Colt helps me downstairs. And by helps, I mean he carries me after a blissful sleep, cuddled up to the man I’m in love with.
I should be happy. I’m alive. I’m home, but depression is rearing its ugly head again, and I think Colt is noticing.
“You’re quiet this morning. You okay?” Colt asks, looking me in the eyes as he carries me toward the kitchen.
I smile, trying to reassure him while holding my crutches tightly. “I’m okay, just a little tired, is all,” I lie, leaning my head against his shoulder as we enter the kitchen.
Colt gives methat lookas if he doesn’t believe me, but he lets it go.
Mum and Dad are preparing breakfast. Mum pulled me aside for a quiet chat, asking if I could start calling her ‘Mum.’ She said it might make things easier for my father, especially now that I’m calling him ‘Dad.’ I agreed with her because it made sense, even if it does feel a little strange on my tongue.
“Morning, sweethearts. How did you both sleep?” Mum asks as she flips an egg in the frying pan.
“Good, thanks, Mum. How was the guest room?” Colt asks when he places me carefully on the tiled floor, and I position my crutches under my arms to steady myself.
“Great. Now have a seat. Breakfast will be ready shortly,” Mum replies as Dad stands in the kitchen reading theIndependentnewspaper. I hobble over to the dining table and take a seat while Colt brings me a glass of juice. Inadvertently, I place my hand over my stomach, and an image flashes into my head—a flashing ‘vacancy’ sign.
Frowning, I rest my elbows on the table and place my head in my hands. Colt is quickly by my side, and his hand slowly caresses my back as I feel his lips against my cheek.
I turn to Colt, who is assessing me quietly.
“You okay?” he whispers so my parents don’t hear.
I nod as Colt rubs the back of his neck, looking at me sympathetically. “Baby, talk to me,” he encourages, still whispering, not to gain my parents’ attention.
Exhaling, I lean into his chest, and he wraps his arms around me, holding me tightly. I’m home.Shouldn’t I be happy?
“Dee…”
“Breakfast is ready,” Mum calls out, saving me from a Colt interrogation.
I sit up and avoid looking at him as Mum walks over with two giant plates of food. The weight of Colt’s concerned gaze presses against me when I take the sauce, before pouring it onto a plate.
Focusing on eating, I avoid Colt’s gaze the entire time, and eventually, Mum and Dad join us at the table. They strike up a conversation with Colt about how he will look after me when they leave this afternoon. I listen but don’t join in, because all I can think about right now is how I’d rather be anywhere but here. This is the home we purchased to raise our family in. What’s the point of living here with all these rooms for children if that’s not going to happen?
Colt’s hand slides under the table, and he takes hold of my knee, which I hadn’t realized was agitating. His touch soothes my raging thoughts, and I finally get the courage to look at him. He’s facing forward, talking to Mum, but he’s looking at me out of the corner of his eyes.
Swallowing the lump in my throat that’s threatening to choke me, I push the half-eaten plate of food away. I can’t stomach any more. My insides are churning, and all I want to do is get out of this house. I try to shake off the anxiety flowing throughmy veins, but my breathing becomes more rushed. The imagery of the walls closing in on me causes me to panic. The chair screeches against the tiled floor when I stand abruptly, putting all my weight on my left leg.
Everyone stops talking and looks as I rush to get my crutches.
“What’s wrong?” Colt asks as he slowly stands and reaches out to touch my shoulder.
Goddammit! I have to get out of here.
I shrug him off as I fumble frantically with my crutches and hobble toward the back porch.
“Dee, we’re eating breakfast,” Dad berates, but I ignore him and continue rushing toward the door. Fumbling with the lock, I slide the door open and try to get outside.
I need air.
I can’t breathe.
It’s stifling.
“I’ll get her,” Colt says as I rush through the awkward doorway and outside onto the back porch.
I race as fast as I can across the porch to the stairs. I haven’t managed stairs on my own with my crutches, but I’m sure as hell going to try now. I get to the small set of stairs, put all my weight on my left leg, move the crutches down one step, and go to swing myself down.
