Through The Dark || Harry Styles

9. LUCY

LUCY

"Hi, you've called, Amy Chen. Sorry I can't take your call, leave me a message after the tone."

It's the eighth time in as many days that I've heard that voice recording and something about it is sitting oddly in my stomach. The anxiety of Amy not being well was relieved when she sent me a text a couple of days ago saying she is swamped with work and will call me by the end of the week, but it's now Saturday afternoon and the week has come and gone.

Amy and I have been friends since school, the rest of our group of girlfriends slowly drifted to other parts of the country, some creating families and others settling down in all sorts of jobs. In time we all grew apart, as it happens, but Amy and I were the exception. We lived together for a huge chunk of time out of uni and although we are opposites in many ways, we were bound together by similar humour and a love for coffee and brunch.

She made it clear how difficult she was finding Jake's death; it seemed to be affecting her so much more than I had anticipated and I feel awful that I haven't been able to be there for her.

But, I just can't. I can barely be enough for myself.

Luckily Harry and I have each other to lean on, I just never thought Amy would be MIA when I need her the most. Although, I didn't expect Harry to become the foundation of my stability either.

Harry always slips into the conversation how selfish he thinks my best friend is and I hate to admit that I'm starting to believe him. It's been two weeks since I started back at work and she hasn't even bothered asking how it went or how I'm doing.

Have I said something to upset her? Have I been so miserable that I pushed away my closest friend? Does she think I'm being whiney or ungrateful or disrespectful in someway? Is she struggling with something else and can't tell me about it? Or doesn't want to burden me with it?

My mind circles questions of insecurity for hours on end. Worry seeping into every pore and my breathing becomes more shallow with each anxious thought.

Some people jog to help with their anxiety; some meditate or do yoga, some paint or read or knit.

I clean.

Maybe it's not overly effective, it's probably not one of the things listed in whatever mindfulness app people are listening to these days, but all I know is it makes me feel like I have control and am restoring order and so I keep doing it.

The biggest issue I have is I don't know where to stop. I frequently start with general housework that then moves to cleaning out the refrigerator, sorting out the pantry, colour coordinating the closet or defrosting the freezer.

This weekend has been worse than most. Amy wasn't there as a buffer and when I called my mother all she could talk about was the admin of Jake's life I still needed to complete. When it comes to being particular and orderly, I am my mother's daughter.

I started vacuuming this morning and it lead to doing all the things Jake usually took care of. I nearly broke my leg attempting to clear out the gutters from a wobbly ladder and ended up sitting in the garage with my head in my hands, sobbing while I tried to sort out his boxes of tools and odds and ends.

I took a break to feed Lola who let me know it was past her dinner time and I've retreated again, this time to the laundry to cry into Jake's old clothes as I sort the giant pile of dirty garments that I'm devastated have lost their smell of him.

I wash, iron and fold all of it, regardless of the fact he won't be wearing anything again, stacking it all neatly into our wardrobe, pretending for the sake of my fragile heart that everything is back to normal.