13. Scarlett
Three hours have passed since I last texted him.
Sleep evades me tonight, every time I close my eyes, all I can see was Jamie, flat out on his couch and non-responsive.
The paramedics calmly treating him as I look on, horrified that I might lose the only person that meant almost as much to me as Tom did.
Picking up my phone, I check the time; it won’t be long until the birds wake and start their dawn chorus.
I open up the messaging app and pull up my last conversation with Jamie.
Frustratingly, there are no new messages but it shows me he’s online right now.
My heart rate spikes a little as I tap out a text.
Can’t you sleep? Me neither.
Nothing too intrusive, no begging for him to call, just a nice and quick checking-in type of message.
Avidly, I watch the screen, waiting for the three little dots to appear.
Nothing.
Okay, so maybe he’s gone to the loo or is grabbing a drink.
Give him a minute, Scarlett.
I readjust my position in bed, turning on the bedside light after I’ve punched the pillows into submission and nestled myself comfortably underneath the duvet.
Still no response, but the little blue ticks have appeared beside my message.
At least he’s read it.
Switching from the messaging app to Instagram, I flicked through the random cat videos people have posted, pausing briefly to chuckle as one fell into the bath with its owner.
The scramble to get it out before it maimed her was real.
Ten minutes have passed, and still no response from Jamie.
As I revert back to WhatsApp, I curse him for putting me through this, “If Tom were here, he wouldn’t let you get away with this shit.”
I almost shout at my phone as if it would answer me instead of Jamie.
My fingers fly across the screen tapping out a message to convey my anger, spilling out every emotion via my fingertips.
How dare he make me feel this helpless.
I hover over the send button, my head telling me to let him know exactly what a dick he’s being, but my heart overrules it as I huff out a breath and delete the words, sweeping my feelings aside, again.
Try to get some rest.
The frustration manifests itself as a growl when I throw my phone back onto the bedside table.
I turn onto my side and snuggle down under the covers as I curl up into a ball.
“Fuck you, Jay.”
My eyes screw tightly shut as I begin the box breathing technique my doctor talked me through last week.
It was supposed to help me focus and calm the huge knot of anxiety that has become a permanent resident in the pit of my stomach.
I’d wanted medication, something to numb the chaos that coursed through my body morning, noon and night.
But nope, medication isn’t the answer apparently.
According to the powers that be, I have to learn to work through the grief and make sense of it.
“You have to feel your pain and loneliness in order to move forward, Scarlett.”
She’d told me.
Some fucking chance of that if Jamie carries on being a knobhead.
How am I supposed to deal with my own pain when all I can feel now is the panic and abhorrent fear that he may get his wish and end up dead too.
A lone tear manages to force its way through my screwed-up eyelids and rolls down my cheek, finding its way to my pillow.
Instead of wiping it away, I allow it to stain my skin.
Maybe that counts as feeling my pain.
After what seems like hours of trying to fall asleep, I give in.
Stepping underneath the water that cascades from the shower head feels like a moment of calm within the storm.
As the scalding needles of water hit my skin, I allow my muscles to relax and exhale all the anguish I’ve allowed to build within me.
Today is another day.
One that I hope won’t get the better of me again.
When I open the bathroom door, with a towel wrapped tightly around my body, the smell of bacon attacks my nostrils and my stomach lets out a tormented growl.
The only other person that will be awake this early is my dad.
I drag a brush through my hair and pull it up into a rough bun on the top my head, then pull on leggings and a sweatshirt before making my way down to the kitchen.
“Good morning, darling.
How are you feeling?”
Dad slides a bacon sandwich across the counter in my direction as I perch on a barstool.
Moving around the breakfast bar, Dad climbs onto the stool beside me and sips on his morning cup of tea.
“You know you can’t fix him, don’t you? This is something he has to figure of for himself, I’m afraid.”
“I know, but I can’t abandon him.
It’s Jay.
My Jay; our Jamie,”
I bite into my sandwich and chew slowly, savouring the taste.
“He’s been a part of my life forever and I can’t let him throw everything away because he feels guilty, he’s still with us and Tom isn’t,”
I feel Dad tense beside me.
“Nobody said to abandon him, Scarlett.
All I meant was that he has to want it too.”
He reaches across the small distance between us and grasps my hand in his.
“He’s strong.
He’ll find his way.”
Dad pushes his stool away from the bar, collecting his cup as he does.
“All we can do is support him through this.”
“If he’ll let me,”
I finish my sandwich and drink the last mouthful of tea from the bottom of my cup.
My phone screen lights up as it vibrates on the counter.
Apprehensively, I unlock the screen, hoping with everything I have it’s Jamie, responding to my messages finally.
No such luck.
It’s a phone call from Pat.
“Morning sweetie, hope you got some sleep.
I’ve spoken to Jamie, he doesn’t want me to go over today either but at least he’s answering his phone.”
Pat’s words swim in front of my eyes.
Why wouldn’t he answer my messages? The hurt he is causing me is indescribable.
Never before have I felt this alone, and unimportant.
“That’s great news,”
with every fibre of my being I try to sound pleased for her, but I know my tone gives me away.
“He’s not spoken to you, has he? Oh Scarlett, I’m so sorry.
I’m so angry with him but what can I do? If we push too hard, he’ll shut us both down again.”
“No, no it’s fine.
He’s talking to you and that’s more important.
I’ll try again later,”
I hope my fake smile makes my words sound more convincing.
“I’m ringing him again in an hour, Charlie said he will try ringing him later tonight, but I know he won’t answer his brother.
They hardly speak as it is.
Right, I’ll update you later.”
We say our goodbyes and Pat hangs up, leaving me alone with my thoughts as I hold my head in my hands.
Dad is at my side before I have time to reassess.
His strong arms wrap around me, squeezing me tightly.
There are no words passed between us, there isn’t any need.
He knows I won’t listen and I know I can’t form the words the situation requires.
With a parting kiss to the top of my head, Dad leaves me to wallow in the kitchen.
There is only one thing for it; if he won’t take my calls, he’ll have to see me instead.
I know I’ve convinced Pat to give him space but he’s left me no option.
This is all on him now.
In the hallway I slip my feet into my trainers that live by the door.
“I’m going out,”
I shout upstairs in the direction of my parent’s bedroom.