82

                                    

                                          
Returning to my bedroom felt like a punch to the gut. The drapes were cracked open, letting in a slither of the late afternoon sunlight that illuminated the side of the bed Rose had slept in last night. It still smelt like her in here. Like coconut and lavender and something else entirely her. My jersey – that she liked to borrow – was tossed over my desk chair and a strand of her golden hair stuck to it, reflecting the sunlight. Her books piled high on my desk, the ones I'd bought her for her birthday that she'd been too scared to take home in case her dad found them. 
I ran a hand down my face which was damp with tears and stormed into the bathroom. I caught sight of myself in the mirror and cringed. My eyes were red and puffy and to be quite honest, I looked like absolute shit. I bent over the faucet and splashed cold water onto my face in the hopes of looking a little less like a state. 
But then I spotted the spare toothbrush in the holder beside mine. The second towel hanging on the rail next to mine that she'd wrapped around her after showering this morning. The hairdryer I'd taken out of the guest bathroom for her to use. The bath salts I'd gifted her so she could take baths when she was here. She'd not had the chance yet. And now she never would.
I felt my eyes burn with tears again and tipped my head back. "Fuck's sake."
I couldn't believe the turn the day had taken. When I'd woken up this morning, Rose had been in my arms. I'd kissed her and touched her and she'd smiled at me like maybe she felt the same way about me that I felt about her. I'd come so close, so close, to saying those three words to her. But when the moment finally felt right, when she'd showered and we were both dressed and I was holding her in my arms, kissing her in a different way to the night before. Kissing her softly and slowly, rather than with heat and need and desperation. The moment was finally right and I worked up the courage to tell her how I felt, but she looked up at me with those breathtakingly bright eyes and sighed. "I need to get going," she'd said.
I hadn't wanted her to leave, but I'd already kept her longer than she'd wanted. The risk was already too high. So, I'd pushed aside my confession and agreed to take her home. 
I'd never forgive myself for that. 
I should never have let her go. Should never have made that fucking promise in the first place. I never should've taken her home that day. She could've been safe with me and my family, not stuck in the hospital alone.
The thought made the ache in my chest intensify. She was alone. And so was I.
I dragged myself back to my room and dropped onto the bed, breathing in her scent on the sheets and feeling tears prick my eyes again. I hoped the smell of her never left my room. I was willing to cling onto any scrap of her I could keep, even if it felt like my own personal torture.
I buried my face in her pillow and didn't lift it when I heard a knock at my door. I wasn't in the mood for company. I screwed my eyes closed and remained as still as possible when I heard the sound of my door opening. Hopefully whoever it was would think I was asleep and leave. I heard the soft footfalls against my carpet, and then a silence followed before the door shut. I let out a breath of relief but didn't move still. I no longer had the energy.
"I hope your not trying to suffocate yourself with that pillow," came Alex's dry comment after a long silence.
"Fuck off," I grunted, my voice muffled thanks to the pillow.
His chuckle indicated he'd heard it. He stayed quiet for a moment but didn't leave. "You okay, man?"
I scoffed. "Not even close."
"I'm sorry," he said, "mom told me what happened with Rose."
Another dry laugh left my lips. "Which part?"