Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 104138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
“How did you find me here?”
“I rang Tom. I’m not letting you do this alone.”
“It’s a mess in there,” I warn. “There’s b-bl-” Throat tight, I can’t finish my sentence.
“All the more reason to have me here. We’ll get it done in half the time.”
“Thank you,” is all my wobbly voice will allow me to say before I turn to the kitchen in search of a bucket. Some things are still out of place after James’ destructive breakdown the day before…it…happened, so I rearrange as I go along. Eventually, I head into the bathroom armed with a washing up bowl filled with soapy water, a bin bag, and some sponges.
“Jesus,” Tess mutters, following behind me. “God, Theo…I can’t even imagine what finding him in here did to you.”
“Would’ve been a whole lot worse if Tom hadn’t been with me,” I say, bile scratching at my throat as I roll up my sleeve and reach into the water, pulling the plug. “He knew just what to do. Didn’t think I’d ever say this, but I’m so fucking glad my car broke down again, otherwise I’d have been on my own.”
I watch the water swirling down the drain, relieved to see the back of it. It leaves pink-tinged, residual watermarks around the edges, so, dipping my sponge into the washing up bowl, I clean there first.
“Sometimes,” I begin, detesting myself for what I’m about to say. “Sometimes I wish I’d never met him, just so I don’t have to feel his pain. How selfish is that?”
“It’s not selfish, T. Not even a saint would be able to go through what you are without having some doubts. You’re not selfish, you’re just hurting in a way I can’t even imagine.”
“He’s hurting more.”
“No, he isn’t. He just didn’t cope with it as well as you.”
If I could summon the energy it would take, I would laugh. I’m not coping. I’m merely existing. Living in limbo. I can’t see a future anymore. Everything I saw just a couple of weeks ago is gone.
“What a waste of KFC,” Tess says, attempting to lighten the dense atmosphere as she tosses the rotting food into a black bag.
We work for a couple of hours, cleaning everything three times. Every stroke of the sponge makes my chest ache a little more, but by the time we’ve finished, there’s no trace of the horror that occurred here.
“So,” Tess begins. “What do you want to do now? We could grab a takeaway on the way home, catch up on Criminal Minds.”
“Actually, I think I’m gonna stay here.”
“All night?”
I nod. “I feel closer to him here. Besides, the kitchen still isn’t perfect, and everything should be perfect for when he gets back, whether he wants me here or-” The word gets caught on the lump that’s formed in my throat.
“He’s not seeing things clearly, T. When he’s had the help he needs, he’ll come around.”
“Maybe.” Staring at the ceiling, I sigh. “But I have to learn to accept the fact he might not.”
“And how are you going to do that?”
Dragging in a deep breath, I shrug. “I have no fucking idea.”
When Tess leaves, I hit shuffle on James’ iPod which is permanently sat in a square dock in the kitchen. A sense of calm washes over me the very second the music starts filling the lonely apartment. There’s always music here, and when I close my eyes I can almost feel James sneaking up behind me, his hands settling on my hips as he breathes into my neck.
I miss you. Please miss me, too.
I potter around the kitchen for a while, reorganising cupboards and making notes of things I need to replace. Later in the evening, Max rings to tell me James has been moved to the psychiatric unit and that he’s not only refusing to see me now, but him as well. Apparently the staff there are a lot stricter with visiting times. I’ll no longer be able to wait outside his room, strolling their corridors, but they can’t stop me waiting outside the building during every visiting hour available, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
Exhausted, I go straight to bed after ending Max’s call. Removing my clothes, I fold them neatly over the back of the plush chair in James’ bedroom - because I know tossing them on the floor would annoy him - then I climb onto the mattress. Hugging a pillow, embedded with his scent, to my chest, I break down for the thousandth time since I found him…crying myself into a restless sleep.
I miss you.
Chapter Twelve
~James~
“Morning, James,” the chirpy nurse, who comes in every morning, says. “Time to wake up.”
I am awake. I don’t look at her. I don’t look at anybody. I spend my days lying on my back with my head flopped to the side, staring at the magnolia wall until my spine starts to ache, then I turn over and look at the wooden cupboards with no doors instead.
“I have your meds. Are you going to take them for me today?”
No.
She asks again, and again she gets no response. I just want her to go away. I want it all to go away.
“The breakfast trolley will be coming around soon. Are you going to eat today?”
No.
“I’ll be back in a little while to change your bandages.”
When she leaves, I roll onto my side and continue staring at the wall. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be anywhere. I was so certain I wouldn’t fuck it up this time, but I did. I fuck everything up. I’m a waste of a life.
**********
For four days I haven’t spoken to a single person. Sometimes I think I might. Sometimes I think I should. But those thoughts aren’t strong enough to win over the only thing that plagues my mind every long minute of every long day.
I don’t want to be here.
Perhaps if I ignore everyone long enough, pretend I don’t exist, my body will eventually give up like I planned.
“Knock knock,” Peter practically sings as he walks into my room. Peter Donovan is my therapist, a step above the nurses who won’t quit fussing over me, and one below my psychiatrist, who I’ve only seen once. Peter, however, graces me with his annoying, unwanted presence twice a fucking day.