Where We Walk In The Clouds

CHAPTER 1

Willow

I always thought I knew what my life would be like. But as I sit here, I realise that I don't have a single fucking clue anymore. I don't have a clue what I'm going to do with my life or who I even am. When I was younger, I thought that everyone knew what they were doing, where they were going and who they were. But it's all just a front. No one has a fucking clue. We all aimlessly grow up, believing that the endless exams we take are necessary, along with the required jobs that come with those qualifications and that these things set us on a path that leads us to money, love and happiness etc. That they set us up for life.

But they don't. I've learned that life never prepares you for anything. Especially not the unexpected. One thing I definitely didn't expect was to be sitting in the position I'm in right now. I feel like all the words that are meant to come out of my mouth have dried up as I sit here gasping like a fish out of water, trying to form an adequate response to what I've just been told. But what are you meant to say when you've just been told that your mum's dead?

The doctor is staring at me intently, no doubt wondering whether I heard her. I did. I'm still trying to register the fact that my entire life has just changed in a matter of seconds. And not for the better.

"Miss Evans? You have my dearest sympathies. I know it's a lot to take in... " The doctor breaks the silence between us as my eyes finally flicker up from the floor of the hospital ward.

Yeah, no shit.

I clear my throat, blinking repeatedly as I look at the aged doctor's face. She looks to be the same age, as my mum... Was... Greying wispy hair, smile lines at the corners of her mouth and crow's feet around her brown eyes. She no doubt has children of her own around my age. Her eyes are looking at me intently, genuine concern glazing over them while she patiently waits for me to speak. She probably gives news like this to people every day. But she has that look in her eyes. The look that just screams the type of sympathy you don't want in this situation. Especially not me. Her expression changes slightly after a few more seconds pass.

I can't quite pinpoint why she's looking at me like I've got a screw loose. But I can guess it's probably because not a single emotion has crossed over my face in the last five minutes we've been standing here awkwardly. Not even sadness. More than anything, panic fills my body at the realisation that my path in life has just been shattered by hearing two words.

She's. Dead.

"The required documents will go over to your father to ensure that your custody goes to him. The policeman is waiting in reception for you. I know this will be an extremely difficult time for you, but we have an amazing support system that I hope you'll utilise. You're not alone so please don't be afraid to reach out. Even speaking can make the biggest difference. Here, take this." I simply nod at her, reaching for the green leaflet that she hands to me. The words 'Mental Health' are plastered on the front of it in a bold font. Words still fail to leave my lips as I pick up my bag, shoving the leaflet in the bottom of it.

The doctor may as well have said 'Your mum's dead. Congratulations there's a high possibility of you becoming a fuck up.' But she is just doing her job and little does she know that it's already too late for that anyway. At the end of the day, they need to cover themselves and every eventuality, especially after the outcome of today so I give her a subtle nod.

"Okay... Thank you for the leaflet... And your help of course." My voice is unrecognisable as I force a small smile on my lips. I can feel it cracking the calm facade that I have plastered on my face as it tugs at the corners of my mouth.

Don't break.

The doctor's expression is wary while she continues to look at me. Her brown eyes bore into my blue ones for an uncomfortably long amount of time. She is definitely doing a psychological examination on me in her head right now and more than likely is coming to the conclusion that I have alexithymia. Or some kind of emotionless disorder or mental illness. It wouldn't surprise me. Maybe the leaflet will be useful after all... She simply nods at my response, motioning to the corridor that leads back to reception and out of the ward.

I gladly walk in the direction she motions in, the scent of the sterile floors and linen making me feel slightly nauseous as I spot the policeman sitting in one of the armchairs. I always hate the smell of hospitals but I'm not sure whether that's the reason I'm feeling sick right now or whether it's to do with the news I'd just received ten minutes ago. Either way, my plan is to get out of here. Fast.

I can see the policeman's eyes fall on me as I walk towards him, my steps unintentionally become quicker due to a strange tightening in my chest, "Is it okay if I go outside for a few minutes?"

Again, a similar expression to the one the doctor had adorns the policeman's face as he nods, he places a hand gently on my shoulder, "Of course love, I'll wait in here until you're ready. And then we can go to the station to answer some questions and sort out a statement. It's mandatory I'm afraid. Let me know if you need anything."

I muster a fake, tight smile again as I quickly rush towards the revolving doors. The sight of the doors spinning continuously makes me feel faint. The air feels as though it's being sucked out of the room with every passing second I'm in the hospital as my mind finally catches up and processes the last hour.

I take in a big gulp of air as I finally step out onto the street. Cars speed past, splashing water from the puddles up the curb and drenching me. The cold seeps through my clothes as I look up at the gloomy clouds in the sky. Rain pours from them endlessly. I'm questioning everything right now. More precisely what has led me to this exact moment. And what terrible things I must have done in a past life to deserve this. I break. My breathing is picking up as my chest rises and falls with each inhale I take deeper and deeper. Tears prick at my eyes as I reach into my bag for my phone and dial a number I hoped I would never have to call again.

The phone rings eight times before there's an answer, "Hello? Willow? Is everything alright?"

My father's voice is just how I remember it being. Distant. Only a slight hint of concern that he desperately tries to mask. He probably only sounds concerned because he knows I only call when an emergency happens. I can hear his new wife in the background, questions already pouring from her mouth, asking who's calling him. I can't contain the tears that begin to stream down my cheeks, my whole body is trembling as I prepare to say it out loud. It's so much harder than I thought it would be. Saying it out loud makes everything feel so much more real. It's so overwhelming. My chest is getting tighter and tighter. It feels like someone's holding me underwater trying to drown me as I fight to get air. The burning spreads throughout my lungs as a desperate cry finally leaves my throat raw with pain.

Four simple words escape my lips, leaving me completely broken in their wake and my dad at a loss for words on the other end of the phone, "Mum's committed suicide, dad..."