When We're Alone

Chapter four

AVA

Iopenmyeyes the next morning and slowly unfold myself from the chair I’ve been attempting to sleep in, my back protesting painfully. The paramedics brought my mum to the closest hospital, and the doctors don’t want to move her to one of our preferred ones until she’s awake. I’m glad I’m here, though. Thankfully, it seems like she doesn’t have any serious injuries apart from a bang to the head, so we’re waiting for her to wake up to see the extent of that. “A miracle,” they keep telling me as they check on her. I doze on and off and try to pretend that the last twenty-four hours haven’t happened. Rather than wondering why I’m not grieving properly, I imagine I’m still in the club with safe arms around me, which is ridiculous. I don’t even know who that guy was. He could’ve lured me outside and killed me in the next minute, but something about being pressed against him was comforting. It felt right.

I stand up and stretch my back out before heading to the toilet and the café. I can’t face any hospital food, but I grab a drink and call Millie to update her. Her and her parents were amazing last night, of course, offering any support I needed and a change of clothes before I drove here, but I refused her offer of company. It’s my mum here. I can be strong for her. As I head back to her room, the doctor is there to check on her.

“We’re just waiting for her to open her eyes, huh?” he asks kindly. I nod, not feeling stable enough for any more conversation right now. “Well, the good thing is all brain activity still looks normal, so we’re waiting for her to wake up on her own.”

Maybe she was so tethered to my father that she has no will to wake up now that he’s gone. It wouldn’t surprise me. But I don’t offer my opinion, and the doctor excuses himself with a small smile. I stay all day, time meaning nothing as I stare into space and try to sort through my thoughts and emotions, but no such luck. As it starts to get dark my stomach finally rumbles, so I let the staff know I’ll be back in the morning and head out. I know they think having me around my mum will encourage her to wake up, but that makes it clear they don’t know us at all. I drive over to Millie’s, where I’ll be staying until Mum’s released, and we eat dinner with her parents before sticking a film on in the pool house. I’m facing the TV, but my view is glazed, my thoughts completely overtaking any interest I have in the film.

“You okay over there?” I pull my eyes round to Millie and she’s looking at me sympathetically. Laughter comes from the screen, so I guess I’m not giving the correct response to the film.

“Do you think I’m a psycho?”

“Yeah,” she answers without hesitation, and it cracks a tiny smile out of me as I roll my eyes at her.

“Seriously.” She looks pleased she’s made me smile but thinks over my question before answering.

“I don’t think psychos are aware they are psychos. Why do you ask?”

“I’m not grieving.” It’s what’s got my head so messed up. I know I should be, and I’m waiting for the sadness to wash over me, but it’s just not coming. Is there something wrong with me emotionally?

“What would you grieve?” Millie asks. She pauses to let me think before continuing. “Donating sperm doesn’t demand grieving. I know that sounds harsh, but what would you be sad about missing from your father?” Millie and I don’t talk too in depth about the way my father treats me, but I know she’s seen the bruises and notices how I am after being around him. Is that a good enough excuse to not feel sadness? “Let’s just get through the funeral, you might feel differently when you see the ceremony.”

Mum woke up that first night I went back to Millie’s, because of course she did. She’d already found out everything by the time the nurses called and I managed to get back. Even after all of that, she didn’t want to speak much and it was stilted and awkward being with her. But honestly, Mum didn’t seem overly sad either. Maybe I get my heartlessness from her, or we’ve spent so long having to hide our feelings that they’re showing in the wrong ways. They released her pretty quickly afterwards with strict aftercare instructions and a daily nurse visit, but she kept to herself in her room for most of the week. I’m off school but still leave at my usual time, heading to Millie’s instead. Her parents let her take the week off to be there for me. I think they assume I’ll need comforting, but clearly there’s something wrong with me because I’m really not breaking down. Yes, I feel sad in the sense that someone lost their life and my mum lost her husband so unnecessarily, but I don’t miss him. And when I wake in the mornings and remember what’s happened, all I feel is free.

Turns out I do not feel any differently before, during, or after the funeral. The service is lovely and fitting for him. He would’ve approved, which makes me happy, and everyone who’s anyone wants to be seen here, so it’s packed. I don’t think I ever hated my father, even with everything he did. I just feel very little about his passing. I seem to have a lot of frustration and anger for how he made me feel, but is that guilt projecting itself at the freedom I feel now? I know I’m a terrible person for not being sadder,but I can’t make myself feel it. Maybe I’m broken. I’d never actively want either of my parents gone, but there’s no relationship there. And I can’t deny that I can breathe easier now.

After politely making conversation for long enough at the funeral, I manage to say my goodbyes and decide to wait for Mum in the car as everything winds down and people thin out. I sit in the car alone and run through my own goodbyes privately, without hundreds of eyes on me. How is my life different now? I forgot I would need to choose my own outfit this morning. Genuinely forgot. Maybe because the event is solely about my father, my brain subconsciously assumed he’d still be controlling it. Luckily, my wardrobe is never-ending, and I had many suitable options to choose from at the last minute. I’ve worn my hair in a bun for him and just put light makeup on. How much do you dress up for a funeral anyway? He’d want me to be respectable, but everyone else was probably assuming I was going to be distraught. Which I should be.

I sink into my own thoughts again, and when the door opens, I jump out of the trance. It’s dark out by now, and I hadn’t even realised so much time has passed. My mum sinks into the seat and the driver gets in, taking us home. I expect our journey home to be silent, but she clears her throat a couple of minutes out and upends my life for the second time this week.