My Jake.
I sat in the chair next to the bed, scooting it over to be as close as I could get. Taking a deep breath, I reached over and took his hand in mine. It was cool but didn’t have the frozen rigidity I was expecting. I tangled my fingers in his, the same way we always held hands. I absorbed every detail of his hands: the patterns in his skin, the rough patches, the straight edges of his nails. For the rest of my life, I wanted to be able to remember his hands. The hands which had held mine less than an hour earlier. The hands which had touched me, held me all of last night.
With my other hand, I traced the lines of his tattoo, following the swirls and curls of the myrtle as it grew around the oak tree. I could feel the lines of his muscles underneath the ink. How could life be taken so quickly? How could someone who had so much respect for living things not be given more of a chance? How?
“Can you hear me? I hope you’re not hurting. I can’t bear to think of you in pain. You’ve had so much pain to deal with and you’ve always been so strong.
“I’m sorry, Jake. I’m sorry I moved to Brighton. I’m sorry we went out tonight. But most of all, I’m sorry we won’t get to spend our future together. Do you want to know something funny? When we were at the park last time, I imagined us there in the future. With kids. And a dog. I didn’t want to say anything in case it scared you off. But I know that’s what you wanted – a future with a happy family. You would have been such a great dad. Just look at how you take care of Grace and Josh. Your dad would have been so proud of you, you know. I’m so proud of you.
“Are you with your dad? I’ve never really believed in God and all that stuff, but right now, I want to believe you are somewhere beautiful with your dad. And you’re happy.” I wanted that for him so badly. I would have read nothing but The Bible for the rest of my life if it meant he could have that.
I used my fingertips to store the way his face felt: his eyebrows, his cheeks, his mouth. Following the curve of his lips, I wanted to kiss them, to feel them on mine one final time. But I was scared. What if they felt different? And that was then the way I remembered them forever? I kissed my fingertips and placed them on Jake’s mouth, holding the kiss there until it was absorbed, remembering the first time he had kissed me.
“You’re such a good kisser, Jake. I’m so glad you were my first ever proper kiss. You made it so amazing. You made all of my first times so amazing. For years, I never thought I would have this. You know, the kisses, the love, the… everything. But from that first kiss, I knew I wanted it all. With you.” I could feel myself getting tearful but I didn’t want to cry in front of him.
There was a quiet knock on the door before Simone came in. “Jake’s mum is going to be here in a few minutes. The Police are bringing them down from London. I thought you would want to know.” She smiled and left the room. I knew I didn’t have the energy or the guts to see Jake’s family yet.
So this is it. Goodbye.
“I love you, Jake. Even with everything that happened, I never stopped loving you. I will always love you. It’s like you said – it’s like breathing; I can’t stop myself doing it. I will carry on loving you as long as I’m breathing. I promise. I will treasure every moment I spent with you and everything I learned from you.” I ran my fingers through his hair one final time and stood. “You are the love of my life. I love you.” I leant down and kissed his forehead. I inhaled the way he still smelt like Jake. I pressed my lips to his, absorbing the last time we would be joined in this way.
“’Night, Jake.”
I managed to leave him before I broke into so many pieces I knew I could never be the same again.
My memory of those next few hours is still hazy, a random pile of images and words between leaving Jake and being curled up in my bed at home, wearing one of Jake’s tee shirts.
A taxi.
Mickey crying.
Me crying.
Mum crying.
Dad packing.
Me crying.
The car.
Sleep.
Flynn crying.
Me crying.
My room.
Crying.
Sleep.
Crying.
Sleep.
Crying.
Sleep. Crying Sleep.
Crying.
Sleep.
Crying.
Sleep.
The hand gripping my shoulder made me burrow further into my duvet. Every time anyone had tried to communicate with me, I had hidden away, wishing I could hibernate until the season of pain was over.