FLESH covered LIES

5 Years Later

I sit in a quiet coffee shop, a strong cup of tea beside me, and a pen in my hand. It is the sixth time I have tried to start my documentation, but as usual, it is going no where. I prefer not to dwell on the past, and particularly not this certain section. I chew on the pen, and add to the other bite marks, a constant sign of my anxiety. Yeah, that part hasn't gone away. 

It has been five years. And it hasn't gotten any easier. I still see her face every time I close my eyes. I still feel the ghost of her hand holding mine when I am scared. Not to mention the nightmares. Those aren't too fun either. It sounds like I'm complaining. I'm not. All I feel is guilt, no matter how many times the people I love tell me not to. 

Whether or not it was me who got us into that situation, it was still me who said that name, and "caused" that death. And I can't live with myself. 

I've been asked multiple times to document my ideas - my story. I always smile, and nod, as if I really feel as if it was a learning experience for the rest of the world. Inside though, I never have any intentions to write things down, or tell my story to the public. Sometimes, on days like today, I go out and fiddle with my pen. I never make any progress, but it makes me feel like I have the capacity to make a difference, and surely that counts for something?

I rarely speak to Jonathan. It isn't like he makes an effort to contact me either. There are occasional emails, but only at Christmas, or times when we feel obliged to reach out. Even then, the contact is scarce and meagre. Our way of conversing is normally in ten word emails with no real point to them. I don't blame him, and I hope he doesn't blame me. 

In the first 2 or 3 years after is all happened, I never really sussed out what Mr Sed actually wanted. I used to rack my brains when I couldn't sleep, and sometimes literally brainstormed ideas to work out what caused him to do what he had done. However, when I did finally work it out, it hit me like a brick to the face. 

At first I thought that Mr Sed was the only one that thought in the way that he did. But now, I see that maybe it's the way that all murderers think. They don't kill to hurt their victims. They kill to hurt those that they leave alive. And that's what Mr Sed did to me I suppose. When he killed Sherlock and Harissa, he didn't do it to hurt them, he did it to damage me and Jonathan, and ruin the lives of the people who had lived among the victims forever once he had committed those fateful deeds.