Rosie hadn’t been home for a couple of nights. I had guessed she was still at Dan’s, travelling to and from work to his house in Mayfield, only sending me a message late in the afternoon to let me know she wouldn’t be home. Though it felt different this time. I noticed the quiet, the calm. The settling of the old townhouse creaking. I didn’t hear the rush of feet in the hallway, nor the clinks of glasses in the sink that still needed to be washed, or even the beats of some new playlist to be discovered. I didn’t hear the usual sounds of Rosie in the house.
It was 7:28 in the morning, and the sun had made its way over the horizon, the light flooding into my room, brightening up the off white walls and ceiling, and giving a golden hue to the dark, hardwood floor. The thin, white sheet that Rosie had designed as homemade curtains barely did anything to block out the light, and thus when I rolled over off my back to stare at the wall against my bed, and settled back into the mess of pillows and clean sheets, I closed my eyes and darkness wasn’t there. It was too bright for my eyelids to block out the light, and I sighed as I rolled over and opened them again.
I could feel my heart beat, as my left hand was resting over my chest carelessly. The slow, continuous pace of the thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, giving a small reminder that I was still alive, still breathing, still waking up to another day. I took in a deep breath, slowly exhaling through my nose, staring up at the white ceiling and laying there for god knows how long. Every minute seemed to tick by slower, every second feeling like it would never come. It was quiet, calm. The old townhouse creaked as it settled. Rays of sunlight began to hit the four walls of my room.
I reach over, grabbing my phone from my bedside table. 7:34. Barely any time had passed since I woke up and saw Rosie’s last message, telling me she wouldn’t be home, again. There was a couple of other notifications to open and discover, but it was mostly notices of someone posting something on Facebook, and then one other from Instagram, telling me: ’Follow ‘lori_reamaddy’, ‘thelifeoffashiongirl’, and others you may know to see their photos and videos.′
I swiped my finger across the screen. Instagram opened up to give me a template I hadn’t looked at in months. I instantly saw a photo from Alexis, of her large 4x4 covered in specks of mud, with its front left wheel submerged in a filthy puddle and surrounded by three smiling persons who’s faces I didn’t recognise. They were all covered head to toe in dirt and mud, grinning like it was the best day of their lives. But the photo of Alex’s adventures weren’t what caught my eye, but the red heart at the bottom of the screen, that flicked on with a speech bubble that read ‘27’. Instantly, I tapped it.
It opened up a list of notifications, interactions my uploaded photos had received, and mostly recommendations for photos of people I didn’t know and had never met, but seemed to have pictures that could catch my eye if I saw them scrolling down my feed. And then there was one notification that stood out. One that wasn’t a recommendation, but a like on the last photo I had taken, which was shot last year, back in April, with Alexis, Kelsey, and me, smiling in the camera, the flash creating sparks in our eyes. Kelsey was on my left, her hand on my shoulder and grinning like a child, while Alexis was on my right, looking like she was just stepping into frame, a cup in her hand, forcing the same weak smile she always pulled whenever she was dragged in front of a camera. And then there was me, grinning ear to ear, brown hair shaping around my face, and then another face right up next to mine, who’s arms I can remember holding me when that photo was taken. His grin is as wide as mine, and his giant blue eyes look as happy and full of life as I remembered them to be. I think, as I stare at this photo, as I stare at that incredibly familiar and daunting face, if he’s okay. Wondering if he’s truly, honestly okay, after everything that happened. Wondering if he also lays awake at night, let’s his mind wander because there’s no one else there to silence your thoughts with their silent breathing or their light snoring, or even wrapping their large arms around you to let you know silently that they’re still there, and they’ll still be there in the morning when you both wake.
And I’m remembering that touch like it was still there. I can still feel his hands touching my back whenever he wrapped his arms around me, even when I was breaking and crying because I couldn’t take the pressure anymore. I can still feel his lips on my forehead, still hear him whispering softly into my hair that it’s all going to be okay, that everything will work itself out, and I can still feel my chest tighten as I realise my throat is beginning to feel clogged and my breathing is becoming shallow. I can feel it happening all over again.
BRRRRRRRRRPTTTT!!!!
I gasp. My eyes blink, darting around my room, recognising the familiar blank walls and the bright interior made possible by the sunlight streaming in. The memories before my eyes start to wither away, the touch suddenly gone cold.
BRRRRRRRRRPTTTT!!!!
I look back at my phone. It vibrates in my hand, with the name reading Michaels on the front and the options to Accept or Ignore the call. Instinctively my finger goes to the green button and I hold the phone to my ear.
“Hello?” I croak out.
“Kara, hello.” Evelyn wearily responds. “How are you?”
I hesitate for a second, forcing myself to swallow down the bittersweet memories and recollect myself, and who I’m speaking with. “Good, good. How are you?”
“Fine, dear,” she says, the lack of enthusiasm evident. “Can you come in earlier today?”
I blink, looking around my room. “Uh, yeah, I can. Sorry, what’s the time now?”
“Almost eight,” she says. “Think you can come in at nine? Or even ten?”
“Oh um…” Time has suddenly sped up. My free hand drags over my face, fingers rubbing over my eyes.
“Sorry darl, I know it’s early…”
“No, no, it’s fine,” I assure, quickly sitting up, my head still in a daze. “I’ll be in at ten.”
“No worries, darl. I’ll see you then.”
“Thanks,” I say, absentmindedly. “Bye.”
Evelyn wished goodbye as well, at least I think she did, before I hung up. I stare forwards at the other end of my room, at the set of drawers with my TV atop, and my PlayStation 4 alongside it, lightly covered in dust. The dial tone follows.
I slowly exhale the breath I’m holding. My body becomes deflated, slouching over the sheets pulled up to my waist, my arms hanging limp over my legs with the phone still in my hand. And as I stare down at the clean sheets, my eyes close, still seeing transparent imagery of the days that have gone and the nights that will never be relived, and I push them aside, trying to bring myself back to the present.
But they still linger in my head. Even when I slide out my feet from the sheets, and place them on the cool, hardwood floor, walking to the bathroom where I turn on the shower and ready myself for another working day. And as I wait for the shower to heat up so I can rinse off the last two days I’ve spent avoiding showering altogether, I look in the mirror at the girl with the birds nest bed-head, the pale skin, the red marks of acne scratched off, and the grey eyes that have their own five o’clock shadows underneath. I don’t see the blue that sparkles within them anymore, I don’t see the rosy cheeks, and as I bare my teeth I don’t see the possibility of a bright smile coming to light.
But I do still feel his touch, and I do see his smile, and the sparkle that was always constant in his eyes. I still feel the hugs from behind, and the kisses on my cheek, and I see us in the mirror, smiling and laughing and feeling that same connection I thought would last forever.
And maybe if I hadn’t of ended things, it would have.
Maybe if I hadn’t have put my foot down, he would still be here.
