Locked In Love by Louisa Line (3)

I manage to spend most of the night tossing and turning in my bed. The bath was no help whatsoever and as for the hot chocolate, I’m fairly sure wine would have worked better, but with the medication I’m on that’s totally out of the question. All in all, this Saturday was shaping up to be a pretty dark day. I call them dark days, but really they are the days when my depression and anxiety take over and I am powerless to stop them. They are also the days that all of the CBT and therapy I have done fly out of my head and I’m back at square one.

It’s now just after six in the morning and I am finding it hard to stay in bed. I start to pace around the flat counting my breaths in and out to try to calm down. When that doesn’t work I go to my Kindle to distract myself, but the book I have been enjoying, only a couple of days ago, no longer has the same connection. So, I go to my window seat and people watch.

By eight o clock, I give up and take one of my ‘In case of emergency tablets.’ These were the tablets I was given for those unexpected moments when I might have to leave the flat and are a higher dose than any of my other tablets. I was given them after the doctor first saw me. He recommended I went on them full time, but I didn’t want to make that leap just yet. They always made me feel different and not myself, so the fewer I had to take the better.

Nine o clock, the tablet has kicked in. I feel a little drunk but so much better. At nine thirty, my mobile rings and I spring up and grab it knowing it will be Claire. She always phones after date night.

“Hi honey,” I sing down the line.

“Jess?” Claire asks a little confused.

“Yep, it’s me.”

“Oh Jess, tell me you didn’t take the big D.”

That’s what we call the Diazepam.

“Maybe,” I grin down the phone, “Anyway, enough about me. Tell me about last night!”

She sighs, annoyed that I changed the subject, but that changes as she starts telling me about her date. “It was amazing. He was such a gentleman, well, on the date anyway.” I can sense the smirk on Claire’s face, even though I can’t see her.

“I don’t care about the date. I want the juicy stuff!” I can hear the words coming out of my mouth, but I really can’t find my filter. I mean Claire and I share everything, but I’m normally a little more reserved than this.

“Jessica! A lady never kisses and tells!” Claire replies in mock outrage.

“Good job you’re not a lady then,” I fire back. At this, we both break down laughing.

“So, how well hung was he then?” I ask through the laughter. I may be a little drugged up, but I have to live my sexual fantasies though someone. “Just don’t tell me if he had a wiener, give me something to go on.”

“Oh, he was above average, and knew exactly what to do with it and did it more than once!”

“So, will you be seeing Mr Well-Hung again?” I ask, even though I can’t help feeling a little depressed knowing that I will never get what Claire is getting. Before Claire even has time to answer I blurt out, “I miss dick. I don’t know about well hung. I would settle for any hung right about now.”

“Someone hasn’t been using Mr Darcy recently have they?” Claire asks down the line. You have probably guessed it, yes, Mr Darcy is my very well loved and over used Rabbit. I choose not to answer that question, Claire doesn’t need to know just how much I use him.

“So, when are you seeing him next?” I say trying to get the conversation away from me.

“Tomorrow night. In fact, I might be a little late ringing next time as he wants me to spend the night at his.”

“Claire has a boyfriend,” I sing down the line, again feeling a pain shoot through my chest knowing it is something I can never have. Not while I’m like this anyway. I hide my pity party for one by laughing down the line with Claire

We chat for another half hour until I tell her that I have to go as I’m getting my food delivery soon.

“Wasn’t that yesterday?” She asks.

“It was meant to be, but James has fractured his ankle so I have someone new coming today.” It shocks me how easily I say this, but I put it down to the big D.

“Oh, that explains your Big D drunkenness. Are you sure you’ll be OK? I could see if…”

“I’ll be fine,” I reply. Well, as fine as a depressive, anxious, agoraphobic can be in this type of situation, but I don’t say that part out loud. Claire hates it when I talk about myself like that. I find it helps a little though. Makes me feel just a little more normal knowing it’s a condition rather than anything else.

“If you’re sure. I’ll try to give you a call later to check up.”

“Thanks Claire. What would I do without you?” I ask already knowing the answer. Let’s just say I don’t want to go down that road again.

We finish our chat and hang up and it’s amazing how much better I’m feeling. That is, until the intercom buzzes. The anxiety increases but the medication helps to keep the full blown panic attack at bay. This was it! I could fail without trying or I could fight and, to be honest, I was getting a little bored of failing.

“Hello,” I can hear the quiver in my voice, but fight to keep control.

“Miss Wentworth. I have your delivery for you.” It may have been the medication fuelled with the conversation I had just had with Claire, but the rasp in the voice on the other end of the line sent my heart into overdrive and not in the way I was used to. It soothed and yet ignited my body in ways I had not felt in a very long time. So much so, I was finding it a little hard to concentrate. I give my head a shake and blame the tablets before I speak.

“Oh yes, have you been briefed on the delivery instructions?” I take deep breaths hoping this will all go smoothly. There was only so long my medication would help for.

“Yes,” he pauses for a second, “but I will still need a signature,” his rich, raspy voice replies.

“But I can sign the machine and then you can pick it up after. James always did it that way.” The increased heart rate was no longer through pleasure and panic was setting in. I try to take a calming breath, but it isn’t working.

“The electronic device needs signing, Miss. I will need to get your signature,” he replies calmly.

My breathing increases and I can feel my mind taking over my body. Nothing about this feels good anymore.

“Miss Wentworth, are you OK?” I can hear a hint of worry in his voice.

“I can’t …” I can’t get out the words. “Please … Call … The … Office,” I manage through the hyperventilating that was starting to be taken over by the shakes.

“Miss Wentworth? Do you need...”

“Just phone your office please. Mathew will fill you in.”

I can’t do this. I can’t stay by the door. So, on unsteady feet, I make my way to my sanctuary. As I get to the window seat I close my eyes, trying to get my breathing and shaking under control. Nothing is working.

I can hear the delivery guy talking to someone else. “Thanks Mathew. It would help if this was put on the notes though.” I can hear the sarcasm in his voice turn to sympathy. “That poor woman. I mean how? Oh, I’ll sort this out,” he replies angrily.

I open my eyes just in time to see him move back to the door but I can only make out a blur as he moves out of view again. It’s only then I realise that my breathing is back to normal and the shakes have stopped. How? The intercom buzzes again and I, slowly, make my way over to the door. I can feel the nerves once again, but this time it is different. It doesn’t seem quite so bad.

“Hello,” I say, timidly.

“Miss Wentworth, I am so sorry. Head office have just told me about your…” he stops to think of the right words, “your delivery.”

“Thank you. I’ll buzz you in,” I sigh with relief.

“Thanks. Take your time. I’ll leave it all and wait in the truck.” He sounds so compassionate as his voice returns to its rich, raspy tone.

The rest of the delivery goes smoothly. He leaves my items and I leave his machine outside. No panic attacks, nothing. Smiling to myself and feeling like I’ve just managed a small victory, I start to make my way back over to the window when the letterbox knocks and a small piece of paper floats down to the floor. It’s strange as the postman has already been. Waiting for a few minutes to ensure that the person who has left the note has gone, I go to retrieve it.

I read the note and close my eyes. A tingling creeps across my body as I imagine the man behind the doors voice. I rush to the window just in time to catch the van pulling away from the curb. As it drives off out of view, I can’t stop thinking about the man who is driving it. The man whose voice sent my heart beating into overdrive, yet also calmed me more than any medication or therapy had done in the last year.

Going to bed still holding the note I know that sleep won’t come easily. Ever since getting the note I have felt an ache in-between my legs and there is only one thing that is going to help me and only one voice I am going to have in my head as Mr Darcy does his job.