Chapter 10
TEN
Ludo
If anyone ever tells you it’s a good idea for an overly anxious person to get a dog, I’m telling you right now, it’s not. Or maybe it is, but it’s a bloody nightmare for me.
Bella eats my couch and chews my shoes.
Bella leaves slobber on my walls and hair on my bed.
Bella licks my windows and steals actual rubbish from the bin.
Bella is a golden retriever. She makes me go out when I want to stay in, and I love her so much it scares me.
And there’s the problem I’ve always had with loving things . . . people, animals, whichever. With love comes fear of living without it. Of breaking it. Hurting it. Of doing the wrong thing, like I’ve done over and over my entire life and nothing ever survives.
Oblivious to the riot going on in my head, Bella paws my knee, her mournful gaze drifting to the window and back.
She wants to run, but she doesn’t realise how hot it’s been today, how many articles I’ve read about dogs dying from heat exhaustion, and how terrified I am that something will happen to her if we go out before the sun goes down.
I scratch her ears and press my face to hers. “Not yet.”
Bella returns my solemn stare and I’m convinced she understands every word.
She ambles away to the den I’ve built her under the stairs and the bed she only sleeps in during the day.
At night she sleeps with me, star-shaped on my bed, legs in the air like a beached turtle, and I like it cos I know she’s happy.
I take a deep breath and return my attention to my computer screen and the work I have to get done by the end of the day. It’s software testing and boring as hell, but the monotony is good for me. And flexible contracts mean I can work when I’m well and take unlimited time off when I’m . . . not.
You’re are well now.
I steal a glance at Bella and search for the spark of joy that’s sometimes bright enough to silence the counter argument from the devil.
Yeah, but for how long?
As if speculating when my current state of sanity will expire ever does me a blind bit of good.
I turn back to my work and lose myself in the dull activity of repeating the same task, over and over, and recording the results. It kills time, but my mind wanders, and when my wrist begins to ache, I know I’m done for the day.
Stop it.
But I can’t. The throb in my wrist has nothing to do with where my brain wants to go and everything to do with the eight hours I’ve spent at my computer today, but I’m somehow unable to stop the giant leap back in time.
My living room disappears, the scents of cut grass and the toast I burnt at lunchtime are replaced by nuked food and disinfectant. The summer sun warming my house becomes a stiff winter breeze, and Bella’s quiet company is someone else.
In the fragment of my mind that’s still in the present, I wonder if Aidan would mind being compared to a dog, if he’d find it funny. Then I recall the two times he actually smiled and figure he likely wouldn’t give a shit—a thought that sends a shudder through me.
You don’t know those smiles were even real.
It’s true. I’m confident enough that I haven’t invented him, but the details .
. . I have no clue. A lot has happened since I was hauled off the regular ward to spend a week in the psychiatric unit.
Highs. Lows. Yellows and blacks. I’m in a distinctly beige state of mind at the moment, which makes thinking easier, but remembering is always tricky.
All I can recall for certain about Aidan is that I can’t entirely forget him.
And that I can’t decide if I want to.
Bella whines, dragging me back to a reality I can trust. I turn my gaze to her and admit defeat with a heavy sigh. “All right, girl. You win.”
As a rule, when the colours I can see are more light than dark, I like being out of my house.
People, fresh air, moving my rickety limbs .
. . it’s all good for my soul, man. But the woods where Bella loves to run are more of a challenge than a stroll down the high street, especially when the sun fades and most people go home.
Solitude. Silence. It’s too loud, and I fight to keep my anxiety down.
To keep my safe place from being sucked into the never-ending space before me.
I have tools, though. The scenery, Bella’s contagious excitement, and a quick glance to the railway bridge on the horizon—a stark reminder of how bad things can get when I don’t pay attention.
I tighten my grip on Bella’s lead. “Come on, girl. Let’s go.”
We venture into the woods, past the bird watching outpost and the timber stores.
Bella’s favourite path takes us on the longest route ever, but I don’t mind.
Without her, I’d miss the low sun melting through the trees and the squirrels laughing at her from the highest branches.
And it does feel good to move my body. My ankles feel strong, and the aches and pains in my other abused bones fade.
My appreciation of that is something too. For now, the days where I welcomed pain as a hearty distraction are somewhere else, and despite missing Aidan more than I can ever explain, I’m okay with that.
I have to be.
We keep walking. I throw dead branches and pinecones for Bella to chase and even a stick into the shallow part of the lake. I’m petrified she’ll drown, but of course, she doesn’t. She’s a better swimmer than most humans, and she’s back before my heart combusts, shaking water and mud all over me.
“Git.”
I toss the stick into the thickly carpeted woodland and follow her there, hoping she’ll dry off before I have a soggy dog on my bed to deal with. It’s almost like she doesn’t believe I can make enough of my own mess.
If only she knew.
Bella charges ahead, paying little attention to my commands for her to wait.
I trail after her, cursing the friendly psych nurse who thought adding this to my day would be healthy.
My tentative good mood turns to irritation until I reach the top of the hill and see Bella at the bottom, paused majestically in a dappled glade.
I can never be cross with her for long.
Shaking my head, I fish a treat from my pocket and scramble down the hill.
She waits for me this time, naturally. I reach her and offer her the reward.
She takes the squishy, meaty lump and turns her gaze forwards again.
I absently follow her line of sight to the copse a few metres away—trees, undergrowth, and neat piles of sticks from the local boy scouts.
Nothing I haven’t seen before, but something makes me look twice, and that’s when I really see it.
When I really see him—the broad-shouldered figure sitting at the foot of a tree trunk. The man who rises slowly, like he’s been sitting for a long time, and his long body unravels like waking lion.
A lion who feels eyes on him.
He looks around and his gaze finds mine. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, I think it’s Aidan, but it’s not.
It can’t be.
The Aidan I remember has short hair and lies flat on his back. He doesn’t stand tall in my enchanted forest, dwarfed only by the enormous tree behind him.