FEAR

Third part

“Morning dad,” I say wearily as I walk into the kitchen. He looks at me in surprise.

            “You’re up early. Couldn’t you sleep?”

I smile, shrugging an answer. I’m glad he’s up because I hate being on my own for any length of time – my mind races and I can feel the combined weight of guilt and insanity pushing me further into darkness. That’s why I drink so much and go out at any opportunity with pretty much anyone, just for company. It’s a cycle; get up, go to work, go out, get drunk, pass out, repeat. I expect my therapist might well pick up on that last remark when he reads this.

            At school, I was always game for a laugh, into everything, class joker full of enthusiasm. Since the night of the murder, I’ve been empty. At university I was popular only because I was always prepared to be in the bar, or in a pub, getting plastered; same story at work. To be honest, it’s a real effort trying to maintain any sort of meaningful relationship.

I was seeing this one girl on and off for nearly five years. Beautiful she was, really, well out of my league. Don’t get me wrong, I love her to bits; can’t imagine not loving her I suppose, but carrying around a secret like mine you can only ever get so close, only ever open up so much because, obviously, you can’t suddenly announce something like that.

            I remember we used to get pissed and have really intense discussions about our feelings, trying to be totally straight with each other. You know the sort of thing: Have you ever been unfaithful? Would you be unfaithful if you thought you could get away with it? If I murdered an innocent girl while I was drunk would you forgive me? Hardly.

If I’m honest, which is key, ours was always a rollercoaster relationship to put it mildly. One minute we’d be all over each other and literally the next she’d be screaming and shouting at me and there’d be chaos. It was passionate from day one and that’s never faded, it just wasn’t always particularly healthy for either of us. Some relationships can just bob along quite happily requiring only the faintest touch to keep them on track. Ours wasn’t one of those. It was one hundred percent commitment all day every day and that level of intensity is impossible to maintain, especially when you’re keeping a secret like mine.

            When we got on, we were literally unable to keep our hands off one another. Nothing was able to distract us from being together, not friends, not university, or work when we’d graduated. Being together was the most important thing. When we fought, it was with the same passion, but ugly, violent. On more than one occasion friends or neighbours called the police. Objects were thrown and smashed, blows rained down until we lay exhausted, often in tears, unable to let the other go.

            As I say, that kind off emotional rollercoaster isn’t healthy long term, it drains you because you give everything you have to the relationship. It’s like a drug, an addiction and that leads to an almighty crash when it’s suddenly taken away.

            When we split up it was like going cold turkey. I needed a fix but couldn’t get the drug, the dose I needed and believe me I tried. It had been coming for a while, the break up I mean. It was just a case of who would be brave enough the do it, or who would get there first. In the end it was her and I’ll never forget that moment as long as I live.

            I hadn’t heard from her for a day or two which, based on what I’ve just told you, was unusual. I immediately suspected the worst, that she was with someone else, because paranoia is something that comes easily to me. I’d been out with a friend, got very drunk, probably started ranting to him about my fears. Anyway, long story short, I sent her a text or left a voicemail that night saying I knew she was seeing someone and that she should have the courage to admit it. The following afternoon she sent me a simple text.