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He was underwater. Drowning. Struggling. He couldn't breathe. He needed to breathe. He looked for the surface but he couldn't tell which way was up. The water was so murky. He couldn't breathe. His lungs were burning desperate for air. He opened his mouth and water rushed in.
He woke up panting. Panicking. He grasped the sheets trying to hold onto something. He could still feel the water in his mouth. He choked, gagged and ran to the bathroom. He threw up bile.
There was nothing in his stomach. He dry wretched and dry wretched as tears streaked down his cheeks. He gasped. It still felt like he was drowning. He dry wretched, choking. He couldn't catch his breath. His lungs burned. His vision tunnelled. He grasped. Held onto the toilet seat. He couldn't breathe. The realisation dawned. He was going to die. He couldn't breathe.
He came round on the floor. His chest screaming at him. His stomach muscles angry with him. He head throbbing. He looked across the floor as he embraced the simple act of breathing. He closed his eyes.
"Laura." He only had to say her name down the phone and she was on her way to the flat. He wasn't surprised his voice was wrecked. He sat on the sofa wrapped in his duvet. His chest still ached.
"Jesus Christ what happened?" She asked walking forward and checking him over. He looked a state he knew he did.
He picked up the letter and handed it to her.
"Can I?" She asked gesturing to the letter.
He nodded. There was no point in hiding it not when he needed her to help him deal with it.
He shivered as she read it. He looked at the far wall. He didn't want to see it. He didn't want to see her face as she read it.
"He sent it back?"
"Didn't read it just sent it back unopened." He confirmed.
"Oh Ste." She sighed. There was no pity in her tone which he was grateful for. He didn't want her feeling sorry for him.
"I just thought that was the end. That was my last act. That he'd read it and he'd know what I wanted but…" He shook his head. He felt… He felt exhausted. The realization. He could feel and god it hurt. It hurt like knocking the scab off a wound half healed only it was patching an artery. He felt like he was bleeding out. He tried to take a deep breath but his chest constricted and he found himself panicking.
"It's ok. Ste it's alright. Just calm down." She turned his face to her so he looked at her. "Just breathe Ste."
His breathing came back to him, gasping, he was sobbing. He hurt. Every part of him. Everything hurt.
He woke to find himself wrapped around Laura who was stroking his hair.
"I called Tony for you. I said you wouldn't be in today. It's already five." She said when she realised he was awake.
"I'm sick of this." He stated because he was. He was sick of it. Sick of hurting. "I'm sick of him doing this to me. I'm sick of letting him do this to me."
He sighed and closed his eyes. It was nice having her close, having someone to comfort him.
"How did not feeling anything work out for you?" She asked.
He snorted breath. She knew. Of course she had known. He shook his head. Why had he needed to keep it to himself?
"I know denial, I know depression and I know when someone is protecting themselves from something so bad that they think it's going to break them." She stated.
"It did." He sighed rubbing his face with his hands.
"No. It made a few cracks but it didn't break you."
He gave a bitter half laugh at the idea she didn't think he was broken. He had poured his heart out, thought that he was getting somewhere only to have it thrown back in his face.
"I'll heat you up some soup, you need to eat something and given that you haven't been eating properly I think we best start with something simple and bland."
He screwed his face up.
"I'm a chef you know. Seasoning is required."
"You're a chef who hasn't been eating properly." She replied and started going through his cupboards.
"Cupboard next to the sink." He sighed laying across the sofa.
He closed his eyes and just listened to the sound of her as she went about re-heating the can of soup. He felt exhausted. Drained. Like the plug had been pulled and all that was left was his wasting body racked with pain.
"Don't force yourself." She had stated. He sat himself up and gathered the bowl in his shaking hands needing both to keep it steady. She took it off his and walked back into the kitchen pouring the bowl into a cup and returning.
"Thanks." He tried to get his hands to stop shaking.
"It's exhaustion." She stated simply. "It'll fade when you're properly rested."
He sipped the soup and his stomach protested from his earlier rounds of vomiting. He ground his teeth.
"Don't force it." She repeated.
He ignored her and took a mouthful, he swallowed. His throat burned and he coughed which caused his stomach to rebel. He ran into the bathroom and threw up the soup. It took a few more dry wretches before he could get control of it. He put his head on his forearm across the toilet seat.
"Fucking hell." He muttered.
He turned to the doorway to see Laura leaning against the doorframe, arms folded across her chest.
"You say I told you so and I'll fucking slap you." He snapped and spat in the bowl before flushing.
"Never even cross my mind." She smiled.
"You're a terrible liar." He didn't have any energy to pick himself up but he found a hand offered which he took. She helped him get to his feet and back through into the living room. She sat next to him. He was grateful that the cup of soup was back in the kitchen.
"Why…?" He started but shook his head and sighed.
"The numbness?" She asked. He nodded.
"You had a shock, you thought that you had sorted everything out then bang. You didn't know how to deal with it so you shut down. You knew that it would be painful to go through the emotions that the return of your letter brought." He read rejection between the lines. Brendan had rejected his heart felt plea. "You didn't want to deal with it, you didn't want the pain so you shut down your emotions. You were trying to protect yourself."
"Couldn't even do that." He muttered bitterly.
"It's not about that. Those emotions can't stay locked down forever. You just can't do that. You can try, you can go insane trying or you can numb yourself when they return, turn to drugs or whatever to keep yourself numb but it all has to come out somewhere. You can bury them but they'll resurface sometime."
"I tried drugs to get me to feel again." He sighed. "I tried everything to get the feeling back."
"You weren't ready to process your feelings."
"Process." He shook his head. "Don't talk to me as a councillor, talk to me as my friend because we are aren't we?" She had stopped officially being his councillor after she had told him about Sean, saying that it wasn't a working relationship anymore. That she had shifted the balance of their relationship by telling him so much about herself. She said she was his friend if he wanted her and he did.
"Of course we're friends." She replied instantly. He needed the reassurance. He needed to know she was there. But she was right in front of him. She was there. He didn't know why he thought she wouldn't be. It was nice having someone reliable in his life. "You weren't ready to deal with it. You buried it deep because you knew how much it would hurt, you can't switch your feelings off and on because it suits you. However nice that would be."
He didn't even realise he had fallen asleep until he woke up. He still felt tired. He still ached.
"A few days, he's still sick… Yeah I know… He'll be fine with a bit of rest. I'll get him to ring you later. Bye Tony."
He startled awake when he caught up with who she was talking to.
"Don't worry I'm just lying to your business partner." Laura smiled. "As far as he's concerned you got hit with a stomach bug."
"I should go in." He tried to find the energy.
"No, you should go and have a shower while I make you some breakfast."
"Time is it?" He frowned, he couldn't get his bearings.
"Half ten." He couldn't get his brain to work. "I came over yesterday morning around nine, you slept till five in the afternoon, we had a chat and you feel asleep again soon after and now you're awake again and it's half ten. You're properly feeling pretty shit after such a long sleep." He did. "Yeah thought so. You'll get your sleep pattern back. You've just crashed after a sustained period of lack of sleep so you'll be all over for a while. Go on shower. I'm just going to buy some bread."
He let the water wash over him. His back was aching from sleeping on the sofa but then he could hardly expect Laura to carry him into his bedroom. Although she possibly could have if she wanted. He shook his head and got himself clean.
He looked in the mirror. What a mess. He was pale with heavy bags under his eyes. His ribs were more prominent, he wondered how he had missed the weight loss although he couldn't remember even looking at himself, even having time to look at himself while he had been… Numb.
He put on a set of track suit bottoms and a jumper since it was obvious he wasn't going anywhere.
She was back by the time he dragged himself to the kitchen.
"Dry toast?" He gave her a dirty look.
"Think you can handle a bacon sandwich."
"I'd try." His stomach didn't think so.
"Well keep that down and maybe for lunch."
"I'm not a kid." He grumbled.
"Thank fuck." She gave him a grin. He smiled a little in return.
He wondered when a slice of dry toast had become a challenge. He sighed and began to take small bites.
Even eating was tiring.
"You'll need to eat little and often to get used to proper meals again. And you'll need to drink lots of water."
He rolled his eyes at her.
"Don't even bother. You've run yourself into the ground, you're going to have to build yourself back up. I've got to pop into to work for an hour."
"Giving some other poor bastard a grilling?"
"Something like that. Do you want me to come straight back here or do you want some space?"
He didn't want to be alone in the flat. But she had already done too much. She had already stayed one night. He wasn't a baby. He could cope alone despite the fact he hated it. It wasn't the solitude it was being in a place with so many memories that could haunt him.
Indecision cost him.
"I'll be back around four." She said before walking out before he could even argue.
He sat at the table and let his head rest on his arms. Sighing he washed his plate and put it back. He cleaned a couple of the surfaces.
He turned back to the living room.
There it was, sat on the coffee table. His heart and soul laid bare on a piece of A4 paper. He sighed and rubbed his face.
What the fuck had he done to deserve this?
He'd paid his penance for Amy although he knew that he would be living that penance for the rest of his life.
He'd paid for his stupidity as a youngster going to young offenders.
He'd paid for his mother's drinking and Terry's temper in flesh, broken bones and heart ache and all the things that lead to.
He'd paid for marrying the wrong man in breaking promises to his kids.
He was paying for loving the right man now.
He walked over, wrapped himself up in the duvet and lay back down on the sofa facing the letter.
It wasn't a secret. Laura had read it. It was meant for Brendan but he hadn't even bothered to read it.
He stared at it wondering if he started long enough if it was just suddenly disappear from the table and reappear in Brendan's hands at least then he would know that he had read it. That he knew what he wanted, he what he had to do, he that he loved him, knew that he couldn't be this person anymore.
He couldn't control it. He couldn't control what Brendan read or didn't read. He couldn't make him let him visit and he couldn't make him love him as much as he loved Brendan.
He couldn't slide backwards because Brendan was punishing him for loving him. He couldn't keep getting his heart broken, not like this.
He couldn't destroy himself because he had been down that path and had never managed to finish the job.
He didn't even want to. He was done with it. He had made a life, was living a life and it was time that he accepted that what he had would have to be enough.
He needed it to end. He needed it to stop. It had to stop. He had to accept that Brendan wasn't going to help him with his guilt. He was going to have to deal with it.
He was guilty, he felt guilty but there was no way that he could live the rest of his life like this. He had wrote he was legging go and now he was going to have to without Brendan's permission. He was going to have to take control and deal with the consequences, if there were any. If Brendan ever walked back into his life.
He had to do it. No choice because he couldn't keep existing, he had to live.
He picked up the letter and walked through to his bedroom. He knew he had to do it. He pulled the box from the top of the wardrobe.
Brendan's box. Everything he had left of him in a box. He had to get rid of it.
He opened it. Every letter returned. Every visitor request rejected. His leather jacket. His aftershave. All the clothes the police hadn't taken. All the pictures of them together. He sat on the bed. The weight was too much. He needed to… He couldn't. He had to… He stared at the box.
He had to let go and it wasn't the same as letting go… It felt the same now, sat looking at the box. It felt like goodbye.