One For The Road ✔ | A short novella |

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Chapter Twenty

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"I love you very much, probably more than anybody could love another person." 50 First Dates - Ellis

Newton Berry, September 14th

Ellis

I'm back to packing after avoiding it for so long. It only feels like yesterday I was deciding which shirt to pack for America and which socks and if Jessie would be smart enough to pack plasters and paracetamols.

It was only yesterday that I unpacked my road trip suitcase and backpack.

I've been moving slow. I've spent three days in bed pretending to suffer from a severe kind of jet lag that my sister insists is just dramatics but still my parents have let me be. Being left alone has given me time to stew on the last couple of weeks.

It's also given me much too much time to waste on reminiscing. I've got enough postcards and ticket stubs and city maps and snaps to keep me in a zombied state of thinking and remembering. Each time her smile is shown in a silly black and white photo booth strip or on my phone my stomach feels like it's being pulled from inside, as if I'm being crushed.

My sister has noticed. I suppose it's kind of hard for her not to have heard me crying in the shower or caught onto the fact I've not talked or spoken to Jessie for close to a week. Apparently I'm acting sadder than normal and she's a bit worried.

I've fobbed her off with some lie about being nervous for University and moving away from home and she's so far taken the bait.

I've been in my room and in my head for a lot, though both are a complete mess.

Every time I feel and think about her I have to busy myself with something else, because it hurts. Knowing Jessie is likely still very mad at me for lying and that she can't be bothered to try and make a future for us work, hurts like hell.

And every so often, as if on purpose I'll hear her potter about beyond the wall in her room. She'll be singing along to a song on the radio or taping away at her computer and I'll not be able to stop thinking about her.

When she closes her window each night I wonder if it's because she worries leaving it open might be an invitation for me to stick my head in, like I did before. Back when she was actually happy to see and speak to me.

I've toyed with the idea of sending her a message but my phone's been playing up since I got back and I've wiped it clean, turned it off so I wouldn't go and do anything stupid, or say something to upset her.

Like, I miss you and I love you and I wish that everything were different. I wish we could go back and I wish we could go forwards, together.

But for now, I'd settle for holding Jessie in my arms, to hear the warmth of her laugh during a funny film.

What a mess.

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Newton Berry, September 18th

The Adkins' cat is wailing again. Poor old Bilbo is home alone. Probably missing the affectionate cuddles from Jessie and the warmth of her bed.

I feel like wailing but I reserve that only for when no one's in the house or when it's late.

"That sodding cat is doing my head in," my sister shouts as she stomps up the stairs. It's too early in the morning to be woken up by cats and careless footing.