Solitude

A Solitary Arrangement

Alexander King

Being around Oaklee and not being able to hug or kiss her or even hold her hand was slowly killing me. I spent nearly every day with her, wanting her to get to know me as much as she could. I silently hoped that if she spent more time with me then her memory from the last year would resurface.

Every day I either spent the whole day with her, going about our normal routine, or popped in half way through the day. I slowly introduced her to Zeus, not wanting him to overwhelm her with his excitement of seeing her. She doesn't remember him.

I longed that I would turn up one day and she would remember me. She would say my name in her melodious voice, as a sigh like its the first time she's seeing me in such a long time. I would see her brown eyes light up with love, a smile would bloom on her face and my heart would explode from the warmth, happiness and love that descends upon me.

Of course, I knew that was a fantasy. When she remembers me, it won't be like that at all. She'll cry and flinch away from me, just like she did when I shouted at her that day, when I closed in on her, when I glared at her with so much fury that I was physically shaking and when I chucked the engagement ring at her.

That day was the biggest mistake I have ever made. I don't know what possessed me to find her father and ask him for his blessing. I knew their relationship was troubled but I thought she'd love me even more for it. I thought she'd thank me for reconciling their relationship and she'd say yes to the most important question of our lives.

I was wrong.

I should have known as soon as I saw the brown tiny house that was practically falling apart in the disgusting and eerie neighbourhood. I should have known when I noticed the brown, dead and lifeless grass overgrown in the front garden and the weeds sprouting through the cobbled and broken driveway.

But when I saw his face, when he stumbled out of the door, slurring and grinning like the Cheshire cat on ketamine, I was fourteen again, in that car crash where my mum died. I saw her dead body over the dashboard, a dark red substance covering her head and pooling on to her lap and when I looked up, when my eyesight focused again, I saw him. He stumbled out of the car, he danced and swayed across the street, and left after killing my mum.

I assumed she knew. It was her dad and every part of me blamed her. I didn't think of why she had anxiety, I didn't think why she couldn't stand being around people and I definitely didn't ask myself why she flinched a lot when we first met. I didn't think. I just saw red.

So after I beat the living daylights out of the drunk murderer in front of me, I went to her.

I wish I calmed down and let her explain. I wish I never said those things to her. I caused her panic attack and I caused her amnesia. I deserved to feel the pain every night while I tried to sleep. I deserved to feel the constant stabbing of knives in my chest.

I wasn't giving up, never would I give up, she was the only person I've ever loved and I needed her. I didn't deserve her and I was horrible to her, I was the cause of her panic attack, her accident and her amnesia but I couldn't let her go. I just begged that when her memory did come back, then she'd hear me out and listen to me before leaving me.

I was incredibly selfish, I knew this, but I needed her. She was the only person I let in after my mum died and I know I was the only person she let in after her mum died. After her dad abused her for eleven years. Just thinking that caused my anger to burn within me. I clenched my fists tightly, stopping myself from punching something, more specifically his head again and again again.