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My mind is on overdrive, and I can’t do anything to calm down.
What if something happened to him?
My coping devices don’t help — coke, alcohol, uppers — they only heighten my already fraying nerves.
I dial his number on repeat, listening until the voicemail clicks in and then hang up.
Dial, repeat.
Repeat.
“Arghhh!” I launch my phone across his bedroom, and it smashes against the wall.
Tears splash on my cheeks as I curl up and cry myself to sleep on his bed.
I wake up alone, the acid from the bile in my stomach travelling up my throat, my nerves turning into a physical reaction. I can’t remember the last time I ate properly, probably before Jeremy went missing.
Part of me wants to go home because being here is a reminder of how lonely I am without Jeremy. He’s played a disappearance act on me for a week, and I’ve not seen or spoken to anyone else. That’s not right.
But I can’t bring myself to leave. This is where he’d come back. I need to be here when he does.
My thoughts grow darker as I sink into a stupor, fuelled by the last few drugs at the house and an overactive mind, playing out my worst fears running over and over in my head, creating a cycle of need to take the fears away.
“Anna? What are you doing here?” A voice. His voice. It brings me around, and I squint to see the familiar face I love so much.
“Jeremy?” I ask, not sure if I’m imagining him.
“Yeah, who else.”
“Where have you been? Where the fuck have you been?” My anger breaks through the grogginess of just waking up. “I’ve been worried. You’ve been missing for days.”
“I’ve not been missing. I’ve been with my mum. She’s had a breakdown.” His voice is sharp and cuts me down.
“Is she okay?” I ask, feeling small and stupid.
“She will be.” As I focus on him, I can see the tiredness around his eyes.
“I didn’t know where you were.” Seeing him overwhelms me, and I’m swamped with emotion and pain. The tears are back, and this time, I don’t want to stop them. I let them fall, and my body starts to shake as I sob.
“Hey, it’s okay. I’m sorry you were worried.” He comes towards me and sits down next to me on his bed.
“You can be a jerk, you know.”
He wraps his arms around me, and I snuggle against his chest, desperate to steady the fear in my veins.
The relief of him being here only dulls the anger. I can still feel it, itching to burst to life. Everything itches, everything is uncomfortable, and even the safest place in the world doesn’t settle me.
“I didn’t think it would be a big deal. We need to get used to being apart.”
“What?” I scowl, confused, and pull away from him.
“You’re leaving in a few weeks, and that’s going to be fucking horrible. A few days apart isn’t the end of the world.”
“Why are you being cruel?”
“I’m not. I’m being realistic. I’m a fucking mess. If it’s not you, it’s my fucked-up parents.” He stands and paces his room. I hate it when he does this. “I don’t want to let you go, and I fucking hate everything in my life right now. Getting some space seemed like a good idea.”
“I’m not going to uni. I deferred, like you. I just didn’t have a chance to tell you. I wanted it to be a surprise, but you upped and left,” I shout back, angry that he spoiled everything and didn’t even give me a chance to explain.
