The Past Keeps Following Me

four flags

I got in late that evening, the dampness from my clothes soaked to my skin, making me feel uncomfortably claustrophobic as I trudged solemnly along the dimly lit corridor from the ageing lift to my beaten apartment door. As I delved into my back pocket to retrieve my key, a faint whispering could be heard from inside. Confused, I pressed the rusting handle down and opened the flakey white door ever so slightly, peering into the airy darkness of the apartment. I don't know what confused me more, the fact that the door was unlocked or that Eastenders was on, of all things. It should of been utterly black, apart from the street lights of the winding city roads creeping their way into the room through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but Max's face filled the room with an eery pale glow.
A bang from my bedroom made me jump, and I closed the door behind me as my mind raced. I grabbed at the first thing to my left, which happened to be Ross' umbrella, and creeped towards the door. Just as I went to press the handle down, it flew open, and I squealed, waving the umbrella madly until it collided with something soft; human skin.
"Jesus fucking Christ, Sam!" a voice chimed. I opened my eyes to see Ross' sister stood in the doorway clutching at a towel that covered her wet body, her arm covering her confused features. She lowered it and chuckled, "Nice to see you, too."
"Bon?" I asked, wondering if I was just delirious from dehydration.
She stuck out her pink pointed tongue and replied, "No, Santa Claus. Who else would I be?"
She has Ross' sense of humour, which made me wince mid-laugh. I tried to cover it up with a cough, but she caught on.
"Oh, come here." She wrapped her little frame around mine for a second, guiding me to the bed. Bonnie had always seemed like my little sister, rather than Ross'.
After sitting in silence clutching eachother for a few minutes, I sat back and sniffled. Bonnie stared at me, and I felt a mix between idiocy and self-consciousness.
"...What?" I asked nervously. I mean, I know I looked rough but she was just staring. She broke her gaze and took my hands.
"I haven't cried yet." She said quietly. She looked up, and I expected her eyes to be watering from the sound of her voice. They were just...cool. Empty. "I felt so guilty that I couldn't make it to the funeral either, my plane from Birmingham was delayed for hours because of the storm."
Surprised, I raised my eyebrows. I hadn't even noticed that Bonnie wasn't stood with Mrs McNae before.
"I did text Barry when I landed, did he not tell you?"
I shook my head, and a lock of hair flopped onto my forehead. My hair was as wet as her own. This drew her attention to my hair, and she looked at it for a few seconds, puzzled.
"Where did you go after the hospital?.." she asked quietly. I raised my eyebrows and shrugged.
"Nowhere in particular."
She nodded, standing up and wiping her hands on her towel; wiping me off her hands. "I made some chilli, you should probably go and get a bowl," she jabbed me in the ribs, harsher than I liked. "You're looking a little skinny."
And with that she disappeared into the bathroom.
•*•*•*•
As I scooped the remanence of the cold, lumpy chilli into a plastic bowl, I thought about what she said. It's true, I always lose weight when we go on tour; I just don't find the time to eat. But I also haven't eaten since Ross died, which probably explains the constant aches and pains erupting from my body.
I walked into the livingroom and shot a dirty look at Max's face filling the screen yet again. I looked at the sad food and sighed. I couldn't eat this.
The bowl clattered as I thrust it towards the table, chilli spurting over the sides. I put my head in my hands, wanting to break down so desperately. No, I told myself sternly, not whilst Bonnie is here.
Just as the thought of her crossed my mind, a loud sob echoed from my bedroom.
"Shit," I muttered, heaving myself up from the sofa and sauntered towards the door. As I raised my hand to tap, I heard a faint voice from behind the door, and being the nosey person I am I pressed my ear against the door and strained to hear.
"-can't do this. Every time I look at him I see Ross, laughing, joking, the way he used to look at him. I know he's hurting too, I see it in the way he acts. It's like a part of him has died, and every time I make eye contact it's like a punch in the face, reminding me of what I've lost- what we've all lost."
Her words were rushed, as if she was being hurried.
"Craig, please you have to come and get me.... No, Craig please, I don't have the heart to tell him. Make some sort of excuse up ple-" she sounded so desperate. Am I really that bad?
"Okay. Okay, yeah," she paused and I heard a ruffle of fabric. "Saam, Craig wants to speak to y-"
She opened the door, almost dropping the phone when she saw me.
"Fuck, gotta go." she whispered into the phone. She closed it over, and gave me a pained look. "Sam...."
I didn't feel angry. I didn't feel anything. I just looked at the tears in her eyes and it took me less than a second to wrap my arms around her. At first she stiffened, but after a few awkward moments and my silent refusal to back off, she collapsed, sobbing into my chest. She balled her fists and tried to push me away, but she was weak.
I manoeuvred us toward bed and set her down on Ross' side. She lay down, facing away from me so that she was at the same level as Ross' photograph. She stretched her hand towards it and stroked Ross' beard, chuckling. Fuck, this is depressing.
"Can I have this?" she asked, not turning to face me. She was always strong, and she had too much pride to face me.
"Sure," I said, trying to keep the emotion out of my voice. It didn't work.
Our conversation was cut short as my phone rang impatiently in my back pocket. "Mum" was displayed across the screen, and I slide my thumb across the phone to answer.
"...Mum?"
"Sam." the voice answered back coldly. "The funeral. How did it go?"
I couldn't tell whether she genuinely cared or not, her voice remained monotone.
"As good as a funeral could get, I guess," I sighed. Silence on her end.
"You shouldn't have drank and drove. This is your fault, poor Mary has been here in tears for the past week and it's all your bloody fault, Samuel." The phone clicked and beeped, indicating that she's hung up.
Mrs Ross managed to turn my mum against me too, it seems.
I slumped down it the doorway and sighed as I pressed the edge of my phone to my forehead and closed my eyes.