Canyon Moon | H.S.

Start Climbing (21)

It was at least a day before I moved.

I think.

Time was blurry. The only thing that got me moving was the painful ache of my stomach after having not eaten for over twenty four hours. I hadn't slept either, but that was unsurprising.

I dragged myself out of bed and to the kitchen, indulging in some plain pasta as I had nothing fresh in the house.

My home that usually is my absolute safe haven, is cold and lifeless. The portraits lining the floors are covered in dust, and far too brightly coloured. They're sitting there, mocking me. These strangers that I don't know but painted anyway, their smiles are baiting me, their frowns accusing me.

I don't want to be here anymore, but I have nowhere to go. I want to be in my bed in that beautiful house, wrapped up in nothing more than a thin sheet and his strong arms... but we're not thinking about that, are we Natalie? Because if we think about it we start crying, and the logical side of my brain knows I'm too dehydrated for that to keep happening.

I want to just walk away. Walk for hours upon hours until I regain feeling in my feet from the pain and I slowly wither away into nothing.

I settle for just going to a pub.

The pasta twists in my stomach, my two day old clothes clinging to my body uncomfortably. I just walk. I'm not going to the pub I used to work at, there's no way I can face people I know, old colleagues, regular customers. Not looking like this. Not feeling like this.

I keep walking, further into London, until I find a quiet pub on the corner of a street. Pubs are usually social places, which is the furthest from what I want right now, but I have nowhere else to go. I can't stay in my house. The walls are already closing in and the stale smell of loneliness clings to my nostrils.

Plus I desperately need a drink.

This pub is quiet. Good. There's a woman behind the bar. Even better. She looks slightly older than me, but she looks kind, and I could use a bit of kindness right now.

I slide onto a bar stool, not taking in much of my surroundings. The woman approaches me.

"Hi babe, what can I get for you?" She asks with a slight twang, and I try and twist my face into a smile.

"Anything strong." I mumble, kicking myself for not being able to make more of an effort. My stomach is still in knots.

"Shit," she says softly, taking in my appearance, "I getcha. I won't be a moment." She moves off to make up a drink, and I stare at myself in the reflective surface behind the bar.

My hair's a mess, chunks falling out of my ponytail. My under eyes are dark. I look like a ghost, and I feel like one too. Or at least, I feel how I imagine a ghost would feel. Cold. Lost. Alone.

"Alright sweets," she says, coming back with my drink and handing it to me, "what's going on?" She leans on the bar across from me, tucking her hair behind her ear as if she means business.

"I'm fine. But thanks." I say quietly, not wanting to disturb her while she's working or talk to a stranger about why I feel the way I do.

"I usually don't stand for bullshit, but I'll let you off this time cause you're obviously hurting. Come on, talk to me." I stare at her, baffled. She looks completely serious.

"I don't want to distract you from work." I say embarrassed.

"Babe," she says, leaning closer, "I'm the manager here, so I can do whatever I want, but I'm also dead bored. It doesn't get very busy here, and you look like you could use a friend right now."