Reaction

The phone let off its annoying jingle and rattled on the coffee table. At long last! Thought its owner, marking her place in her book and reaching for it, uncoiling as she did so. 1

Inbox-New Message from Fred on the 21st of the 3rd 2005 at 11:21pm. She sighed contentedly, he’d been ignoring her recently, and what he did send was clipped and short. She’d put it down to stress-the GCSE’s were coming up, even though it was a little odd that his friend managed to find time for her.2

She blanched as she read through the message-pupils dilating with shock. An almost inhuman wail escaped her throat as she hurled herself at the fireplace-all tile and wood- and beat herself on it. Tears streaming uncontrollably from her eyes.3

“Alex! Stop it!” Her mum’s disabled side made her lurch as she prised her daughter away from the hearth. An ugly red mark spread across features still pale from a recent illness. “What is it, honey?” Despite her motherly attitude, her grip was iron.4

Alex gestured helplessly at the discarded phone, and burst into fresh tears.5

“Oh, sweetheart,” she said after reading it, her mother was a saint at times, “Come on, do you want some water?” She bustled off for it, but soon hurried back when the rhythmic sound of skull smashing against wood reached her ears. “I’m going to have to tie you up soon,” she muttered, giving her another matronly hug, and hauling her back onto the sofa once more.6

The dog uncurled slowly and sleepily from her slumber nearby, and plodded over to see what all the fuss was about. A long, wet, rough tongue appeared from somewhere under the jowls, and tenderly licked away the salty tears.7

“Love you too, Bea.” Came the muffled voice from beneath the dog’s shaggy bulk. Her mother shoved the vast animal away, and helped her daughter to her feet,8

“Bed, and a good book.” She said firmly, “and if you’re not out of that bathroom in ten minutes, I’m coming in to investigate.”9

She didn’t sleep. She couldn’t sleep. Images shot through her mind like a hyperactive roller-coaster.  Running down Bowness park; Windermere lake shore;  the chip shop where we got the fork for Amy to make her sandwiches with; The cushions in the youth hostel-I still wear those bands on my wrist, the same ones; the corridors at St Anne’s; giving £5 as an apology for bruising; the castle; the voice. Goddess, that voice! A syllable was all it took to make her melt. So dissimilar to her own fast, jumbled Yorkshire stammer. She could happily sit and listen to it for eternity.10

Not any more though. She was past now-they were past. Tears filled her eyes at the very thought, but she bit her knuckles hard to keep from sobbing.. She felt dead and sick with longing-no, she felt sick. She missed the bathroom completely and vomited on the landing. Great. Her bile stung the sores on her lips from the last time she was sick, as it dripped from her chin. She made no move to wipe it away, but stood, hunched over, shaking.11

Eventually, she cleared up, and went back to bed. It was 5:00. She gave the photograph at the foot of her bed a pleading glance, then fell into blissful oblivion.12

The familiar notes of her call tone echoed upstairs a few hours later, “Ngh!” She groaned to the room in general, clunking down the ladder and wrapping a dressing gown round her.13

“Wossumatter?” She grunted into the offending mobile when she reached the kitchen.14

“Alex! I’ve been trying to get hold of you all night!” It was Amy. An ever present rock to cling to. “Look, are you ok?” 15

“I’ve been better,” She replied, balancing the phone on her shoulder and pouring herself a glass of water. She sipped, feeling it washing away the taste of sleep. “I take it he told you?”16

“Yes, he showed me the text he was going to send to you. I said he should have waited until Thursday, so I could make sure you didn’t do anything stupid, and so I can talk you out of keeping that promise.”17

“I always keep my promises,” she replied stubbornly, “and it’s a little late for not doing anything stupid.” She gingerly fingered the bump on her forehead, and feeling her stomach churn faintly at the thought of the promise. A while ago, she’d vowed to hang herself from Fred’s door if they split up, and even though the prospect scared her, she was not going to back out of it.18

“Don’t you dare!” Amy’s voice was severe, “He’s worried about you doing that.”19

“No he’s not,” Alex retorted, “He’s worried about what the police will say when they find a corpse on his doorstep.” Her tone softened slightly, “Besides, it won’t be for a while. I need to save up for a bit for the train fare.”20

“Hmmmm. Anyway-don’t start cutting yourself. My mate does that.”21

“I won’t. How is he anyway?” The conversation carried on for a while, easing the tension and frustration..22

Later, she put the phone down and sank to the floor feeling dejected and rejected.23

On returning from her chores, she clattered upstairs and opened her new pad of paper. She pressed play on her CD player, and relaxed as the notes washed over her.24

She started to write, pen scratching on the paper, then she heard the lyrics- Green Day’s ‘Good riddance (the time of your life)’. She fell forward onto the desk. Tears claiming her.25

The ever present phone went off again. Paul. Her brows knitted together as she read the message. Fred was talking about suicide? Why? He hadn’t just been dumped by text. He’d even taken that dignity away from her. It was probably just random Fredness.26

She replied and finished writing, pouring all her misery onto the page. It was 6:00. She claimed the computer and posted all her poems, except for ’20 Ways To Commit Suicide With Normal Household Items’ as she’d probably be told to take it down.27

She moaned to Ant and Matt on msn for a while, the Natalie sent her a message, telling her not to do anything bad to herself. An argument raged, then Natalie struck below the belt-28

“You can still love him, but you have to accept that you can’t have him.” Alex mouthed wordlessly at the screen for a few seconds, as the truth of it hit home, then signed out.29

She put ABBA on in the kitchen and flopped down in the kitchen, playing with a tennis ball and thinking about death.30

Craig, her closest confidant sent her a message asking if she was alright, so she vented to him. His reply had more venom in it than she’d ever seen from him:31

“Snap out of it! You have a future and it’s bright and wonderful. You have everything to live for- you’re about to commit to your religion, you have friends. You are a bright, thoughtful, caring, intelligent, wonderful person, and if some little shit from down South has his head too far up his arse to see that, then it’s his fault-not yours.”32

She smiled wanly. Flatterer! Craig wanted to be a priest, and he’d make a damn good one-so long as he didn’t quote exodus in her presence.33

The clock struck eleven. She yawned and got unsteadily to her feet, glimpsing herself in the mirror for the first time since before she had the stomach bug. She looked like a corpse! She’d hardly eaten for a week and she hadn’t slept properly for ages. Her eyes were sinking back into her head, and were dull and supported by huge purple bags. Her cheeks were beginning  to hollow, making her cheek and jaw bones prominent. Her lips were sore and stretched, and her knuckles were bruised from where she’d bitten them.34

One thought hit her-All for you, my love. I do this and more for you35