Stay Away

revelation

There is now a gap in my life; Leah was cruelly snatched away from me with words I didn't really mean to say. 

I leave LA a day early, unable to bear walking around a city which cost me something I never intended to get attached to. Tail between my legs, I am ready to focus on the final tournament of the season. Juan doesn't ask why my eyes are red every morning or why there are no phone calls I have to take in private anymore. The only time I seem to go on my phone for something other than mandatory social media updates is to reassure Fleur that Scarlett won't hate her for pushing Chelsea to terminate her contract.

With restless fingers, I book my flight home to Melbourne as soon as the trophy has been handed to me. Tapping on my screen serves as a reminder of Leah, and I feel sick to my stomach. I have no idea whether I have booked the right flight, because I had to close my eyes every few seconds to quell the urge to throw my phone across the changing room and never look at it again. What is it worth if I can't talk to her? I want to talk to her so badly.

November is relaxing to a certain extent. Being home, with my own bed to sleep in and my own expanse of rooms to wander through, is a comfort to the part of me that hates the constant travel within the season. My childhood was split between two halves of the world. I feel like I am almost nomadic.

The weather is fickle enough for me to curl up by my fireplace one day and spend the next lying by my pool. Regardless of my location, I am plagued by daydreams of her as I spend countless hours on the indoor and outdoor sofas, bingeing TV shows that I had no time to watch during the year. When I am not horizontal, I half-heartedly golf with Juan or go surfing with my Australian cousins. My agent, Charley, also sets me up with various brand meetings, maximising my salary for the year. It makes no difference to me, I decide while staring at my ceiling as I lie underneath my Egyptian cotton bed sheets, because there isn't any amount of money that could turn back time and erase those words from our memories.

Yes, I do.

Why did I say that? Why did I not explain myself further? Why was I being so stupid?

I had expected her silent treatment to leave my phone's notification centre empty, considering that I have notifications off for social media to give me a break from the endless comments and likes and requests to post more mini-vlogs of me walking Mumma's dog. Fleur and Scarlett's arguing has escalated, though, and I have become an open-24-hours therapist for my little sister.

Fleur is quite distraught. I wonder if they will break up.

The question of what they will do about their relationship (Fleur's contract is on the verge of being terminated, as the club does not want to keep a player who is so insistent on leaving) does not bother me, apart from the fact that Scarlett would have been the only way to access information about Leah. I want to know how she is doing, how her recovery is going. I want to hear her voice. Her laugh.

My house is too big and too empty and too silent, but the only person I want to call is Leah. There are days where I play podcasts on every speaker and the news on every TV in an attempt to dull the ominous feeling of perpetual loneliness that follows me around like a shadow. I turn around sometimes, hoping that the discomfort I feel is not from my own presence, but rather Leah has hopped on a plane to come and see me. I am always faced with a vacant spot in front of me. It does nothing to blur the image of her face as it dawned on her that evening. The picture that I see every time I close my eyes is clear as day.

I miss her. I miss her so much.

I miss her when I wake up, when I go to sleep, when I shower and take a dip in the pool to submerge my brain and freeze the thoughts of her out of my head. They rage like a blazing fire, consuming any care for tennis or why Fleur is crying this time or whether I am eating the correct amount of protein to maintain my performance levels.