, and it's not something I'm proud of.

Moving on.

It's just past 7 o'clock. I've eaten dinner in my room by myself, truthfully because I am exploding with such guilt about how I've treated my mother over the past few months, that I can't even bear to look into her desperately saddened, but still loving, eyes.

There are clothes scattered all over my bedroom floor, I've tried on ten or more outfits a few times each. I've decided on a pair of white cotton canvas shorts, and a black sheer camisole half tucked in, with a black lace bra underneath. I'm wearing far too much eyeshadow, and my eyebrows are drawn on too thick. I still look pretty, somewhat...just immature, and maybe as though I'm trying too hard. I'd look more beautiful if I wore no make up at all. Hindsight, am I right?

I slip on a pair of 'gladiator sandals' they were all the rage back then, throw my black clutch purse with its trashy gold chain over my shoulder, and I'm ready to go. Despite hating that my stomach 'doesn't look flat' I'm still diggin' my 'fit, and I'm excited for the night ahead.

I had a friend in high school who's mum was very... let's just call her liberal, to be polite. She had bought us a bottle of Smirnoff, which we were mixing with sprite.

When I heard my mates pull up outside, I remember getting butterflies in my stomach. I legged it up the hallway, and opened the garage frantically to jump into the white, banged up Subaru Impreza. I wasn't leaving hastily out of fear of getting stopped, or caught - I just didn't want to stay around to listen to the argument that would erupt when I left. You see, the only time they ever really argued was when my dad wanted my mum to alleviate his 'bad cop' burden on occasion, and she was too afraid that I would stop loving her if she did.

I wish I could go back now and embrace her in a tight squeeze, and just tell her that, that was never possible. I've spent years processing the guilt from that time of my life, but that's a topic for another time.

We arrive back at the hotel, and head up to the room for some 'pres' before we go out for the night. We are being obnoxiously loud in the lobby, and already attracting disproving looks from the poor tourists, who unknowingly booked their holidays during the busiest week of the year on the Gold Coast. We get into the room and waste no time, pouring drinks immediately after carelessly dropping our bags wherever they will land.

I'm only young, weigh all of 62kgs, and I haven't drunk much before but enough to know that I start to get tipsy after two, and drunk after around three or four. Even then I didn't really like the person I became when I was drunk. I still don't. In any case, I think to myself... "Screw it! It's Schoolies, we're here to have fun!"

To be honest, the night started out great, we had been joined by another two of our friends and were having excited conversations about boys and music, whether each girl approved of each others outfits, and what we might expect from the night ahead, when we would finally get to hit the beach party.

We heard a commotion in the hallway, 'curiosity killed the cat' as they say, so we opened our door to find out what was going on. It was a group of around six boys, all stereotypically handsome. You could tell they were private school boys, we were all familiar with their type. Entitled, cocky... but even still, usually a lot of fun. So naturally, we started to flirt, and before long we had been invited into their apartment. They were staying just next door to us.

Now, contrary to popular belief, even then I was an intelligent girl. Despite being mildly tipsy by this point, I was still aware of the danger of putting ourselves into vulnerable positions. I hung around the door. I already felt uneasy. Everyone appeared to be having a good time, and I didn't want to be the 'negative-nancy' that ruined it by asking to leave. I had left my drink back in the room. I had finished one glass, and around a third of my second before we had left. Unfortunately, this would be one of the last things I remember in exact detail.

The rest of the evening starts to become a bit of a blur. I half-remember a boy all of 17 or 18 years old handing me a flask, and questioning why I wasn't drinking. I refused a few times, at one point even saying to him;

"How do I know that you haven't put something in this?"

"Me? I'm a gentleman." I remember him saying, with a disarmingly cheeky grin on his face.

He clutched at his heart dramatically, faking genuine offence. At this point we were all still laughing and enjoying flirty banter. Eventually I gave in, taking a few swigs from his flask.

The next thing I remember is stumbling across a zebra-crossing in Surfers Paradise, steadying myself on my friend who was all of 5'2, and at least 10kgs lighter than me. She was getting noticeably frustrated that I was so 'drunk' already. It was before 10pm at this point, I couldn't tell you the exact time.

"I can't walk" I mumbled to...let's call her Aleesha, for the purposes of this story.

"What the F*ck Maddie!" She said accusingly.

I don't know exactly how or why I got there, but the next thing I recall is barely being able to sit up properly in the 'Red Frogs' First Aid tent. I was anxious that my phone was going flat, and I started to panic because I felt I was in some kind of danger at this point. Something wasn't right. My body was telling me that I needed to find somewhere safe and/or somebody that I trusted. I was slurring my words, I just kept repeating the same thing;

"Please call Ruby, please call Ruby!" Ruby (name replaced), was my best friend at the time, and I knew she would know what to do.

After what seemed like forever, she finally arrived. A guy who I knew from school had passed by and saw me in a state, and messaged her on Facebook. He stayed with me until Ruby arrived. I am still grateful to him until this day for that. Sadly, we rarely talk now. She half-carried me back to the hotel, which took far longer than it should have - due to my inebriated state, and took me upstairs to the room.

The next part of this story, I'm telling you based of what I have been told by her, and other people who were involved that night.

She undressed me down to my underwear and ordered me into the shower. At this point I had thrown up a few times, both in the bathroom and kitchen sinks respectively, narrowly missing the floor. I refused to get out of the shower when it was time, acting what she describes as 'just like a five year old child throwing a tantrum'. Eventually she calmed me down, tucked me into bed, at least showered, but still going on about a whole lot of nothing.

It's still early in the night, 10:30 - 11:00pm. Ruby doesn't want to miss out on the Beach Party. She asks if I'm okay, tucks me in, says goodnight - and heads back out.

At around 12:30pm my dad receives a phone call in the middle of the night. He answers it straight away. He barely sleeps, knowing I'm notorious for making poor decisions.

"Hello, who is this?" he questions.

"I'm really sorry Daddy, please just don't be mad at me. I'm really sorry. I'm really sorry Daddy, I am. Please don't be mad, but I'm scared." whispers a frantic voice down the line.

It's me, of course.

"Where are you?" he says more abruptly, there's panic in his voice but he tries to remain calm. He's so good at that.

"I'm staying in Surfers Paradise with a friend, I think it's the Q1. I just want to come home, because the room is spinning. I'm scared I'm going to be in the news for choking on my own vomit. I'm really sorry daddy, please don't be mad. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Another side note - I have this very strange habit of processing my anxiety by imagining the news headline that would follow a decision that I'm questioning. If the news headline is likely or believable, I'll usually second-guess my decision, or come up with risk management strategies.

Moving on.

He stayed on the phone with me from that moment, until he arrived at the hotel. He let me know as soon as he pulled up, and told me to hang up only to come straight downstairs. Apparently, I had called from the hotel phone, which is why he hadn't recognised the number. Not once did this man yell. Not once did he lecture or belittle me. He calmly reassured me that everything was going to be okay, and he was on his way.

When he arrived, the security staff were reluctant to allow me to go with him. Here was a strange man, picking up a young girl, who could barely tell them her own name. While it was inconvenient at the time, and I just wanted to go home - I'm grateful for the discretion they exercised in that moment. My brother had joined my dad in the car, and being my twin was able to show them his drivers license, which included identical surnames and birthdays. They seemed satisfied with that, and allowed me to go with them.

I cried the entire car ride home. Apologising profusely, begging for forgiveness, terrified of the likely punishment that I would receive. I mean, it was pathetic really, considering that was only likely to be confiscation of my phone, or being disconnected from the internet and not being let out of dads sight for some time. He held my hand during that car ride. My brother later told me that my dad drove silently home, too embarrassed of the salty tears flooding his face, that I hadn't noticed in my inebriated state.

We got home. He took me to my room. He placed a bottle of water on my beside table, and an empty bucket beside my bed. He didn't sleep that night. He checked on me every fifteen minutes, making sure I was alright. Refilling my water bottle at one point when it was empty.

I woke up in the morning, confused and disoriented. How had I ended up in my own bed? Had I imagined the entire night? When my mum heard me stir she came into my room and sat silently at the end of my bed. Her chin was lowered, she was sitting side on but I could still see her eyes, puffy and red. She had clearly been bawling. She tried to speak, but no words would come out.

"I-I just, we, w-we..." she inhaled a sharp breath and a single tear escaped from the side of her eye, rolling down her cheek finding it's place on her quivering lip.

She tried again.

"We are so relieved that you called us." she began to sob uncontrollably then, she had got the sentence out finally, but that's all that she could manage.

She shuffled closer to me along the bed, I had sat up. She wrapped her arms around me, squeezing me tightly. Crying into my shoulder, her familiar and comforting smell making the guilt that suffocated me in that moment, all the more worse.

"We aren't angry. You aren't in trouble. We wish we could have prevented this, but you aren't in trouble. You did the right thing. I have sat up agonising, hoping that if you ever found yourself in a situation like that, that you would know you could call us. We are so relieved, honey. Dad and I, we love you so much." She rambled.

I have never felt more loved, ever, than I did in that very moment. It's not lost on me, the incredible luck I experienced that night. A few pivotal moments, a few decisions - had they gone differently, could have spelled an entirely opposite fate.

Now imagine, I hadn't taken that sip.

Now imagine, I had stumbled further up the beach to a secluded part of the sand, instead of into the Red Frogs tent.

Now imagine, my friendly acquaintance hadn't reached out to somebody who cared for me.

Now imagine, Ruby hadn't chaperoned me all the way into the hotel room and hadn't locked the door behind me.

Now imagine, I hadn't made that phone call.

Pick your own adventure.