7. Jamie
As I step outside the apartment block, the fresh air takes my breath away a little.
This is the first time I’ve ventured outside since I moved out of my mother’s home.
I’m not used to the smell of outdoors; I much prefer the stagnant air of the flat.
Pulling the hood of my sweater up, I shove my hands in the pockets of my joggers and begin the brisk walk to the local minimart.
I’d contemplated ordering online but, in a stupid flash of guilt, grabbed my keys and ventured outdoors.
A decision I now regretted as I walked past the park where the local kids played football daily.
I’ve watched them from the safety of my flat window for the last couple of days, I’d forgotten how noisy kids are when playing ball.
It’s noise I can do without.
My pace quickens in an attempt to leave the chaos behind.
The supermarket door glides open as I stride towards it.
Grabbing a basket, I make my way towards the alcohol aisle and pick up a fridge pack of beers and some crisps.
It’s my new staple diet.
As I walk down the aisle, my head pounds with the stress of being surrounded by people and all of the noise that comes with being in a shop.
The pinging of the till, the chattering and the children’s screams as mums drag them along as they try to shop.
I need to get out of here.
With a swift turn, I’m heading down the medicine aisle and searching out painkillers.
This headache needs to do one.
After I’ve located what I need and shoved two boxes in my basket, I make my way toward the checkout, grab a carrier bag and pay for my stuff.
On my walk back home, I stop and sit on a bench in the park near where a local under thirteens team are playing a match.
The coach is shouting instructions at them as the parents stand by, looking proud as punch as their offspring race around trying, to get control of the ball.
One of the kids kicks the ball so high it sails across the park, headed in my direction.
The rest of the team appear to be giving him hell as one of them sets off running towards me in order to retrieve the ball.
As the football bounces to a halt a few feet away from me, I stand and grab it, throwing it back towards the pitch.
“Thanks, mister,”
the little lad who was sent to retrieve it shouts at me.
I raise my hand slightly in acknowledgement, then turn to collect my shopping, and head back to the flat.
That’s enough socialising for today.
The click of the front door closing behind me soothes my soul.
Solitude is my best friend these days, although sometimes the silence can be deafening.
After putting my beer in the fridge to cool, I flick on the TV and stand as I surf the channels, looking for something that doesn’t need my full attention.
I settle on one of those afternoon gameshows where nobody actually wins anything of significance.
The pain in my head increases, and a dull throb settles behind my left eye.
In a brief moment of hope, I decide it could be the first sign of a self-diagnosed brain tumour.
That’d put paid to my misery at least; then I could join Tom and my other mates.
Pain cracks in my chest again.
I head back into the kitchen, locate the painkillers I’ve just bought, and grab the bottle of vodka I’d started on earlier, downing two pills with a large glug.
I toss the pack around in my hand, staring at the box intently.
After a few moments of contemplation, I head back into the lounge with the bottle of vodka, and the box of pills still clutched in my fist.
My thumb presses against the blister pack of paracetamol, and out pops one pill, closely followed by another.
I line them up on the coffee table in front of me, then reach for the spirits, lifting the bottle to my lips, I take a long drink and saviour the flavour as it slides down my throat.
My attention is drawn back to the telly as the weatherman announces that tomorrow is going to be a beautiful day.
A laugh escapes my mouth at the irony of it as I slide the tablets from the coffee table and into the palm of my hand.
The transition from my palm to mouth is smooth as I push them to the back of my mouth with my tongue.
The mouthful of vodka that follows tastes even better than the first one.
And now I’m on a roll.
I grab the second box of painkillers, and pop out several tablets from their little blister pack, and meticulously line them up along the edge of the coffee table.
I revel in their beauty for a few moments before swallowing more of the little jewels, washing them down with alcohol.
The familiar ringtone emanates from my phone as it begins to vibrate against my leg.
“Shit, Scarlett…”
I hiss out as I fish the phone from my pocket.
My thumb swipes the screen to dismiss the call, and I throw the phone on the sofa beside me.
Seconds pass before it starts again; this time, I don’t dismiss it, I just ignore it and swallow more pills as I turn up the volume on the TV.
I glance at the phone when it finally stops ringing, “Thank you.”
I mutter before leaning back and getting comfy on the sofa as I down the rest of the vodka.
The annoying ringtone plays out again, and I ignore it yet again.
Once it’s stopped making the horrendous noise, I pick it up and unlock the screen.
The little icon in the corner highlights that I have several voicemail messages along with ten WhatsApp messages.
All from Scarlett.
My heart twinges a little as her face smiles up at me from my phone.
I took that picture of her before Tom and I left for our last tour of duty.
Little did we know it would be the last time we’d all be together.
Clicking on the message icon, I begin to read through her texts.
Stop ignoring me.
I won’t go away until you speak to me.
Well, she’s proved that point.
Jamie, you’re being a prick now.
Answer your damn phone!
That one makes me smile because she’s right, I am a prick.
I switch to voicemail and put it on speakerphone.
“Jay, I’m worried about you.
Please answer your phone or at least text me to let me know you’re okay.
I spoke to your mum today, she said you looked like shit when she saw you the other day, but she’d straightened you out,”
she laughs that gentle, soft laugh.
The one I haven’t heard for months.
“I bet that was fun for you! See, if you talked to me, I could stage the interventions instead of your mum.
Anyway, call me back.”
The hole in my chest where my heart used to be just got a little bigger.
A tear escapes my eye, and I swiftly run the hem of my T-shirt across my cheek to clear it.
“Get a grip.”
I chastise myself before forcing myself off the sofa to grab the beer from the fridge.
I’m a little stunned to realise I’ve drunk the whole bottle of vodka.
Once I’m settled back in the lounge, nursing the opened can of beer, I tap out a text in reply to Scarlett.
I’m okay, there’s no need for any interventions.
I won’t be a bother to anyone.
Remember the good times, Scar.
Keep those close, they’re what’s important now.
Love you, J x
I hit send on the message and turn my phone off.
Swinging my legs up onto the couch, I shove a cushion under my head and wriggle around until I’m comfortable.
There’s some shit chick flick on the telly so I allow my eyes to drift shut and wait for sleep to drag me under.