Clouded Judgement. NICHOLA HARVEY

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      Dedication

      To my husband, for the constant encouragement and support regardless of the countless hours I spent paying attention to my book and not him. Without his nagging over my procrastination this would never have become a reality. I love you.

      Another shout out of support to my children and their partners, their love and faith in me also gave me the encouragement to keep writing and to never give up. I love all of you to the moon and back...

      Particularly, my fellow writer and mentor, RJ Otts, your drive has been mine. Thank you my inspiring friend.

      Most importantly to my supporters who seem to be just as dedicated with their nagging for the next installment. I just hope I don't disappoint.

      Love you xx

      Author's Note

       Trigger Warning

      Contains themes of sexual assault, suicide, domestic violence and drug use.

      Recommended for Mature Audiences only 18+

       ∞ Denotes change of POV

      Disclaimer: Most places visited in this book are only fictional.

      Chapter One

       Ari

      WITH EACH PASSING YEAR, Melbourne steadily grew, becoming one of the most recognisable cities in Australia. What once began as a small settlement in the early eighteen hundreds, its population manically increased within a matter of years. Not much else had changed in modern times, just the way we lived had.

      We, as Melbournians shared tremendous pride in the knowledge that we were a city full of insomniacs. Well almost, until the city’s previous Mayor decided to reinvent the wheel by changing the lockout laws. He, of course, irrefutably believed that to be the most logical answer for curbing some if not all of the violent behaviour amongst the rare and obscure few who notoriously spoiled another’s night out.

      Now, as I watched the view below from my window, it wasn’t hard to see why Melbourne had earned such a fearsome reputation.

      No matter the time of day, the traffic never waned, and peak hour or not, it always left chaos in its wake. Vehicles of all shapes and sizes often crawled bumper to bumper through the city’s streets and freeways, causing their frustrated drivers to retaliate, usually, in the effective form of a powerful blast of a horn. But the leading cause for most drivers irritation were the motorcyclists cutting in with their leather-clad riders zipping effortlessly between the lanes. Cyclists were also just as vexing. Their belief that they owned the damned road drove me insane every time I crossed paths with one. Groups were worse, and without fail, they always wore my wrath. Less exasperating were those who caught the Metro train or the V/line if you lived outside the city’s limits. Although, the overcrowded trams regularly gliding through the narrow thoroughfares seemed to be the most popular choice amongst the city’s neverending stream of tourists and citizens. Their dinging bells frequently rang whilst pausing at allocated stops to dispel of, and pick up several more commuters along the way.

      Even so, as iconic as trams were to Melbourne, sitting, or standing, squished amongst dozens of others on a socking great sardine tin was an idea I never warmed too. Teddy as I recalled, absolutely relished in it.

      As I peered across Collins Street, I imagined the condition of Flinders, Williams and Lonsdale Streets weren’t any better.

      From the thirtieth floor, I was lucky enough to have uninterrupted views of the pavements below, noting they too were just as absurdly crowded with ant-sized pedestrians, hundreds of them frantically scurrying closely to one another. Most were sensibly lingering in the department stores, using the air-conditioning as a way to escape the oppressive heat stinging the city of late. An observation I’d made during my reluctant dash towards The Sherlock Holmes, an English pub, for my scheduled lunch date with my father before running back to my own comfortably air-conditioned office. Not that the high temperature deterred everyone either it seemed. As in the small group of men and women alike, I passed. The lot of them, perched happily on a nearby knoll of grass, baring either their shoulders or a torso for a tan! But who was I to ruin their fun if they enjoyed scorching their skin until it resembled a freshly cooked lobster? Only a mere few weren’t as barmy and chose to camp beneath the shady branches of the deciduous trees lining the footpaths.

      But whilst they’re out there, I’m stuck up here, in my office watching on enviously as yet another day drew to a close. Duty-bound to the work that required my full attention, I forced myself to push my weary gaze away from the bustling streets below and sighed despairingly, wondering if the long and lonely nights spent at the office trying to catch up was at all worth it. Particularly as I peered down at the contract clasped in my hand and dropped it back on the desk.

      Nevertheless, with Teddy’s issues monopolising most of my time these past few months, I’ve had little choice. Abandoning her when she needed me the most would’ve been downright cruel. But as I twisted at the waist and examined the clock on the wall, I realised the sacrifice was also problematic, more so as I imagined Teddy’s disgruntled reaction. Fantastic. Another late night. That alone caused a wave of apprehension, and it clearly showed as I tugged my iPhone from my right trouser pocket and began swinging it in my hand, tapping the top edge against my fingertips.

      Shakily running a hand through my hair, I scrolled the screen for Teddy’s number and had barely placed the phone against my ear when she picked up. “Hey, Teddy….”

      As predicted, she answered without extending the usual niceties and impolitely dove straight to the reason for my call. “Don’t tell me – you’re working late – again?” Also expected was the prodigiously irritated attitude.

      I scrubbed at my forehead and grimaced. “I’m terribly sorry, Teddy, but until I’ve finished dotting every I and crossed every T, departing the office anytime soon is impossible.”

      A peeved huff blew down the line. “Maybe it’s for the best. I’m going to bed early anyway.” But it was the strained tone that concerned me above all else, leading me to believe she’d been crying again.

      Precariously, I delved into a question I already knew the answer to. “Would you prefer it if I stayed at my house tonight?”

      “Actually, yes, I would.”

      I stiffened at the clipped tone. “Is something bothering you, Teddy?”

      “It’s just been a long day is all. But besides that, I’m bloody tired and not in the mood for any more bullshit.”

      I bristled. What was that supposed to mean? I typically let it slide; quarrelling with her was pointless, not to mention tiresome. Her mercurial moods of late had been another rotten side effect of her revelation, and quite honestly, they were taking quite the toll on my sanity. Hence the reason behind my calm and harmonious response, “Fine.”

      Teddy grunted scathingly. “So, I guess I’ll see you whenever then.”

      My fists curled, and my teeth painfully clenched. “I’ll be sure to see you at dinner tomorrow night….” I deliberately paused, “….I love you.” Apart from the sad tinkering of the piano keys in the background, her customary and painful silence ensued before she finally and unpleasantly reciprocated.

      “I

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