Honesty

My room was horrible. The windows were all fogged up, and the only light was the grey, rainy, pre-dawn light that came through panes.

I was cold, almost shivering.

Paul wasn't saying anything, but I could see he was upset.

I his hands, a box of sleeping pills he'd found stashed under my pillow.

I couldn't move.

"Elly, why... why do you have these?"

His voice was quiet and measured, and that scared me.

"Elly, please tell me why you need these. Tell me you can't sleep, Elly, tell me that's all."

I looked at my hands, and the sound he made was like giving up.

"I don't open them," I said quietly, finally, "I don't take them."

"You mean you haven't yet."

I could see him sag in my periphery, and I felt myself slacken too. I didn't see his hand reaching out, but I felt it when it touched the skin of my waist. This time, I could feel it trembling against me, one of those little signs that Paul was no more together than I.

This time, I felt no better.

"Elly, I'm trying. I'm really trying," he pulled me closer, whispered into my shoulder. "Don't run away Elly. Please."

Presently, his arms wrapped all the way around me, and I warmed back up until I melted right into him.

-

He left, as always, before the house awoke.

With him gone, my room was cold again, and I felt alone again.

I looked at the box he had forgotten on the floor. When I picked it up, the box felt hard and unfriendly in my hand, so unlike the rounded pills inside.

Then Paul's face and his misery returned to me, and tugged at me, made me feel sick.

I opened the top drawer of my bedside table, and stuffed the box in there, with the rest.

Then I turned over, and let Paul's leftovers - the clinging vestiges of his scent; his warmth, soothe away la nausée.

-

My mother knew.

She didn't say anything, but I could see it in her eyes, in the way she looked at me and sighed.

I didn't say anything either, just looked back down at my plate, carried on playing with my food.

Just before one, before the house went back to sleep, she came into my room with a little box of pills in her hand. I didn't want to have to look at it.

"I thought you'd need these," she said quietly. "I love you, Elly. Be careful."

"I love you too mum," I murmured.

When she left, I threw the box into the top drawer of my bedside table, with the rest.