“I’ll leave you to it, then.”
She moved towards the door and then, fingers brushing the handle, hesitated before turning to look at me.
“I know it’s not okay right now. I understand. But when it gets to the point where it hurts less, we can talk. I get it. I’ve been where you are. You don’t need to be alone.”
She didn’t hover, for which I was glad, because her words were a vice around my throat.
She closed the door behind her, and I let out a shuddering breath. The effort needed to fight the tears was almost too much. I was so exhausted from balancing on a knife’s edge. I was fine for minutes at a time, until I wasn’t.
I looked up to the ceiling, trying to resist the tears that were always just on the brink of falling, but eventually I gave in, swiping at them in frustration.
I blew out a breath.
One thing at a time.
I changed into a clean set of flannel pyjamas. Thick, and a little Christmassy for November, but they were soft and warm.
I sat at the vanity that was pretending to be a desk, and opened my laptop. I had plugged in my phone to charge, but I hadn’t yet worked up the courage to turn it on. Instead, it sat there, a silent victim of blame.
I took a breath, my fingers hovering over the mousepad until I forced myself to press ‘call’ on Becka’s picture.
She picked up immediately, and it was like our roles had reversed with the click of a button.
She looked a mess. Her hair was unbrushed and swept up into a top knot, her eyes were red-rimmed, and she looked as though she’d slept on the floor.
I recoiled even as I stared at her, running my eyes over every part of her that I could see, looking for wounds or visible signs of injury.
After a moment… she just burst into tears.
“Oh my God, what’s happened?” I cried in alarm, watching as my best friend dissolved into tears with the same efficacy as a biscuit being dunked into a cup of tea.
She kept trying to take a breath, and kept getting stuck halfway with a hiccup.
“I-I sh-should be a-asking y-you that!” Becka wailed as her face crumpled.
I inhaled sharply, a pang in my chest taking me by surprise.
“Are you?” Becka went on. “Okay, I mean? Oh god, of course you’re not. Are you okay?”
She didn’t seem to have realised she’d repeated the question. I wanted to smile, but the muscles in my cheeks felt rusty.
Tears ran down Becka’s face, and I watched them in an almost, but not quite detached, sort of way.
“Oh, Becka,” I sighed.
“I’m sorry,” she cried, smearing a limp tissue over her face. “I c-can’t stop!”
“I can see that.” My voice was strangely monotone. I wanted to care, but it felt like there was a layer of fog between me and… everything else.
“Are you safe and well?” I asked.
“Uh huh.” Becka’s voice heaved with a hiccup.
I sighed as I absently rubbed my chest. “What’s wrong, then?”
She snapped her head up to look at me, hiccups shocked into submission.
“Huh?”
