It is hard to re-establish relationships with friends and family when I haven't spoken to them in months. I had to acknowledge my absence, validate their feelings and let them know that I still think of them, of the sweet, irreplaceable memories shared and the future instances that have yet to come. Yet, I cannot bring myself to rectify the breakdown in our once unbreakable family.
I am helpless to self-isolation and long-standing reservedness and unable to function in social situations. Like the guy at the hotdog stand yesterday. He only asked if I wanted ketchup on my order, and my tongue tripped. I forgot how to speak, how to use manners and how to pay for purchases. I found myself considering other customers with inane anxiousness. I bet procrastination frustrated them, bothered them and irritated them. That's what I told myself whilst searching for my voice. That's all I could hear in my head in the eyes of judgement, evaluation and scrutinisation because, for an illogical reason, the opinions of others suddenly mattered.
My life is none of their business.
But it is part of human nature to care about what other people think.
I cared if the couple by the bus stop glanced at me for a second too long.
I cared if the woman in the store stared right through me whilst purchasing weekly groceries.
I cared if the people I loved bore bitterness and resentment for all of the selfish decisions I had made.
My unapproachable behaviour alienated loved ones and possibly caused accidental damage. I owed them explanations, Benjamin and Quinn, Ethan and Wyatt. They did not deserve silence or the insensitiveness on my part. Yes, I lost my son, my little human, my favourite person in the whole world, and I am allowed to hurt and cry and plead with a higher power to bring him back to me, but they lost an important person that day, too. My friends had to grieve the disappearance of their chosen nephew. My brother had to live without his shadow and sidekick. He had to exist in a world where the boy he raised, like a son, no longer held his hand to get him through dark days. There are no more early morning breakfast fiascos in the kitchen: pancakes, waffles, fruit, smiles and laughter. Or late-night gaming sessions: pizza, popcorn, duvets, Zelda and Gohma. We have an empty void in replacement, where the echoing cries of our reality condemn us to a life of physiological torture.
Explanations might be perceived as implausible excuses. Thinking about knocking on their front door or picking up the phone to call them rattled me with nerves. I feared their anger and rejection, namely Benjamin, whose incessant text messages and voicemails ceased as an automatic result of ignorance.
If you exclude Hugo's uncanniness to materialise out of thin air and coerce attention with the neediest of smiles and Sade's resoluteness in entertaining miserable co-workers, Quinn is the only patient one left, the last one to yell through the letterbox and sit on the cold floor in the foyer, drinking drive-through coffee and telling engaging stories. And I sat on the other side of that door, happy to hear her voice, sad to watch her leave, mentally talkative yet physically untalkative.
Quinn always, without fail, left a sealed, takeaway coffee cup on the step before she walked away. It was usually lukewarm by the time I sipped it, and she never forgot to scribble something motivational or inspirational on the bottom.
It will get easier.
It is okay to be sad.
No one else can do it for you.
One foot in front of the other.
You are stronger than you think.
I wish you'd find your way back to us, Emma.
With the crisp morning air in my lungs, I jogged through the magnificent old trees of Hyde Park, the fallen, brittle leaves crepitating beneath purposeful footsteps, the cold morning breeze in my hair. It was still dark outside, with the occasional jogger in sight and passerine birds tweeting and flapping in the gnarled branches of sycamores.
Music pounded in my ears.
Lured into the scenic trail of common ash trees, I jogged with brutal, unsparing swiftness, dripping in sweat, until a spot of damp land braced my fall. Perhaps I tripped over my feet. Maybe I blacked out from exhaustion. All I know is I had a mouthful of dry leaves and unexplainable tears streaming down my cheeks. Still, if I cried, I did so in silence. Thoroughly defeated and more emotional than I would like, I threw the headphones across the grass, muted the music on my phone and rolled onto my back. It is said that song lyrics are good tools to cope with grief and loss, but sad music is a maladaptive strategy and nostalgically triggering. I responded to depressing music with goosebumps and provoked feelings of unhappiness. I listened to sedative tempos and weakened chords because the idiot inside me became the victim of unpleasant tasks. And that is why the headphones can stay in the dirt for all I care. I don't want them. I don't need them. I will delete the playlist on my phone.
Languid from physical exertion and emotional exhaustion, I gazed at the miserable sky with an acute sense of observation as another female jogger continued her journey along the path. It had bothered her, the crazy woman keeled over in the middle of the park, seemingly in the throes of a mental breakdown, because she slowed down considerably to insert the point of espial, but there were not enough obstacles in London to divert or distract attention. Her need to complete her keep-fit session outweighed her concern for a stranger. Her cautious steps developed into vigorous strides as she powered through the lengthy trail of picturesqueness.
I, however, had no desire or energy to finish what I had started. I would rather stay here, in a bed of leaves, basking in the alacrity of wretchedness, than force myself to exist in such a cold, evil world without purpose.
My role as a mother, as a human being, gradually dissipated. I ran to stay focused, worked to pay bills, slept to rejuvenate and ate to survive, but without the expectations of everyday life, the pressure to get up in the morning and put one foot in front of the other, I had nothing to live for, not anymore.
A ragged breath escaped my lips.
Wiping the tears from my eyes, I willed myself to stand, brushing brown foliage off my clothes and pulling fragile sprigs out of my hair. I traipsed through trees that had somehow curved inwards to create an archway for the footpath. I espied a tall, shadowy figure running steadily toward me. It was a determined-looking man garbed in sportswear. A regular, I thought, as I catalogued the fine bone structure of his jaw and the turbulence of emotions in his deep-set eyes. He spoke to me once when I piledrived into him in the midst of an unfocused run. I did not know his name. He did not know my name. Yet, I felt a sense of familiarity with him whenever he and I stumbled upon each other.
Maybe acquaintanceship is not the worst-case scenario. It is better to be out here, surrounded by recognisable faces rather than unrecognisable faces. It dispelled irrational anxieties and made me feel less alone in the world.
Too aware of my pathetic, sodden appearance, I averted my gaze to the floor, pretending not to notice him. He drifted into the distance with a mere glance.
And then, with every atom in my body radiating in wonder, I felt an inexplicable surge in my chest, where my heart beat unsteadily, and a gravitational force to explore the sudden calmness of mind. It washed over me in gentle showers, relief and rain.
My head dropped back to experience the sheer unexpectedness of the downpour on my skin.
I laughed senselessly. Apparently, that is what lost people did when standing in the rain: laughed or cried. I had yet to determine which physical reaction inspired strangeness.
Despite intense feelings of bereavement, I braved the storm with a smile on my face. It was the first time in months that I felt awake, alive and, oddly, closer to my son.
My upturned hands caught droplets as the heavens opened and whispered remorse.
Then, my short-lived happiness waned into broken-heartedness. It did not matter where I went, what I did, or who I spoke to. I could not pretend to enjoy or value life. I had no satisfactory answers, cognitive closure or finality of my son's death, yet days had rolled into weeks, weeks had rolled into months, and I still chased the memories of him, praying that, by some miracle, he'd be waiting for me at the end of the road.
"Some people believe raindrops are tears of compassionate angels," I said, knowing who stood behind me without turning to look. "Other people think raindrops belonged to the deceased."
Brad never came closer. "What do you believe?"
"I believe in hope." Thunder cracked and rolled in the sky. "Just envisioning a better future makes me feel better." In the shadows, I noticed the serried rows of security detail. "Does it bother you? Having eyes on you at every corner."
"I am used to it," he said airily. "Besides, I am technically one of them. It is my job to protect the boss. The only time I completely switched off was when he dragged his arse to bed. Other than that, I stood on the sideline, ensuring his safety."
I watched the men group together for a brief conflab.
"Ignore them." Brad came into my direct line of vision, and once more, I averted my eyes. He removed his grey hoodie, pulled it over my head and swept wet locks of hair out of my face. "Do you normally roll around in the mud, or is it a new habit?"
My face was extremely hot.
I shoved my arms through the hoodie sleeves.
"It was a joke." He used the bottom of his T-shirt to wipe his face, and I caught a slither of chiselled abdominal muscles. "Hey, if it's any consolation, I think the whole wet-and-wild looks good on you."
"What are you doing here?" I am too short for such a large item of clothing. The oversized hoodie fell past my knees. "I thought you had a date this morning?"
He shrugged one shoulder. "I might have exaggerated."
"Really?" Against my better judgement, I came across as jealous, which, for all intents and purposes, I was jealous. I knew he'd entertain other women now that whatever we had tried to build flatlined. But I did not need a visual. Or details and insight into how much fun they'd have together. "You sounded pretty certain to me."
"Well, I am still working on it," he said raspily, and the ache in my chest intensified. "She is hard to pin down lately."
It took my brain a minute to catch up. "Oh?"
"Yeah." He gave me a tight-lipped smile. "Oh."
I concealed satisfaction. "Why?"
"What's the question?"
"Why are you holding out for me, Big Guy?"
Brad chose not to answer.
"I'm sorry." It was a sincere apology, but I knew anything I had to say would come across as insincere. "I'm sorry for pushing you away, distancing myself and making everything about me. You were a friend first. I know you valued that friendship, and I ripped it to pieces." My hands curled and uncurled. "I am trying to do better."
He studied me intently. "I am not asking you to do better," he replied after a long, nerve-wracking pause. "I am asking to work out with you before breakfast and coffee."
Taken aback by his unfazed demeanour, I gestured to the sheets of rain. "It's hammering down."
"You seemed to love it five minutes ago." His eyes squinted, withstanding the impact of momentary vision impairment as the rain crashed against his handsome face. "Although, I should warn you. I will probably lodge a complaint with the park's office rangers for damages. They should have issued a weather warning or something." Large droplets of water trickled down his forehead. "My hair and rainwater? It doesn't mix very well. And it's a bastard mood kill."
I stared, wide-eyed yet amused. "You are crazy."
He drew the hoodie's hood over my head, shielding my face from the cold, wet weather. "I'd rather be crazy than normal."
My heart swelled.
"So, what do you say?" He rubbed his hands together. "Do you fancy a real workout with one of London's most eligible bachelors? I don't know whether you noticed, but one is standing right in front of you."
"Asswipe." Ignoring the sexual innuendo, I pushed him in the shoulder and, stepping around him in a surreptitious manner, broke into a fast sprint. "You wouldn't know a real workout if it slapped you in the face!" Unbothered by the vigilance of suited men in the shadows, I made a run for it, my footsteps pounding on the footpath. "And you need to work on your ego! Not every woman finds you desirable!"
"What?" He broke into a sprint and ran toward me. "You are wrong!"
I laughed from the depths of my stomach, kicking up dirt as I chased the high of amusement.
"Admit it." Within no time, he'd fallen into step next to me. If anything, with minimal effort, he could probably outsprint me. I don't know how I felt about that, given that I trained hard every damn day. "I am a good catch."
My lips are sealed.
"Husband material." At this point in our light-hearted debate, he is talking to himself. "I am gorgeous, smart, funny and rich. I could make any woman happy." Then, he jogged backwards, facing me with a knowing smirk. "You just don't know what's good for you."
My sprint slowed. "Why does this feel like an interview for a future spouse?"
"I don't know, but did I pass?" His breathing was controlled. "Surely, I earned points for wealth."
"Look at me," I said, and his gaze raked over me lazily. "Do I look like a woman who can easily be swayed by money? My idea of excitement is finding a bargain at the local flea market."
"Street markets and second-hand goods?" He was appalled by the utter direness of previously owned goods. "You haven't lived, sweetheart."
"I could say the same about you." My feet took me down countless routes. "It's not just about scoring bargains. You can line your stomach with food vendors and baked goods and luxuriate in live entertainment. Heaven forbid, you allowed yourself to have fun with normal, everyday people."
He frowned at me. "As opposed to what?"
"Extortionately priced alcohol and supercilious rich folks."
"Hey," he scolded offendedly. "Not all wealthy people have a supercilious outlook on life. I don't think I am better than others."
"Really?" My brows jumped to my hairline. "Then, why are street markets and second-hand goods beneath you?"
Brad lost his voice.
"See!" I let out a small laugh. "Supercilious."
"You got it wrong." He came back to the position beside me as we followed the perimeter. "I do not think I am better than people who live frugally or within their means."
My calves started to burn.
"You know, I never had it easy growing up." He opened up, and it would be a good time to mention that I also lived on Mostyn Avenue, but something told me not to go there. "My childhood home was a shit hole. I am talking about rodents, empty kitchen cupboards, uncarpeted floors, mouldy walls and broken furniture. I wore clothes and shoes that were two sizes too small. I ate leftovers at the neighbours' house because my mother barely bought groceries, and if she did remember to buy something to knock a meal together, it usually ended up on the floor during one of her many crazy meltdowns."
It took everything in me not to express sympathy.
"My mother was not the most domesticated person on the planet." He raised an eyebrow to add humour to the conversation. "Christ, I fucking hated my childhood. I knew from a young age that I wanted to be better. It's not like surpassing her piss-poor efforts would be difficult. A bottle of bleach and a mop bucket? I am already in a different league."
I wish I had known him back then. But I was young and, to my knowledge, Yolanda Kelleher never had any children.
"So, I like to live the high life." His expression was unreadable, his face blank and devoid of emotion. But when I looked beyond the impassive facade and into the soulful recess of the man's eyes, I saw the vulnerability of a little boy who still harboured feelings of pain, anger, hatred and resentment. "Is it wrong to want more out of this world after living in squalor?"
"No." You deserved a breakthrough, I thought. "It's not wrong, Big Guy."
His cheek muscles throbbed.
"Moreover, as much as I love the grey tracksuit and the white trainers..." Gucci trainers, I might add, because the man donned low-top leather with gold thread-embroidered bees just to work up a sweat in the park. "I don't know. I guess there is something pretty spectacular about you in a three-piece suit."
He gave me a knowing smirk.
My eyes rolled. "Alight, Lothario. Humble yourself."
"I will fake humbleness if it makes you feel better. Just know that, inwardly, I am gratified beyond measure." He puffed out a misty breath. "Shit, do you seriously do this every day? I am bored already." I must have pulled an insulted face because he quickly added, "I am not bored with the company. I like spending time with you." His hand latched onto my elbow, bringing me to a stop. "Cardiorespiratory training is my least favourite exercise. I can hit the treadmill for that. I prefer resistance training. Add that with some music, and I am a happy man."
I inventoried the man's tall, muscular physique. "Well, I like running."
"From what?" he asked, and I frowned at the straightforwardness. "What are you running from?" His eyes bounced from one length of the park to the other. "Or, better yet, what are you looking for?"
I shook my head, refusing to go there.
"Fair enough," he said with growing irascibility. "I don't like it, though. It's dark, cold and unsafe. Anything could happen to you." He bit his lower lip, lost in brief rumination. "I'd feel better if you went to a local gym."
My head shook again.
"Emma." He glared at me for several seconds. "What you seek is not here. You want to run yourself out every day. Fine. Whatever works for you. But do it somewhere safe or expect an assigned bodyguard."
"What?" My eyes almost fell out of my head. "You cannot do that. That's an invasion of privacy. I did not ask for company, and I most certainly did not ask for protection. You do not get to waltz back into my life and throw demands in my face."
"How can I waltz back into your life?" His hand reached up to extract a leaf from my hair. "I never left. You did."
I nodded because I could not argue with the truth.
"Christ." He scrubbed a hand down his face. "Did I ruin the date before it even started?"
"I think I ruined it by not accepting your hand in marriage," I joked, and he chuckled throatily. "At least the rain dried up. You might have time to fit in a salon visit."
Brad hummed as if he were listening, but he looked too tired to concentrate. His eyes had dulled, his face had paled, and the only thing he could seem to focus on was the time on his wristwatch.
"Are you okay?" My hand touched his lower back. "You don't look so good, Big Guy."
"I am good." He suppressed a big yawn. "A bit knackered, but nothing I can't handle. Let's get this workout over with, so I can throw some caffeine down my throat."
I had a better idea. "Do you want to come over to my place?"
He did a double take. "You're inviting me over on the first date?" A smug smile found its way to his lips. "I am glad to see I haven't lost my touch."
"For juice and yoga—and maybe a dose of meditation," I said, wary, and his entire face scrunched up. "What? You said you were tired."
"Hence coffee." The irritable man intentionally deadpanned. "Not straight-backed breathing exercises and the downward facing dog...On second thought. I will happily help you to get into that pose." He grabbed my hand. "Let's go."
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I will be back for typos. ❤️
Thoughts on the update?
—Brad?
—Emma?
—Ben?
—Ethan?
—Wyatt?
—Quinn?
—Hugo?
—Sade?
—Carter?
—any mentions, I forgot?
I have almost finished the second part of this chapter. I am hoping to update it tomorrow.
And yes, I accidentally typed Command instead of Deception in the Insta countdown, lol. But hey, I wouldn't be me if I didn't make tons of errors throughout. 😂 🤷🏻♀️
Thank you for reading. ❤️
Please don't forget to vote. ⭐️