Shackles & Roses

Four

I lay on the sofa in my living room staring blankly at the ceiling. I've been here all day, studying the cracks and bumps until I know them better than I know myself. But I think that even after hours and hours of self-reflection, that's still not such a massive achievement.

I've not moved position once. My limbs are dead-weights, suctioned to the sofa cushions beneath me like it's all that's keeping me alive. They feel swollen, aching, and my mind even more so. I am numb all over. I'm sure that time stopped a long time ago, and yet forever is living itself out in my mind. Forever being my time with Bailey, and a lot shorter than I ever thought it would be.

"Take the picture!"

I grin, watching her face on the camera screen.

"Take it!" she exclaims, locked in a position I can't quite remember, only her eyes darting about, imploring me to hurry up and take the photo. I giggle like a little kid, seeing her become frustrated.

Much as I always tried to take her seriously, I never could when she was angry. Just the thought of her trying to frown nearly makes me smile. She could never quite pull it off; she'd betray herself with the flick of an eyelid, the twitch upward of her lip. There are only a few times I can remember her succeeding, when she was utterly distressed. Times I'd rather not remember, if I'm honest with myself.

No matter how hard I try, I still can't remember how she was posing for the camera. It frustrates me no end, driving worry through my veins. If I can't remember one thing, will that spread? Will I forget other stuff too? I promised myself I would never do that. I promised her. And her I am letting it happen, letting slip the one thing I can still do for her.

I remember her pale, fragile hand, swamped by mine. I could feel her bones jutting out, and how thin her skin had grown, like tarpaulin stretched too-tightly over canvas. It showed just how delicate she had become. One flick from a feather could have knocked her down. Her skin was so colourless, she was like a ghost, and I guess that she was. In just six months she became a shadow of her former self.

"Alex?" Her voice is faint, and I sit up straighter, leaning closer so that my ear is practically against her lips.

It had been so long since she'd spoken. I'd just been sitting there next to her bed, holding her hand even when she wasn't responsive. It was early in the morning, and I was so, so down. When she spoke, I thought my heart might leap out of my chest. The last time she'd spoken was four days beforehand, and all she'd done was ask for water. I missed the sound of her voice.

Miss. I still miss it. I miss her, and what we had.

"Alex?"

I press closer, relishing the sound of her saying my name, knowing that it may well be the last time I ever hear it from her.

"I'm here, baby. I'm here." I stroke the back of her hand with my thumb, but she seems tense still. "Are you in pain? Do you want me to call the nurse?"

She shakes her head as best she can, tightening her grip on my hand ever so slightly, so that I can feel the pressure. She says something, but it's too faint for me to hear.

"Say it again, Bails. What is it?" I lean farther down, so that I can feel her lips against my skin.

"Promise me," she whispers.

Her voice is scratchy and weak, and so quiet I can only just hear. If my heart wasn't already broken, that would have done it. I wait for her to go on, knowing she'd hate for me to have to prompt her.

"That you— you'll remem..." she trails off, and I keep rubbing her knuckles with my thumb, feeling her hand slacken in mine.

"Remember what, baby?" I hold back a breath, not wanting to obstruct her words. I need to hear.