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I pull back. The guy tightens his grip.
All my pent-up emotion comes roaring out. I scream in his face while I pull my hand free.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” I turn and run the second I get myself loose. I hear guys jeering and yelling as I run past them.
Dear God, not so long ago I would have challenged them all to arm wrestles, drinking competitions or darts.
Now I’m just running.
What has become of me? All the strength and shields I spent my whole life building is gone.
Now I need Helen to prop me up. I don’t know what to do. For most of my life I haven’t known what I was doing. It didn’t matter before.
It does now. Everything matters far too much, and I don’t know how to turn it off.
Twenty-One
Helen
I get home from work and I approach my apartment door like it might be rigged to blow. I’m scared to confront Roxy. Part of me hopes we’ll just sit across from each other and not talk—at least that way no one can get hurt.
As I struggle through the hallway, I expect Roxy to come and help me with the groceries. She doesn’t. I start to worry.
I would rather see her in a pile of potato chips and wet towels, jumping on my couch with a bottle of red wine in her hand than not see her at all.
I check the whole apartment and I can’t find her. It doesn’t take Sherlock to figure out that her original clothes and backpack are gone.
She’s gone and she took everything she had with her.
I shut off, something I’ve always been really good at. I carefully put away my
ricotta cheese and yoghurt, but once the cold things have been packed my brain snaps as I look at the rest of the food.
I bought chocolates and chunky, buttery cookies. I brought ice cream and I brought cake. I wanted to surprise my girl. With her favorite fatty foods. Hell, plain dame Helen might even walk on the wild side herself and try some sugar and fat. Why not?
In the spirit of this I take out a massive candy bar and go and sit on the couch. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so miserable or so lost. I can’t focus on anything and the pounding waves that start thumping through me after I eat the candy bar don’t help at all.
I knew it. Staying away from fat and sugar so they couldn’t dictate my moods was a smart idea. How stupid do I have to be to break that rule right now when I’m the most emotionally unstable I’ve ever been?
Now I’m shivery and shaky and I can’t hold it together. It takes time for the sadness to well in my guts, for the cold tremors to reach my throat. When they do my hands come up to my cheeks and that’s when I realize m already crying.
My chest heaves and the tears pour down, hot and stinging. Its been so long since I cried. I literally can’t remember when. I’ve spent such a long time keeping myself calm I actually don’t know how long its been since I felt anything real at all.
Roxy showed me that I was living a half life. She showed me that emotion is wonderful, it’s the only thing worth living for.
And now she’s gone.
I feel like a great tearing rift opens inside me. There is so much about her that I don’t know that I’ll never know. I can’t believe I’ll never get the chance. It feels like I could just reach out and touch her, take back the past few hours and explain everything.
To at least talk, to understand. Not this vast nothingness. I have to see her again!
I can feel my tears turning to anger and I’m perfectly okay with that. Why not hit all the top emotions at their peak? Its been so long since I felt them, I might as well run through the entire spectrum.
I get myself a glass of wine, wiping my face. I see the bridal magazine on the counter, and I realize I haven’t thought about my section since I got home.
I didn’t give a fuck about the magazine. I just wanted my bride.
Even now, I don’t care what I’m going to tell Lisa. Couldn’t give two fucks. If she takes the magazine away from me, so be it.
