I cried for Karen, alone on the staircase. I cried for all the times he told me he loved me, because he mustn’t have truly meant it. I cried for the red guitar-pick, the love left behind. But most of all I cried for my broken heart. My shattered, irreparable heart.
Only when my eyes could shed no more tears and my hands had gone numb from clutching his pillow so hard did I remember how to breathe. I stuffed my face into his pillow and inhaled the scent of evening camp-fires by the beach and rain that would soak you completely through. The scent of my Charlie.
I fell asleep breathing him in.
# # #
I woke up to find myself tucked under Charlie’s covers and my boots off and beside his bed. I sighed in contentment, happy with the world. Because in that few seconds, Charlie was still here. But then I remembered.
The pain wasn’t as bad as the previous night but it hurt all the same. The knife twisted with every step I took down the stairs. Karen was curled up on the sofa, her eyes swollen and rimmed with red. She looked terrible and I felt a surge of guilt for not being there for her yesterday. She saw me and the look in her eyes was of nothing but pain.
Charlie was her only son and her husband died when Charlie was only one. He was her everything. With him gone she had nothing left. I went down to sit beside her and she curled her arms around me and began crying into my jumper. I wrapped my arms around her and held her tight. I’d never seen her so vulnerable before.
‘Where is he, Del?’ she whispered into my shoulder. I heard her voice break.
‘I don’t know,’ I said, holding back more threatening tears.
How could he do this to his mother? Charlie loved Karen. And he loved me.
We sat there for a few minutes before the phone began to ring. I got up to answer it and Karen wrapped her arms around herself and stared at the wall. I took one last, distressed look at her before I answered.
‘Miller residence,’ I said quietly. ‘Delilah speaking.’
‘Can I speak to Karen please?’ a young unfamiliar voice asked. Female, I thought. I looked back at Karen, who was still on the couch staring at the wall, her expression vacant, before taking the phone into the dining room.
‘No, you can’t,’ I said firmly.
‘Why?’ the voice said quietly.
‘Because she is dealing with a lot right now and doesn’t need some-one calling her up and expecting her to stop her tears just to answer. If you gave half a damn about her you’d come to the house yourself,’ I snapped.
Only when my eyes could shed no more tears and my hands had gone numb from clutching his pillow so hard did I remember how to breathe. I stuffed my face into his pillow and inhaled the scent of evening camp-fires by the beach and rain that would soak you completely through. The scent of my Charlie.
I fell asleep breathing him in.
# # #
I woke up to find myself tucked under Charlie’s covers and my boots off and beside his bed. I sighed in contentment, happy with the world. Because in that few seconds, Charlie was still here. But then I remembered.
The pain wasn’t as bad as the previous night but it hurt all the same. The knife twisted with every step I took down the stairs. Karen was curled up on the sofa, her eyes swollen and rimmed with red. She looked terrible and I felt a surge of guilt for not being there for her yesterday. She saw me and the look in her eyes was of nothing but pain.
Charlie was her only son and her husband died when Charlie was only one. He was her everything. With him gone she had nothing left. I went down to sit beside her and she curled her arms around me and began crying into my jumper. I wrapped my arms around her and held her tight. I’d never seen her so vulnerable before.
‘Where is he, Del?’ she whispered into my shoulder. I heard her voice break.
‘I don’t know,’ I said, holding back more threatening tears.
How could he do this to his mother? Charlie loved Karen. And he loved me.
We sat there for a few minutes before the phone began to ring. I got up to answer it and Karen wrapped her arms around herself and stared at the wall. I took one last, distressed look at her before I answered.
‘Miller residence,’ I said quietly. ‘Delilah speaking.’
‘Can I speak to Karen please?’ a young unfamiliar voice asked. Female, I thought. I looked back at Karen, who was still on the couch staring at the wall, her expression vacant, before taking the phone into the dining room.
‘No, you can’t,’ I said firmly.
‘Why?’ the voice said quietly.
‘Because she is dealing with a lot right now and doesn’t need some-one calling her up and expecting her to stop her tears just to answer. If you gave half a damn about her you’d come to the house yourself,’ I snapped.
