I'm Sorry, I love you

Chapter 31- Two Weeks Later

I've hardly left my bed since leaving the hospital. I've been neglecting myself; leaving my hair knotted and teeth unbrushed, scarcely washing, I've only changed my pyjamas twice. I've barely eaten, my body no longer feeling the stabs of hunger that it used to. I know I smell; Michael berates me for it daily. But to be completely honest, I don't care. I've become numb to the world around me including myself. I've been planning a way out. A way to leave this vile place and its inhabitants behind. A checklist in my mind of painless and mess free endings to this horrible tale. I had considered filling our bathtub and carving a map into my arms, releasing the pain and misery within until it blankets me. The darkness oozing into the water, a baptism for my soul. But the clean-up left behind would be too much for whoever might be called in.

Then I toyed with the idea of raiding our medicine cabinet, but I've vomited enough to last me an eternity. A frayed rope embracing my neck might work, or my car's engine could lull me to sleep in our garage. But what about Mum. Who would she have if I were to do this? To act upon these fantasies. No. I need to make sure she's taken care of before I do anything permanent. Until then, dreams of my dead body finally at peace will remain simply that. Dreams.

Michael has been out most of the day, work he says though I have my doubts. When he's not made time to find something to scream at me about, he's been hiding away with his phone, hushed calls all hours of the day and night. I've tried to eavesdrop once or twice but never for very long. Whoever he's talking to he's angry with, I'm just thankful in those moments that I'm not on the receiving end of it. No, that moment lies when the phone is hidden away in his pocket. I've my suspicions it's the blonde I had the absolute pleasure of meeting before. Her firm breasts and dopey expression still imprinted in my brain. The silly bimbo would be a fool to think she and Michael would be happy together if that's her aim. But what do I care? I won't be around to see it. To watch history repeat itself. I know it's cruel of me to hate her so much when she's doing no different to what Andrew and I did. and if I'm being completely transparent, I genuinely hope the girl never has to live a life in Michael's claws. It's not a life I would wish anyone to live.

Daisy scratches at my bedsheets, still too little to jump on the bed herself. She's become my only friend, always ready to curl next to me or lick my tears away. I carry her up, her tail beating side to side as it always does. I hadn't liked her at first, not after what Michael had said. I found it hard to see anything but a furry replacement of my child. I couldn't, however, help but fall in love with her. She's not fooled by Michael's few attempts at playing nice, she refuses to leave my side when he's about. She's a good judge of character. She's also one of the only reasons I do pry myself out of bed. Her daily walks are the only source of fresh air I get though I avoid places people I know frequent. We've found a lovely, wooded area, secluded from other people. It's nice to sit there for a while, watching the clouds pass by and listening to birds sing their lullabies. I wish I could stay in those woods forever. The darkness doesn't follow me there. The light is too strong to allow it. I feel free and content there. It's in those moments I truly want to live. Where my thoughts terrify me.

"Come on then girl. Walkies," she sprints off, yapping and tripping in her excitement. I chuckle. This golden baby truly does make me feel like a mother. For that I'm grateful.