Over

Part Three - Messages

I hook my finger into the hole in my door and pull it shut behind me. One day we’d get a door handle. Until then I was fine with my hole. I was used to it now. There’s a slight resistance as I pull it shut. I flick the switch at my computer, sighing when I can’t see the tell-tale flicker of light on the monitor. Broken, again, refusing to boot up. Instead I retrieve my laptop and brush everything off my desk in order to set it up. It does boot up. Automatically I click over to Facebook. Chats. Then our old conversation. I scroll up half-heartedly, catching glimpses of our chats. “Alright sweet shall I do a group message?” I had messaged. Her response was quick.

“Yes. I thought you were calling me sweet. I was like aaaw.” Heat flashes up my cheeks as I remember my embarrassment.  She didn’t bring it up again.

Someone pushes against my door and I sigh inwardly. I just want to spend some time alone. Why aren’t I allowed to mope? To grieve?

“How are you, Charlie?” I close the window down and assume a blank expression. My foot starts jiggling back and forth unconsciously.

“I’m fine, Dad.” I don’t want to talk to him. I want to relive my time with her. But he won’t let me. Instead he keeps pushing.

“We’re about to watch a movie, would you like to join us? Even just take your laptop out into the lounge…” he fades off. I shake my head and turn back to the screen. I don’t hear him leave but he must at some point.

It wasn’t dark. It wasn’t rainy. The sun was shining, for sure, but not bright enough to be distracting. Some clouds dashed across the sky, bustling like overweight businessmen rushing for the train. She saw that a lot. I didn’t, not so much. She complained about it all the time.

It was stupid. It wasn’t her fault. In broad daylight, a man in too much of a hurry killed her. Driving so fast, running a red light, and at a time when children had just been let out of school. I wish I was there. I could’ve saved her. Instead I was heading home in the opposite direction, crammed onto the bus and distracted by thoughts of her. Had she been laughing before she died? Or did she see the car bearing down on her and know it was the end? Don’t focus on the bad things, she had said. It’s hard to focus on the good things now she’s gone.

I keep reading over our old messages, over and over. Phrases burn into my mind. Never again, something inside me cries. Only old messages. No more new ones will ever come through. I will never again look at my phone and smile when her name pops up. I will never again look over beside me and smile as she smiles. I will never again have her over, watching videos on my laptop, our legs pressed together as we sit side by side. It’s over. Over and over and over. I want to hold onto the good things like she told me to. But it’s just so damn hard. The text blurs in front of my eyes and at first I assume I’m scrolling too fast or I’ve just read them too many times. Only when I hiccup do I realise I’m crying. I rest my cheek on my laptop, ignoring the keys pressing down, and sob. I wish I kissed her when I had the chance. I wish I spent all the time in the world with her. I wish I asked her out for lunch more often, out to movies more often. I wish I told her how I felt. When she died a part of me died too.