Never thought she’d stay.
What a fucking mess I was.
Just one friend, one who didn’t really know me. That was all I had left. I’d lost everything.
And I deserved it all.
Asked for it. Just like Natalie had said all those times before.
I should have been stronger. She was right; I was weak. A spineless fucking prick.
My eyes focused on a point on the white ceiling above me, and I let all the memories wash over me. Memories of when I first knew Natalie. The times we’d gone out together, and the fun we’d had. Because we had had fun. We’d gone on dates, and we’d talked. We’d done things that couple do.
When did it all change? When did I start to become the person who made her unhappy?
Somewhere, almost a whisper in the back of my head, I heard a voice telling me I wasn’t the one who’d made her unhappy. She had made me unhappy. I wasn’t sure it was my voice, because my own internal dialogue just kept repeating the same thing over and over.
She was right. You are worthless and this was all your fault.
As I stared up at the blank canvas above me, images played out in front of me like I was re-watching it all on a TV screen.
I saw her, clawing at my face, pulling my hair, punching me all over my body. When I finally gave in, gave up and fell to the floor, she’d used her remaining red stiletto to kick me in the ribs, screaming at me, screaming in general, and then she’d stomped down on me. On my face and my chest and my ribs. I didn’t even try to fight her or turn away.
I had nothing left in me. No fight and no desire to live.
I was almost disappointed when the police barged through the door and dragged her away.
Disappointed because I was still breathing.
I don’t even remember what happened next. Things moved on as if they weren’t happening to me. People talked to me, and I could still hear her screaming hysterically. Had no idea what anyone was saying. I remember a guy was talking to me calmly, trying to get me to speak, but I couldn’t. I didn’t feel like I was part of the real world anymore.
I recall being lifted onto a stretcher, and then waking up in the hospital. A nurse asked me my name and I mumbled it to her, surprised she could understand me. She asked me if there was anyone she could call for me, and I told her there was nobody.
But then I thought of Evie.
She’d told me to message her if I needed to.
But it was Christmas Eve and I was just some guy she’d met and gotten stuck with. I didn’t matter to her, or to anyone.
And yet, I still said her name as the nurse was leaving the room. The only thing I fully remember is mumbling, “Evie West. Don’t have her number. Find online. Graphic design. Stockport.”
Then I must have fallen asleep again because when I woke up, she was there.
The look in her eyes. The look of sadness and concern made me feel… it confused me. She’d always offered to be there if I needed someone, but that’s just what people say, isn’t it? Why would she have meant it?
Overwhelming guilt filled me again because I’d taken her away from her family on Christmas Day.
God, I really was selfish.
You’re selfish, and stupid, and pathetic. You’re lucky to have me. Nobody else would want you.
I closed my eyes against Natalie’s words in my head, but I couldn’t block them out. A tear dripped from my eye, but I didn’t bother to wipe it away.
Maybe if I stayed still, crying like the loser I was, I might eventually drown.
I woke up with a jolt, wondering where the hell I was for a moment.
From the sliver of light coming through the curtains, I saw brightly coloured walls with farm animals painted on them.