35. I LOVE YOU JESSIE

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《 A/N … I appreciate every single one of you who have stumbled upon this story of mine and would be absolutely grateful if you could leave a like or sneaky comment on this. It helps me know I'm on the right path but also keeps me motivated to write more stories like this.
Much love. 》

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Home life was no better.

Every inch of my apartment had a memory attached to him, to Simon, though these memories were sweeter, it still hurt like hell to be there. But I made it work. Because I had no other choice but to. So as the days bled into each other, and my crying became sobs and then just tears, I made it work. 

It helped that I desperately needed to clean my apartment so that alone kept me busy on day 6, when I was finally able to pull myself from my bed and walk around my home without bursting into tears. I found so much crap I didn’t realise I’d held onto and in the end I just bagged it all and fucked it off, not even bothering to let the emotions that were attatched to those items hurt me. 

I behaved enough and knew better than to hit the bottle as well. Even though I desperately wanted to, it wasn’t worth what that would do to those who still cared for me, so I cleaned my cupboards out of all temptation and kept myself busy so I wouldn’t lapse because I knew it I did, that would be it. The grief hurt that much I knew I’d drink myself into the grave, or mix pills with it and just go peacefully in my home and while that sounded nice to me, again, knowing it would destroy those who still loved me, and knowing I survived all I had, it kept me from going down that dark path.

Reading became a new pastime as well. I was always an avid reader but because of the job it was impossible to find time to read and I had a bad habit that once I started a book, I’d lose myself in it, so I simply stopped once I came here to the UK but that didn’t stop me bringing my collection OR buying books that I knew I’d like if I was ever out and about. So I had a decent list of books to read and for 3 days I managed to read the first four ‘ACOTAR’ books, which drove me wild. I mean who doesn’t love those sorts of fantasy romance novels? 

I had started drawing again too. Though I definitely needed to work on my skills on that a lot more but I found it enjoyable enough to just waste time doing it. I didn’t draw anything to fancy either, just the view from my window, eyes and at one point I found myself drawing that mask, which set the tears rolling down my cheeks again so I had to put it away to pull myself together again.

And that was what led me, on day 15 at home, to finally pull Simon’s journal out from my bedside table.

I sat there on my couch in complete silence, just staring at it in my lap, for well over an hour before I took a deep breath and opened it up. Inside were pages and pages of his thoughts written down, his handwriting that I defiently didn’t expect to be as neat as it was yet, should have I expected anything less from him? No.

The first page was dated right back to when he first joined the SAS and holy shit was that an eye opener. The details lacked because he was so busy but there were mentions of his family, only briefly, and that he was essentially doing this to help them, which I thought was admirable and sweet. He outlined how tough it was but how much he loved it and I found myself diving into his life for a few hours, managing to get through a quarter of the journal, right up until he met Price.

This was when I had to pull myself from it, and stop because tears started again. He had gone home at one point and his entire world had flipped upside down there. His brother had become addicted to drugs, his mother was enabling his addiction and his father was still ‘a piece of shit’ as Simon referred to him. He had lost control that day, beating his father senseless and threw him out of the family home, promising him if he ever returned he would kill him and with how he described how empowering and the joy he felt beating his dead, I knew he’d have killed him given the chance.

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