Shackles & Roses

Eight

I wake to sunlight, and it immediately brings a smile to my lips. Today is going to be a good day. And that's a promise to myself. I turn over in bed, eyes locking onto the rose.

And then onto the single petal that has fallen beside the glass.

I take a shaky breath, reaching out my hand to brush my fingers along it. I must have knocked it last night. I need to water it. That must be what it is.

I swing my legs out of bed, standing slowly to let the blood rush back to my feet before attempting to move. I've made the mistake of moving too early a lot recently.

Once in the bathroom, I tip our toothbrushes out of the cup, filling it to the brim with water and carrying it back to the bedroom, where I pour it into the famished flower's glass, watching it for a while, even though I know that I'm not going to see anything happen.

You're just being stupid, Alex. Pull yourself together. I sigh, standing from the bed again and pulling on my discarded jacket from last night. My clothes are rumpled from sleeping on them, but they'll do. It's not like I'm going anywhere special.

Even though I know that the kitchen cupboards will be fully stocked, I decide to eat out for breakfast. I'm tired of cooking toast. Well- of burning it. Each and every morning I do it, and then still have to eat it. I'm not sure how long it's been since I cooked myself a proper dinner.

I make my way down the stairs, hand trailing lightly along the wall as I move slowly, pausing when I reach the foot of them to breathe for a moment. Am I really going to do this? It seems so. I let my fingers brush against her jacket as I grab my keys from the hook beside the door, pulling it open and stepping out before I change my mind. Fresh air is good for you, Alex. Just do it and get it over with.

A car zooms past just as I step out onto the pavement, the gust it whips-up messing with my hair and chilling me slightly. I take a step back, checking the pavement either way before fully stepping out once more, fingers nervously fiddling with the hem of my crumpled shirt. Why am I so nervous? My mother literally kicked me out of my own house a week ago, and I ran from the house and straight to Addie's with no qualms whatsoever.

But this time feels different, somehow. I cross the street, eyes flicking about. I don't even know where I'm going. That is, until the gates of the park appear ahead of me, and I realise that my feet have betrayed me. I walk with jelly legs towards them, my brain melting and running from my skull down into the drain as the pressure of what I'm about to do hits me.

I wait outside the gate for a woman with a push-chair to come through, holding it open for her and smiling. She doesn't need to know how stressed-out I am. She smiles back, and I can hear the baby giggling, two tiny hands just visible from under the hood of the buggy. I look away, eyes watering, before pushing the gate back open and hurrying through.

No turning back.

I stand in the park, just through the gate, and stare all around with wide eyes. I haven't been here without Bailey. Not even once. This was our casual place: Sunday afternoon strolls, a quick walk after school, a day trip in the summer for a picnic. And most of all, it's the cut-through up and out of the city to our spot- a little patch of green overlooking the city. A place to watch the sun rise or set, and to be away from everything. Just the thought of going there without Bailey both excites and scares me.

I head on, breathing a bit faster than before, but I don't let it stop me. I won't. This is good for me, contrary as it is to the way my palms are sweating and my heart is beating.

I catch a sight of someone in a fluorescent jacket, picking trash. One of the maintenance crew for the park. I look closer, drawing a deep breath when I recognise the shaggy grey curls, even at this distance. I turn on my heel, desperate to get away, but it's too late. He's calling my name.