My life raft in the middle of my pool of despair.
What are the chances of him finding me twice when I needed him most?
Maybe fate isn’t so bad after all.
I lay in bed long after I should have rolled over and closed my eyes with my phone in my hand, debating whether to message him again or not.
I’d hoped that I might find something waiting for me when I got back from sorting out Mum, but I was disappointed.
My message to him had been read, but that was it.
It’s been a while since I’ve met anyone I wanted more than a quick hookup with, and I’m not sure I like the need bubbling beneath my skin for him to text me back.
We’ve had one night together—a night in a freaking sex club—and one waffle date, and I’m already turning into one of those annoying girlfriends.
I really need to get a grip.
Abandoning my phone on my bedside table, I finally curl up, ready for sleep to claim me. But it never does.
Images of my time with Toby tonight blur with those of finding Mum passed out and covered in her own poison, and I soon find myself drowning once more as my tears and grief soak my pillow.
My heart clenches as I think about everything I’ve lost: my brother’s cheeky smile, my stepdad's calm support, Mum’s compassion and endless love.
She might still be right down the hall, but I’ve never felt so lonely in all my life.
Loud, ugly sobs rip from my throat as I let it all consume me, once again wishing I’d let him drive me away from here. If I’d gone with him, all of this could be a distant memory right now.