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ROSS

Blackness. All I can see is deep, dark blackness. There isn't even the tiniest chink of light to throw a subtle shadow across the wall. And the silence is eerie. It's all consuming and seems to drain the life from within my soul. Although if I'm being brutally honest, I don't see a life ahead for me anyway. There's no point to life without her. There's no reason to try if she's not here. And she isn't here. She's gone. She left. She had a choice of a life with me or a life without me and she chose a life without me. I don't blame her. If I'd been in her shoes I'd have made the same choice. But it hurts. It's a pain in my heart I don't think I can ever recover from. And it's entirely my own fault.

I should have told her how I felt a long, long time ago. Even when we were together I was never good at telling her just how much she meant to me. How much she still means to me. It's hard for me to talk about my feelings. Chasing her to the airport made me realise just how stupid I've been. What the hell was I waiting for? Why could I not just talk to her openly and honestly when we had all the time in the world? But no, instead I swallowed it until it was too late and now I'm paying the ultimate price.

I want a beer. No, I need a beer. I need something to numb this pain. This feeling of dread deep down in the pit of my stomach. I get up off the couch and walk to the fridge. I can barely see to put one foot in front of the other yet I know exactly where to tread. I've walked this path in the dark a hundred times before so as not to disturb a sleeping Rachel or Emma. Oh God, Emma. The thought of not seeing her every day either brings another stab of pain to my heart. How the hell did it come to this? I should have done more to stop it happening. I could've done more when she first told me. I could've put my foot down and said 'no, no you can't take my daughter to live across the ocean thousands of miles away'. But I didn't and now it's too late. She's gone. And soon they'll both be gone.

The light from the fridge is like daggers in my eyes. They're still smarting from the tears they've cried today. I grab two bottles of beer. No point just getting one when I know it'll take a lot more than that to even begin to numb this searing pain. As I slump back down on the couch and take a long drink, I can't help but think back to last night. Less than twenty four hours ago she was here, with me, in my arms... in my bed. My sheets still hold her scent. I could smell her perfume on my pillow when I woke up this morning with a huge smile on my face. I thought what happened between us would change everything. I honestly thought she'd stay. Oh God, I can't get the picture out of my head. Watching her walking through those doors, off to board the plane. Off to Paris. Shattering my heart. I drain the first bottle of beer. I need something to erase that moment that keeps playing on a loop in my mind. Tormenting me. Torturing me.

I close my eyes. Somehow this dark is different to the darkness of the empty apartment. I can manipulate this darkness more easily. I turn my thoughts away from the image of her leaving me and instead begin to replay over and over and over again her lips on my lips; her arms around my neck. Stumbling with me; falling with me... loving me. She does love me. I know without doubt she does love me. She connects with me in a way no one else does and sees me in a way no one else sees. She looks into my soul. No correction, she used to look into my soul. My eyes flick open, staring into nothingness once more. Will I ever see those eyes again? I know I'll see her again, we have to meet up because of Emma. But will I ever see those eyes again. The ones that demand my attention in a split second. The ones that tell me a million things without the need for words. The ones that I'm almost powerless to resist.

Our relationship has definitely been marred by communication issues. We're both at fault when it comes to bottling things up rather than being open. It's just how we are. We both find touch far easier than talk. Tenderness and love communicated through fingers and lips, instead of conversation and consultation. And now I'm kicking myself for not doing better. For not being better. For not trying harder. I'm angry at her for leaving. But I'm angrier with myself for not giving her a good enough reason to stay.

Maybe this is what I deserve. Maybe this is punishment for how I've treated her. Maybe this is fate trying to teach me a lesson about missed opportunities and careless actions. Too many times I've let my pride and my jealousy get in the way. Rachel was all I ever wanted. Rachel is all I've ever wanted. And I got her. And then I threw her away. I threw her away for no good reason. I threw her away because of my own stupid insecurities. I was scarred by the disintegration of my first marriage and instead of using that as a reason to become better and stronger, instead I used it as a weapon against the one person I've loved for nearly two thirds of my life. I was younger then though, and although what I did wasn't excusable, it was at least explainable. I thought I'd grown up. I thought I'd matured. But then Emma happened. Emma; the most perfectly, beautiful accident there ever was. That was my moment. That was when I should have stepped up and stepped in. That was my chance to grab the life I wanted with both hands and embrace it. And embrace her. I wanted to. I wanted to so badly. I don't know what stopped me. I should have been honest about my feelings for her. I guess I got scared. Scared because I loved her. Scared in case she didn't love me. And scared that I'd end up losing her and Emma. So I didn't speak out. And now all my worst fears have been realised anyway.

The second beer is gone and nothing has changed. The numbness I craved has not found me. It hurts as badly now as it did several hours ago. I want to call her. I want to talk to her. I want to know why. Why didn't she stay? Why wasn't I enough? Is she scared to love me in the same way I'm scared to love her? Or did she honestly think last night was the perfect way to say goodbye? Is she actually moving on without me? Is that what she wants? She wants a life without me in it? Oh God, I can't bear to think that. I can't bear to think of the rest of my life without her presence. I can't begin to imagine awkwardly standing in her Paris doorway as she hands Emma into my care for a few days and retreats into the arms of some handsome, chic, French lover. I feel a surge of something deep inside me. It's not jealousy. Those days are over. I learned that lesson the hard way. This is different. This is sadness. Complete, all consuming, sadness that surrounds me like a dark, shadowy cloak.

I get up and retreat to the fridge, expertly weaving my way through the darkness once again. Before I know it, two more bottles of beer are in my hand. I pause, the fridge door wide open. The light is harsh but the cold feels strangely soothing. I stand there for what feels like an hour but was in reality less than a minute. I return the beers to the fridge. These are not going to help. I need a better plan and I need a clearer head. Maybe she'll call me when she lands and we can talk. Maybe once she's had chance to think about everything I said she'll reconsider. Maybe all hope is not lost just yet.

I don't want to sit on the couch in the dark anymore. I want to lie in my bed. I want to smell her perfume as I bury my head in the pillow. I want to relive last night in my mind. I want to believe that someday, somehow, we can get it right. I want to believe that... but I don't. I know I'm grasping at straws. I know she's chosen her path in life and it's a path that no longer has room for me. But I can't give up just like that. Maybe I could move to Paris too. Maybe we could live together in a boutique apartment and Ben could visit in the holidays. I peel off my T-shirt and sink down onto my bed, the red sheets cold against my naked torso. I can smell her smell. It's not just a perfume, it's her. Her scent in my bed. In my room. In my heart. I close my eyes and picture her on top of me. Her hair sweeping over my chest, her hands exploring and touching and teasing.

Sex with Rachel was never just sex. Last night was definitely more than just sex. Last night was incredible. Last night I felt more alive than I had done since... since the night Emma was conceived. Last night I felt connected in a way deeper than I ever thought possible. I can't help but smile thinking of her. Her body. Her perfectly beautiful body and the way it makes mine sing. She once told me she loved my hands. I should have told her all the things I loved about her when I had the chance. Her hands, so smooth, so gentle, yet so demanding at the same time. Her hands loved my thighs and God my thighs loved her hands. One of the things I missed most when we broke up was simply sitting together, her fingers resting with no intent other than comfort, so high on my leg it was almost indecent. I wish I'd told her how much I loved that. But I never did. I assumed she'd know. I should have told her. I should have made sure she knew. I should have told her every single time she made me happy. I should have told her until she was bored of hearing it. I should have... I should have done so many things differently.

I turn onto my side so my nose is buried in my pillow. There she is again. Her perfume, her delicate scent. She's everywhere. She's in my bed. She's in my apartment. She's in my heart. No. She is my heart. I can't let her slip away without a fight. Whatever it takes I have to try again to fix this. I have to try harder. This can't be the end.