Never Let This Go

I left later that day. Frank was too hungover to try and stop me. I travelled back to my hometown to live with my mum. As I sat in the taxi, my bags scattered on the seats I believed I had really made the right choice. The Christmas traffic was heavy in the city, but when we escaped the roads were open and I barely saw another soul until the taxi pulled up outside my house. The Christmas lights sent colourful and warm light out through the glass. When I rang the doorbell and my mother answered, my face said it all. The suitcase slipped from my hand, and I collapsed into her arms.

The next day, I pretty much kept to myself up in my old room. I greeted Mum’s Christmas guests politely, excusing myself from dinner. Telling them I was suffering from a cold, and I had returned home to recover. They were having none of it, and it became apparent that they all expected mine and Frank’s relationship was doomed from the beginning. My Aunt strode up to me and put her hands on my shoulders, forcing me to look into her cold eyes.

“Well dear, what did you expect? All those men in the music business are all the same, they have no respect for you, honey. You should have stayed home with your mother!” She sighed wisely “Anyway, I thought you looked pretty contented when I saw you in that interview on the television-” I cut into her rant about disrespectful men.

“I haven’t been in an interview with Frank or the band since March.” I said quietly, frowning.

“Are you sure, dear? I swear it was you sitting right next to him. You were holding hands and whispering to each other and giggling and everything! How could you not remember?” She laughed heartily and carried on her lecture.

I stared at her face for a while, trying to arrange my face in a neutral expression. I tried to make it look as if it was something normal and that it didn’t make the pain I was already feeling ten times worse. Like it didn’t feel like I wanted to drop to my knees and curl up so nobody would talk to me or think about how stupid I had been.

He was probably drunk during that one interview.
My Aunt probably got the wrong idea.
But Frank had been seeing someone else.
He was probably pressured into it by the rest of the band.
But he knew exactly what he had been doing, I’m sure of it.
He probably didn’t want to be with her, she probably forced herself on him.
But he was making out with her in an interview.

Damn, I felt sick again. I put my hands over my mouth, and shut my eyes for a second. I took a deep breath, and sprinted up the stairs and into the bathroom. The door flew shut behind me and I knelt against the toilet. I threw up, tears now streaming down my face.

Nobody was there to hold my hair out of the way, and after was done I got in the shower and sat, the cold water mingling with my burning tears. I curled up on the hard floor of the shower cubicle, hugging my knees and crying. It was dim in the shower and the water splashing down blurred my vision. I saw my reflection in the glass of the door. My eyeliner was snaking down my face; my dark hair framed my tragic image.

Showers never used to be lonely. Frank always used to sneak in after me, creeping up behind me, his hands wrapped round my waist. He always thought I couldn’t hear him as he slid in next to me, even though I knew he would always join me, and I saw him out of corner of my eye. He used to whisper a hello in my ear and giggle as I rolled my eyes. We used to stand for hours, locked in an embrace. My chin resting on his shoulder, my eyes closed and completely at ease. We were so in love it was sickening.

Somebody knocked lightly on the door to the bathroom. I snapped out of my reminiscence. My mum’s voice reverberated through the door.

“Abby, are you okay in there? You’ve been hours...” It didn’t feel like it had been hours. “ You can come out, everybody’s gone home!”

“I’m just having a shower, I’ll be out in a second.” I responded, standing and stepping out of the shower. I wrapped myself in a towel, and opened the door. My mum was still standing there, dressed in her pyjamas and dressing gown. She looked tired; she must have only just got rid of the rest of the Christmas dinner guests.

“I thought something had happened to you, and the hot water must have run out while you were in there.” she said, eyeing my dripping make-up.

“I dunno, I didn’t notice.” I said vaguely. I hadn’t noticed the water turning cold because I hadn’t had the water on hot in the first place. I didn’t care that I now was shivering and dripping wet.

I was about to return to my old bedroom when my mum spoke again. What she said to me probably made more sense than anything in a long time. So I took her advice, and until another three weeks later I didn’t shed another tear about Frank. I went and found another job working in a bookstore and I began searching for apartments around my hometown. I had become happier and I only lapsed when I caught myself wondering what Frank was doing right that moment. But those moments gradually became further and further apart. That was, until one morning in mid January. Three weeks after I turned up on my mum’s doorstep after leaving Frank.