we keep this love in a photograph

Chapter 65

She woke to a throbbing pain in her head, but it wasn't all bad. There was a warm feeling in her stomach, a floaty feeling, something fuzzy and giddy and cozy as she lay beneath the heavy blankets, the consuming pain of her grief beating against the dam wall the sedative had erected, holding the flood at bay for the time being. Of course, Jennie didn't know she'd been sedated exactly, only that things had hurt and then it had stopped and now she was awake.

All memory of arriving home was a blur to her, although she vaguely recalled her mother there, and she sat up in bed after a minute, hand pressed to her head, and stared down at her undressed figure. She didn't remember taking off that black dress, remember walking upstairs or getting into bed, but she had and she'd slept and taken something - that much was clear.

Stiffly climbing out of bed, Jennie pulled on a pair of Rosie's sweatpants, the waistband needing to be pulled in that little bit tighter now to stop them sagging around her hips, and she ran a hand over her face, tongue thick in her mouth. Despite the abundance of sleep she'd been getting lately, there was a bone-deep weariness to her that never seemed to go away, dark circles beneath her sunken eyes and a sallow pallor to her skin. She was sick with grief and there was no cure for it. The worst part was it hadn't even been two weeks; she would have a lifetime of this.

Perhaps worst of all was that Rosie consumed her every waking thought in an endless film reel inside Jennie's mind; her face, her eyes, her lips, her mouth, her laugh, the smell of her perfume and the memory of how soft her hair was as Jennie ran her fingers through it. Jennie remembered it all. Every moment was a fresh memory come to torture her, and after dreams plagued with Rosie's homecoming, even sleep was no longer a comfort.

Her family might have been a comfort if they weren't such a bitter reminder of Rosie too. The hollow-eyed grief of a mother losing her daughter a slap in the face whenever she looked at Clare, memories of bickering and laughter and inside jokes whenever she looked at Alice. It was too much and it was a relief that everyone had mostly left her alone, aside from her mother who seemed to relentlessly hover, worried sick over the frightening change in Jennie. She'd always been a fighter - physically, verbally, emotionally - and even when she'd struggled to open up to people, she'd never been so closed off and quiet. The stubborn determination to fight for everything denied her was gone, and now Jennie could barely get out of bed.

When she woke, the sky the purplish blue of a bruise as rainclouds lingered and the weak sunlight slipped away, Jennie found the stifling silence of the house suffocating though. It felt like the walls were closing in, her ears ringing as she looked around Rosie's room and the cotton wool feeling of the drugs left her feeling unbalanced. Gripped by the sudden urge to leave, she climbed to her feet and pulled on a sweater and shoes over her bare feet. Reaching for the damp coat hanging on the back of the door, Jennie slipped out of the room and crept downstairs, the screen door squeaking faintly as she crept outside.

No one stopped her as she hurried down the slick driveway, raindrops pattering against her shoulders as she hunched them, hands balled into her pockets and her breath a faint mist as what little warmth the day had held fled into night. The house was illuminated behind her against a bluish sky, warm yellow light spilling out, and she was quick, wondering how long it would take for someone to release she'd snuck out and not wanting them to stop her.

Jennie wasn't too familiar with the outskirts of Portland, but she walked north, heading up the road as she left the town behind. Her boots rubbed against her bare feet as she walked, the constant light patter or rain soaking her through as she shivered, eyes glazed and lips trembling as she put one foot in front of the other. A few cars heading out of town slowed as they approached her, headlights illuminating the shining roads as they wound down windows and called out to her. Jennie didn't even hear them, just kept walking, for over almost an hour as she tried to recall the place they'd gone to together that one day in Portland.