by Natalie Ward
Something doesn’t feel right.
“I’m just gonna run up and check on her,” I say, already walking to the door.
“You want me to come?” Tony asks, glancing around at the now empty bar.
“I’m good,” I say, already halfway out.
I leg it up the stairs to my apartment, sliding the key into the lock and opening the door.
I’m greeted with silence. Complete and utter silence, which given the TV has literally been running twenty-four-seven since Amy came here, unnerves me.
“Amy?” I call out, walking inside.
The living room is empty, the TV off and the blanket she’s been curled up under these last few months, neatly folded over the back of the couch. I glance in the kitchen as a wave of panic unfolds inside me, curling up through my gut until it crashes somewhere inside my chest.
“Amy?” I call out again, louder.
I walk into the bedroom and see the empty bed before turning to go into the bathroom. It’s also empty, but as I walk back into my bedroom, I see it.
An envelope.
It’s propped up against the pillow of my now made bed, my name scrawled across the front of it in what I recognise as her handwriting. I walk over and pick it up, but as I do, it hits me.
Hits me what the envelope contains.
What that touch before I left was really for.
What that smile really meant.
“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck,” I say, throwing the envelope back onto my bed as I practically run from my apartment. “Fuck, Amy, please, please,” I say as I yank open the door to my bar. “I need to borrow your car,” I yell.
Tony’s head snaps up. I expect questions, but apparently the look on my face tells him everything and without a word, he pulls the keys from his pocket and throws them to me.
I don’t say anything, just turn and run.
The drive over to Amy’s apartment feels like it takes forever as I catch every fucking red light, get stuck behind every slow driver. By the time I pull up outside her building, my heart is racing, my skin covered in sweat.
It takes me three attempts just to open the door my hands are shaking so much.
Inside, I jam on the elevator button, cursing when it gets stuck on the third floor. Just as I’m about to abandon it and take the stairs, the doors finally open, an older couple smiling at me as they walk out.
I practically shove them aside as I get in, hitting the button for her floor until the doors close. As the elevator ascends, I pray that no one else wants to go up.
As soon as the doors open on her floor though, I feel sick, unable to step out. The doors close again and it’s only as they do, that I force myself to hit the open button, step out and walk towards her apartment.
The front door is closed and locked.
I slide my key in and unlock it, opening the door.
The place is in darkness; the only sound that of a ticking clock somewhere. My footsteps seem to echo throughout the space as I force myself to go inside.
“Amy?” I say, the word a whisper.
I lift a shaking hand to the light switch, taking a deep breath as I flick it on and flood the room with light.
It’s empty though, no sign of her.
“Amy?” I repeat, my voice a little louder this time.
Nothing comes back to me and I know that if I want to know the truth, face the fear that’s been lurking inside me ever since I last checked on her, I have to go inside.
I walk towards her bedroom, my heart pounding as I flick on the light and look inside. It’s empty though, her bed still unmade from the last time she slept here, over three months ago now.
I check the spare bedroom, which is also empty before returning to the kitchen, which I already know was empty.
The door to the bathroom is closed. I stand there looking at it, my stomach churning as the bile rises in my throat. I see my shaking hand as it reaches for the door handle, my sweaty fingers struggling just to turn it.
I open it a tiny crack and see the light is on inside.
The last words I said to her flash inside my head.
This will get better, Aims. I promise you, eventually it will get better.
I push open the door and when I walk in there…
…the arm hanging lifeless over the side of the bath…
…the red stain of blood on the tiles…
My whole fucking world falls apart…
I was an idiot to ever think things were getting better, because that touch, that smile, they weren’t Amy getting better.
They were Amy saying goodbye.
Back To This Night…
~ Emma
Nick is exhausted by the time he’s done. Emotionally and physically exhausted. There are no tears this time though, just a hollowed out version of the person he used to be.
Only now that everything is finally all out in the open can I understand the full extent of everything he’s been carrying with him this past year and a half.
The grief. The trauma. But most of all, the guilt.
The guilt over everything he thinks he’s done.
I reach for the water on the coffee table between us, holding the glass to Nick. He nods as he takes it from me, his hands shaking, but he doesn’t look at me as he drinks it in one long gulp. I take the glass from him and refill it, holding it out to him again, but Nick shakes his head.
“Nick,” Adrian eventually says.
I watch as he looks up, his eyes devoid of any emotion now as they stare at him.
“Do you honestly believe you should have been able to save her?” Adrian asks. “That you should’ve seen what was happening that night?”
Nick swallows hard as he nods.
“Why?”
Nick shakes his head, opening his mouth to speak before changing his mind and reaching for the water instead.
“How could you possibly have known?” Adrian asks.
Nick stands and we both watch as he walks over to the window. He stops in front of it and leans his head against the glass. I glance at Adrian, but he’s watching Nick, waiting.
“Why haven’t you read the letter?” he asks.
Nick looks up, his whole body turning. “How do you know I haven’t?” he snaps defensively.
Adrian offers him a sympathetic smile. “Have you?”
Nick stares back at him before he shakes his head once.
“Is it because you don’t want to know what she really thinks, how she really feels about what happened to her?”
“I think it’s pretty fucking obvious how she felt,” Nick says, anger in his voice now. “It was unbearable, wasn’t it? That’s why she did it. That’s why she couldn’t live with it anymore.”
“So these words,” Adrian says pointing to the words inked onto Nick’s forearm. “Do you really believe she’s free now, that death offers up some sort of peace for her?”
Nick glances at the words on his arm, nods as though he’s not really sure and is trying to convince himself.
“You sure about that?” Adrian continues. “Or are they just there to make you feel better about it?”
Nick’s head snaps up again. “What?” he says, the word harsh. “You think I give a shit about how I feel in all of this?”
“I think you must,” Adrian says, his voice calm. “Or else you wouldn’t be here.”
“No,” he says, shaking his head as he walks back over and sits down. “I’m not here for that.”
“Then why are you here?”
Nick glances at me, his blue gaze locking with mine. Gone is the emptiness and in its place is fire, anger and maybe a little resentment, as though none of this is what he signed up for.
“You’re here for Emma?” Adrian asks, although his tone suggests it isn’t really a question, at least not one he needs the answer to.
Nick nods, his gaze never leaving mine.
“What about you?” Adrian says, not letting this go. “What about how you feel or what you need?”
&nbs
p; “It doesn’t matter what I feel,” Nick says, his voice strained as his hands now curl into fists on his knees. “What matters is what happened to her.”
“No,” Adrian says, shaking his head. “What matters is how you feel about it all. About why you continue to blame yourself for it, and why you can’t bring yourself to forgive her for what she did to you.”
“What the hell did Amy do to me?” Nick asks, finally turning back to Adrian.
“She left you,” he says.
“She was in pain for fuck’s sake,” Nick says, standing again.
We both watch as he walks back over to the window again and stares out into the night. His body is rigid with tension and frustration and I half expect him to call it done and walk out. I glance over at Adrian, who gives me a kind smile as though all of this is normal and expected before turning his attention back to Nick.
“You know, Nick,” he says, his voice still calm. “Some people think suicide is incredibly selfish.”
“What?” he says, turning to face us.
“Just let me explain,” he says, holding up a hand. Nick opens his mouth to speak, but Adrian continues before he has a chance. “Suicide takes away the pain, but it does so at the expense of those left behind. Suddenly it’s those left behind who are left in pain.”
Nick gives a short laugh, but it’s harsh and without humour. “Yeah my pain, the pain at everything I caused, everything I did, the life I destroyed. That I do get.”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying, Nick,” he says. “What I’m saying…”
“I think what you’re saying is a load of shit,” Nick shoots back, his voice laced with anger and frustration. “I think you’re somehow trying to justify what you’re doing here, giving me an excuse to feel like shit because I’m the reason my sister was raped. I’m the reason my sister ultimately decided to kill herself, and you know what, I think that’s a really fucked up way to look at things.”
“Nick,” I murmur as I stand.
His whole body is vibrating with a simmering fury. It’s probably the angriest I’ve seen him since this whole thing started.
“It’s okay, Emma,” Adrian says, offering me a kind smile before he turns back to Nick. “None of what’s happening to you or what happened to Amy is fair,” he says. “You’re right, it is fucked up and it is painful, but what I’m trying to say to you now, is that aside from none of it being your fault, it’s also a way to remind yourself of what you still have. Life isn’t a given, Nick, it’s a gift.”
Both of us stare at Adrian now as though we don’t understand what he’s trying to tell us.
“It’s because of these things, the things that really hit us hard,” he says, hitting his fist against his chest to emphasise his words. “That we really know we’re alive at all.”
“What?” Nick murmurs.
“Use that pain and the love you have for your sister to forgive yourself,” Adrian says, leaning forward a little. “But use it to forgive her as well.”
Nick stares back at Adrian as though he has no idea what he’s talking about. I have to wonder myself, exactly what point he’s trying to make here. Is he asking Nick to forgive Amy for committing suicide or is he asking him to let it go and to move on and live his own life.
Neither of these options seems right and judging by the look on Nick’s face, I’m not the only one who thinks this.
“I don’t…I don’t need to forgive her,” Nick eventually says, his voice catching. “There’s nothing there to forgive.”
Adrian offers him a half smile but says nothing.
“What?” Nick asks, defensively. “You think I blame her for what she did? You think I blame her for bowing out?”
Adrian shrugs, as though he isn’t sure he wants to commit to an answer just yet.
“I don’t,” Nick says, giving a half laugh. “I don’t.”
Adrian raises an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”
When we get outside, I automatically lead Nick towards a taxi, knowing there’s no way he’s going to be in the mood for grabbing some dinner. Not tonight.
We don’t talk on the ride home, Nick staring out the window as I hold his hand in mine, my thumb gently brushing across his knuckles. I’m not sure either of us fully understands what Adrian was trying to tell him just now, but I know bringing it up again isn’t what he needs; certainly not in the back seat of a taxi anyway.
When we get back to his apartment, Nick disappears into the bathroom as he usually does and takes a shower. I wait on the couch, not sure what to do. This feels different to every other time we’ve come home from speaking to Adrian. Different from the night Nick first talked about what happened to Amy.
I wish I’d asked Adrian how to deal with this. Asked him what I could possibly say to keep Nick talking about all of it but without making him any more pissed off or broken than he already is.
But I hadn’t and all Adrian had offered me on the way out was a squeeze on the arm and a reassuring smile, as though that was supposed to explain everything.
“Do you think I should read it?”
I look up; see Nick standing before me, an envelope in his hands. My eyes fix on it for a second before moving to his face. He watches me, as though waiting for an answer.
“I don’t know,” I say truthfully.
Nick nods, sitting beside me. “He’s right,” he says. “I haven’t read it.”
I take a deep breath. “I get why you’d be scared to,” I say.
“I don’t want to know,” he whispers. “I can’t know.”
I let it out on a long exhale; knowing this is finally getting real now. That everything we’ve been working towards and getting Nick to talk about, getting him to admit, it’s all about to happen.
“Know why she did it?” I ask.
Nick shakes his head. “Know if she blames me.”
“Oh, Nick,” I say, sliding closer, refusing to believe that’s even possible. I’ve never met Amy, but if she’s anything like her twin, I just can’t believe that could possibly be true. I wrap an arm around him, my other hand sliding onto his cheek as I pull him against me. “Do you really think she does?” I ask. “Truly?”
He swallows hard, running a hand through his hair. “No,” he whispers hoarsely. “I don’t think so.”
I kiss his cheek. “Then I think you know what you have to do,” I say.
Nick nods, turning the envelope over in his hands as though he’s looking for something, clues maybe as to its contents. His name is scrawled across the front of it, and I can’t imagine what he’s going through right now. The fear at what might be inside, the knowledge that he’ll hear his sister’s voice again, so long after she’s gone.
The pain as finally learns the truth about why she did what she did, forcing him to relive her death all over again.
He stares at it for so long that I think he’s going to change his mind, but then he takes a deep breath, opens the envelope and pulls out the letter.
~ Nick
Dear Nick,
I know this is going to be hard for you to understand and I wish there was some other way to do this, to explain it, to make things better. But there’s not.
I can’t breathe, Nick. I can’t breathe because I’m drowning under the nightmare of what happened, of what he did to me, of what he took from me. And as much as I want to wake up from this nightmare, I can’t.
I can’t.
I want you to know that I love you. I’ve loved you my whole life. You are my best friend and I am so lucky to have been your sister. Please don’t blame yourself for any of this, just understand that this is the only way I can see out, the only way I can be free.
I love you, more than anything. Keep our bar alive and take care of Oscar for me.
More than anything though, please forgive me for doing this to you.
Amy x
The tears hit the paper, one landing on her name, blurring it. Emma takes the letter from my hands, puts it on the coffee table and then
pulls me against her where I completely break down and sob like a fucking baby.
I feel her arms tightening around me as though she’s trying to hold me together. She says nothing though, and I’m grateful, because there are no words that can be said. Instead, she simply holds me against her and lets me fall apart in her arms.
I don’t know how long we sit here for, but eventually the tears stop. I pull back, running a hand through my hair, unable to look at her. Emma reaches over, her fingers brushing away the tears on my cheeks before she turns me so I’m facing her.
“Can I get you anything?” she whispers.
I shake my head, exhausted. “Just stay with me,” I whisper, pulling her close as we sink back into the couch. My head is pounding, a throbbing pain that’s mirroring the ache inside my chest.
It hurts. Hurts far more than when it first happened, far more than I expected it would. To think she was in that much pain, that there was no other way out for her, that she could think I would hold any of it against her.
Fuck, how could she ever think that?
Oscar jumps up onto the couch, watching me as he walks towards us. I drop a hand to his head; pat him as rubs against me, as though he knows what’s happened. He curls up against us both, his warm body pressed against my leg.
“He’s a smart cat,” Emma whispers, reaching over to stroke him.
I half laugh. “Amy used to say the same thing.”
“Smart girl,” Emma says, pulling back a little so we’re facing each other. She gives me a small smile, leaning in to press a kiss to my lips.
“Did you read it?” I ask. She nods and I’m glad. “I can’t believe things were that bad for her,” I whisper, the tears threatening to come back. “That killing herself was the only way out for her.”
Emma’s fingers brush my cheek. “It’s difficult to understand,” she says. “I think that’s one of the hardest parts of losing someone this way. Trying to understand how they reached this point.”
