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“Go take a shower, bro. Let us set up breakfast,” says Derren as he breezes through my house into the kitchen.
I don’t want a shower, but I can’t be bothered with arguing. My mum and brother will only stage an intervention and I’ll end up doing what they originally asked me to do.
“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” asks my mum.
If I had a pound for every time someone has asked me that then I’d be rich. I’d be able to give up work and live a life of luxury somewhere hot.
“I’m okay, I guess. I...” I shrug and walk in the direction my brother just walked.
“We stopped at Jo’s Diner and picked up breakfast. Do not say you’re not hungry because the minute Jo knew it was for you, she packed this bad boy with all your favourites.”
Everyone has been too kind. I just wish Harper could see the love and kindness from everyone. Instead, she’s all alone. And that thought drives me back into the dark mood that lingers over me constantly.
“I’d better get a shower, then.” I sigh.
I walk off towards the bathroom like a scolded schoolboy. I thought my days of taking orders were long gone, but it just shows how life can turn around quickly.
I look at my reflection in the mirror and I hardly recognise myself. My hair has grown several inches; I know Harper will hate it. She likes it long enough to play with and run her fingers through. My skin is red and blotchy, my eyes are sunken with bags under them, and my t-shirt is hanging around my frame, which has probably lost several pounds throughout all of this. I’ve let myself go. I’ve got three weeks of leave due to being medically signed off work, and I’ve laid around the house like a slob. It’s only thanks to my mum that my house is still standing. She has been here every day, filling my fridge, cooking, cleaning, making me move out of bed by giving me things to do.
I feel weak and dejected. I don’t think that will change until I know Harper is okay and I can see her with my own two eyes, feel her with my hands, and breathe in her perfect vanilla scent.
Hurry up, baby. I need to see you. I need you.
Chapter 8
Harper
Two weeks in this place hasn’t been as bad as I thought it would be. It took me the first week to even leave my room. I was happily locked away from everything and everyone, and I think even the doctor was giving up hope that I’d get through this spell. I’m not sure if it was boredom that made me determined to get out of here or if I’m ready to move on, but whatever it was, it’s working.
I walk the corridors daily, sometimes several times. I people watch. I think, as an artist, that’s what I do best, and while I dabble mostly in web design and book and magazine design, I love to create art in the form of painting pictures. My dream is to own my own gallery and stock art by talented artists. However, the closest I can get to those dreams is by observing everyone I come across, and some of those people are a lot worse off than me. That was the eye-opener for me, because yes, I’m grieving. Yes, I tried something terrible, and yes, I’m a long way away from being free of all the guilt and humiliation I hold myself accountable for, but there are people in here who will probably never be free again.
“Harper?” I look over at Julie, the nurse, in the creative corner. “Why not come and join us?”
I’ve no idea how long I was standing, just watching, daydreaming, but I move away from the door towards the table Julie and a few other people are sitting at.
I gaze at the table, at all the art supplies, and I pick up a piece of paper and a brush. I examine the brush carefully and run my thumb over the bristles. It isn’t the best. It has been well used, but it will do.
“Do you have an easel?” I ask sheepishly.
A little part of me is hoping she’ll say no so I can just walk away back to my room, but there’s a part of me that’s interested in creating something.
Julie stands up, pats my shoulder, and walks away from the room. She returns moments later with an easel. Again, well used, but it stands tall and strong. I take it from her hands and place it in front of the window. I tack my paper in place and just look around the gardens. It’s beautiful outside. Bright, green, and peaceful.
“Are these any use to you?”
She hands me a box of paints and a mixing pallet that look like they haven’t been used much and whispers, “I’ve been keeping these for a special occasion, and I think that time has come.”
I smile at her words and accept the box graciously. There are more than enough colours in the box that will let me get started. One of the amazing things about art is that colours can be created by mixing.
“I’ll just be over here if you need me for anything.”
I pull over a stool and block out any noise around me. I wish I had my ear pods with me for full-on noise cancellation, but I don’t. I lean my head back and close my eyes. I imagine myself sitting outside, sun on my skin, the scent of the trees and flowers surrounding me. It feels like a while since I picked up a brush and painted, but something inside of me sparks alive and I feel creative for the first time in... well, in a very long time.
The feel of the paper, the smell of the paint, the strokes of the brush through the velvety liquid... I could get used to this again. I’ve missed painting. I’ve missed creating. I’ve missed... my old self.
This is the moment. I need to get my life back on track no matter how much that pains me in the process.
Chapter 9
