The only thing keeping me going at the moment is work. I managed to get myself on the nurse bank, and I’ve worked as often as I can, dreading my days off. Today is my day off. I’ve wandered to the nearest coffeehouse and sat in the window, watching the rain fall, the water sliding down the glass, distorting my view. Not that I’m looking. More staring blankly through the obstacles – the people, the buildings, the rain – at nothing.
When the chair next to me scrapes, a sign of someone pulling it out, I glance up and Judy smiles down at me, nodding at the table. I say nothing, returning my attention to the window, my hand wrapped around my takeout coffee cup where it rests on the table. She sits, sighs, and places her hand on mine.
‘How did you find me?’ I ask for the sake of it.
‘Really, Izzy? If you’re not at home, you’re either here or at work.’ I look at her, and she shrugs. ‘And Jess called me.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘You are not fine. You’re still not eating properly, you look pale, and I’m pretty sure you’re anemic.’ A bottle of iron tablets is placed on the table before me. ‘I want you to take these.’
I stare at the bottle, wondering when it became Judy’s job to mother me. Then I inwardly scold myself for having such a hurtful thought. Anyway, it’s not like I have anyone else to do the job. These past four desolate weeks have made me constantly wonder what I did in a previous life to deserve such a rough time.
I take the pills and slip them into my bag, hopefully pacifying her. I’m not anemic. I’m grieving. ‘Thank you,’ I murmur, turning back to the window.
‘Oh, Izzy.’ She sighs. ‘Sweetheart.’
‘What?’ I ask. ‘Are you going to tell me to move on? To forget about him?’
‘I—’
‘Are you going to?’
Total despair invades her smooth features. ‘I don’t know what to say any more.’
I push my chair away and stand, swiping up my coffee, needing to escape before I burden her with more tears. But they come too fast, streaming down my face relentlessly, prompting Judy to shoot up from her chair and embrace me. ‘I’m sorry,’ I whimper pitifully into the expensive threads of her suit jacket. She must be sick of the sight of me, but she still insists on keeping our contact. I’m an emotional drain to her, a broken waif. Why is she insisting on burdening herself with me?
‘Sweetheart, I just know Theo wouldn’t want you to have your life on hold for him.’
‘Then he should come back to me so I can carry on with it. With him. Where is he, Judy?’ My voice breaks, and my shoulders start jerking wildly. ‘Why isn’t he coming back to me?’
‘I don’t know,’ she admits on a sigh. But I do, and it’s killing me. I knew he’d never forgive himself if he ever hurt me. It was the very reason I halted his intention to take me without the restraints that kept me safe that one time he so desperately needed to show me how much he loved me. That he could do it. Stopping him was a wise move. What I did after he’d bludgeoned Trystan wasn’t. And I’ll never forgive myself for putting him in that situation. For exposing him. For pushing him to murder.
But what’s worrying me the most is what Theo will do to himself, whether he’ll punish himself. Reluctantly, I accept that this is his punishment. Depriving himself of me. And at the same time, he’s punishing me, too. If I could only see him or talk to him, I could tell him that. I’m a mess, broken.
My heart is showing no signs of healing. The crack is getting wider each day he’s absent. I’m slowly dying on the inside, and I fear nothing will bring me back to life except him. But my cure, my hope, doesn’t want to be found.*I’m always so grateful when it’s busy on shift. The days when my feet don’t touch the ground because I’m flat-out hectic and I’m not given the chance to stop for a moment to breathe, let alone think. If I’m lucky, I’m so tired by the end that I can only focus on getting myself home and collapsing into bed.
Today is one of those days. In fact, today has been the busiest shift in my entire career, and I’ve gone three hours over my official quitting time. That’s also a blessing these days. The unexpected arrival of patients, the bed manager asking for beds that we haven’t got, patients having unexpected relapses. I’ve welcomed the chaos.
As I drag my coat on and scoop up my bag, I pass the nurses’ station and call my goodbye, hearing the sounds of stressed conversations. I mildly smile on the inside. They have the whole night to get through. I wrap my scarf around my neck as I walk, checking my phone for the call or message that I know won’t be there. It’s habit, a part of my everyday life now. So is the disappointment when I see nothing from Theo.