My finger traced the familiar skyline through my window, trailing over each building outline, staring down as people embedded the pavements each with their own unique tale. The cool night air had made my window cold, but no shiver travelled through me, the condensation clinging to my skin. I have come to notice that the city never sleeps; someone always has a light twinkling, in the way that there are always unseen stars in the sky above. Drunken renditions of Auld Lang Syne could be heard from the TV in the living room and the last trails of fireworks still hung in the sky, fading into nothing. It’s funny to think it’s the start of a new year. This is not how I imagined starting it; sitting alone in my bedroom, dressed in the same clothes I was dismissed from the hospital over two weeks ago. It’s quite remarkable actually that they managed to arrange a funeral in such a short space of time. Today. 1st of January. Seems such a strange day to have a funeral, start the New Year with the longing memory of a lost loved one. Or perhaps that’s why today was chosen.
Tina had given up on me altogether I think, hardly surprising. The first few days she tried, I knew she was trying but I didn’t care, she wasn’t who I wanted to walk through my door. Each time I heard it open I hoped that it would be him, despite the impossibility of it. That’s love I suppose. She came in with food and drinks and a few newspapers when the report was issued. Then later sympathy cards arrived and get well soon cards. I was grateful for her efforts, although I don’t think I expressed them, I didn’t express anything, I didn’t even move from the window. After the first week she stopped trying, she still brought me food though. I suppose I tried as well in the first few days; I called him, texted him and even got Tina to post a letter at his work. Nothing.
I was playing a game with myself, like a child in a swimming pool. Allowing myself to fall, slipping beneath the surface but I did nothing to stop it. Unlike the child I didn’t swim to the surface when I knew I could hold my breathe no more, I didn’t try to cling to the edge of sanity but just watched as I fell deeper through the water until I sat on the bottom, staring up, or down in my case, and watch the world around me carry on as normal. Watching as each person walked past my apartment block, so many people, but none of them were the only person I wanted right now.
Tina had friends over; I could hear them through my door, talking in drunken slurs, laughing, enjoying themselves. I counted at least 30 different voices. At the start many of them asked where I was, whether I would be joining in the party. She told them I was out, which was believable as my door was shut, light out, no sound. I really thought he would come, I thought he would realise how much I needed him right now. Instead I was forced to replay my last moments with him over and over in my head to feel something, to keep him alive within me.
*The hospital 2 and a bit weeks ago*
He stood with his back to me, staring at something in his hands. Judging by the rustling I took it to be a newspaper. I inhaled deeply as I sat slightly higher in the bed, wincing slightly at the stiffness of my body. His head whipped around at my movement, his usually shimmering eyes dark, rimmed with black circles. His long strides brought him to my side in a matter of seconds. Something was very wrong I could see it on his face. He outstretched a quivering hand, his thumb trailing across my cheek and for a moment his eyes softened, his jaw unlocked and his lips twitched into a smile. But it barely lasted. The door swung open and a balding man in a white coat came in and Benedict jumped back away from me, as if afraid the doctor would scold his behaviour. The doctor asked standard questions about how I was feeling, took my heart rate down and read a machine beside my bed. All the while I kept my eyes locked on Benedict, whilst his did everything to avoid mine. He had stepped backwards into the light which illuminated his solemn features. His hair fell straight over his forehead, dirty and blackened, his arms were covered in dark red marks and deep worry lines etched his tired face.
He ran his fingers through the stubble on his chin, staring at the floor which just added to his deflated nature. The doctor left, having signed my discharge sheet and the room remained still, nothing moved or changed. Next to my bed was a newspaper dated the day before yesterday. It was already open on a page and I soon realised why. A huge picture of a burning house, the flames rising high into the sky, curving through windows, twisting through doorways like demons tongues, filled the page. A brief description followed “3 fire engines were sent to distinguish the mammoth flames over taking the apartment of actor Benedict Cumberbatch in the early hours of yesterday evening. No reason for the fire was found although investigations are underway about a suspected gas leak”
“What happened?”
“You read the article” he said, his voice quiet but husky. He stepped closer to me once again but only to remove the paper from my hands and place it in the bin. He then stepped away from me.
“You don’t know anything more than what is written here?”
He just shook his head but didn’t look at me. “Benedict” I said quietly, trying to get out of my bed.
His eyes locked with mine, a look so dark and so full of pain that I couldn’t bare to just sit here. I stood from my bed but he placed a hand on my shoulder, placing me back into the bed before standing back against the wall once more. Why wouldn’t he let me comfort him?
“Benedict” I said again, this time more pleading. I needed to know what had happened; my memories were discordant and just added to my confusion. He didn’t look up, his hair creating darker circles around his eyes. “Benedict please” my voice cracked and I could feel the tears rising in my eyes. His eyes matched mine when he finally looked up, I could see the glaze of tears covering his gorgeous eyes. “I don’t know what you expect me to know Theresa!” His voice was loud, angry but I wasn’t sure who at. Me? “You read the article, the firemen couldn’t find a cause, I told them about the gas sound” memories of the hissing filled my mind “I told them everything but they haven’t come back to me with anything! You could have died! In my… in my apartment” A tear trailed down his cheek, followed by another. I tried to get up again but he held out a hand, telling me to stay in bed, he took a moment to regain his composure. “He kept saying that you shouldn’t have been there, it was just meant to be me there. It was all intended for me. He kept screaming that you weren’t supposed to be there over and over. Don’t you get it, don’t you understand! Someone tried to kill me and if it wasn’t for Jamie we both would be dead right now. I have lost everything Theresa, it’s all gone”
“You haven’t lost me” I muttered but he didn’t look at me, didn’t acknowledge my sentiment. The door swung open again and the doctor re-entered and as the door swung to close Benedict slipped out through the door.
The doctor wouldn’t let me go after him, wouldn’t let me run after the man I loved, no matter how broken he was I still loved him. He removed the last few tubes from my wrist and gave me clothes to change in to. He also handed me a few male items of clothing. “Sorry these aren’t mine” I said as he rose to leave, they weren’t Benedicts either. “I know Miss, they belong to the other man admitted with you. James King.” He added after consoling a piece of paper. “Why are you giving them to me?”
“We are under the impression that you will be able to return them to his family. If you can’t then we can have them delivered…”
“No I can” I muttered and soon after he left.
*Back to the present*
I had then changed, ordered myself a cab home, entered my bedroom and sat by the window. I had barely moved since, only to use the bathroom or to pick up the newest newspaper. A few days after my arrival the invitation, if you can call it that, to Jamie’s funeral arrived confirming what I already knew. I had not seen Benedict since. He had not texted or phoned or given me any sign of communication. I know that he is dealing with a huge, incomprehensible loss and I thought that giving him space was what he needed, it certainly seemed as that was what he wanted. In a few hours I would need to be presentable to the public, although I doubt that many people would be at Jamie’s funeral.
“You haven’t lost me” I said pulling my legs close to my chest, the words stumbling from my lips over and over as I watched as the sun rise a little higher in the sky and the moon fell a little lower. The clouds slowly left chasing after the moon. In what felt like no time at all the sun sat almost perfectly central in the clear blue sky. The first day of the year. As the sun rose I tired to pull myself out of my shell, tried to remove the weights pulling me down but it was useless. I closed my eyes once more, thinking back to the first day I met Benedict, when he stole my cab. I remembered the electricity I had felt at his touch, the way my heart melted at his half smile and the way that the faint wrinkles appeared beside his eyes when he smiled. Everything had been perfect then.
I slowly rose and entered my bathroom, turning on the shower. My legs were weak having not taken a single step since I had sat down and walking was slow and tiring. I hadn’t a clue how much sleep I had gotten as the days and nights blurred into one, it did not matter to me the day of the week or the time as I had nowhere to be, no one to see, no job to attend. I merely waited for the New Year celebrations and took that as my queue to get myself back together, even if it was only for a few hours.
I know that I had stepped into the shower but I could not feel the warmth from the water, it did nothing to loosen my knotted muscles. I turned the heat higher and higher but nothing changed, I felt nothing, I was nothing. Seeing no point in staying any longer in the shower once the shampoo had washed out I stood staring at myself in the mirror. My skin was red and the mirror was steamed up showing signs of the apparent heat. Everything was slightly more prominent; my cheekbones stuck further out, my eyes more sunken, the muscles that once covered my body vanished. Brushing through my hair took a long time and broken and knotted hair soon filled the brush but it was the best I could do. I put on a sophisticated black dress, which fell to below my knees and rose high on my chest. It was easy to do up and very spacious which I did not remember it being before. I did not bother with much makeup, only placing concealer below my eyes and a light powder on my face. I checked the time on my phone and it was time to leave, at the same time I checked for any texts, emails , messages, anything. But my phone may has well have been a watch as the time was the only thing it had to give me.
I opened my bedroom door to see the mess that was left from the night before; streamers covered the room, confetti strewn everywhere. A few people lay asleep on the sofas but they were unaware of my presence. I continued into the kitchen where Tina stood, still in her party outfit and makeup down her face, standing by the coffee machine, running her fingers through her hair. How the roles had been reversed; her mess, me the one who looked in check. She looked shocked when she looked up but then I saw her eyes flicker to the calendar where “funeral” was written and she smiled feebly at me, obviously tentative of my reaction. My arms wrapped loosely around her, waiting for her to accept the hug as I didn’t know how far away I had pushed her and didn’t want to feel uncomfortable. She surprised me however by instantly stepping closer; her arms tight around my back and let out a small sigh of relief. “Thank you” I mumbled into her ear and she squeezed me once more before I left the room, taking my coat, and at last minute a wide brimmed hat.
The street was empty and only a few cars trailed along the roads. 10 minutes passed before I was able to hail a cab. I began to feel nervous although for what I’m not sure. I didn’t realise the death of someone who made the majority of my life miserable would hit me so hard, but it did. It hurt so much. Whether this was because the last time I saw him he was so different, his old self shining through or whether it was because he saved my life but at the price of his own.
The cab was cold and the journey was already draining me. It pulled up at a gothic church in North London and then was gone. The spires towered above me pointing straight into the sky. A bell began to ring, echoing gloomily through the quiet town. I pulled the hat low on my head, blocking the light from my eyes and, walking past a small group of people and sat by myself in a side pew. The service was short and very kind to Jamie; his parents gave a touching eulogy, skimming over the last few years and instead focusing on the Jamie that I had once loved, a few poems were read by his cousins or friends and then we were all ushered out into the graveyard. I kept my head down and stood by myself as the coffin was lowered into the ground and then people started to disperse until I was the only one left. They had not had the coffin open in the church due to the extreme burns from the flames although it was the gas that killed him, or so they said.
I waited until the last person left before I raised my head, just in time to give a sympathetic smile to his parents, the mother with tears down her face and the dad a look of total despair, his eyes filled with tears also. “I owe your son my life, and I will be forever grateful to him” I spluttered before they were too far away. They nodded and smiled feebly before climbing into a car and leaving me very alone. Everything was still and silent, no clouds in the sky, no birds, no movement of any kind. I didn’t know what to do with myself, whether to speak, whether to cry, whether to break down in anger I just didn’t know. I trailed my finger over the engraving in the cold marble tombstone not sure what else to do. Somewhere a dog barked, a car door shut, a front door opened and closed. Life went on as usual, there was no mention of a death in any of the reports, nothing written in the deceased part of the papers. I wanted this man to have some recognition for what he did but I feared it would not happen, along with us finding out exactly what happened.
Somewhere in the back of my mind registered footsteps but I was to engrossed in my thoughts to really comprehend them. The church bells began to chorus their slow, deep sounds. I felt like a dog when I smelt it, my nose trailing through the air but there was no doubt in my mind who that strong cologne belonged too and my knees gave way.