This Is England » Freddie Highmore

68.

I WALKED into my flat, completely plastered. Slamming the door behind me, I slouched down to the floor; my back pressed to the concrete barrier of my so called humble abode. I didn't get drunk simply because Carolina and I had deteriorated our relationship for a safe measure, I got drunk because of her absence. Because I felt like it. Because it was all I knew these days. Drinking and fucking -- the perfect combination to avoiding the death of a friend.

I looked at my living room and suddenly felt lifeless. Amelia wasn't on the sofa watching some weird American sitcom, in just my sweats and loose t-shirt, hair done messily in a ponytail. The sofa was now empty. The last time we shared it was the very day I proposed to her, the very day we made love.

For the first time in about a month, I began to cry. Hot tears started to stream down my face and my mouthed scowled at the heartbreak it had buried within its depressed state. I lightly pounded my knee, then found myself falling to the side; tears streaming down my face. I couldn't do this. I couldn't keep on. I felt like complete shit for even avoiding Amelia and going off with that rich whore. I felt like complete shit just because I wanted to feel like shit.

The last thing I remember before fading into my drunken stupor was the dining room light hovering over me. And for some reason, I thought that light was Amelia; reaching down using her angelic touch to save me.

..

The next morning, I awoke with my body feeling heavy. I stared up at the ceiling and sighed. Just as I was about to get up and smoke a joint, I feel my phone vibrate against my pocket. I groaned, slowly pulling it out. I looked at the Caller ID. It was my younger brother, Bertie.

"Hey, Bert. Ye alright?" I groggily asked.

"Hey," he greeted on the other end. "I heard about Max. I'm sorry about that. Are you doing okay?"

I ran a hand through my hair. "Never been better." I replied. "I sort of broke it off with Amelia, went with someone else, and then that went down the drain too." I sighed. "Are you alright?"

"Wow, that's bloody horrible. Sorry mate. Yeah, I'm fine. I wanted to see if ye can come by this weekend? We haven't hung about since ye left for Cambridge." Bertie was silent for a minute, and within that silence I could tell he was still affected by my absence after all these years.

I shrugged. "Sure. Why not?" I finally answered. Then, for some odd reason, I had this feeling that Bertie's request had to deal with something deeper than just us hanging out. So I asked him: "Is everything alright at the house?"

Shuffling wavered on the other end, and even though I couldn't see my younger brother physically, I could hear faint sniffles in the background.

"It's Mum." he finally said. "She's getting worse."

...