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All I’d ever have.
There was nothing in his eyes the last time he looked at me. Like his final words, they were empty. So I focused on the one thing he gave me. The tiny, over-in-a-flash hand squeeze. If it hadn’t been so tragic, I’d have laughed. Lying on my bed, cuddling Drew’s shirt and trying not to lose the sensation of his hand on mine before he ripped it away. I was pathetic, and I didn’t care.
Sometime between me cocooning myself in my duvet, and the sound of my phone ringing, I fell asleep. It was late afternoon when I woke up, but I didn’t rush to answer the call. Instead, I lifted my face off my damp pillow, finally let go of Drew’s shirt, and waited for the grief to creep over me again. The numbness of sleep made the pain go away, but with open eyes, the ache spread from my chest outwards to the tips of my fingers and toes. I threw my head back, telling myself not to cry anymore. Hard to do when everything hurt.
There’s always a second when you wake up after a horrible event when you can trick yourself into believing it was a bad dream. Reality set in way too quickly, and Drew’s face flickered into my mind as though a light switch had been thrown on. Was he still at the hospital? Did he talk to Jason? Did he talk to anyone? Desperation to see him clawed at my insides, reminding me we were done. Over.
I snapped out of my foggy-mindedness at the sound of my phone bleeping. To stop another waterfall streaming from my eyes, I went to get it to see who’d called me. Three voicemails and eighteen missed calls? My mum must have been frantic. Listening to two voicemails confirmed it. Both times, she begged me to call her as soon as possible, and I could just imagine her trying to keep herself busy while she waited for the phone to ring.
I’m a bad daughter.
I should have phoned her right after I left the hospital but I couldn’t think clearly enough to hold a conversation. Sleep helped a little, but I still wasn’t ready to hear the sadness in her voice over my split with Drew.
To avoid it for a bit longer, I listened to the final message on my answer phone, sure it would be Mum again.
Wrong.
“Hello, Ellie. This is Jayne Black. I didn’t want to do this over voicemail, but I’ve been trying to get through all day. The thing is, Ellie, while I love your work and think you’d be perfect for the job, I’m afraid after seeing today’s newspapers, I have to take back my offer. ‘Where Are You, Grey Rabbit?’ is a children’s book, and while I don’t know the ins and outs of your life, your name is now associated with drugs, and I can’t afford to have anyone who might damage my reputation working with me. I really am sorry to do this to you. I’d be more than happy to provide you with a glowing reference if you ever need one, but that’s all I can offer now. If you’d like to discuss this further, please call me. And again, I’m so sorry.”
My phone dropped from my hand, and a bitter laugh echoed through the room. Derek had called the publicity “an opportunity.” Instead, I’d lost the one job I’d always wanted. I’d lost everything I’d ever wanted. I couldn’t find anywhere to lay the blame. Was it Jason’s fault for outing my relationship with Drew so the reporters found out my name? Or for taking drugs and creating the story that got me fired? Was Drew to blame because, if he wasn’t so stubborn and angry, maybe Jason wouldn’t have used? Was it my fault for trying to protect Drew, and having it all backfire?
It didn’t fall on one single person. Between the three of us, we’d created this mess, and how did it end up? One in hospital, one fired, and one thinking he’d always be second best.
All three of us miserable and alone.
Calling Mum would have to wait. I folded my legs underneath me, grabbed a sofa cushion to hold on to, and gently rocked myself back and forth, as silent tears fell from my eyes
It didn’t take long for the events of the past few days to sweep through my friends and family. Only those closest to me knew the whole truth, at least in regards to Drew, and my firing. It was hard to appreciate the concerned phone calls when I wanted to be left alone to come to terms with everything. The press weren’t given any official word on my break up with Drew, but he was photographed looking miserable, and since I hadn’t been seen with him, they reached their own conclusions. The bonus of having very few close friends was that there was nobody to sell the real story.
Jason wasn’t getting as much of a hard time as I’d expected with the press or the public, mainly thanks to Derek’s quick thinking and super media skills. He didn’t try to cover up the overdose. Instead, he pushed the seriousness of Jason’s "condition" in a bid to gain sympathy. It worked spectacularly, and Razes Hell’s return to the music scene was already being hotly anticipated. I’d never put much faith in Derek as anything more than a greedy chancer, but he’d come through for all of us when things got rough. For the first time ever, I was glad we had him on our side.
The sting of losing my illustrating job wouldn’t wear off, no matter how hard I tried to distract myself. I didn’t call Jayne Black after the message she left. What would I say? Thanks for being so polite when you fired me? I knew the only words out of my mouth would be grovelly ones and she’d obviously made up her mind, so I let it go and holed myself up in my workroom, waiting for inspiration. Even that depressed me. The “vase” Drew and I attempted still sat at my potter’s wheel. Deformed as it was, I couldn’t bring myself to throw it out.
I’d reached that level of lame.
Life without Drew was weird. Even before we got together, it was unusual for more than a couple of days to pass without us having some kind of contact. Time away from him after being completely wrapped up in each other was torture. Every muscle in my body ached with missing him; misery had settled into my bones, pressing into my flesh and making every movement painful.
So I didn’t move.
I’d reached for the phone a million times to call Drew. I never dialled because ultimately, I knew what I’d get. Deflected to voicemail, or yelled at to leave him alone. I didn’t need further confirmation of how badly I’d hurt him, and if he answered, hearing the pain in his voice would have killed me.
I couldn’t visit Jason, because he wasn’t allowed visitors for the first week of rehab. Being cut off from both of my favourite people in the world was like living without oxygen. I struggled to breathe, to function properly, always aware a fundamental part of life – my life – was missing.
The evening before I was allowed to see Jason, my sister showed up at my flat holding two boxes of pizza, and a bag filled with alcopops. She declared it was girls’ night, and set up the food and drinks on the coffee table before I could protest.
“Don’t you have college in the morning?” I asked, as Lucy rifled through the kitchen drawer.
“I do, but I’m willing to blow it off in the name of a hangover.” She emerged triumphant from the kitchen, bottle opener in hand. “Let’s get this party started!”
“We’re not having a party, Lucy,” I groaned, falling backwards onto the sofa, and tucking my hands inside the sleeves of my oversized jumper.
“Okay, not a party. But we’re not sitting in your workroom, staring at your paints and a blank canvas, either. We’re going to eat junk food, drink alcohol, and chat the way sisters are supposed to now I’m old enough to get smashed.”
The corners of my mouth twitched. Leave it to Lucy to attempt to pull me out of my funk. The girl was an unstoppable force of happy.
“Okay, baby sister.” I sat up a bit and flipped open the lid of one of the pizza boxes. Mmm, meat feast. “But not too much drinking, okay?”
She grinned. “We’ll see!”
