~ Nick
“You sure you don’t want to come downstairs for a bit?” I ask, sitting on the couch.
Amy shakes her head, her eyes fixed on the TV, not looking at me.
“Aims,” I say, resting a hand on her foot. She flinches and I immediately remove it, knowing she can’t stand to be touched by anyone these days. “Sorry,” I murmur.
She pulls the blanket further under her chin, her bloodshot eyes still fixed on the screen. She barely sleeps, hardly ever talks anymore, just spends day after day and night after night, sitting on my couch watching TV. I’m not even sure she’s actually watching it, she never changes the channel, and once I caught her staring at a signal error message as though she was fascinated by it.
“It might do you some good,” I suggest, knowing that nothing I suggest ever seems to get through. “Come down and hang out with everyone, have a drink. You don’t need to work.”
She shakes her head again, still not looking at me.
I let out a long exhale, running a hand through my hair as I stand up. “Okay,” I say, slowly bending down to press a kiss to her forehead. Her eyes close when I do, her face contorting as though she’s in pain from this one action. “I’ll come up and check on you later, okay?”
She shrugs and I watch her for a second longer before I finally drag myself downstairs to work. In addition to not sleeping or talking, she won’t eat either and me coming back to check on her is partly to get her some dinner and make sure she eats it and partly to check that she’s actually okay.
I don’t think that she would ever do anything. I believe her when she said the sleeping tablet overdose was an accident. It seemed legit, especially after everything that had happened to her, but I’m still reluctant to leave her by herself for too long. I don’t like the dark places she takes herself to, her mind seemingly disappearing into an endless pit of despair that I’m afraid she’ll never get out of.
I get it though, knowing everything that happened to her, but it’s unbearable to watch someone so connected to me suffer this much. I catch her crying sometimes, scratching at her skin as though she can barely stand to be in her own body, and it literally kills me.
It breaks my heart to know that she’s so irrevocably changed from the person she used to be. But as much as I want to help her, help her find a way back to being that person again, I have no idea what to do.
Or if it’s even possible.
How the fuck do you undo something like what she went through? Doctors can give medicine for the pain, sew up the cuts and tell her she needs to talk. But none of that will undo what’s been done to her.
“She okay?” Tony asks, as I walk into the bar.
I shake my head. “Nope, the same.”
“Fuck,” he mutters, exhaling hard. I know he’s tried talking to her too, encouraging her to come downstairs, even if it’s just to sit with us while we set up the bar. But just like with me, she refuses his pleas as well.
For a while we thought it might be because here is where everything happened. That she couldn’t stand to be in the one place she associated with the attack. But then it became apparent that she didn’t seem to want to go anywhere. Not home to her place, not to Mum and Dad’s, not even to Amy’s.
I’m not sure what it is about my apartment that seems to comfort her, but there is no way I’m ever going to kick her out. If she sees it as some sort of refuge, then she can stay here as long as she needs to. I’ve even brought Oscar over, in the hopes that he might help. She allows him to sit on the couch with her, but she all but ignores him too; rarely stroking him and only occasionally remembering to feed him.
“You want me to go up and try?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No, just leave it for now. I’ll go up and check on her later.”
“I mean,” Tony starts, then stops, running a frustrated hand over his head.
I know exactly what the rest of his sentence is going to be. It’s the same thing he says every night we can’t get Amy down here. The same thing we’ve all been wondering these past few months.
“I get she’s gone through a lot,” he continues. “I mean seriously, I fucking get it. But is this shrink she’s seeing actually doing anything?”
I shrug. “I dunno,” I say. “It’s supposed to be helping.”
“Doesn’t really seem like it,” he mutters.
I understand his frustration because even though I don’t say anything, there’s a part of me that wonders the same thing. Is talking to this therapist actually doing anything?
I get that it will take time; it’s a pretty massive thing to have to deal with. What I don’t get is how she only seems to be getting worse with every day that passes.
It’s a busy night and by the time I finally make it upstairs, it’s been nearly two hours. I take up the burger I’ve ordered her, knowing that most of it will be left on the plate. Amy’s still curled up on the couch, same spot I left her in.
“Here,” I say, smiling as I crouch down in front of her. “I brought you some dinner.”
Amy eyes the plate in my hand before looking back at me. “I’m not hungry,” she says, her voice scratchy as though she hasn’t spoken in a long time.
“I know,” I say, offering a smile. “But you need to eat. And you need to take these,” I add, reaching for the tablets on the coffee table.
Anti-depressants, anti-anxiety meds, sleeping pills; you name it, Amy’s on it. I worry that all they’re doing is turning her into a zombie, but her therapist assures us that just like their regular meetings, the tablets are a good thing. Says she needs some peace in order to be able to start processing and dealing with what’s happened to her. That these tablets will help give her that peace.
In my mind, the only thing that’s going to bring Amy peace is Tony and I finding that fuckhead Zach and beating the shit out of him. Pretty sure Dad feels the same way and if the day ever comes when we do, I don’t like Zach’s chances at being able to walk away…ever.
Amy holds out her hand for the tablets and I put them in her palm, holding a glass of water out too. She swallows them down, her head falling back onto the pillow.
“Come on, Aims,” I say gently. “Eat something, please. For me?”
She looks up at me now, her blue eyes filled with so much pain it breaks my heart. It’s unbearable to see her like this, to know that I can’t take any of it away for her.
I remember back when we were kids and Amy broke her arm falling from the tree, and she’d cried and cried at the pain. I’d been so scared, not because I thought we’d get in trouble, but because I’d never seen her like that.
I’d wanted to break my arm instead, even offered to do it, just so I could take the pain away from her, make it mine so she wouldn’t have to feel it anymore.
But of course I couldn’t do that, just like I can’t now.
She eventually reaches out and takes a couple of fries from the plate, shoving them in her mouth, chewing and swallowing them as though she’s barely even tasting it.
I smile in encouragement. “Keep going.”
She repeats the movement, shoveling the fries in one after the other until they’re all gone. I know she hasn’t tasted a single bite, hasn’t even come close to enjoying it.
“Burger?” I suggest.
Amy shakes her head once before it falls back onto the pillow again.
“Can I get you anything else?” I ask, already knowing what the answer will be.
“No,” she croaks out.
I reach over, slowly so she knows it’s coming, and gently brush my fingers against her cheek. “This will get better, Aims,” I whisper. “I promise you, eventually it will get better.”
It feels like an empty, hollow promise, but despite my own lack of belief in the words, I know I still need to say them.
Her eyes flick to mine now, the pain briefly receding so they are nothing but empty pools of blue. She watches me for a moment, searching my face as though she’s looking for answers, or maybe the truth behind my words.
It’s unnerving the way she looks at me, but as scary as it is, I don’t want to look away. I need her to know that I’m here for her, and that no matter what happens, she will never be alone in this.
“Aims?” I whisper.
She smiles now, the tiniest, briefest flicker of a smile before she reaches out and mirrors my earlier action, brushing her own fingers across my cheek. It’s such a small gesture, but right now, it feels huge.
Amy hasn’t smiled since any of this happened. I totally get it, but it’s been so long, I just wasn’t expecting it. And coupled with her actually initiating touching me, it just feels massive right now.
“Do you,” I start; swallowing hard as I force the emotions I’m suddenly feeling down. I don’t want to scare her with how much this means to me. “Do you want me to stay and hang out for a bit?” I ask.
“S’okay,” she says, brushing her fingers against my skin once more.
I wait, hoping she’ll change her mind. But she doesn’t, instead, turning back to the TV, the moment we just shared seemingly forgotten. I turn to go, but for some reason, turn back, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead again.
As much as this small change in her is a good thing, there’s something about it that scares me, as though there’s more to it than what I’m seeing. But then she glances up, smiles at me again and I push that feeling away, wondering if maybe instead of it being a bad thing, it’s actually a sign that things are going to get better after all.
I head back downstairs, confused about how I’m feeling. I so desperately want this to be a sign that things are getting better, but at the same time I wonder how it can be. Nothing’s changed. Not how she’s feeling, how much she’s talking, eating or even anything she’s doing. Zach still hasn’t been caught, and so far that doesn’t look like it will be changing anytime soon.
So how could Amy possibly be getting any better?
“You okay?” Tony asks, as I walk back into the bar.
I shrug. “Yeah.”
“You sure?” he asks, giving me a strange look. “You don’t seem it.”
I shake my head, trying to shake off whatever this bad feeling is. It was just a smile, just a touch. Maybe it was more, but maybe it was exactly what it was and nothing less.
“It’s nothing,” I say, grabbing a beer from the fridge.
Tony watches me as though he isn’t sure whether he believes me. “How was she?” he eventually asks, evidently deciding not to push it.
I shrug. “Okay,” I say. “Pretty much the same.”
Whatever it is though, I don’t want to jinx it by saying anything else, as though by allowing myself to vocalise it, I will turn it into something it’s not.
Tony mumbles something I don’t catch and we both go back to work.
But as the night drags on that feeling, whatever it was, doesn’t diminish, it intensifies. By the time we are ready to close up, it’s become so prominent, it’s practically screaming at me to wake up and pay attention.
Something doesn’t feel right.
“I’m just gonna run up and check on her,” I say, already walking to the door.
“You want me to come?” Tony asks, glancing around at the now empty bar.
“I’m good,” I say, already halfway out.
I leg it up the stairs to my apartment, sliding the key into the lock and opening the door.
I’m greeted with silence. Complete and utter silence, which given the TV has literally been running twenty-four-seven since Amy came here, unnerves me.
“Amy?” I call out, walking inside.
The living room is empty, the TV off and the blanket she’s been curled up under these last few months, neatly folded over the back of the couch. I glance in the kitchen as a wave of panic unfolds inside me, curling up through my gut until it crashes somewhere inside my chest.
“Amy?” I call out again, louder.
I walk into the bedroom and see the empty bed before turning to go into the bathroom. It’s also empty, but as I walk back into my bedroom, I see it.
An envelope.
It’s propped up against the pillow of my now made bed, my name scrawled across the front of it in what I recognise as her handwriting. I walk over and pick it up, but as I do, it hits me.
Hits me what the envelope contains.
What that touch before I left was really for.
What that smile really meant.
“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck,” I say, throwing the envelope back onto my bed as I practically run from my apartment. “Fuck, Amy, please, please,” I say as I yank open the door to my bar. “I need to borrow your car,” I yell.
Tony’s head snaps up. I expect questions, but apparently the look on my face tells him everything and without a word, he pulls the keys from his pocket and throws them to me.
I don’t say anything, just turn and run.
The drive over to Amy’s apartment feels like it takes forever as I catch every fucking red light, get stuck behind every slow driver. By the time I pull up outside her building, my heart is racing, my skin covered in sweat.
It takes me three attempts just to open the door my hands are shaking so much.
Inside, I jam on the elevator button, cursing when it gets stuck on the third floor. Just as I’m about to abandon it and take the stairs, the doors finally open, an older couple smiling at me as they walk out.
I practically shove them aside as I get in, hitting the button for her floor until the doors close. As the elevator ascends, I pray that no one else wants to go up.
As soon as the doors open on her floor though, I feel sick, unable to step out. The doors close again and it’s only as they do, that I force myself to hit the open button, step out and walk towards her apartment.
The front door is closed and locked.
I slide my key in and unlock it, opening the door.
The place is in darkness; the only sound that of a ticking clock somewhere. My footsteps seem to echo throughout the space as I force myself to go inside.
“Amy?” I say, the word a whisper.
I lift a shaking hand to the light switch, taking a deep breath as I flick it on and flood the room with light.
It’s empty though, no sign of her.
“Amy?” I repeat, my voice a little louder this time.
Nothing comes back to me and I know that if I want to know the truth, face the fear that’s been lurking inside me ever since I last checked on her, I have to go inside.
I walk towards her bedroom, my heart pounding as I flick on the light and look inside. It’s empty though, her bed still unmade from the last time she slept here, over three months ago now.
I check the spare bedroom, which is also empty before returning to the kitchen, which I already know was empty.
The door to the bathroom is closed. I stand there looking at it, my stomach churning as the bile rises in my throat. I see my shaking hand as it reaches for the door handle, my sweaty fingers struggling just to turn it.
I open it a tiny crack and see the light is on inside.
The last words I said to her flash inside my head.
This will get better, Aims. I promise you, eventually it will get better.
I push open the door and when I walk in there…
…the arm hanging lifeless over the side of the bath…
…the red stain of blood on the tiles…
My whole fucking world falls apart…
I was an idiot to ever think things were getting better, because that touch, that smile, they weren’t Amy getting better.
They were Amy saying goodbye.