An ending.
~ February, 2016 ~
After
it happened, a burst of wrenching fire tearing through the air above
us as we drank coffee – well, I did, after I said the words you
pushed away your mocha and left it to go cold – we walked to the
station together in near complete silence. I wish you’d seen inside
my head, then; I was full of words I didn’t dare utter, I almost
took it all back, because I couldn’t stand to see you so hurt. Hurt
by me. It was stamped hard on your lovely face. It looked like someone had thrown you off a
bridge, and run away laughing.
I
said I was sorry. I hugged you goodbye. I boarded my train home. As I
did, I felt myself start to go numb – my emotions were being
shoved, squealing, into a box somewhere in the back of my very
delicate brain. The tears were disappearing before they’d had the
chance to fall. My hurt was in danger of total deletion.
I
didn’t want that. Too often I do that. I needed to feel.
So
I took a backwards-facing window seat, quickly grabbed my iPod and
put on Joshua Radin’s first album – the one that sent me to sleep
in my lovesick teen years. Then, I opened my heart and let myself
cry. It was so long ago now, but I come over almost as weak when I
recall the memory of that moment. That train journey. Away from what
my life was, and into something new – something completely unknown
to me.
By
the time I reached London, I’d composed myself. But still,
everything was blurred. Sounds weren’t reaching my ears, my feet
were automatically walking along the platform and through the
barriers – then I saw Dad. Waiting for me, as he said he would
today, standing outside Nero Express with a long coat on and hands
behind his back. As I approached, he turned his mouth down and his
brows creased. He felt it coming off me in waves – shock, and the
most intense sadness. Then
I fell on him, and sobbed into his suit.
'I hate myself,' I
murmured. 'He was perfect.' I straightened up and
half-shouted 'what’s wrong with me!?'
'I got us some treats for the train,' Dad said as I resurfaced. He
produced a paper bag with two whisky miniatures, from the Whisky
Exchange off the Strand. And M&S crisps.
'Thought
you’d need it, mate.'
I
cried at that. I cried on the train. I cried in my bedroom when we
finally got home, and after that day, I cried for almost
exactly a fortnight.
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