Grieving Escapades

Chapter Two

Breaking Point

Happily dreaming, I was awoken by the sounds of knocks downstairs. Such an event would normally lead to distress and a moment of anxiety where I would remember and relive the moment where I learned of my parents' death. Fortunately, the knocks were sounded in a pattern; a very familiar one.

Freddy.

Freddy was my best friend and neighbour. Living only a few doors down, we practically grew up together, making pasta necklaces and mud patties on the regular as children. His family was my family and mine was his. Every Friday night we would all gather for dinner, normally resulting in Freddy sleeping over at my house or me crashing at his house. We were extremely close, and the sleepovers didn't stop; even following my twentieth birthday.

The couple of months following the death of my parents however, created a shift in dynamics. Despite Freddy's good intentions and empathy, I didn't want to talk. Not just to him, but to anyone. Sympathy and the sorry look on peoples face when seeing me after the deaths was practically enough to make me want to drown in my own vomit. I didn't want to open up about how I was feeling. It didn't matter.

Rolling over in my bed, I ignored the knocks, trying to block out the pattern which would normally make me want to run to answer the door. Minutes passed and the knocks persisted, with pauses every now and again where my phone would light up from him repeatedly calling.

By then the number of missed calls on my phone were at record high, with Freddy being the number one missed caller. Every day he managed to try and get in contact, and I consistently ignored him, having last spoken to him at the funeral. A part of me felt bad, but then the other half of me didn't care about anything but sleep.

My eyes felt heavy, and the bags beneath them almost appeared like bruises. I lost a lot of weight, with even my tanned skin fading to an ashy paleness. I hadn't brushed my hair in weeks, swooping all of the tangles and knots up into a bun on the daily. My workout routine became non-existent, as did my motivation to do anything. The last thing I felt like doing was answering the door.

My phone lit up again, only this time it was a text.

Freddy:
Morgs, please answer the door. I know you're in there!

Rolling my eyes, I quietly pulled off the doona, tip toeing my way downstairs. I wasn't prepared to open the door, yet somehow walking closer to it made me feel as though I was making an effort. Inching closer to the door, in between the creeks of the timber floors, I tried to remain as quiet as possible.

"Morgan! I can hear you walking. Open up! Freddy shouted, almost begging for me to open the door.
Pausing for a moment, I asked "What do you want Freddy?"
"I just want to talk. I haven't seen-"
I opened the door, revealing a stressed looking Freddy.
His light brown hair looked dishevelled, and his blue eyes were almost completely hidden by his furrowing bushy brows. Despite his masculine cologne and well thought out outfit, his face read 'I'm stressed'.
"Morgan," he began, "how are you?"
Inching closer to me, he opened his arms in preparation for a hug. I stepped backwards.
"Look Freddy, I don't really feel like talking."
"Oka- that's okay. I understand. I just want to see you Morgan. I haven't seen you in months."
Giving him a look that read well you are seeing me now, I just muttered "I know."

A part of me loved that despite how much I pushed people away, they still cared enough to push back. But another part of me just felt bad. It wasn't my intention to fade out of everyone's life or to concern them with where I was or what I was doing. I was just grieving.

"Can I please come in?" He asked politely, giving me that look he always gave me.
I silently nodded, walking away from the door to the lounge chairs in the living room. Plonking myself down, I sighed.
"I know you don't want sympathy and blah blah blah" Freddy started, making his way over to the living room. "But you look like shit" he smirked, trying to cheer me up.
A grin escaped. I chuckled.