[less than a week later]
I load the suitcase into the car boot, it lands with a thud. My left arm is still weak so I'm having to rely on my right arm more. My eyes flick down to my wrist, where, once there were bandages, now there are white plasters. I can see the edges of the the scarring at the end of the plasters and it makes my stomach twist about uneasily. If I use my arm too harshly, a stinging zap of pain shoots up it. So I try my best not to strain it. I try my best to be careful. I try to be aware of it but not think about it too much.
The night after I was discharged from the hospital, I didn't sleep. I couldn't. I stayed awake, sitting on my bed, a blanket draped over my legs and a cup of tea in my hand. At first I cried, a bitter, quiet cry. I let it out properly for the first time in a while.
Then I stopped and just thought about everything, not just thought, wrote, I filled pages and pages with everything I've been feeling for months. Everything that has happened and why it did.
I wrote a letter to previous self, I wrote one to my mother, then to Joe, then Zoe. I wrote one for my best friend that left and then one for my father who abandoned me. Then I ripped them all up, except for the one for Joe, I kept that. I folded it neatly and tucked it away.
I also kept the letter to my mum, then I called her, after checking she was awake at that time, and told her everything. I read out the letter to her and tried to keep my voice from trembling and cracking as she cried on the other side of the country. Then I told her my plan, and that as soon as I could, I would see her again. By the time I hung up the phone, cracks of sunlight were starting to shine through my curtains.
So I picked myself up took a shower. Letting the hot water cover every inch of me, washing away everything that has happened. I let the water run over my wrist patched in white plasters, no longer thick bandages, embracing the sting that came with the hot water.
After my body was completely pink from the heat and my bathroom was steamed up, I stepped out and dried myself off. I didn't have to change my plaster dressing yet, so I patted it dry gently.
Then I put on clean, dry, comfy clothes and made myself a cup of coffee. Not only that but I made myself cook porridge to eat. I didn't have much in my cupboards as shopping hadn't been a priority. As I drank my coffee and ate my porridge I made a list of things I needed to do. Zoe had always said how good a to-do list was, and now I believe her.
"Hi, um, to Heathrow Airport please," I shut the Uber door behind me and swiftly place my backpack on the seat beside me. A faint smile tickles my lips as I think about where I'm going and who I'm going to see.
"How's your day going Miss?" The driver spoke kindly.
"Good thank you, how about you?" I was never good at making conversation, but I can manage small talk.
"I'm very well thanks."
After writing my to-do list I sat by my window and watched as life passed by. I saw a family walking a dog, an old lady waiting for a bus, a stray cat wandering along the path. I watched life and admired the beauty of it. For the first in months I actually saw the world as it was. And I realised something. So much is beautiful beyond expectation, when you simply look at it with love.
I watch it now, passing by the car as I'm driven closer to the airport. I see an old couple holding hands and smiling at each other, it makes me smile. It makes me think about Joe. My heart aches to see him. But not long now.
I booked the tickets not long after my breakfast, sitting at my computer, sifting through different airlines and dates and prices. Until I found one that I could afford and that was soon enough. I felt good to click the button that booked my tickets; it made my heart flutter and squeeze.
My heart flutters now at the thought of seeing Joe. I nibble at my lip, and tuck my faded hair behind my ears. My legs won't stop jittering and neither will my stomach. Every inch of me is on edge, excited and nervous to be going to see him. I debated whether to surprise him or not, but I couldn't bare not to tell him. I need him to be waiting for me. I needed him to waiting for me to arrive just like I was waiting to see him. So I told him.
After my tickets were confirmed I texted Joe. I had already rang him in the hospital, for hours and hours, pouring my heart out to him and vice versa. I made sure he knew I was going to be alright, and that it wasn't his fault. I spent almost the whole day on the phone to him, until he was almost falling asleep and my voice was hoarse from talking and crying. I promised him we would FaceTime when I got discharged.
He replied to my text saying he was free to video chat. I made a cup of tea and then sat down to ring him. When he answered, and his face appeared on my computer screen, my heart skipped a beat and my breath caught in my throat.
"Joe," I said softly and smiled fondly.
"There you are," he said, voice low and comforting, smiling in the same fond way.
We talk for an hour before I told him what I had just booked.
"Okay, guess what I did today?"
"What?" He smiled broadly, his chin resting in his palm. He looked so precious like that.
"I, erm, I booked some tickets," I paused watching him closely. I could see him calculating what I just said. I smiled and continued, "a plane ticket, to be precise," I paused again, letting it sink in.
Joe sat up and gasped slightly, "no way." His voice was low and surprised. He covered his mouth instinctively.
"Guess who the fuck is coming to Australia babe?" I announce excitedly, throwing my head back and laughing.
Of course he wanted to know all the details. I filled him in on everything, basking in how full of joy he was. The more he smiled, the more I couldn't help but smile as well.
It still hasn't really sunken in, that in two days, I'll see my Joe again.
My Joe.
The fucking love of my life.
Joseph Graham Sugg.
—
The car pulls up by the airport drop off station and I clamber out, slipping my bag over my right arm then my left. The driver gets out too and helps me with my suitcase. I know he has seen my wrist, but I ignore it. I ignore how his eyes keep flicking down. I don't think he's purposely being cruel or judgemental, but I notice every time he looks.
"Thanks so much, have a great day," I say to him.
"You're very welcome Miss, and you too," he smiles at me, his wrinkled face lighting up.
I drag my suitcase in through the giant glass doors. My heart thudding and my stomach fizzing, I walked over to the check in desk. Every step bringing me closer to Joe.
—
I shift my backpack off my shoulders and slip it under my seat as I sit down. Luckily I have a window seat, and I can spend my time looking at the clouds from above. Or countries from above. How they look so tiny and far below. The roads and streets look like veins, weaving apart then together again. Buildings look minuscule, dotted around, lining the roads. The world seems so far away and detached. It's scary but comforting.
I'm not good with handling the take off and landings in planes, so I need to listen to my music. I turn it up and let it envelop me.
[click on song linked at the very beginning if you haven't already, or just listen to it again]
—
I thank the flight attendant as I walk off the plane. After sitting for half and hour on the plane, I had put on my cardigan. I felt like everyone who looked over was looking at my wrist. Like it was all people saw when they looked at me. It felt easier to just cover it up. Sooner or later I need to get over the fear of people's stares. I remember what Zoe said one time, "I found that time is the best healer."
I need to let time run it's course and heal me. Time has never been on my side before, but now I think it is. Now finally, I think it is.
My backpack is slung over my shoulders and my phone clasped firmly in my hands. If Joe texts me I want to be able to reply straight away. Every cell in my body is on fire with the thought of seeing him again, so soon. I can't believe this is actually happening. So soon, I'll be able to reach out and touch him, hold him in my arms and let him hold me.
Joe has organised a taxi to pick me up and bring me to whichever hotel he's staying at. He's also told the hotel I'll be arriving, which is relieving because I wouldn't know how to explain the situation to the reception desk honestly.
One number is just circling in my head. 216. 216. Joe's room number. 216. I can't stop thinking about standing in front of it, and knocking it, then seeing it open. Seeing it opened by him. Then seeing him, right there, in the flesh. Not long now, I repeat to myself, not long now.
After making my way through Airport Security and baggage claim and everything in between, I make my way to the departure gate. I see people standing there, looking expectantly, holding signs or balloons or just smiling as widely as they can. I see people greeting others with a hand shake, or a wave, a hug or a kiss. Some people are crying or laughing or neither. Watching all this go on around me, fills me with a weird kind of happy-sad emotion. A realisation that so many people live so many different lives and experience each day in so many different ways.
I notice a girl around my age, standing on tiptoes, looking at every faces in the crowd, scanning every person, searching. Then she squeals as another girl, who must be her girlfriend or partner or something, emerges from the gate way. She jogs forward, passing me and everyone else to get to her. They embrace tightly, before one plants a kiss onto the others lips, a smile still tugging at their lips.
I smile at this, and think of Joe. I think of if I had met Joe here, and where he would be standing. A part of me wishes he was here now, so I wouldn't have to wait any longer, so I wouldn't have to watch anyone else meeting others, I could just focus on him. But mostly I'm happy to have privacy when we re-unite. So I won't have to worry about people's stares or judgement. It'll just be him and me.
As I sit in the taxi, my stomach is constantly churning. I can't stop biting my lip and checking the time. My fingers are trembling, tapping the side of the car door, or on my knees or the back of my phone. I can hardly sit still.
216.
—
"Hello, how may I help you?"
"Hi, my name is Adeline Bell, my boyfriend is staying in room 216, and now I'm also going to be staying there. I believe he has already informed this with the hotel."
"Let me just check," silence, tapping on the keyboard. "And what name is his room under?"
A man in a business suit walks in and breezes past.
"Sugg, Joe."
More tapping and clicking. A mother walking in with a toddler in tow. I focus on the patterns of the reception desk and the way my backpack is digging into my shoulders, I focus on anything to distract me from how my stomach won't stop fizzing and stirring and churning. The clock ticks quietly and I feel like every second takes an eternity. It seems impossible that Joe is in this very building.
"Yep, you're expected. And Joe has been given your key card so you can collect that from him." Her voice is kind but uninterested. She doesn't know my story, or where I've been, what I'm doing here. And she doesn't really care either. I don't bother sharing my life story with her. She passes me a form to sign and I do so.
"Room 216 is on floor 8, so you can make your way up there now. I'm sure he's up there."
I thank her and shuffle my things into the elevator. The doors close and it's suddenly silent. Deafeningly quiet. Now I have nothing to distract me. Each breath I take is shaky and unstable. I watch the numbers count up to 8 and will it to go faster. Anything faster than the painfully slow pace that it's currently going at.
6. 7. 8.
The elevator dings and the doors slide open. I gulp and nibble at my lip. Why aren't I moving? I feel like my feet are concreted to the ground, stuck. The doors start to close again, edging slowly together. This spurs me into action, suddenly jolting forward. The doors react by edging apart again, letting me pass.
I walk out and along the corridor, scanning each door. 211, 212. I keep walking. Then I spot it. The door I've been thinking about non-stop. More than that, the door that leads to Joe.
I stand in front of it, my hand clenched, my heart racing. Then I knock, twice.
I can feel the tears stinging behind my eyes, threatening to burst out.
The door opens and I swear my heart stops.
Standing there, right there, is him.
My Joseph Graham Sugg.
—
hiya, so i basically rewrote this chapter for the most part. also i'm changing the story line a wee bit, making it not a surprise anymore cause i didn't think it was that likely or realistic. i hope it's a bit better now!
thank you for reading (even though no one is)
- "taylor"
[everybody was kung fu fighting: 25/6/18]
[fook me: 4/11/18]