Shackles & Roses

Sixteen

Waking up to an empty bed. That awful moment that steals your resolve and renders you useless. For a moment, I struggle to process it, my breath hitching in my chest. Bailey was here. She was here; I fell asleep next to her. With my arms wrapped around her. But where is she now?

Gone, that's where. And probably never there in the first place. I've finally lost it.

I turn over in bed, automatically reaching a hand for her pillow, only to remember that it's not there. It is still sitting with her coat in the hallway, muddy and torn. By me. My fault. Everything's my fault.

I squeeze my eyes tight-shut again, wanting to block out the world, myself included. Apparently that's not how it works, because I can still hear myself thinking; tearing myself down.

"Alex."

And there she is. I'm not crazy. I'm not crazy- she's right there, standing in the doorway. A mug of coffee steams in her left hand, and a smile sits on her face. The most natural and beautiful thing in the world. Relief floods my being.

"Morning, Alex. How are you today?"

She doesn't give me a chance to respond as she steps forward, putting the mug into my hands and turning the rose in its glass so that its head faces me.

"No more tears for me, I hope, because they just won't do. I want to see that smile of yours. Give me a smile." She looks at me expectantly, head tipped slightly to the side.

I manage a grimace, at best, but all the same her eyes grow brighter and she snuggles down by my side, obviously pleased with this result. At least one of us is.

"Do we have any plans for today?"

I shake my head, adjusting my position so that my arm is able to move more freely and I can lift the mug to my lips. The drink scalds my lips.

"Know what I'd like to do, Luke?"

I shake my head once more, daring to take my first sip of coffee. I can feel it on its journey all the way down my oesophagus, leaving a trail of burning nerve ends in its wake. Definitely still too hot. But refreshing.

"I'd like to take a look through my old camera."

I nearly spit my second mouthful across the bed sheets.

"Why do you want to do that?"

"Because it's time to remember the past, so that we can move on. And then we can make the future, starting with some new photos together."

I can see the sense in her words, which is probably why I agree. And so, five minutes later, we are sat on the sofa. Bailey is on my lap, a blanket tucked about us both, keeping her bare legs and my bare chest warm. I'm in my pyjama bottoms, and she's wearing my t-shirt again: the one from the box. I hold the camera in my hands, listening to the sounds of it coming alive.

My insides twist at the thought of all the memories I'm about to disturb. Bailey's warmth fills my body, comforting me a little. If I can sit here with her, when she is basically a walking-talking memory stirrer, I can look through her old camera. I need to stop being a wuss.

"Where do you want to start, then?"

The question surprises me. She was the one that wanted to do this, not me.

"From the start, I guess."

"I thought you might say that," she smiles, taking the camera from me.

Cryptic words with a thousand possible meanings. My urge to dig deeper to them is strong, but my growing apprehension and excitement of what we're about to do overpowers that need.