--- Chapter 1 ---

Paige had always been told she was nothing special. Her mother had told her
when she deemed her old enough to stomach the truth at the tender age of five,
her father hadn’t been around long enough to tell her, and her husband was
sweet enough to remind her of the fact almost every day of her married life.
Although Paige knew that, by consensus, she should agree, she couldn’t help but
think, with childlike defiance, that there was slightly more to her than that.
Glancing swiftly at her reflection one morning, a rather brazen notion for
someone as abashed as she, she could not help but evaluate what she saw there
for a second, and was surprised that not every part of the slight woman’s face
staring back at her was immediately processed as a negative image by her brain.
She had almost translucent skin that stretched too tightly over her skull, a
crooked smile hiding an almost-perfect set of teeth, and large, pudding-brown
eyes that, unbeknown to her, had the ability to melt the heart of anyone who
could have bothered to stare into them. This melange of features were in
constant partial cover from a wild mane of thick russet coloured hair, spilling
from her crown and falling about her shoulders in a careless manner; indeed, the
only thing about Paige’s garden that wasn’t perfectly pruned, although not for
lack of trying. She attempted this near impossible feat now, bravely grabbing a
wire brush and rolling up the sleeves of her newly ironed shirt, frowning slightly
in her effort, but all to no avail. Giving up, she applied a thin layer of mascara,
thought about blush but decided against it, and then, returning to her bedroom,
selected her favourite blazer, a nondescript navy blue number very popular
amongst those of us who wish to remain firmly an unidentified member of the
crowd, and prepared to leave the house.
She went silently past her husband’s bedroom, careful not to step on any non-
existent loud floorboards or knock any imaginary paintings off the bare walls, not
even to breathe too loudly. She knew that visions of her husband actually waking
up, even if she were to scream at the top of her lungs, which she often wished
she had the courage to do, were strictly imaginary, however she still took the
precautions, because that was the kind of woman Paige Jones was; wary,
guarded, and cautious.
As she drove slowly to work, making sure to check her rear view mirror twice
before she backed out of her drive, she thought absent-mindedly about how
selfish she was being recently. Ever since confiding in Ellen, she had come to this
realisation. She thought of Ellen, a woman so breathtakingly beautiful and
unconditionally kind that she was almost certain she couldn’t really exist, and of
her abusive husband who was slowly mangling her; her body was constantly
being shattered and broken, and, as for her heart, Paige knew that it had been
lost a long time ago. It was these admissions that juxtaposed painfully with her
own pathetic accusations that her husband didn’t care for her, although Ellen
never seemed to see it this way, listening with unwavering diligence to her
carefully constructed complaints. They had become more than work colleagues
over the years, and Paige was proud and slightly surprised to be able to call her a
real friend.
But Paige knew as she pulled into the company car park that she was being
selfish in thinking that she deserved more - after all, her husband hadn’t done
1
anything wrong. He didn’t shout at her, ridicule her, insult her, or beat her, but
this in itself was the problem; he did nothing. She saw herself as the foundations
of their expensive detached house; she provided him with as much support as
she could manage, she was steady and unwavering ... and yet he failed
spectacularly to notice.
“Morning Jeffrey”, she said with as much gusto as she could manage as she
passed him on the way to the lift, imagining herself stapling a nonchalant smile
to her lips as the words escaped them.
He ignored her.
She smiled to herself as she pressed the button for the third floor and the
doors slid shut, just as wordless as her colleague. She didn’t need to reassure
herself that she wasn’t unpopular at work, as she knew that this was true – she
wasn’t unpopular, rather, she was non-existent, and this was something she
could deal with.
As she flicked her computer on and took her seat, staring at the bare walls of
her small cubicle, she hummed a tuneless number as she waited for it to boot
up. And then it happened.
A scream wriggled snake like along the coffee-stained carpet, underneath the
wall of her cubicle, up the arm of her threadbare chair, and exploded in her ear.
She jumped to her feet, looking wildly around for a moment, and then,
remembering herself, took the time to smooth down her skirt and compose
herself. She knew that the mystery of the Monday Morning Scream, she smiled
inwardly at her creativity in thinking of this title, would soon resolve itself.
Maybe, she thought as she mindlessly scanned her empty email inbox, it was
Susan, the floozy blonde and the newest addition to the team, the most likely
culprit for dropping a mug or twisting her ankle in her ridiculous six inch work
heels. Equally, it could have been that guy from marketing that she knew –
But Paige didn’t have time to finish this latest speculation, as an unexpected
visitor was suddenly rushing frantically into her small cubicle, disturbing a pile of
perfectly filed and labelled documents that had taken Paige almost a week to
organise. But before she had time to lament its dissolution, a flurry of words,
almost slurred in their haste to escape the visitor’s mouth, caught her off guard.
“Paige ... Ellen ... dead. She’s dead.”
“What the...?” The words escaped her mouth before she had time to think
them through, and she caught herself before the expletive she wanted to scream
out had a chance to be granted a voice. She recognised the woman, thinking her
name to be Jane, and knew that however unsure she was about her name, she
was sure that this was the first time she had ever spoken to her.
This thought crossed her brain, but was immediately exiled for the more
pressing matter of Ellen; she knew that it needed all of its processing power
focussed on this one. Paige choked, trying unsuccessfully to make sense of this
news, but all she managed was to link the words Ellen and dead together, and
then her grey matter short circuited. She wasn’t surprised. She had never been
very good at the whole deep thinking malarkey.
The woman, growing bored of Paige’s lack of visible reaction, sighed audibly,
muttered something that sounded like “unfeeling cow”, and then she was off, off
to find someone who would react to the news correctly, she supposed. Paige rose
2
in a daze, focussed her eyes on her retreating figure, and forced her led-lined
legs to spring to motion and follow her.
The tornado woman rushed through the office, leaving her trail of destruction,
and Paige followed this trail silently with her wide eyes; a couple of men talking
in low voice, mirroring each other’s faces of shock, several women crying, others
simply staring in disbelief, mouths open, and floozy Susan, of course having to
be the most noticeable even under such circumstances, gesturing to the
heavens, taking breaks to run her fingers through her long tresses and pout her
lips heavily coated with ruby red gloss. Paige couldn’t help noticing, with a
sickening realisation, that she had a small audience of men watching her with
awe in their eyes, oblivious the current situation.
Her boss, a stout man in his early forties, was gesturing with windmill arms,
assumedly signalling to his workers to gather, and Paige found herself gravitating
toward him, along with many of her colleagues. In his deep voice of pure marble,
he started to calmly reassure everyone that there was nothing to worry about.
Paige smiled cynically to herself.
“I don’t want anyone to worry. I can’t stress that enough. I don’t wish to alarm
anyone, but I feel that I must tell the truth.” He took a moment to shut his eyes
and tilt his head to the skies for dramatic effect.
“What an idiot” Paige thought to herself, but persevered with his mock-
selflessness in order to hear the facts.
“I am afraid” he continued, “that I have some terrible news. It seems that last
night, Ellen Greene was admitted to the hospital after a very nasty fall down
several flights of stairs. The doctors weren’t hopeful, but after she survived the
night, they thought it was possible for her to recover. However, at 6.15 this
morning, she was found dead.”
A chorus of gasps escaped from the collected audience.
“I can tell you that she did not suffer. It appears that after all the pain
medication she was issued the night before that she would not have felt
anything. I know that our prayers will be with her husband and family, and I
suggest that we all take a moment to remember such a great member of the
team.”
Several people bowed their heads in consent, some, who knew her better,
wiping away silent tears, and the office floor fell silent, something Paige had
never seen, or rather heard, before. She couldn’t bear this, couldn’t stomach the
sudden crushing realisation that hit her like a freight train and she turned, barely
seeing, unable to process the stagnated images in front of her, and fled the
room.
The lift provided Paige with some long overdue closure, and she slid down the
polished wall after pressing the ground floor button several times, head in her
hands, and then scolded herself for being so predictably dramatic. She stood up
again, stifling a sob as the doors slid open again, and fled through the large glass
doors to the building, for the first time in her life not knowing where she was
going, what she was doing. She was behaving erratically, she knew, but she
couldn’t stop herself. Ellen had been her rock; she had always thought that if
Ellen could cope then so could she, and now her rock had finally given in to the
constant taunting of the unstoppable, unfeeling wind, and had crumbled, leaving
3
Paige helpless and alone. She did not know what had happened last night,
although she doubted very much that the words ‘stairs’ or ‘accident’ had played
any part in the events...
A screeching of tyres, blaring lights, and a sharp, persistent blaring of a horn
penetrated her bubble of dazed confusion, and the next thing she knew, she felt
a hard unforgiving surface below her head, and a burst of searing pain flew
through her.
“How ironic” she thought to herself, and then everything went dark.

--- Chapter Two ---

Fluorescent lights forced their way relentlessly under her eyelids, and she blinked
several times before opening her eyes. As they took their time to focus, a fact
that annoyed Paige immensely, impatient to know where she was, she found
herself staring at a pale yellow wall playing host to an ensemble of holiday style
pictures in mismatched frames. In one corner an ancient TV was perched
precariously on a stand, and, as she turned her head slowly, wincing at the pain
this caused her, she saw a bedside table with a collection of dog-eared
magazines, and a vase with a medley of plastic looking flowers exploding from
the rim which had the opposite of the desired effect on the room, making it look
even more gaudy and forced than before. She shut her eyes, trying her best to
work her way methodically through the events leading up to her stay in this
room, but without success. She slowly opened them again, this time choosing to
look down to her body, thinking that perhaps her clothes would give her a clue as
to her current location.
A silent cry of horror trickled from her open mouth. Bandages were wrapping
themselves like leeches around her flesh; there was almost none of her
pathetically white skin on show, save the odd patch which was inexplicably red
and raw.
Before Paige had the chance to get to grips with her mummified body, she
heard a noise announcing someone’s entrance to her nightmare, and looked up
to see a nurse bending over her, checking, she realised, the bandages which
must cover her head. After a few minutes of wordless bustling and changing of
dressings, the nurse noticed that Paige’s eyes were open, and gave a small start.

“Oh!” was all she managed to say, and then she left the room again.
Paige waited patiently for her return, but was disappointed. Just when she was
giving up all hope, a stern looking doctor marched through the door, and sat with
businesslike precision on the chair next to her bed. He took her hand, and Paige
was surprised at how even this seemingly comforting gesture was turned into
one of duty when this doctor was the one performing the action. She braced
herself.
“Well Mrs Jones,” the doctor said with a voice as crisp as his pristine white coat
and spotless stethoscope which hung with perfect symmetry around his neck, “it
seems that you were involved in a rather nasty accident. Did you not think to
look both ways before you threw yourself into a busy main road?”
His lips drew back into a sarcastic smile as he enjoyed the effect of his little
4
joke. Paige hated him instantly, but was still having difficulty locating her voice,
although she knew that she wouldn’t have used it even if she could.
“You are lucky”, he continued, “that your husband found you and called an
ambulance when he did, otherwise there is no doubt that you would have bled to
death. As it is, you should be on the way to a full recovery. Congratulations. Your
husband will be coming in soon, I’m sure.”
He got up and turned towards the door in one swift movement, and Paige was
left with her head reeling, glad at that moment for the bandages, otherwise she
was sure that it would have fallen apart. Several thoughts introduced themselves
at once; the way that the word ‘congratulations’ sounded more like an obscenity
when spoken by the doctor, his lack of ability to sugar coat the truth, and, most
importantly the news that her husband had saved her. Her brain latched onto
this particular thought, replaying it in order to explore all possible meanings. He
couldn’t have meant ... no ... it was impossible ... Toby, helping her, being
outside her work? Visiting her in hospital? If she hadn’t been restricted by her
bonds, she would have shaken her head. As it was, her eyes opened even wider
than before, and she sat motionless, not knowing what to think.
Again, the door opening announced the arrival of someone else, and she
raised her eyes with fatigue, wishing to be left alone, to wake up from this
nightmare of persistent confusion and revelation.
And then he walked into the room.
The monitor confirmed the acceleration of her heart.
Paige moved her eyes slowly upwards, feeling the deep blush in her cheeks,
silently thanking for the second time today the cloaking white cloth that was
covering them, protecting the blush from being detected. He was tall, so tall that
she was surprised that he wasn’t stooping to prevent his head from brushing
against the ceiling. His black jeans were worn in and had several holes in them,
something Paige normally would have disapproved of, but now found inexplicably
sexy, his converse shoes dirty and unlaced. His t shirt unabashedly announced “I
love getting pissed”, something that made her smile, especially as the leather
jacket he had carelessly slung over his shoulder hid the last two letters of the
statement, a fact the wearer was obviously unaware of. In his free hand was a
bunch of wildflowers, and Paige was sure that she recognised several weeds
mixed in with them, although was surprised that this simply added to their
beauty. As she looked to his face, she found piercing green eyes, obscured by a
fountain of tousled hair, and the biggest grin she had even seen.
In that moment, she was sure of two things; one, this was not her husband,
and two, whoever this man was, she was in love with him.

--- Chapter Three ---

Paige threw her leather jacket on the sofa and nonchalantly kicked off her boots,
simultaneously launching herself onto the large unmade double bed and felt
herself sink into the mattress. She laughed carelessly as she struggled to pull
down her skirt to better cover herself, but soon gave up, knowing that it
mattered little, especially tonight. She could hardly believe that they had been
together for a year, and took a moment to let her eyes close and replay some of
the finer moments of the last twelve months.
5
“Hi, I’m Elijah. Sorry I told ‘em I was your fella, but that was the only way those
bastards would let me come in and see ya again.”
Paige had not known what to say, what to make of this character who had
waltzed through the door of her hospital room and into her life, and so she had
stayed quiet and listened as the man had plonked himself down onto the chair
beside her bed, thrown off his shoes, and started to explain with an animated
voice coloured by words that would normally have made her wince with shame
exactly what had happened to her. She found herself smiling on several
occasions. His laughter was infectious, and as he described his shock in finding a
woman lying beneath his motorbike she relived the moment with him, seeing
what she must have looked like through his beautiful green eyes.
“And so that’s why I had to lie to ‘em. I hope you don’t mind Paige”.
She had flinched when he used her name, unable to explain the bolt of joy
that passed through her body, and had spent the rest of the evening sitting in
comfortable silence with the handsome stranger only a foot away from her,
snoring evenly.

“You look stunning. I’m surprised, to be honest. But impressed.”

Paige had laughed as she stepped out of the changing room of the
department store, having finally been discharged from the hospital. She had
decided that she would need to go and buy some new clothes, not wanting to go
home, not wanting the dream to end just yet. Toby had not been to visit her
once, something that she was secretly pleased with. Elijah had insisted he go
with her to the department store, so that he could “help her cross any busy
roads”. She had been unable to refuse. He had been sitting impatiently at the
mouth of the dressing rooms, shouting at her to release herself from the grip it
seemed to have on her and all women.
When she had stepped out in a deep navy dress, an item that she would never
have dared to look at before the accident, she smiled openly at his remark. She
knew that, for the first time in her life, she looked good, and his smile confirmed
this suspicion. She performed an impromptu twirl, enjoying the feeling of his
eyes on her figure.
She had insisted on paying for this new wardrobe with her fully loaded credit
card, refusing all offers of money from Elijah, knowing from glancing at his
threadbare wallet that it was unlikely he had the means to pay for her suddenly
expensive taste, although she didn’t doubt his wish to do so. Besides, she had
enough money for the both of them, thanks to her relentless saving for the last
goodness knows how many years. She felt that it was finally time to spend some
of it.

A few months after the divorce had been finalised, they had had their first date.
Paige hated to call it that, thinking that it sounded very childlike, but Elijah had
insisted. She loved his company, loved the way that he looked at her, as if she
mattered to him, almost as though he needed her in order to be happy. He had
made her feel free, appreciated, alive, for the first time in her life, and she was
loving every moment of it. She knew as she looked in the mirror before stepping
out of the small apartment she was renting that he had completely changed her,
transformed her into the person she had always wanted to be, but was always
6
too afraid of embracing; she was still Paige, but she was more confidant, she was
smiling, and she was content.
She wriggled her way into the leather jacket that he had bought her as a get
well present, zipped up her knee length boots, and almost skipped out of the
door, catching herself at the last moment.
“No”, she thought to herself, “play it cool Paige!”
She smiled at the thought of her playing it cool, and hopped onto the back of
Elijah’s motorbike, accepting his compliments as well as his peck on the cheek
before she slipped on her helmet, and they were off, speeding away into the
night. As they blended into the constant, bustling, almost palatable hum that
was London after dark, she couldn’t help but smile as she hugged his back even
tighter than before, pressing her head to his broad shoulders.
He had taken her to a concert, the band’s name escaped her as she lay
reminiscing, but she was pretty sure it involved either violence or some vulgar
sexual term. She smiled to herself, remembering his ‘funky chicken’ dance that
he had boasted to her as the night drew on. That was a night of first times; the
first time she had been to a concert, the first time she had tasted alcohol, the
first time they had been together as a couple, and the first time she had been
truly happy.

“So this is it then”, Elijah said as he heaved the last of her boxes up the stairs
to his studio flat. He placed it down haphazardly amongst the others which she
had neatly labelled, and pulled her close to him, whispering “welcome home” in
her ear as he hugged her tighter to him.
They had drunk to her arrival, and he had made a grand show of giving her a
key to his place, launching it across the room at her and laughing throatily when
she dropped it. They hadn’t unpacked for a long while after that...

---Chapter 4 ---
Paige opened her eyes again, forcing herself to return to the present with a jolt
as she heard the doorbell peal three times. She smiled again, seeming unable to
stop these days, and made her way lazily to the front door, pausing to glance at
herself, checking her lipstick was still intact and running her fingers through her
recently cropped hair.
She pulled the door open, flinging her head through the gap, expecting to see
Elijah standing there with his signature grin planted firmly on his face. There was
no one there.
She glanced down the hallway, looking first one way then the other, and when
she was sure that it was deserted, she frowned slightly as she was about to shut
the door and return to her lofty indolence, but something caught her eye. She
looked down and found herself face to face with a large bunch of flowers, and
fireworks exploded in her eyes. She reached down and picked them up, leaning
against the doorframe as she opened the card attached to them and read the
text printed there.

7
 Paige,
I’m so sorry for everything. I miss you and love you. Don’t you ever forget
that.

The card wasn’t signed, but she knew instantly who it was from. She laughed
as she allowed herself to remember the events of the night before – during a
spectacular air guitar performance from Elijah, he had gotten a bit too carried
away, and had knocked over a picture frame with his gyrating hip, causing it to
fall to the floor and smash. She had pretended to be furious for a long time,
enjoying his grovelling and his begging for forgiveness.
As she walked back to their bedroom, she placed the flowers down on the
dresser, promising to put them in a vase later, but knowing that she would
probably forget. She barely had time to consider what she would wear that night
when the slamming of the door, and the reverberations it caused in the small
flat, announced the return of Elijah. She turned to greet him, embracing his large
frame as he dropped his bag on the floor and held his arms out to her.
“How is my sweetheart doin’ this evening then, hmm?” he whispered in her
ear.
“Fine thanks”, she countered, “and thanks a bunch for the flowers. Very sweet
of you.”
He pulled her away from him at this, an action that caused her minor
annoyance, and stared into her eyes.
“What are you talkin’ about honey?” he asked, his tone questioning. “I didn’t
send you nothin’”.
Paige laughed as she held up the flowers as evidence, although stopped
abruptly when she saw his face fall. He was telling the truth.
“Oh”, she said. “So you really didn’t send them. That’s strange. Maybe they
were meant for next door.” She stood awkwardly next to him, knowing that there
was an old man currently living on their left, an unlikely recipient for such a
gesture, and the flat on their right had been uninhabited for several months now.
He seemed to be considering this as well.
“Yeah ...” he said slowly, in a tone of falsity that she hadn’t heard him use
before. She cursed her previous assumptions, and wished that she had kept
quiet. She took his hand and led him to the bed, hoping to distract him, but, for
once, this tactic didn’t work. He pulled away, gruffly asking when she would be
ready to go, and then retreated to the living room, taking the flowers with him.
She couldn’t help noticing that he gripped them extremely tightly, and thought
she heard the slamming of the dustbin lid a moment later, followed by the
hissing which announced the opening of a beer bottle.
She cursed under her breath as she flicked through her wardrobe, finally
settling on a top that clung to her in all the right places, and a pair of black
leather trousers that she knew Elijah loved. As she changed into them, she could
not help her mind drifting again and again to the mystery flower-sender, trying
with conviction to work out his identity, believing naively that if she pictured the
flowers long enough, his face would somehow appear amongst them.
She finally dispelled the thought with a sigh, and went to join Elijah on the sofa,
patting his knee tentatively, hoping to convey her feelings of love through this

8
touch. He stood up, offering her his hand, but refused to meet her eyes.
“Great”, she thought to herself. “That’s one anniversary ruined.”

--- Chapter Five ---

They ate in silence, a first for a couple that were usually cutting each other off
every minute, desperate to let the other know how they were feeling, what they
were thinking. The cursing under her breath returned.
The waitress seemed to notice the frosty atmosphere, nervously putting the
basket of fresh bread between them as a peace offering, and then hurrying away
to deal with couples that were slightly more hospitable than they. As Paige
reached for a roll, she decided that she would be the one to break the silence
between them. She would do it gently, despite her desire to smash it with a
hammer, banish it forever from their relationship. It was making her more and
more tense by the minute.
“Would you like one?”
She offered the basket to him, scanning his face for a reaction. She had never
seen him act like this before. He stared at it for a long moment, and then at her
for an equal amount of time, and finally seemed to come to his senses. He
laughed, grabbed a slice of ciabatta, and shoved the whole thing roughly into his
mouth, chewing with gusto and speaking all the while.
“Sorry Paige, I’m well sorry, I just .. dunno what came over me, I guess I was
really jealous. I know it’s not your fault.” He blushed at the admission, something
else Paige was not used to. She smiled broadly, flashing her almost perfect teeth.

“Don’t even worry about it you silly man. You know you’re the only one for
me!”
And the evening had carried on the way she had hoped it would, but with one
small addition – as they finished the meal and were about to pay, he got down on
one knee and proposed.
She accepted.

--- Chapter Six ---

Walking to work the next day, she grinned to herself as she replayed the events
of the night before; ... the getting down on one knee ... the red satin box
containing the breathtakingly beautiful engagement ring ... the waitress rushing
over and giving her congratulations, annoyed at her former assumptions of the
couple ... the other diners smiling over at them, offering their own best wishes ...
leaving the restaurant arm in arm, both unable to stop beaming. Yes, it had been
a perfect night.
As she entered the art gallery and took her place at the desk, she couldn’t
help resting her arm on the counter in such a way that the ring was visible to
anyone who glanced her way and, with her daring crop of hair, her perfectly
made up face and her stunning outfits, people tended to do this often. She
smiled at her own brazenness, and then submitted to a trance like state, allowing
her eyes to blur and various images of her walking down the aisle looking
9
gorgeous to flash before her eyes.
“Excuse me please?”
The man’s voice brought her back to her senses, allowed her body and her
mind to reconnect, however the transition was painful, as she recognised the
voice, she knew who was speaking.
“No”, she thought to herself. It was impossible.
She looked up, straight into his eyes, and her suspicion was confirmed. She
was staring right into the cold, unfeeling eyes of her ex-husband, only now they
were inexplicably warm and friendly, surrounded by skin that crinkled with the
smile he was no doubt aiming in her direction. She gasped. So did he.
“Oh wow, Paige? Is that you? Wow.”
Two questions. A statement. Her world shattered.
Clutching at the counter to steady herself, she looked around for assistance,
half expecting a SWAT team to appear from behind a statue, cuffing him and
dragging him away, whilst referring to her as ‘Ma’am’ and assuring her that
everything was going to be alright. No such luck.
She turned back to him reluctantly, and spoke.
“What the hell are you doing here?” She knew she was being rude, but she
couldn’t help herself. She wanted to be rude. He deserved it.
“Admiring the art work, actually”, he replied in a friendly tone. She didn’t
know his voice was capable of that. As she forced her eyes to reassess the man
standing in front of her, she found herself gasping for a second time. She bit
down on her bottom lip, forcing her mouth shut and cutting off all subsequent
noise that was building in her throat. He was wearing a pair of corduroy trousers,
a crinkled shirt and plaid jumper, his hair was shorter and, she hated to admit,
suited him. It seemed that just as she had changed, he had gone through a
similar transformation. How odd.
He was staring at her ring.
“Wow”, he said for the second time in the space of a few seconds.
“Congratulations, Paige.”
He sounded genuine. She bit down on her lip harder, sure that at any moment
it was going to give way to the pressure and allow the blood inside it to escape,
soaking the man in front of her.
“Well”, she thought to herself, “at least that could relieve some of the
tension”.
“Thanks”, she finally forced herself to say. She waited. He smiled at her, and
then turned, walking toward the nearest picture, and stopped to admire it. She
had never known him admire anything but the TV screen when the game was on
before. She couldn’t help herself; she gaped at him, stalking him relentlessly with
her eyes as he strolled causally though the small museum, laughing at some of
the paintings, staring with seriousness etched into every line of his face at
others. He was enjoying himself.
He finally wandered over to the small shop located in the far corner of the
gallery, picking up several items to assess them, then shaking his head and
carefully restoring them to their original places. He finally settled on a large
glossy book holding photos of most of the pictures in the gallery, as well as
information on the artists, a book that Paige often flicked through herself when
10
no one else was there, and made his way to the counter, pulling a wad of notes
from his pocket. Paige realised that there was no one there, that she was
expected to go and take the item, receive his money, and give it back to him. A
near impossible feat.
She forced herself to move over to him, nearly falling over but hoping that he
would put it down to the stilettos she was sporting that day. She tried
desperately not to look at him, but she couldn’t help herself. She would have
thought that his appearance would be incongruous to this setting, and couldn’t
accept the reality; he belonged here now just as much as she did. She took the
book, clutching at it with sweaty hands, performed the required tasks, and gave
it back to him.
“Thank you very much Paige. I hope I’ll see you again soon. Congratulations
again.”
He exited the museum, looking back at her before the door shut behind him,
sealing her in and seemingly cutting off the room’s air supply. She choked. What
had just happened?

--- Chapter Seven ---

If she could reach her leg back that far, she would quite happily have kicked
herself. It was three days since the ‘meeting’, and she still couldn’t believe the
way she had acted. As she locked up for the night and made her way to her car,
she wore a scowl that hadn’t ceased to mar her features for the last 48 hours.
Elijah was growing worried, suspicious of something. And she was an idiot.
She crossed the road, keys in hand, swearing softly to herself, and then
stopped at the sound of the voice.
“Look out!”
She forced her body forward just in time as the car swerved past her, beeping
furiously, and crashed right into the side of hers. They mangled together. If she
had been anyone else, she would have laughed at that moment. It seemed she
had a knack for attracting traffic. She made sure she was ok, that her bag and
keys were still in her possession, not that that mattered any more. She made
stilted apologies to the driver, giving him her insurance details as he drove away
with a large dent in his bonnet, shaking his head in possible aggravation or
shock, and then looked around for the mystery hero, meaning to thank him,
maybe even buy him dinner. God knows he deserved it.
She almost fainted.
Toby was running toward her, a look of worry abating as he assessed her and
realised that no harm had been done. She turned to run away and was surprised
to find herself rooted to the spot. Her body was defying her.
“Paige! It’s you! What’s your problem with ...” He caught himself. “Are you
ok?” he asked, his voice oozing concern. She smiled shakily.
“Yes.”
She turned to leave.
“Shit.” She had just seen her car. She wasn’t going anywhere, and she knew
she didn’t have enough money for a taxi. Elijah was out for the night, working.
“Don’t worry, I’ll call the AA. Now let me get you some dinner. You look pretty
11
shaken up. Or at least let me give you a lift somewhere.” Toby smiled at her,
tilting his head quizzically to one side, speculating which option, if any, she
would choose. She frowned.
“No, thank you. I’m ... er ... I’m fine.” She paused, reassessing the damage to
her car. She sighed. What was the matter with her?
“Well, I guess you could give me a lift. Please. If it’s not too much trouble.”
He beamed his assent, and offered her his arm. She refused. He didn’t seem
to notice, leading her to his car and opening the passenger door for her. She
wanted to climb into the back, to be further away from his inexplicable new
found kindness, but knew that this would be too rude as she slid into the
proffered seat, especially when he was saving her from having to explain the car
crash to her fiancé. Fiancé. The word tolled like a bell, making her wake up from
a strange dream, the one you usually forget upon opening your eyes. What the
hell was she doing?
She jumped out of the seat as though it was about to ignite, and was half way
down the street, determined to run all the way home, when she realised that she
had left her bag in the front seat of his car. Damn. She considered leaving it, but
knew that it had her phone in it, as well as her house keys. She would have to go
back. Hanging her head in shame, she shuffled back to him. Heel toe, heel toe,
heel toe. She stopped. Looked up. Her bag was dangling in front of her eyes. He
smiled.
“Thanks”, she said lamely. He chuckled at her, and took one step forward.
“Are you sure I can’t give you that lift? I won’t speak to you if that would make
you feel better. I won’t even look at you.”
Her face flushed with embarrassment. She was overreacting. He seemed to
have accepted her entry into his life, there was no reason why she couldn’t d the
same. She wasn’t going to marryhim for god’s sake. She slid into the passenger
seat for a second time, resisting the urge to cross her arms and stare fixedly out
of the window, and instead took the time to arranged them into what she hoped
was a casual position on her lap. She was glad she hadn’t worn anything too
revealing.
He turned the keys in the ignition, and the car sprang to life, moving jerkily. It
was old, and strangely endearing. They sat in silence for a while. She was
surprised that it wasn’t awkward. Maybe he had changed. He had just saved her
life ... No! She stopped herself from thinking anything else, forcing nothingness
into her thoughts. Immunity.
“Err ... sorry to interrupt your train of thought, Paige, but I kind of need to
know where you live.”
She blushed crimson.
“Oh!” She gathered herself, and gave hurried directions, desperate to stop
talking. Stop thinking, stop talking, stop existing altogether. He could feel her
tension, and so decided to try and expel it by talking. Although he spoke nothing
of sustenance, but rather opted for general chit-chat, a sensible option, Paige
could deduce that he was both kind and amusing.
They pulled up outside her house, and he turned to her.
“Don’t forget your bag.” A smile. She got out, and walked to the door, fumbling
with the keys. He waited till she was inside, and then she heard him drive off. Air
12
was audibly expelled from her lungs. She had been punched in the stomach by
her ex-husband, she had been tackled by him, and he had managed it without
even touching her.
“Who the hell was that?”
Elijah was home.

--- Chapter Eight ---

“Well? Paige?”
She realised that she hadn’t spoken for several minutes. How pathetically
predictable. She forced noises to come out of her mouth, and then concentrated
on them being coherent.
“Um ... well ... I’ll tell you.” What to do? She thought through her options,
knowing there to be only two; tell the truth, or lie. Which one should she choose?
Elijah was staring at her, his eyes transparent films trying to contain the pain
he felt inside them. She knew she couldn’t tell him the truth. She knew in that
moment that she would lie, and that she could never see Toby again. But she
also knew, although she didn’t yet know why, that this was impossible.
“If I’m honest, Elijah, I don’t know who that was. I’m really sorry, but I was
involved in a car crash tonight. Well, I wasn’t actually in the car, but I was in the
road, and the car swerved, and hit my car, and, I’m sorry ... That guy was just a
proverbial Good Samaritan. He gave me a lift home.”
She watched with dismay at the range of emotions capturing his face is
concession. Anger, shock, anger, confusion, fear ... Finally, his face was silent,
and his voice spoke instead. It was strained.
“I see. Well, as long as you’re not hurt. Sucks about the car though, dunnit?”
He tried to smile.
She hated herself in that moment. Hated herself for what she was doing to
him, and, most of all, for her inexplicable acceptance of Toby’s re-entry into her
pathetic life. For what seemed to be the millionth time that night, she asked
herself what the hell she was doing. She needed time to think about this. She
excused herself from the conversation, and from the judgemental eyes of her
fiancé, pushing past him into the bedroom. She hoped that he would have
enough sense to give her her space. Not that she deserved it.
As her limbs turned to ash and disintegrated, she crumpled in a heap on the
bed, and resisted the urge to fall apart completely. Flashes of her husband, her
ex-husband she reminded herself, danced enticingly in front of her, and she was
forced to give them attention. He was cold. He was unfeeling. He had ignored her
every day of their life, had seen her as nothing more than ... well, she didn’t even
know. She had never been able to explain her husband’s sudden refusal to
acknowledge her existence. But, she thought to herself, but ... he wasn’t like that
anymore, was he? Just as she had changed for the better, and she knew that she
had, was it not possible that he had done the same?
Furious at herself, she turned over defiantly, telling her brain that it could just
go screw itself, and fell asleep just to spite it.
She dreamt of Toby that night.

13
--- Chapter Nine ---
She woke up to the sound of birdsong. Her first thought was that this was
impossible, as she was currently situated in the centre of London. Then she
realised that it was only a text message. As she rolled over, groggy from having
just woken up, she realised that she was alone, and the events of the night
before came flooding back to her. She bit her lip as she opened the text on her
phone, sincerely hoping that it was from Elijah.

Hi. I’m sorry about last night, I hope I wasn’t too out of line, talking ten to the
dozen. It was nice to see you again. I was hoping we could talk about what’s
been going on in our lives. Toby.

She cursed loudly. What had she started? She had set these wheels in motion,
and they were turning so fast now that there was no way she could keep up with
them, and stopping them was impossible. What to do? She thought for a long
time. She would have to ignore him. She smiled a weak smile at the irony of this
statement; all those years she had wished he would acknowledge her even for a
minute, just so that she knew she actually existed, and now ... Well, now she was
with Elijah, she reminded herself. She had moved on. So why did this feel so
wrong?
She got out of bed, furious, and took a shower.
As she was getting dressed and preparing to leave for work, she heard the door
open and then slam. She hadn’t realised that Elijah had been out. She went into
the front room to greet him, making sure her expression was not reflecting her
inner conflict, only to find that it wouldn’t matter.
Elijah was very, very drunk.
He caught sight of her and stumbled clumsily toward her, holding his arms
extended, a mixture of fury and lust clouding his features. Paige took an
involuntary step backwards.
“Comere you ... whassamatta?”
His breath stank.
“Elijah, what’s going on? You have to go to work in a minute.” Realism. That
was rich coming from the girl who had caused his drunken state.
A thundering crash announced that Elijah had passed out.
Paige dragged him, with some effort, to the bedroom, took of his shoes and
jacket and left him asleep on the bed, leaving some headache tablets and a glass
of water next to him, knowing that he would need them soon enough. She kissed
the top of his head, and left for work.
All morning, Toby was worming his way into her thoughts, and she cursed him
with a passion. How dare he? He had ruined her first marriage, and now he was
going to ruin her second before it had even taken off. So why was she still
thinking of him? She thought of texting him, telling him to leave her the hell
alone, and that no she didn’t want to go out some time, thank you very much,
but realised with disappointment that in her confusion this morning she had left
her phone behind.
As she walked into the flat that evening clutching all the ingredients for
14
Elijah’s favourite dinner, she knew that something was wrong. She found him
staring intently at the TV. It wasn’t on. As she glanced around the room for an
explanation, she found it, and then wished she hadn’t, wished she was anywhere
but in that flat, wished, even, that she was dead. Her mobile phone was lying
open next to him.

--- Chapter Ten ---

It had been two months. Two months of negotiations. Well, negotiations on her
part, and a large amount of ignoring on his. He was surprisingly good at that. He
kept to himself, working, staying out late, coming home drunk, and refusing to
talk to her. Then the whole cycle would repeat, and Paige was helpless to turn
this version of Elijah off, to regain the life they had before.
“So I dealt with it”, she thought to herself as she stepped outside the flat and
into the car. “I did what I had to do.”
She turned to smile up at Toby.
“Good morning.” A coffee was placed into her unsuspecting hands. “Where to
today? The usual?”
She nodded her assent, and the car sped off. Paige didn’t believe in destiny, or
soul mates, or fate, or any of that crap. She was a woman of reason. She knew
that no Romeo and Juliet stories existed in the real world, that was just
Shakespeare and people like that looking through rose tinted glasses. They were
probably high, she thought to herself with a small smile. She was a woman of
reason, and she definitely, certainly didn’t believe in that. Or did she?
She would never have though becoming friends with her ex-husband would be
possible, yet here she was. She had never thought that Elijah would cease to be
a part of her life. Yet he was fading. And the worst thing was that she was letting
him.
As they entered the diner and took their usual spot at the back in a comfy yet
secluded booth, she noticed that there was something different about Toby. Fine
beads of sweat were making their way slowly, cautiously down the side of his
face. He wiped them away absent-mindedly. He was nervous. They began their
general, generic conversation, asking about work and the like. Upon discovering
that, ironically enough, Toby worked at the same firm as Elijah, he had promised
he would look out for him, something that Paige deemed unwise, although as of
yet he had been unsuccessful in his search, and so she did not worry too much
about it.
“I love you.”
The words caught her off guard, smashing into the side of her face and
causing her to recoil with the shock of their impact. She stuttered, thankful she
had no liquids in her mouth at that time. She tried several times to gain her
composure, but failed.
“I’m sorry.” And he was. He looked so ashamed of the admission, seemingly
wishing more than anything that he could take it back; eat his words and carry
on as before. But they had been said, and they hung in the air, refusing to
dissolve.
She grabbed her bag and left. This was too much for her.

15
--- Chapter Eleven ---
She could smell Elijah even before the door was open. She braced herself and
stepped inside. He was standing by the door. His face was a thundercloud, and
she was going to get wet. She braced herself.
“Paige, I don’t want you going out any more. I can’t lose you. I don’t want to
not know where you are any more. You have to stay here with me.”
His voice was surprisingly calm and even, and she knew in this moment that
this was an ultimatum. She could either turn, walk out the door and lose him
forever, or she could stay and work things out with the man she had once
wanted to marry. The word once surprised her.
As her body swayed on the spot, in limbo and unable to make a decision, the
world slowed down. She felt the floor shake as he took two steps closer to her,
she heard fabric brush against skin as his arm was raised, and then she felt the
stinging across her cheek as his open palm connected brusquely, violently with
her face. She shut her eyes tight, locking them in place, as she felt her legs
buckle and give way. She refused to unlock them.

--- Chapter Twelve ---

She was awake. Against her wishes, she found the key and opened her eyes.
She realised that she was strewn across the bed, still fully clothed. As she sat up,
she felt another slap across her face, although this time it was her own
conscience that was the supplier. Elijah loved her. He was her fiancé. He had
rescued her; rescued her from her marriage, rescued her from the accident, and
he had made her life worth living. And yet here she was, prepared to give it all
up for a man who had suddenly gained an inexplicable fast pass to her heart.
She would fight this fleeting obsession. She would fight it in favour of the man
she knew would be worth it in the end. Elijah. She would make him the man he
once was. She turned over, desperate to find him, to kiss him, hold him and
assure him everything was going to be alright. Just like a mother with her
firstborn child. He was lying next to her, silent for once. She smiled,
remembering the snoring that she had missed so much these past months. He
was next to her. Everything was going to be ok. She touched his shoulder gently,
slowly applying more pressure, trying to wake him, to tell him her revelation, and
assure him that she was his forever. He did not stir.
She grabbed his large shoulder and tugged, rolling him over to face her. She
called his name, poked and prodded him, all to no avail. She sat up, thinking of
getting a glass of water to throw over him, and then she saw it. The little bottles
with the caps strewn all over the floor. Just like Elijah to be careless. And greedy.
They were all empty. She screamed.

--- Chapter Thirteen ---

She was in the living room, she was pacing, the ambulance was on its way, she
was pacing.
She couldn’t go back and face him.

16
His corpse.
There was a knock on the door.
She wrenched it open.
It was Toby.
She stared.
Blankly.
He spoke.

--- Chapter Fourteen ---

She didn’t want him here, he had the worst timing of anyone she had ever
known, and yet she needed someone, another human to share this inhumane
burden with. She invited him in, and quickly explained everything that had
happened. Toby had extended his arm to steady her, reassured her, and guided
her to sit on the sofa, seemingly all in one motion.
As he brought her a glass of water and came to sit next to her, he put his arm
around her. She knew that the gesture was solely one of condolence, and
therefore lent into his touch, craving the reassurance. She was mortified. But
when she looked into his eyes, there was an emotion there that she couldn’t
understand; pity. Why should he pity her? She could not understand it, but her
weary brain chose to save this particular mental investigation for another day
when she didn’t have quite so much to worry about already.
They sat in silence for a long time. Where was the ambulance? Finally, she
spoke.
“Someone should go and check on him.”
She didn’t know why she said it, why she made him sound as though he were
simply in bed with the flu. She cursed herself for being so stupid, and yet Toby
got up, gave her another look of pity, and went into the bedroom to check.
“He’s ok” he called. OK. What a funny word to use in such a situation.
Without knowing how or why, she found herself outside the bedroom. She took a
deep breath, filling her lungs with air that wasn’t contaminated with death, and
stepped inside, bracing herself for the sight.
“Where the hell is he?” What was this, some sort of a sick joke? She looked
around frantically, half expecting him to be sitting up with a pair of dark shades
placed over his eyes and a comedy bow tie slung around his neck. She rounded
on Toby, repeating the question more fiercely. He had better explain himself. He
stared at her. Time stood still and he continued to stare at her. Their eyes
connected, locked together, there was a link between them that was made of
solid gold and could not be broken.
His lips moved.
The explanation was said.
And then her heart stopped.

--- Chapter Fifteen ---

Those yellow walls were really beginning to piss her off. As she opened her eyes,
two words came out of her mouth, and she cursed their order.
“Toby? Elijah?”
17
 She turned to look at the chair she knew would be next to her, expecting to
see Elijah sitting there in his leather jacket and old jeans, but she had accepted
that this was impossible. Dead or alive, that man no longer existed. A silent tear
ran down her cheek, burning into her flesh and singeing her blankets as it fell
from her chin.
The doctor entered once more. Only this time, his manner was tender as he
slowly descended into the chair next to her, all the time eyeing her with a look of
deepest kindness and ... pity. She knew that look. What was it with people
changing around here?
“Paige.” So they were on first name terms now? She realised that she did not
know his. This made her sad for some reason, a man that had treated her twice,
and yet she did not know the word that defined him as an individual, made him
who he was.
“How is Elijah? Where is Elijah?”
He stared at her.
Pity. Pity. Pity.
It coated the walls with its slime, and she tried to wipe it off her clothes,
prevent it from sticking to her.
“Paige” he said again. She waited impatiently. “I think now you give me no
choice but to try and tell you the truth. You must understand that before, I did
not think it advisable, but now that your health is at risk, I feel I must.”
What the hell was he talking about? Just say it. Elijah was dead. Simple. Only
it wasn’t.
“Elijah doesn’t exist.” There, she knew it. He was in heaven now, or wherever,
she didn’t know, she had never been the religious type.
Her breathing slowed, and then caught in her throat. She choked. Why did she
have a searing pain in her head? She clapped her hand to it, almost passing out
with the pain. The doctor stopped talking, and she was thankful.
She shut her eyes and waited for him to leave. She still didn’t know his name.
He left.

--- Chapter Sixteen ---

I was outside Toby’s house. I had to know. Had to know that I wasn’t crazy. Maybe
he was actually some sick stalker, and he had organised this whole thing, hiding
the body himself just to trick me. Whatever had happened, I needed to see his
face, needed him to reassure me.
I knocked for the third time. Still no answer. And that’s when I saw it. The
flowers, just the same as the ones I’d received at my apartment. And a letter.
I read the letter. I read the letter again. And then I slump down on the floor,
sinking through the cool hard concrete beneath me, down through the layers of
rock that form the world, my world, right into the white hot centre of the earth.

THE END

18
EPILOGUE:

To my dear Paige,

I know that if you are reading this, it means that you are alive and have come
looking for me. Both of those facts fill my heart with joy, and it pains me to say
that you will not find me here. However, I feel that I owe you an explanation.
I have a disease. I developed it two days after our honeymoon was over. You
know that it killed my father, and my grandfather, and I knew, I knew as soon as
the doctors told me that it would kill me too. I walked out of that room a broken
man. That afternoon I sat in my car alone, staring straight ahead of me,
incapable of movement, of speech. I thought. I thought of you. I knew that this
news would kill you, just as it was going to kill me. I loved you so much, too
much, too violently, and that was the problem. I needed you to survive once I
was gone. At that moment, only one thing was clear to me; you had to survive.
And that was when I made the decision; I was going to cut you out of my life. I
had to. I had to hurt you to save you.
So from that night on I committed to a decision that almost killed me. I
ignored you. Do you know the pain I felt every night, watching the confusion on
your face when you tried to communicate with me and failed? I was a coward, a
weakling. I wasn’t strong enough to leave you, but I had hoped that you would
leave me. You didn’t. I would watch you when you were asleep, desperate to
touch you, to hold you in my arms forever, but I knew that I couldn’t. I hated
myself. I wanted to die.
But as time went by, nothing happened. I went to my doctor, furiously
demanding when exactly I was going to cease to exist. You should have seen his
face. He had no answers, though. Just told me that it was a matter of time. I was
livid.
But then something happened. You moved on. I was so happy for you, and yet
all the while inside my organs were slowly shrivelling up at the thought of not

19
being able to see you anymore. But I knew that you had moved on, had
regained your fragmented life, and for that I was happy. It was the sole glimmer
of hope in my existence.
But then, as I was in the doctor’s for my routine check-up, I heard the news.
You had been in an accident. Every fibre of my body exploded, I couldn’t
comprehend the news, I was shouting and moving blindly, desperate to know
that you were ok. I visited you when you were asleep. I even bought you flowers,
although they were horrible – the only ones I could find in the vicinity of the
hospital. I was afraid to be away from you.
I was petrified. I felt that I had to keep a closer eye on you, to watch over you. I
know that sounds creepy, but really, I just had to know that you were ok. It
soothed me. I found out where you lived, and I would sometimes walk by there,
just to make sure that there was no trouble.
I was doing so well, not interfering with your life, but then one night, I slipped.
As I was walking past, checking as I always did, I saw you. You looked so
beautiful, I was almost the one who got hit by a car. Your hair was shorter, much
more daring, and your clothes were different. Better. But that wasn’t what
shocked me; it was you. You were different; you were secure, you were cheerful,
and you were ... well ... radiant. I was captivated. I wanted you so badly I had to
force myself to turn away and leave. I was the last person you needed in your
life.
And then I got the news. I was cured. It was a miracle.
My first thought was I had to get you back. I was jubilant as I left a gift at your
door, expecting you to receive it and come waltzing back to me. Then I realised I
was being overly romantic. Romeo and Juliet aren’t real, you know.
I took a different, more subtle approach. I found out that you worked in an art
museum, and so I tracked it down and went to see you. You were so perfect I had
to speak to you, even though I’d sworn to myself that I wouldn’t. But then I saw
it. The ring. I knew in that moment that nothing could be how I had wanted it to
be. Of course, I was so stupid to think you were single. A girl like you. So i
decided to be your friend. I would settle for that. If I could even secure you as an
acquaintance, I would be the happiest and luckiest man in the world.
So I tried. I couldn’t believe my luck when I saw you only a few days later. I
thought you had seen me when you walked into the road without looking. Then I
realised that you were just really unobservant. It was almost comical, apart from
the fact that you made my heart stop beating for a moment as I tried to
contemplate losing you. That wasn’t going to happen. I screamed your name
and, thank goodness, you were saved. I knew right then that there was no way I
was losing you again.
That car journey was one of the best moments of my life. Being in such close
proximity to you, knowing that you were safe and with me, it was bliss. But I also
knew that I could never have you. That didn’t stop me from contacting you
though. No, Paige, I was selfish and greedy. For you.
But then you surprised me. You accepted. We were friends, and we were
talking. I could hardly believe it. You talked often of your fiancé, and I was
mortified to hear of his drunken antics. I lay awake at night cursing that bastard
for ever thinking that he could treat you like that. And then I would cry with
20
horror at the realisation that I had been exactly the same. I cursed the heavens,
asking what sort of sick world this was where people like you were punished for
their perfection.
When I found out that he was in the same company as I was, I went looking
for him. I wasn’t going to hurt him, or even reveal who I was. I just wanted to
warn him. But I couldn’t find any trace of him. I looked deeper and deeper into
his character, even going as far as to track down his birth certificate. He did not
exist.
Worried, I shared my findings with your doctor, hoping that he could answer
the probing questions I had; I knew that you had said he visited you in hospital,
and therefore they must have some record of him. But there was nothing. The
doctor was worried when I explained my reason for wanting to know his identity,
and asked me to come into his office. That was when he shared his speculations
on your condition. Fury escaped me when I realised what you had been suffering,
and I had not been able to see it. I was, once again, completely useless.
I had to find you. It was early in the morning, but I didn’t care. I went to your
flat and concentrated on not destroying the door or killing anyone. Calm, I told
myself. Calm. I would go and assess the situation for myself. I hoped that I would
find him there, and that I would simply receive a well deserved punch in the face
and be sent on my way.
And that was when you told me. Told me that he was dead. You were my first
priority, making sure that you were safe. Once I ascertained that, I was
desperate to go and see for myself. But I stayed with you. I loved you. I had
already told you that. When you asked me to go and check on him, I went
willingly, although not without trepidation. The room was empty. I wanted to
break down in despair at what you were going through, but I knew I had to keep
it together for your sake. You were fragile, and you couldn’t be broken. If you
were broken, I was too. So I formed a plan. You would never have to know. He
was dead in your mind now, and he would stay that way. You would lament his
loss, and then move on. Whether with me or not, I didn’t care. All that matter
was that you were safe.
But then you saw. I didn’t know what to do. I told you. I told you he didn’t
exist. Why? I don’t know. And then it happened. You were on the floor, shaking
and jolting uncontrollably, and I was screaming. The ambulance arrived for Elijah,
and instead they got you. The convenience was sadly ironic.
I asked the doctor what he thought should happen. I needed guidance, I
needed help. He told me that he would try to tell you the truth. I waited. But
when he left your room, he told me that he had tried, but that you had shut your
eyes and refused to hear any more. He was afraid that your body couldn’t take
it. He told me that I could try, but that he was worried about what the strain
would do to your mind. When I asked him to elaborate, he confirmed my worry;
that you could die. More irony, I thought to myself. Here I thought I was the one
that was going to die.
So I left, and it was the hardest thing I ever had to do. I would not be
responsible for your death. I couldn’t be. Ever. I packed my things and went. I
hoped that you would be able to move on, to find someone else to share your life
with, and as I left the house, I was able to smile at the hope.
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 But I’ve already told you I’m selfish. I had to leave some sort of explanation.
And so I wrote this letter. I hope that you burn it. I want you to understand the
conflict inside of me, although I don’t think I can ever express it in words. I want
you to understand the undying love I have had for you from the moment I met
you, and yet I don’t want you to be affected by it. I want you to understand that
distancing myself from you was, and has been, the hardest challenge I have ever
had to face in my life, and yet I want you to accept it. I want you to love me
forever, just as I will always love you, and yet I want you to move on and grow
old with someone that deserves you. I want you to follow me and tell me that we
can work this out, and yet I’m not telling you where I’m going. I’m not leaving
because I’m afraid you’ll cease to exist, as I know now that you’re too strong for
that ever to happen. I’m leaving because I don’t deserve you, and if I’m honest, I
don’t think I ever have.

Forget me, my love.

Yours forever,
Toby

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