Sunday, 29 January 2012
...Joe - Chapter 8
Days go by and I feel empty. She doesn't call me, no one calls me. I keep thinking I hear her coming through the door and I wait, here in my room, in my bed, but she doesn't come. So I lie here, in my dirty sheets and wait. I won't move till Jonie comes back. I refuse to think about what happened, about what I did. My brain however wants the opposite, and keeps replaying that night over and over again and every time the shame buries itself a little deeper and I'm afraid that this time I won't be able to recover.
I don't eat, shower or shave. My hair keeps getting longer and I only get up when I need to piss or you know, shit. I don't know how long I can go on like this. I watch the clock, the clock watches me and I listen to the sounds of my house and reacquaint myself with my loneliness. We may as well get used to each others company.
It's now been seven days since Jonie left and my stomach finally forces me out of my bed and into my barren kitchen. The breads mouldy and the milks gone sour. The only thing within sell by date is a block of mouldy mature cheddar or beer, so I grab the beer. After a few gulps I feel a bit better but I know to have to eat something – man cannot survive on beer alone. I contemplate going down to the corner shop in my seven day stink clothes and my stomach lurches. I can't go to the corner shop, I can't face “Phillip” or Leon or whatever the fuck his name was. I can't go where I used to go or do the things I used to do because in every corner of my life Jonies there. Her ghost lingering. Reminding me of my loss.
I down the beer and grab another one from the fridge. I slam the door and slam my head against it's cool exterior. I'm so fucking tired. I should go shopping, fuck I probably should shower. I sniff under my arms and I think I smell okay. Maybe the shower can wait.
I slowly walk back to my room, every surface of my house reminds me of her. I don't know what to do about this feeling, the memories of our relationship follow me around and I so desperately want to speak to her. I miss her so much. We haven't gone this long before without speaking to each other. We went everywhere together, holidays, shopping, drinking. We even went to Universities within train distance of each other. We were never to far away. Ever.
I wander into my room and look around. I should get dressed, it'll probably make me feel better. I pick up the first T-shirt I see off the floor. It's that fucking green Fred Perry polo shirt from that day. I scrunch it in my fist, I feel angry, so irrationally angry. I blame the polo shirt for bringing me such bad luck, in fact I curse you Fred Perry your clothes brought along my downfall. May all your profits burn. I am so angry I'm shaking. I throw the polo shirt as hard as I can and it hits the wall with a thud and springs back off. My beer spills a little from the force of my previous outburst and it makes me even more angry – hulk angry, so I throw that as well, it hits the floor and fizzes everywhere. I start throwing anything I can get my hands on. Cups, clothes, books, shoes, newspapers, plates. I drag the duvet off my bed and I hurl it across the room, the pillows follow and I upend the mattress and rip the curtains from the poles.
I accidentally smash a picture of Jonie and my anger instantly dies. I pick up the frame and shake the picture free. It's an old picture, taken on the last day of Secondary school. We look so young, so fucking happy together and then that night comes flooding back and I'm crying again, so hard it's making my body shake and I can't breathe, I can't get a grip on what’s happened. It seems so unreal. I clutch the picture to my chest and curl up in the mess I made. Seems fitting doesn't it?