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I fall to the bed and close my eyes. I shouldn’t. I know what I’ll see. What I’ll hear. But I’m exhausted. Always exhausted.
Seven months. Seven months of hated but deserved solitude. Can’t face a world where there is no Jake. I haven’t left the house. Not once. Hardly left this room. We didn’t share, not since we were fifteen, but he was always in here. Always reminding me I wasn’t all bad, because we, Jake and I, were one, and everyone has two sides.
“We did everything we could.” His words, his grave face.
The looks my parents gave me when the doctor uttered those dreaded words. They’ll haunt me for the rest of my miserable life
I’m hollow. So fucking hollow.
No Jake.
Endless guilt.
Parents who hate me.
I hear a knock at the door, but I remain where I am, unmoving, unfeeling, unwilling. I hear it open. I know who it is; I heard them arrive a few hours ago. I’m surprised it took her this long to seek me out.
“Hi,” Lauren says, closing the door and resting back against it.
Silence.
I don’t have the energy to tell her to fuck off. To leave me alone. She wanders over to my bed and settles on the edge. Reaches for my shoulder. Strokes it a little. My dead eyes find her, my face as blank as my mind. Then she produces a bottle of vodka from her bag. Unscrews the cap. Takes a glug. My face remains impassive, but when she holds it out, I find some strength to take it and sit up. And I down half, forcing myself not to gag. The burn in my throat is welcome. It’s something else to focus on. Something other than my unrelenting pain. I don’t hand the bottle back. I work my way through it under Lauren’s watchful eyes until it’s empty, before slumping back to my mattress and closing my eyes.
I know what’s coming next, so I remain unmoving when her hand slips under the sheets and finds my limp cock. “Condom,” I mumble.
“I’m on the pill.”
I open my eyes and find her top half naked. Reaching for her hand, I yank her into the bed and climb on top of her.
Numb.
Nothingness.
But it’s a fuck load better than grief and guilt, and maybe all I’m good for anyway.
The easy lay.
Leave your feelings at the door.
I blink my vision clear, shooting up on the bed. My phone is ringing again, and I sift through the sheets and pillows until I locate it. Amalie’s name glows on the screen. I drop my mobile back to the bed and head for the shower, the sound of her trying to reach me taunting me while I scrub last night’s dirt away.
By the time I’m done, I have endless missed calls and a few voicemails. I delete them, but notice one from John. I dial him.
“I need you in the new wing,” he says in answer.
“What for?”
“The beams. The carpenter wants to know if you’re happy with them.”
“They’re beams. What could possibly be wrong with them?”
“Just get your motherfucking arse over here.” He hangs up, and I laugh to myself. God, would I love to smash that fucker in the face from time to time.The feeling is probably mutual.
On a heavy sigh, I start to get into one of my finest suits, my armor, a mask to hide the cracks, rough up my blond hair with some wax, slip on my Rolex and brogues, and head to the new wing.
I find John in the farthest room, staring at the ceiling. “What’s the problem?”
His head drops, and I get a rare glimpse of his eyes as he stares over his wraparounds at me. “Are you happy with them?” He motions to where four thick oak beams span the width at even intervals.
