The Jump That Left Me Stranded

Chapter 6

Or jumping. 

Then another stab of pain hits, but it's not the satisfying sort. It's the kind of stomach jolting emptiness of taking a step and finding the floor has been snatched away. When you turn to see that someone's vacuumed up the sunset while you blinked. A world turned on its axis. 

It was night when Grace jumped, and the knowledge haunts me - sends the little bird inside me into a flurry of panic. I feel wings thrumming against my ribs, stirring up an icy breath of wind that claws at my throat. And my entire body tenses, hunches into itself, and I can feel another storm raging - this one an ugly, dark mass of clouds fogging up my brain; a slither of lightening streaking through my muscles. 

But this time I have the wherewithal to follow the steps. It's easier at home, when I know I'm here, and mum's here, and this is my house. I can curl a hand into one of Grace's shirts, pretend it's actually her, whisper back the words she had me memorise. 

"I'm Natalie," I choke out, readjust my legs so they fold neatly beneath me. "I'm Natalie, and I'm sixteen. It's Monday today. It's November. I can feel silk in my hand, and I can smell Grace - it's her number six perfume." 

And with every sentence, I feel the world slot back into place around me. I shoulder the wardrobe door, tumble out feeling deflated with fatigue and the weird fluttering feeling still inside me. That's okay - that's normal. At least I've escaped the loop of jumping and falling that plays whenever I picture night time, Grace, and that fucking bridge. At least I've escaped the gut-wrenching plummet into water. 

I don't want to leave the room of memory. Here, I imagine Grace is in some alternate dimension, her footsteps falling over the same carpet, but a million miles away. That's a comfort; I feel warmth inside me as I slip into her bed, pull the sheets over me, feel the wash of her ghost where I lay. An ethereal hand intertwined with mine, our bodies close - the way sisters should be. 

And I don't decide to drift off, it just happens. It happens because my body is tired from the never-ending buzz of feeling - the buzz that ignites my entire body, but never quite reaches my face. Can never quite escape into my voice any more. I fall asleep because I feel at home when surrounded by Grace. She's not in a coffin, she's here with me. Has to be, because I can feel her presence filling the space from behind my eyelids. Her aura spilling off her in waves, washing over me the way she has done our whole lives.

Here, I can hide again - hide behind the cover of the duvet, and hide behind the protection of her presence. Still so rich compared to me. Still so full of life when you close your eyes. 

_____

It's the harshness of my own name that wakes me, eyes opening to the call of my mum. 

"Natalie!" 

In a flurry of limbs, in a disorientated panic, I scramble to sit up. My legs are still curled in the blankets and my brain is still curled around dreams of drowning. The first dream in months, and I'm drowning; a douse of water and the feeling of choking is the memory I wake up to. 

"Coming," I yell. My voice is still low and choked from sleep and the fluster of dying. Or nearly dying; I never quite reached the end. I rip the blankets away with a trembling hand - trembling because, well, that's what my body does now. If I'm not tensed up, shoulders curved in on myself, then I'm shaking with emptiness and agitation. Always on edge.

It's night time now - the inky dusk staining the windows a dark black. In the dead of November, evening becomes a block of impenetrable murk, almost a solid. Grace told me about something similar once, a colour called Vantablack - supposedly so dark it can make spheres look like circles. Can turn three dimensions to two. And at first I hadn't believed her, only when I searched it up and saw the pictures could I understand.