Author's Note: Thank you for the review! I'm glad people are enjoying and reading this. Please leave a review, and I hope you like this chapter!
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The smell of bacon brought a rare smile to John's lips. It was but the ghost of a smile, faded and empty, but still a smile. The afternoon was nearing. Grief was coming.
John turned the bacon over and turned his attention to the bun. He had tried to slice it neatly, like Chas used to, but it looked jagged and ugly. He squeezed tomato ketchup on it, remembering the fond way Chas used to use a butter knife to spread it over the bread.
He wondered how he remembered in such detail how Chas used to do things.
Surely the memories of the way his curls used to hang on his forehead, the way his nose used to wrinkle, confirmed his fears?
"No fucking fears," John growled.
The bacon was burning.
"Fuck."
John didn't bother trying to save it. There was no point.
Turning the stove off, he lifted the slimy, greasy bacon and placed it into the bin. It burned his fingers as he did so.
Once before, he had burned his fingers on the kettle. He remembered Chas holding his hand under the cold tap, remembered calling the boy all sorts of names because of the stinging. He remembered Chas refusing to let him move away from the water, despite the harsh names.
John felt bad.
Why had Chas had to die before John had a chance to apologise?
"Fuck you, Chas," John sighed, knowing he didn't mean the words.
Then he sank against the wall.
Then he realised what he had lost.
Then the screaming began.